December 8 - A Mixed bag

Fuck you, Mark David Chapman.

May you rot in hell. Soon. And eternally.

My wish for you is that you suffer more than any other human being who has ever existed has suffered.

Happy Birthday, Jim Morrison. 

You brought poetry to rock 'n roll and I am forever grateful. And you spiced it up with literature, religion, philosophy and psychology. You made rock 'n roll intelligent.

Happy Birthday, Gregg Allman.

There is not enough room in here for me to express what you meant - and still mean - to my life. You gave me happiness, insanity, appreciation, wonder, LIFE - you made me feel alive time and time again.

You gave me The Blues. The Allman Brothers first album initiated my interest in and love of the blues. I noticed that all the songs were not written by you.

Who the hell were The Spencer Davis Group? Muddy Waters? I investigated, I learned, I loved.

But you did write Whipping Post. A song I have listened to - in concert, at home and in my car - 100,000 times. To this day, when that opening bass line kicks in I still get fucking goosebumps.

I cried when you died.

Your final album - Southern Blood - released after you died - was stunning. Songs chosen to acknowledge what you knew was coming, as well as to take a look back. And to acknowledge people like Jackson Browne, The Grateful Dead, Bob Dylan, Tim Buckley, Lowell George, and Wille Dixon.

"I hope you're haunted by the music of my soul when I'm gone, please don't fly away and find you a new love, I can't face living this life alone, I can't bear to think this might be the end, but you and I both know the road is my only true friend."

From My Only True Friend, Gregg Allman, from Southern Blood.

Your lyrics bring tears and chills - every fucking time I listen to them.

Thank you, Gregg - you made my life better.

I love you.