Remains to Be Seen

You know what's funny about the Book of Job is how they make a big deal and expand everything out of the question of why bad things happen to good people. There's nothing to expand on there. It's because there's no justice! Simple. One liner, really. Don't let your teachers tell you otherwise. And as long as we're talking scripture, let me explain resurrections for you. They're what happen to pesky troublemakers who are not killed thoroughly enough. If you really want to avoid a resurrection, you can't just crucify the guy. You have to drive over his corpse with a battering ram afterwards and let the storks peck away at the flattened remains until there's simply nothing left to resurrect. Maybe a light a match after that, just to be 100%. Then let his followers come back and say they just talked to him! No one would believe them in a million years!
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Shouting Out

I am an oblivious sort of character. I achieve this in many ways. One way is to eat crunchy foods. When others are talking to you, your crunching can block them out. Cereal's usually good if it hasn't been in the milk too long. Or chips. Cookies. Not popcorn though. That's not loud enough. Who needs to look at that girl's dress again? There's a perfectly fascinating pattern in the sidewalk. So - uh - smooth and square. Plus you won't trip as much. When you see a large group of people in the distance, change course to avoid them. They might offer you some sort of clue. Stay away from TV and especially the internet. For God's sake, stay away from the internet or you will find out everything. Feel free to slip off in a musical trance if it pleases you more than to, say, receive tree pruning lessons from an elderly nun with bad breath.
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Another Magellanic Monday-hey-hey - Wait - Saturday

Well it's Saturday here in Vancouver, where the raspberries grow by the roadside and the bunny rabbits play with the racoons. And it blows my mind. It feels like the centre of the universe here sometimes. You get all four seasons in one day. Over the course of your outings, you may need to both dodge cars and leap over shopping carts. (If you miss, try not to be in a hurry like I was. Takes a long time to pick up those cans.) Oh yes, and we're due for our rainbow any moment now. There it is over there, I think. Kind of fading in. There's something I'm missing there, I'm sure, but I was just thinking about dwarf galaxies. I might have written about them before, with respect to size and how it affects time. This is how I might have put it: If something is far away, but enormous in size, it takes a long time to reach. But, if it's big enough, it's already here. (Its butt, however, remains beyond the limits of our rockets.) And as I gazed up in the starry sky last night, I saw the constellation of Oprah in alignment with Mercury, which represents Afghanistan. I knew something big was up.
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Where's My Classes?

While much of what I share concerning fame and/or notoriety might seem redundant at a point, there is one angle I've not explored much. How does one handle it gracefully? You don't have to be a star to get your face noticed any more. How then do you cope with being recognized? How do you like to hear chit-chat all the time? Well, are you going to go nuts? Has some stranger out there even already confronted you with that very question? This is all the shit you forget after you disappear for a while. You forget and then you can't think why you disappeared any more, so you come back! And the next time, you last a little longer, hopefully. So I'm through with the funny walks now. I've used that up. But it was fun. And that gargoyle was asking for a face slap this morning, I'm sorry. I would have done it, no matter what. The way they scowl at you! Why do people like that? And no more humping the bus stop post either. Cross my heart. I don't know if others think the attention makes me feel important or special. It doesn't. I would feel that way in spite of the attention. But if you have something to tell me, go ahead and say it loudly either on your cell phone or to your friend in my presence. I will hear it, no problem. And it won't make me start talking to myself angrily later on in public. I would do that anyway. And when I go looking for a gig, I won't pull my amp around on a roller board with a dog leash from venue to venue and ask each venue if I can plug my amp in there because it's been a hot day. I did that last time. And I must try to avoid looking or sounding too much like my imitators, too. Always a big mistake. (Unless I'm imitating myself.) I'm showing some class this time. Never mind what I said last time.
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I Think Therefore I'm Not

I have a very strong sense of my Freudian 'beast'. It truly is a monster. Remember Gollum from Lord of the Rings? Make him taller and gawkier. And give him a nice wristwatch. The precious! Yes. Put him in a modern warplane. What do you think will happen? I see fire and women and children running from the awful noise as jet engines compete with gurgling laughter. For this reason I try to be a thinking person. I go out of my way to question things around me and keep my conscious mind active. As long as I do that I'm all right. And I let my darkness out through song. Who knows what I might have been like if I didn't ever discover song writing? I hope not too much better off.
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Pass that Blowtorch

One thing that took me a long time to overcome was my fear of hell. My mother got me good with that one. One thing you can count on when you tell a trusting child that, if he does not behave, he will be burned and kept alive to feel the burning for ever, is that that child will think twice before misbehaving. His most dreaded nightmares will keep him in line. Side effects of this treatment might include gathering and growing shame and growing fear of punishment with every swear word uttered, every sexual thought, every failed test and so forth until the subject rests comfortably in a general state of depression. But in time we overcome our childhood fears. We develop and become more sophisticated. At least, I hope that's what happened in my case. Now I've turned it all around. I love fire. And of course Satan had nothing to do with it. It was Prometheus.
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Other People's Memories that Suck #1

There's a pretty decent German flick (with English subtitles) posted illegally online somewhere called 'Woman in Berlin.' It's about the fall of Berlin to the Red Army in 1945. Touchy stuff. I think it was extremely well done. It was all based on the diary of a young frau who survived the ordeal. The photography is excellent. The colour is there, but it has a slightly faded look. I don't know if this was deliberate, but it works. Naturally, it was all filmed on location. I was never once turned on sexually by the rape scenes. They were done most tastefully. (Please, I'm not trying to be funny.) Rape is serious business, and this film is one of the few works I've ever seen to deal with it squarely. By all accounts, the first wave of Russian troops to enter the city were professional soldiers and acted very decently towards their conquered. It was the second wave, the guys in the back, that did all the rapin and plunderin. (Those armies are all the same.) While the Russians come off looking like pigs in the context of this story, it is important to remember what the Germans had already done to them and to their families. There's a powerful line in the movie, spoken by a Russian soldier, that goes, 'We are not Germans; we don't shoot women...' I look upon the lead character as a kind of hero. She survived quite nobly under the circumstances. Then when she tried to publish her diary, she was vilified by other rape victims for not carrying on in a more socially acceptable state of denial. Poor dear.
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