every rug i've known

every rug i've known seems to be made (or have been made, for that matter) to be pulled out from under me, but then, that's probably because i choose to weave (and step on) magic carpets while imagining that i can invite someone on to share it and settle down, as if that is even possible, so now that it's all figured out, i might as well play the fall (foal?... foil?... fool?... fa la la la la, ya falla?) again and lay down candles in the wind cuz if i die, i die, and if not, well, i pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again...

what else is new...

bullsugar!

memorial day

remembers long before the web when i was but a wee lad serving in uncle sam's marching machine in the war torn town of monterey california (just north of carmel by the sea, forty miles north of big sur), i ment one of my many mentors, a man from a hundred ten miles north in san francisco where i spent many a wonder-filled weekend in those wild and crazy days of youth, and as if for the first time all over again he inspired my wide eyed laughter with another post card meant to be sent through smail mail and this one lept from the mailbag to remind me with love and laughter of those times i gave to this country so truly and simply...

"Please don’t ask me to keep in step – It’s hard enough just to stay in line." ~ Ashleigh Brilliant

ah, strum your guitar, sing it kid...

just write about your feelings, not the things you never did... and yet, all he did was write about things he never did, a lot, and he felt them as if he did them, which was his secret, i guess, and if you really listened, you heard and if you really heard, you felt and if you really felt, you cried and if you really cried, you healed...

harry chapin takes me home to my roots better than anyone and tonight, i remember first loves, first passion, first feelings... bittersweet memories, because they are so sweet but no longer shared...

still, i want to say... happy birthday :)

meaningless drivel

what was the purpose, if there was a purpose, for another blog, for another way to write the time passing through this life... there is usually a pirpose, a reason, a theme for starting a new writing space... there were books, volumes, journals, diaries, and now, blogs... and why another, i wonder, when there are already dozens open and waiting for more words... is it because there are so many different threads in the tapestry of my mind or am i always trying to recreate whomever i may be... huh?...

good dreams don't come cheap...

how long?

in 1971, when we met, the world was a very different place... you had your baton, you had your trumpet, i had my hair, my accordion, my running, and we had our music... music was much more magical, personal, and communal back then... and place, we had a place, we had your basement to play in, party in, sleep in, and commune in... i miss communing... people don't commune much these days...

happy birthday old friends... long may we smile :)

did you ever feel?

i've got the feeling most people would say yes, but i've got the feeling that most people actually never did, but then, how would one know, after all... illusions, all... it's really sad, but then, sadness is an emotion, a feeling, isn't it... so is it? (as in, i mean, does it really exist and what is real?... and what is it, anyway?)...

ever really hear meg & dia?

stoney starry night

and not a joint in sight, but the memory of the drugs we knew are still enough to get us through another stoney starry night of wish i may and wish i might make dreams come true for me and you if only we knew what to do... as depeche mode sang, reach out and touch me...

because the world did not end

the song seems to have lied...

but it's not skeeter davis's fault

you were the sunshine of my life.