generally people don’t listen to me when I talk. and for that reason I have a tendency to be harsh, which gets people listening. which offends people occasionally, and for them and that I am sorry.
an excuse ruins an apology doesn’t it?

I got it! trust in ebay. I received my Guitar Trio video. Made up of John Mclaughlin, Larry Corryell, and Paco de Lucia. I have to say John cleaned up, kicked ass. Beauty in struggle. That man has so much to say at any given moment. And with a box of wood supporting six steel strings stretched to near breaking point…he can say more with one note than I bet some folks do in a lifetime. I like the idea of an exploding guitar….I don’t mean pyrotechnics of the KISS kind. but when your on stage, just blowing, just wailing, on your meager instrument, saying so much with it that you’re tearing every molecule apart. That’s the exploding guitar. That’s the exploding life.

Plus John makes the best guitar faces.

so I’ll put my faith in nobody. anyone who says they know, really doesn’t. settling in your ways is the death of you? everything we see should be ripped apart and looked at. I think there’s musicians and painters and poets and tradespeople! that know more about God than any priest. just imagine a tradesperson working under a lathe, working down that last thousandths of an inch in that moment, there’s a spiritual beauty in that.

I got my girl guide cookies today. They really should give them out earlier in the winter. I could have used them weeks ago. Not so close to the end. Not so close to summer.

Instrumental music is extremely important to me. It’s the hardest to pull off it seems. I played with a piano player last weekend. The piano is a monstrous percussive instrument. It intimidates my guitar. My guitar would be perfectly happy to rest beneath my hands, and have me find some girl to serenade through the night. Oh my, actually I would settle for that…but part of me wants to make my acoustic guitar scream and have all the world hear every unison lick.

whose hands are these cut and bruised at the end of these arms?
my hands are changing it seems. they are giving a lot of themselves, to build grocery stores and beetles.

the mind is like the richest soil. regrets and worries are the worst of weeds. leave them there and they will grow wide and thorny.

I feel grateful and fortunate for the experiences I’ve had, and I wonder just how much I can possibly deserve.

where do you put your meaning and reason and faith?

putting it in gratification from others is kind of like putting it in money. there’s only so much to go around. if bobby has got that silver dollar, well he’s got it. bobby has it, and I don’t, and I can spend my whole life trying to earn it but I may never get it…
on the other hand I just might end up with it, but that means that you (my friend) don’t.

so what’s the one thing we all have all the time?

You are drowning. I’m drowning. We’re in our own unique drowning pools but the streams connecting us all lead here. Which faces do we wear while we’re reaching out together in the night giving life a great big kiss? And which do you wear when it’s just you and the universe (and online epiphany)?

There’s all that I’m not. There’s all that I would like to be. Somewhere in between there is all that I am. The part that is running…not so concerned with where we were, or where we’re going. And that’s just fine because I run with love. I have no need for goals or ambitions because I just run.
In this place between all that I am not and all that I want to be there really only is love.

well, sometimes I actually like it. only every now and then. while I’m walking home in the middle of the night. and the snow is falling like shooting stars under streetlamps. and the white stuff covering our homes and trees and streets seems nicely absurd. and I don’t feel guilty about spoiling it with my foosteps because the snow will cover my mark up soon enough, and I’m not looking behind anyhow.