free pass

just when you thought there was no more room at the inn, or here at the festival, for that matter, because the screaming throngs of adoring fans just cannot keep away and you are really not into the mosh pit scene anymore, there's a seat right down front with your name on it... yes, your name, just try it out... it's right down there at the bottom of this entry... just click your way in on your very own link (see below)... your personal private access code and secret password is:

COMMENTS

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ok then, that wasn't too pathetic a joke, aye?... yeah, lonely as usual and loving the fact that i can make a mockery of it and myself in public just so maybe somebody might be amused with me and then i won't be so lonely as usual, right... so tonight was supposed to be an active night and a step back to the drop-the-gut path, but the storms overhead cancelled the softball and then... the poet called to see if i wanted to go downtown for dinner, but no i said no, no more eating out this week (twice is enough, or ws that three times... is today thursday?)... then another guy called and wanted to know if i want to go see .38 special next week... maybe... but the decision i made for the moment was to come home and ponder my navel (and dinner for fans of keeping it real)...

and on my way back from my aborted walk to the gym (i got downstairs and found the pouring rain just beginning as i grabbed my cellphone from my car... i'd have been caught halfway between the gym and the apartment if i didn't leave my cellphone in my car... and then, pow smash bang kaboom, i wouldn't be writing this cuz i'd be dead on account of lightning... it happens, ya know... or else i might be freezing soaking wet icicle-like at the gym and catch pneumonia and die... or something like that...

so instead i came here, to the garden of this madhouse, and you have me, you lucky people (even if you aren't in your chairs at the moment and you are out gallivanting in the rain or sun or shine or night or dreams, you know i write these words for you and only you, right?)...

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but hey, and seriously now (really?), what's happening in the world, anyway?... i have no idea what's going on in the baseball playoffs or football seasons or anything important... and what about the mundane details?... is the election over?... how about the war?... did any storms destroy new orleans or anywhere else this year?... is the president still smirking?... did he get up to a fourth grade reading level yet?... i am so interested in the state of the union of humanity as it slowly dissolves into the ooze from which it came... some say god is in the ooze, ya know... some people...

but what really matters is... what's happening to the cheerleader, dangit!...

life without a tv is traumatic at times, ya know?... yeah, so now i'm sitting here after savoring leftover seafood alfredo and mushroom ravioli and remembering how much i love jewel (her, the singer, songwriter, not the stone, or family of) while i am munching on dessert (an assortment of grains and fruits and nuts bathed in rice milk) and yeah, there was a time i avoided her because of the foolish games so all too well reminded me of because of her gift with words and there's also the question of her spirituality cuz i wonder about such belief systems when i am imagining getting into where such belief systems and deep rooted dreams and hopes and fears and the true person inside lives... there are a few people in this world i would love to talk to and she is one... how much of her thereal was in those words she sang... how much of the few hours of words and music truly represents who she is down deep where she is who she is for real... and i wonder if she's as sensitive aa she sometimes appears and then, that voice that inspires those big eyes (mine, not hers... in fact, she's got kind of beady squinty eyes, come to think of it) asks rhetorically (hense no question mark), sensitive?... how could she be, she's a success...

yeah,
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anyway, i never gave spirit (her cd, jewel, that is, the singer, not the rocks, not that she doesn't, rick (of course i meant rock, but if she wanbted to ric, we could certainly discuss it), that is, cuz surely she rocks, though not in the hard core way, more in the joni mitchell, judy collins way with maybe some joan baez tossed in for good measure)... and looking at her cd photo the mind suggests that she and rene zellweiger could be bookends... matching, if you like... not necessarily naked, they could wear matching t-shirts and panties... dang that cheerleader infected my brain... what's that?... libido never went to england, must have been smash... i should put on shawn colvin singing words... now there's a classic poem set to music... what's that?... it's only words, and words are all i have to take your heart away... la la la la la la la...

but what i was getting to if all these other women would just leave us alone for a moment (sheesh, i mean, really... it's tough being irresistible to the deep ones) is that i adore her (jewel, the singer, not the... soft drink) voice and her singing style...

does that mean i am depressed?

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that depends, how much does a depressed person laugh?... yeah, well, ummmm, ok, so this entry comes from that place that has no name and could not be found on a map even if it had one... having fun with the wondering wandering way of the babbler as he window shops along the avenues of my mind... get the visual, it's really cool... feel free to throw in a few windmills while you at it, it's your visual, after all... i miss sarah mac too...

still, i sense the conformity and shudder to think even the most creative and seemingly independent among us may not actually think for themselves... whatcha think? :)

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Happy Birthday John