I Don't Speak the Language

I stayed in for most of the day. When I finally left the house I looked down at my shoes and I realized I was still wearing my slippers. I remedied the problem and went on my way.

            It has occurred to me that Los Angeles is full of want to be’s. They come here from all over the world and take on a strange insecure approach to life. A simple email can turn into a calamity. It’s asking too much for a response. Maybe it’s the way of the world now a days and I’m out of touch, but when I was growing up your word was golden. Folks don’t even try to be polite anymore. That would be too easy, you have to stretch it out, make a game of it, use your power. A simple email can turn into a sexual escapade in an instant. Being communicative is almost like making a pass. It’s nuts! The thing about it is, the real people, the nice people, the cool people, the people who should be movie stars, the people who are polite in Los Angeles often times don’t speak the language. 

Capitalism is a Bitch

            I got a handle on the song I’ve been working on. It came to me magically the other night. It’s working out pretty well. I’ll fiddle with it some more, and work out the details before I sign my name to it.

            I helped a friend move yesterday. It wasn’t easy. His wife is a bit of a hoarder, and they weren’t all that organized. To top it off his wife had bad ideas. My friend and I were doing all the work, but every once in while he would defer to her for ideas. She would inevitably say something that didn’t make sense. I ignored it, but it didn’t do much for my hypertension.

            Capitalism is a bitch that’s the way I see it. I‘m a capitalist, but I don't need much. Sometimes I wonder if folks have their heads screwed on right. The furniture my buddy had was heavy. The bed frame alone used half a tree to make. There was a marble table that looked like it took a huge chunk out of Italy. There’s half a mountain side missing somewhere in the world as a result of this table. Yes indeed, capitalism is a bitch, a back-breaking bitch. 

Song #2

            My trick for forgetting the song didn’t work. I took a train downtown yesterday and couldn’t think about anything else. I tried to put it out of my mind, but it didn’t work. I’ve been working on it without pen and paper. It’s in my head, but still not finished. It’s going to be one of those songs that take’s a while. I like the songs that write themselves. Too much thinking can kill a song. I have to give it time, but I’m an addict. I can’t stop myself from trying to put the puzzle together. It’s like wondering if a girl likes you or not. I’m trying to say the right things to get the romance started. 

Song Writing

            I think I spoke too soon when I said the songs were coming easy. I was working on a new one and it was flowing pretty good, when I got stuck. Now I’m running the risk of creating something that is contrived. There’s nothing worse than that. It’s bad for everybody, the listener, the artist, it’s just a bad scene. I’m going to let it go, not try, regroup, rather than force it. I hope it works out. I like the chord structure and the melody, but I can’t seem to fit the words in without it sounding preachy. The words are thematic. I haven’t had much luck with themes in the past. Sometimes if I don’t think about it, the words will come. But I can't pretend to not think about it, it has to be honest, sincere, there's no tricking the cosmos, not even on Halloween.
 

The Cosmos

It’s one of those perfect days in Los Angeles. Not too hot, not too cool. But don’t move out here all at once, we still have lot's of traffic.

            I’ve been keeping busy stacking rocks. I’m making a flowerbed near my cabin. In between rocks I’ll jot down words to a song I’m working on. The songs are coming one after another. I think the cosmos are trying to tell me something. I don't hear voices exactly, but I do listen. I highly recommend you just sit and listen. But if you hear something that involves guns and murder, check yourself in case you're nuts. 

1968 Oldsmobile

      I took a look at a car today. It was a 1968 Oldsmobile 98 with a 454 engine. It’s not all that practical but, it is a convertible. It’s a beautiful car. It's been sitting for years, it's beat up, but romantic. There was a kid selling the car for his parents. He was a nice kid. He was a twenty-nine year old attorney but not a practicing attorney. He seemed wise beyond his years. He had tiny eyes, like a cowboy's eyes in the sunlight. We talked for twenty minutes or so before I hit the road. I really want the car but it does need work. It's a little piece of history and I'm a sucker for history. 

Train

      I’ve been riding the train to get around. I’m in between cars. Being in between cars is like being in between girlfriends in many respects. I don’t mind the train. I rode the train for years when I lived in San Francisco. It’s always an adventure. I like it. I feel like I’m on the road traveling, but I’m just seeing the city in a different light. It takes longer, but I’m not in a rush. The tricky part is walking once I’m off the train. I haven’t mastered the connections yet. I don’t think it will be that bad once I set my bike up. I’m looking forward to the exercise.