I’ve been writing during this period, since I returned from Europe, and finished out the Norcal dates with Albert Lee. It’s an intense time we’re all going through, but I need to keep playing and listening. I’m not going to let it drop…songwriting was a life choice I made decades ago..and I’m sticking with it.
Rancho Nicasio is one of my favorite spots. The sound is good, the food is great, and there’s something about the people and the atmosphere that’s very welcoming and also, timeless. I love playimg there, and i hope to see my Norcal friends.
Below is just a page from a note book, from a few months back, recalling an intense moment of youth. Something like that!
I was overcome by the flood–saw the stars during daylight–the mask–the mirror–of the blue sky fell off and I stood with you–on a whirling ball of stone and fire in the immensity the madness the illusion the immodesty the aardvark of space– what IS space? It is SPACE–lit by a star itself–my eyes–my hair–my teeth–terrified me–I’m made of stone and water–flesh on a stick–stranded in the shadow of my imagination–“stranded on my own”–the cover–that is, the common excuses and explanations–fell away–the air inhabited by phantoms–inevitable death dyed my tongue–black and hanging out–everywhere despair–eruption of fear like butterflies on fire–like a free fall on the elevator–destroyed my ego before it was formed–a faulty sense of self–breaks down while my eyes are locked in the mirror–the strangeness–in a decaying body–the eye disconnected from my body and “life”–hair teeth sensation–sound disjointed from vision–I panicked as I looked into the glass–everything vanished in darkness except my own image and I was horrified–so I took off–down the stairs and out into the street–I had to get away–to walk somewhere anywhere–escape–but I got halfway down the block was scared to go on in that state and turned and went back hopeless–you cant escape the fact of your own existence no matter how much you sometimes want to–
Desks set in rows–kids abstracted while a teacher drones and girls in mini skirts stretch and yawn–pat their hair and look your way–I was an early non-adaptor–ripped open…
protection
my themes from the first— time passing, watching the clock in a confined and false reality—trusted friends, soldier boys who stand aloof from the world—love as masquerade—hanging in & hangin’ on—hoping for a change a miracle–looking romance in the eye—watching the streets & the horizons—for a shift—resentment at police pressure on my dream life & physical existence—time and distance—seemingly impossible to bridge—stranded—need for love—the escape of prisoners—the dream going bust after going for broke–a magic touch—impossible situations against terrible odds, slim chances seized—escape routes in everyday life—justice—it’s perversion and potential—desperate situations met with a plea for simple magic-like talk—reaching out to the sidewalk refugees & closet suicides offering a spiritual solution & some companionship—the surrealism of Big Town Saturday Night America, of small town walkers on that same big evening—staying out all night avoiding the curfew—under stars & streetlights the waxing & waning moons—desperate attempts against time, isolation, “normal” life, longing for beauty contact & love with the sympathetic spirits—the victims of violence struggle for sanity, serenity, dreams, visions, reality.
