Soft Dream

 All I've ever really wanted is to be drinkin' that free Bubble Up and eatin' that rainbow stew.

Compared to Taylor Swift............................

I'm not doing so good.

Her net worth is estimated to be $1.1 billion. Mine is significantly less than that.

When she puts an album out, the buzz surrounding it dwarfs the reaction to any other world event, including William Shatner's 91st birthday.

When I sing, people spit at me.

Taylor Swift owns a Mercedes Maybach, an Audi R8, a Porsche 911 Turbo, a Ferrari 458 Italia, and about seven other cars.

I drive a 2020 Hyundai Elantra. Silver. It has 40,000 miles on it, and I have two or three more years of payments to go. A tree fell on it a couple of winters ago and it has been sad ever since.

Taylor Swift owns eight multimillion dollar homes in four states. I own one home in one state. I paid $165,000 for it. It's probably worth $140,000. But I do own it. No mortgage. So there's that. No fucking bank threatening me with execution if the mortgage falls behind.

Taylor Swift is 34 years old. I am 70. I'll be dead long before she is, and I will have tasted a lot less of life.

So I'm not doing so good compared to her.

BUT

I am doing measurably better compared to Previous Me.

Prevous Me was one sad dude. Unfulfilled, and unable to hide it (except in public, at work, with the family, with friends, with strangers, in restaurants, in bars - come to think of it, in every fucking situation except for being alone). I get props for being a world-class actor, but no $ to go along with that talent.

Lately I am buoyant. Got some pep in my step. And why not?

The universe has bestowed me with extraordinary gifts and my load has been lightened. I smile a lot, I laugh freely (instead of laughing the guilty laugh of the pretender).

One last frontier to cross.

Freedom. Still not retired. Still can't retire.

I have never committed myself to anything, so I became a red rubber ball bouncing from one thing to another, no rhyme, no reason. Because I think life as it is typically lived is a joke. Still do.

However the joke's on me. Life bites you if you don't bite it. Whaddya gonna do?

I start yet another menial job this weekend. Not because I have to, but because I am a lost soul, and because I feel I need to pad our bank account to protect us from the Evil Fuck who owns the property our house sits on. A Scumbag who raises HOA fees whenever the hell he feels like it, according to long term residents here.

I need peace of mind. I need to feel safe and secure. I am 70 fucking years old, for Christ sake.

So I'll do my part. Stay ahead of the greedy, heartless motherfucker financially, until a disgruntled renter chops his head off with a machete and displays it on a spike.

I know I am on the right track, though. I know I am, because I am making better decisions. I have Kit Kat mini frozen dairy dessert bars in the freezer, and Hostess Cupcakes in the cupboard. Do you really need more evidence than that?

It's a beautiful day. I don't have to work.

Think I'll enjoy myself.

Sunday

When I was a kid Sunday was a real thing.

Sunday had legs, it was its own day, it looked, felt, and sounded different than its six brothers. Many businesses were closed, banks were closed, there was no internet, no cell phones. Many people actually had weekends off.

On Saturday you would run around and take care of errands, all the annoying little things you needed to get done, to have, so you can live your life. Maybe go out on Friday night, Saturday night, lay your burdens down and pick your whiskey up. Get a little crazy.

On Sunday people chilled. You could really unplug from life because life was shut down to an appreciable extent.

You could feel it. It was a tangible exhalation of breath. Privacy. Peace. Rest. Quiet

Sunday dinner was a thing. Sunday dinner was a must in my house, quite ritualistic and I miss it, although I did not appreciate it at the time.  People visited, or they stayed home and read the paper with their feet up.

Then the world went 24/7 - everything, always, all the time. A lot less people have weekends off now, and it kind of doesn't really matter because the concept of a "weekend off" no longer exists. You gotta be on all the time.

There is no escape from life. People do not think of Sundays in the same way at all.

But I do. I still get a sense of peace on Sundays. It's in my head, but I still enjoy it. I feel like nothing can touch me on Sunday, I feel safe. I feel authorized to goof off. I love long, lazy Sundays.

I feel good today.

Dickey Betts

From your perspective, I'm sure my reaction will be way over the top.

If that is true, it tells me you have never had a band that played music that fed your soul, healed your broken heart, and made you forget about that fucking job you hate so much. A band that you could not live without. COULD NOT.

Dickey Betts died yesterday. He was 80 years old. He was one of six founding fathers of The Allman Brothers Band. Duane Allman, Gregg Allman, Butch Trucks, Jaimoe (aka Jai Johanny Johanson, aka John Lee Johnson), Berry Oakley, and Dickey Betts.

Jaimoe is the only surviving member of the Original Six.

Dickey Betts and Duane Allman "pioneered a melodic twin guitar harmony and counterpoint which rewrote the rules for how two rock guitarists can work together, completely scrapping the traditional rhythm/lead roles to stand toe to toe."

Their playing was so unique and so exquisite it blew your mind.

Dickey was the personification of rock 'n roll. Even though he was a founding father, he was kicked out of the band in 2000 over a conflict regarding his continued alcohol and drug abuse. How fucking bad do you have to be for The Allman Brothers to kick you out of the band? Trust me, this was not a group of altar boys.

After 2000 Dickey never played with them again, nor did he appear with other former band members for reunions or side projects. What a fucking shame. What a loss for the music world.

Dickey wrote "Jessica", "Blue Sky", and "Rambling Man" among many other songs. Listen to those three songs. They alone will justify you laying flowers on his grave. They are beautiful.

I loved the way he played. Smooth. And I always said he danced when he played. Check out some videos. The way he moved when he was soloing it was like he was dancing with his guitar.

Dickey had a lot of rough edges. Getting himself kicked out of the band was a crime, although I'm not sure the judge and jury were exactly clear-eyed. But we all fuck up.

Ever the rebel, I saw him play solo in what was essentially a supper club many years ago. The kind of place where smoking was not allowed and rowdiness was frowned upon. At a time when musicans would take the stage with bottles of water.

His band took the stage, then Dickey walked out - with a cigarette between his lips, he sat a Budweiser on his amp, and went to town.     I          loved              it.

I don't like where I am in life.

On one hand, I do. I am 70, I am healthy, I got a new life, a grandson, my sons are healthy and happy and so are their women.

On the other hand, the people who inspired me when I was young are all dying. It breaks my heart. It forces me to face reality when I would much rather be dreaming.

Requiescat in pace, Dickey Betts.

You made my life so much better, so much more enjoyable, so much more bearable.

Thank you for that.

Love you, man.

I Am Older Now.....................

 "I am older now, I have more than what I wanted, but I wish that I had started long before I did.

And there's so much time to make up everywhere you turn, time we have wasted on the way, so much water moving underneath the bridge, let the water come and carry us away.

Look round you now, you must go for what you wanted, look at all my friends who did and got what they deserved.

So much love to make up everywhere you turn, love we have wasted on the way, so much water moving underneath the bridge, let the water come and carry us away."

From Wasted on the Way, by Graham Nash

Electric jolts of life, of change - have been rocking me for 6 and 1/2 months now. This is good. I could not avoid change if I wanted to. It's been like trying to take a nap in the back yard on a hot August day, while the neighbor intermittingly plays Black Sabbath, breaks for lunch, then Metallica, runs to the store, then Foo Fighters, studies the bible, then Led Zeppelin.

For Christ sake, my complacency has been shattered......................and circumstance is resurrecting my soul.

It has been relentless and consistent. Including cycle of life stuff - the birth of my grandson, the death of my cousin. It doesn't get any more real than that.

Prodding and pushing me while I try to make up for this and to atone for that. Redirecting me from the senseless road I have been on for decades, onto the road, my road, a road to deliver my soul to a peaceful place. The road that was laid out for me at birth, which I quickly veered off of like a drunk driver asleep at the wheel.

I feel very good. I embrace change enthusiastically because I have hungered for it over a lifetime. 

All I need now is enough time to make up for wasted time.

What Are Their Names

Monday night, late, I was watching and listening to a David Crosby and Graham Nash concert from 2011 recorded in Connecticut. Had a glass of whiskey by my hand, it was after midnight, I was sitting in the dark. That's how you do it right.

When I listen to Crosby and Nash I am tapped into a direct pipeline to God. They harmonize exquisitely, and the lyrics slap you in the face. You could call them throwbacks to hippy times but they are not throwbacks - the lyrics are even more meaningful today in this fucked up, cold-hearted, backwards, hate-filled world.

David Crosby died on January 18, 2023 and I cried.

Dig the lyrics to the song What Are Their Names:

"I wonder who they are, the men who really run this land, and I wonder why they run it with such a thoughtless hand, what are their names and on what streets do they live? I'd like to ride right over this afternoon and give them a piece of my mind about peace for mankind, peace is not an awful lot to ask."

I want to drive to D.C. and punch every politician I run into in the face. republicans AND democrats. These fucking corrupt, brainless, cold-hearted money puppets who care more about their wallets and power than they do about the lives of the people they supposedly "represent."

They are supposed to protect us and improve the quality of our lives. Instead they steal from us and destroy the quality of our lives.

Thank god we have music like that of David Crosby and Graham Nash to soothe our souls, even temporarily, from the evils of those we ironically call "leaders."

Between Heaven and Hell

 "Somewhere between Heaven and Hell a soul knows where it's been, I want to feel my spirit lifted up and catch my breath again."

From Lay Me Down, by James Raymond.

James Raymond is David Crosby's son. Crosby gave him up for adoption in 1962 - Crosby was 21 at the time. Raymond was adopted by the Raymond family as a newborn and had a happy childhood. He had no idea who his birth father was. Interestingly enough, Raymond ended up pursuing a career in music. 

He started looking for his birth father when he was in his late 20's, saw the name David Crosby on his birth certificate but did not think it was the David Crosby.

They finally met in 1994 and ultimately ended up playing, writing, and recording music together. They even started a band with Jeff Pevar called Crosby, Pevar, and Raymond - CPR.

Is that not an amazing story?

Anyway, I love the lyric because to me it implies hope - if you are between Heaven and Hell it means you have not reached the destination yet. Your soul knows where it's been. The good and the bad. There is still time to change your ultimate fate.