Mumble-Jumbo

I just got home. It’s almost nine-thirty. I was running around today. I like to post a blog every other day as a matter of principle. So here I am writing about the mumble- jumbo of the day.

I woke up and tried to fix the lady friends car without much success. There was a bolt I couldn’t budge, so we took it to a mechanic up the street. He fixed it for thirty-five dollars The fat mechanic losses.

            I talked to Bill the smog guru about my case. Everything is moving along nicely. He even offered me a job. Bill’s a cool cat. He lived in San Francisco in the sixties. We have a lot in common. I didn’t live in San Francisco in the sixties but I lived there for a time. We were talking music and smog and jobs, before he got a phone call, and I had to leave for Martin’s.

            Martin and I worked on the Dust Covered Man. I laid down some backing vocals. Improvised stuff that left me feeling raw. Exposed. I killed the mood with my criticism of myself. It’s dumb to be critical, but I seldom feel comfortable in my own skin. It feels awkward when you kill the mood.

            Things are good beyond that. Things are real good. Don’t grasp, don’t cling, just swing.