If I Had My Life to Live Over

If I Had My Life to Live Over . . .

Steve had a house in Vermont. I recall him sharing me a poem (perhaps this one) about stopping to smell the roses.

That had a profound effect upon me. I knew I was not going to be great or written about in history books. I wanted, rather, to enjoy life.

My issue, it seems, is that I look at all the things I’ve done and I see a lot of fabulous experiences, but I know in the moment, they were not as fabulous as they should have been because I can’t just let go.

All these years later, I still need to pick more daisies.

Activist Briefing

This is the first of what I hope are many “briefings” on the activist world of Robert Owens. I’ve contacted Greenpeace! I have an interview with Lyn on Tuesday. I believe I may benefit greatly if I were to take some time here and lay out why I am moving in this direction, what I hope to give, and finally what I hope to get out of this change.

Firstly, come Saturday, I will have been unemployed for three months! I’ve tried—seriously! I may have been a little more persistent with one or two people, but I’ve been interviewing, phoning, and questioning until I’ve frustrated myself. I have been facing some of restaurants’ assholes and sucking up—telling them what they want to hear. Hardly a crime—but something that when I think about it—I wish I hadn’t done.

I’ve done a lot of reading, thinking, and arging over the environment and my views on it. I believe I have a great theory—but a little (or a lot) direction would not hurt me. It’s time for me to DO SOMETHING! It’s not a thing that can just be talked about (although that is important), but rather something that needs to be acted on. I can make a difference!

With that I will have my peace of mind. I can’t continue being a hypocrite.

Sketches

Passion . . .

A twenty-two year old Jackson Bryce was considering the notion of passion. “Ah,” he thought. “Passion, that’s it! And to think all of his was over some kid’s homework.” DOA had just ended—”I want to create that drama—I want to express my passion.”

“These fries need to be cooked longer, dude.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Dump them back, asshole.”

“Fuck you. We’re behind here. Go out and look pretty for the customers.”

“Fuck you man. Jesus Christ—you’s think I’d get a little fucking respect from a goddamn high school kid. But no—I fucking babysit the biggest assholes in Natick. Fucking A!!”

Jackson shuts the door to his office and plops down into his chair. He pushes back and slams his feet on the desk. He gets up—locks the door and again plops down in his chair, but now pulls out a drawer from the desk and rests his feet in it.

1989

One thing that seems popular today:
re-grouping/touring/recording of sixties or early seventies rock groups
The Who, Stones, re-issuing Lennon tunes/film, Monkees, Turtles, Lovin’ Spoonful, Pink FLoyd, the sudden popularity of the Dead

Selling out of musicians to corporate America
Steve Winwood, Michael Jackson, Eric Clapton, etc.

This seemingly was spurred by the movie The Big Chill in the early 1980s.  The popularity of the movie was brought about by the nerve it struck with the Baby Boomers.  It was about and for them.  In it there was great use of the Sixties music.  The movie was a hit—corporate America wanted to cash in—so the Sixties are “in”.  1960s music dominates advertisements, rock “legends” are resurrected, living off of the old glory, caching in on nostalgia.

I was caught up in this—as much as I like to think I was raised on this music—I wasn’t.  To an extent I was, but the Stones I know and remember is Emotional Rescue (when Dwight came over), I never heard of the Young Rascals, Traffic, Jefferson Airplane, etc.  To be true, I was quite into Neil Young, but Southern Man wasn’t my era, Hey Hey, My My was.

The Lost 45s caters to my bubble-gum music—Kung Fu Fighting, Jazzman, Billy Don’t Be a Hero. etc.

I was captured by corporate America—sucked into thinking this was my music—I really like the tunes (I’m not denying that), but I’m liking them re-hashed, re-spun, regurgitated.

I need to get more in-tuned to 1989—to today.  This needs to be done musically as well as politically, economically, etc.

Sullen Autumn

Three days in . . . alone
A Sunday—so I watch the boys
For the product of our video culture—what else can you ask for?

As much as I believe in the counter-culture
I am a waste case
I promote the wasteland
and I pat myself on the back

Lofty visions for a pathetic lad
Not even good enough to be called a "dreamer"
He says he has a good suicide note—
but it's as borrowed as is his time

If I were able to deal with Sir Lucifer
Would he want my soul?
And what could I possibly ask for in return?
What I need he could not offer—self respect.

my verse

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