Off to see the canvassing wizard. I have been reading a lot about John Lydon (Johnny Rotten) recently, including his two books. I have also been listening to a great deal of Public Image Limited, which is his band after The Sex Pistols. This is their groundbreaking first single Public Image. This song was quite influential in the world of post punk. Listen to the guitar and how similar it is to early U2 for instance. Extra points for bassist Jah Wobble playing from a chair!
“Twin Peaks” novel will reveal what happened during the show’s 25-year hiatus http://www.salon.com/2014/10/17/twin_peaks_novel_will_reveal_what_happened_during_the_shows_25_year_hiatus/ via @Salon
I am about to hit the highway towards Lubbock. Posting will be slow today. In the mean time there is more great news for Twin Peaks fans: Co-creator Mark Frost will be publishing a novel next year that explains what has happened in the 25 years between the last season and this new one. I will definitely be reading this when it comes out. If you are a fan I recommend The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer.
In Fort Worth, headed to Lubbock today. Spent the few days between shows canvassing in Austin. When you walk a city’s streets it takes on forms and shapes that one does not encounter by car. Garden gnomes, concrete monkey statues, and abstract art mine the yards and porches. Some houses are as clean as a hospital and some look like the Star Wars trash compactor. Cats of all stripes and colors silently watch your every move. Dogs that you can’t see bark at your presence. A man that looks like he time traveled from the 50’s is grinding metal with sparks in the shadows. A young woman tends a Japanese rock graden. Each block, and sometimes home, is its own universe, governed by a different diety.
What goes on in all those homes day and night? There are so many secret worlds that we don’t know about. I was thinking of human beings as puzzle pieces. In order to understand the truth of creation you would need the experience of every being that has ever lived. Books and communication can give us some of the pieces we lack, but we will never have them all. We remain fumbling in the darkness, with imperfect knowledge of the world as it really is. Even when those rare treasured souls light a candle for us, giving us the ability to see slightly farther than normal, the light remains brief and dim.
The always brilliant John Oliver show Last Week Tonight on Columbus Day. I remember reading in Howard Zinn’s The People’s History of the United States about some of Columbus’s men riding the natives like horses. The olden days!
Life’s Like That, Isn’t It by Larry Kirwan
I vaguely referenced this song in an earlier post. I love this song. Despite it saying Black 47 in the above video, this is actually the version from Larry Kirwan’s solo album. (Kirwan is the lead singer of Black 47.) I actually prefer the version on Black 47’s Elvis Murphy’s Green Suede Shoes, which has become my favorite album by the band. Kirwan is a great writer both in song and in prose. (They’re debut self titled album is definitely worth getting too. It’s hard to pick between the two. Home of the Brave, their third record, has a lot of great material on it, but is a bit overlong and a few clunkers on it.) His biography Green Suede Shoes: An Irish American Odyssey, as I have mentioned before, is one of my favorite rock n roll biographies ever, as Kirwan knows his history as well as his music. I wanted to reprint the lyrics, as they are really powerful, but I could not find them available anywhere. You’ll just have to listen.
I have just put up over 900 posts since I started this blog in August of last year. Slowly, but surely, the amount of people coming here has grown. I can’t thank all of you enough for spending time here.
The first thought I have when I write something is, “Why would anyone care?” I can only hope that there is enough people out there that have somewhat similar interests to me. I’m throwing baseballs blindly over a wall and hoping that there are people on the other side to catch them. I have only kept writing in public because of those of you that keep coming back.
Last night I played music in front of what looked like a couple thousand people at a festival in Conroe, Texas. However, I have played plenty of nights where there were maybe five or ten people in the audience. No matter what I try to always play my best. When we read we read alone. How many times have you gone to a movie and been one of the only people in the theater? There is still that chance that that book or movie or album or live performance might connect with someone. I can think of all the times that something connected with me in an important way when there was no one else to experience it. Everyone matters. If you do something and it even reaches even one person it has value. That person’s life has as much value as your own or anyone else’s. A connection with even one other soul has a little bit of magic in it. As long as someone keeps coming back I will keep writing.
Thanks again to all of you that keep coming here. If you would be kind enough to tell other’s of my writing I would be eternally grateful.
In the future when all’s well…
One of the books I’m picking my way through is Henry Rollins’s Get in the Van. The book is a tour journal of his time in Black Flag. In between a very realistic depiction of life on the road he expresses his inner thoughts. Many times these thoughts border on insanity from the constant exhaustion he faces. He is not only touring with Black Flag, but often going on spoken word tours in between those tours. They also have no money and are often touring under horrible conditions. Anyway, I read a couple pages with my morning coffee and what follows are a few excerpts that I took from about a five page portion of the book. This section actually takes place between all of the constant work when he is finally at home living in a shed. Yes between tours at this point he lives in a shed. He seems particularly adrift when he is not working. As insane as his schedule is, he seems to feel even more lost when he is not working. I recently put up a post about how there was a certain poetry to insanity. I also have a dark sense of humor and found a certain parts of what follows to be great. As my brother commented, “He’s got a real sweet mind.”
No one would understand that I see jungle on Prospect Street. Always jungle. Napalm falling through the polluted sunset. A village up ahead. People have been poisoned. Something was stolen from them in the night.
I wonder if there are people who destroy themselves without anyone else around to see them do it? Of course there are. People who cry alone. People who sit in silence with the lights off, silently burning. Not seeking seeking attention, but falling apart on their own. These people are heroes to me. Someone with enough stuff in them to take and not seek attention. I’m not saying that waving one’s arms for help is bad or weak. I’m sure there are thousands holed up in hot or freezing apartments, tool sheds, basements, just simmering. Ready to explode or cave in. Pressing their eyes to the keyhole. Scratching a clear space on a dirty window to have a look outside. Going to work. Waiters, dishwashers, grinding through shifts, punching out. Walking to a fast food place for dinner then going home. Living in a custom tailored hell.
I saw a couple of beer commercials. Fuck, they must have a lot of idiots watching. They make a drunk slob look cool. Why can’t they have Hitler ads? Ads with mushroom clouds going up with people riding motorcycles and drinking beers. That sounds nice and gross, just as gross as the ones on the box today.
The DNA in his semen could automatically code with any animal he put it into. Didn’t matter what he mated with, it would bear his children. He built an army of beasts, half-human, half-whatever. He lead them into the city. They put on clothes and blended in. No one seemed to notice until the moon was full.