Watch “Brittany Howard – He Loves Me (Official Live Session)” on YouTube

No rights: homage and mega ups to Brittany Howard of Alabama Shakes fame.

I saw them open for Crazy Horse in Tuscaloosa, AL.

There was a small wooden desk to stage right.

An awesome artist out of my home state.

Hometown heroes, huh?

Here are her thoughts on the South and music.
Deontay Wilder, falls into this category, too.

[sic. Wilhagan’s Irish Pub daze.]

(But, that’s another story.)

68 Coffeecake/86 Crab. tuesday

If you comment: it’s not exactly rocket science, you sound like you think you are a rocket scientist.

The silver couple arrives. She forgets my name but gives me a new one each day. Curly Sue. Dimples.

Today, I am Goldilocks.

She asks the bartender my name when she thinks I cannot hear. She suggests I read the poem Casey at the Bat. Hum, huh.

The village beach preservation busy body society has two tables held for them. One for the men and one for the women. Twelve seats total. Only three women come. They talk the politics of healthcare and about the addicts in their lives.

Our speakers play almost decent, easy listening blues. If you can imagine such a thing. Almost-Stevie Ray Vaughan comes on.

Nearly-Suite: Judy Blue Eyes plays.

We are slow enough that I actually noticemusic is playing.

And, time moves slowly now.

The reservation for six at noon became 4 at fifteen ’til

.All named Pat.

“You are pulling my leg, right?”

“No! It’s Pat’s Day. Okay, now I am kidding you about that. We are all named Pat.”

He and the other Pat (only two have arrived) laugh uproariously.

Mike comes by to make a reservation.

He shows me his Book of Answers.

“My wife found this in 2000. Ask a question and flip to any page.”

He carries a green street sign in a plastic sleeve under his left arm, hugged against his ribs.

He adds:”You don’t have to tell me the question.”

I silently ask the question on my mind.

Tolle Lege.

The page I flip to, it reads:

it is not guaranteed.

That figures: I think.

The thing about which I framed my inquiry is not guaranteable.

He and Tony will return for lunch tomorrow.

A regular left me this.

“Are You Happy Being A Schmuck? Lou Reed, Sydney 1975”

No rights: homage.

I am a part-time many things, but a full-time rock n’ roll animal.

While I am on record as not enjoying hearing musicians talk about their music, there are several notable exceptions that make the rule.

Neil Young, Johnny Lydon, Michael Stipe, Joni Mitchell, David Bowie.

But, my absolute favorite musician interviewee is Lou Reed.

This captures some of his essence.

This captures all the bizarreness of journalism and media.

“LeftSide Deafinit – Let Go (Official Video)”

No rights: homage to an artist i just came across for the first time.

Next level and on pointe.

Check out more here.

Chock full of symbolism, a vivacious beat that is well mixed, and

the video artwork left me wonderstruck.

To Nick a Horse’s Tail? Parçigal writes

I it is,

writing to you as A’ licentious Alice, a chalice, from AL by way of LA origin-ally, with houndstooth donned:

It is the sense of loving the moment. It is remembering the sensation of meta/physical love and then remembering the sensation of how it feels to lose it. That ache. That sense of how many times will they wreck me?. How many times will I play the Fool?

Again and again.

Why lose the Fool of yourself? If I killed the Fool inside to be hip, where did the real me go? With whom do you share your inner fool? Can guarding it be anything authentic?

In this mp3 and streaming world, a mix CD burned,

a cassette tape made,

breaks my heart right open. Is that why we have one?

This is not sadness; it is a necessary devouring of self.

A Happy Death.

My existential orientation continuously regenerates as at the point of origin, and I can be painfully patient; but,

does your silence actually speak: you are only useful until used?

Bemused at the thought. At you. By you.

And, a comma can change the entire meaning of a sentence: I say.

I know your way.

I knew before you showed me.

You play semantics and fancy it is a game?

<>

Splayed pieces parsed in preparation of a preheating oven.

The intimacy of this is but the sense of mind behind it.

I understood that years ago. I learnt it in a dream.

Tonight, I feel my patience hotly boil, as though I must make it into impatience simply to show you my elasticity.

You say: I’ve been here before.

So? I’ve been here forever: I reply,

Curtly but with a curtsey.

Here, where the desire to conduct currents raises meta/physical energy in the nerve endings concealed under my skin.

What a waste to not make use of it.

I would waste that energy on you alone.

Waste it in the face of

your silence.

I will howl until you howl back, to punish you.

Does that spook you,

you ghost of the man of May?

Giggle-snarl.

I espied your inconsistency immediately since taking my flight of departure.

Curious.

It was my mistake. I should not have allowed you to let me leave. I thought I was being kind, but I was only being polite. Stay. That’s what I really meant to say or do this time.

I abide still. I stoke fires. I test the limit.

I care for you. That is all. I can unconditionally hold you(,) dear.

My love is not tethered to needing love.

My devotion is my loyalty to my beloved. You endeared yourself to me.

I desire you. Now you must suffer the cost of your own, odd charms.

It is no matter of ‘should’ you, but rather, ‘could’ you

tell me true?

If you could, I hold you(,) dear.

If you could not, I hold you(,) dear.

<>

There is heavy magic in your air and I am magnetized.

Some integral things reduce to simple vibrations, to sounds, to sounds like bays, being transmitted through our air.

I wrote all these words first

in longhand to show you how inane I can be.

How frighteningly unafraid

you could be,

should you so choose, ewe.

Or, perhaps, your hands are tied.

Perhaps you have no choice but to be so.

I learn the record of your timeframes

still.

Deliciously diabolical it seems: both your pleasure and your desperation.

Does it make you forget which side of the road on which you ought to be driving?

Were you just checking out your mojo?

Taking me for a ride in your fast car?

There. Am I impressed?

Hum.

Good question.

Can you answer this: if I told you that your heart belongs to me now, would you hold your head up high in the air?

Could you even if you wanted?

Could you even say if you didn’t?

The difference between ‘can’ and ‘may.’

Simon says he went birdwatching but only saw his own feet.

Not many birds to be seen in that scene?

Just grounded, flightless birds, you adorable dodo.

<>

I saw a porcupine ripping out its own quills,

one by one by one,

by one at a time.

Onlookers horrified at the sight of so much blood.

The porcupine stabs them while they are stunned into stillness by the reverie-stupor of their surprise.

Slaying ampersand slain.

I see your look of discomfort at this friction.

<>

There was a slight drizzle of rain

as I laid myself

down to sleep early this morning.

I imagined how lovely it would be to

put my hand about your pelvic flair.

The jut of your hipbone.

Cup it like an anchor to

hold me fast

in what dreams may come.

[☆]

The night sky was so poorly lit, that I could see

moths flying away from it.

Fleeing the lack of light is not the same as seeking a light.

I raise my lantern for you tonight.

If it is lit

it is done so through and not by me.

But, for you is for whom I raise it.

A beckoning through a beacon.

Here is your

sea shore.

Fall, like a wave, upon me.

Surrender your summer-self and embrace the autumnal ewe, you.