DEPRESSION ~ Starts 2018

I miss writing, but I am mostly speechless.  Capricorns love being know-it-alls.  But, when mad things happen, Capricorns hide. It's time to feed the soul and nurture the body. The terminal struggle with cigarettes persists. I am great at stopping and equally likely to chain smoke. I take vitamins.  I consider walking more, but aimless wandering doesn't suit me. I'm taking a break from my usual life to rest.  I expect to be indulging in a deeper spiritual endeavour, encouraging new friends and maybe learning new things. I feel a bit like a teenager.  Venturing out into the world alone. I shall enjoy visits from my grandson, but that definitely means the body is going to need more attention. And I need a solution to my snoring which my diplomatic daughter says isn't pleasant. Mid-year goals set.  Looking forward to the adventure. Love and Light.

When comedians stop, not Dylan Moran, of course, we will fight to the death for wine, cigarettes and common sense.  Well, he will. I'm not promising anything. Where was I?  Yes. Without comedians, I think we will be led down a dangerous road of ... wait for it ... religious extremism and all manner of not so nice adventures. I bet there isn't one comedian out there under the bombarded, drone infested skies.  Maybe a plumber. But no funny man. Political correctness has taken on because society is afraid of consequences.It is now just cover from the opponent for a sinister empty threat: Truth is unwelcome, even if it's funny. Try it and you die.   My studies in Kabbalah have taught me that political correctness is spiritual. One does not bad mouth the man in power. I don't indulge in President bashing. Unless deleting pictures of a sunburned contorted face is a kind of bashing.... I suppose it is.  Mia culpa. To quote from a movie, "Don't tease th...

2016 A tall man with an unusual name does me a favour.  I protest. "I have no money presently!" "What is a human if he cannot assist another human with something he can easily do?" I felt myself  blush.   I recently apologised to a petrol attendant for having no cash on me for a tip. "You are not required to pay me to do my job." I felt myself blush.

 YELLOW COAT A roady song.  I'm a roady and I am writing another song. I think Joan Baez was the wall flower's Bob Dylan.  No offense to Joan Baez. A Wall flower could sing along. Her diction was better. Elocution was a value.  I flowered on walls. No one talks about wall flowers these days unless they mean flowers growing on the wall in a basket or a climber.  A barrage of more offensive terms have become familiar. Geek used to be a bad thing, now it's a good thing. No judgment either way, but society morphs. Different values for old connotations emerge all the time.  It all starts in the school yard.   School is a form of torture.  The classroom is where humiliation, sleep deprivation, lights in your eyes, orders from the bad cop are screamed at you and then you pee your pants. If you react badly to this form of torture they send you to the head who beats you with a stick.  OK. Back in the day.  The playgroun...

BORN TO BE BLUE is playing on the DVD machine.  Fast forward.  There's too much pain to watch it slowly.  One of my actors - not one I'm in love with - not like John Dunbar - Kevin Costner. Ethan Hawk of Dead Poet's Society is playing, it seems, a famous trumpeter with a drug habit. I only fell for him because when he was young he resembled Bernard when he was young and I was in awe of him.  I call him the Tin Man because of another song - The Tin Man by America.   "Some times late when things are real and people share the gift of gab between themselves ..... But Oz never did give nothin' to the Tin man what the Tin man didn't  already have ..... soap suds green like bubbles ...   and cause never was the reason for the evening .... so please believe in me .... "   Bernard calls me Darth Vadar since the twin towers fell down.  He says I can't ever come back.   He got stuck in Ayn Rand and I moved on to a greater Cause and Effe...

One keeps things, even broken things, because ...   "It's fine!  I can fix it!" And so the pondering frog, with a leg and a hand detached, ended up on the dining room table.  The little metal bird with its wing undone, the spring sprung, lay beside him.  I had the fullest intention of repairing them both neatly. I came across them at 3.00 a.m. today since I still can't sleep. I  don't think I will for a while yet.  It doesn't matter. I'm not tired.  It will not last much longer. Not this particular night.   The morning birds would already be conversing. Nay. Concluding morning prayers. I would be writing about them if I were "home", but I am "home" in the Bay, again.  All I can hear is the fishpond waterfall and a few crickets. The house has its own voice. Creaks in the ceiling. Fridge rattles.  My laptop sounds like a toy house fridge.  Same noise, just softer. I took out five movies.  I only...