The Snake Won

            Yesterday was rot with plumbing problems. The mainline was backed up and it wasn’t pretty. A plumber showed up, but he didn’t have any luck unclogging it. He was quick to assume that the pipes were filled with roots and that they needed to be replaced. He said it would be expensive to fix unless I did the digging to save money. He was a problem solver and I appreciated that. The plumber had another call. He took off, but he said he’d come back later in the day. He gave me the plan of attack, which I quickly forgot.

            I started digging, but after an hour of digging, I realized that I didn’t want to be the digger, so I stopped and hashed out an idea that made more sense to me. I figured before we went crazy replacing pipes we should try once more to snake the pipes from a different access point. That’s what we did and after numerous attempts at snaking the pipes, the snake won.

The Man

            I did my Saturday gig in Venice. It was pretty much the same. I got paid and the money from the gig will soon be spent on studio time to finish recording Things Have Gone and Changed. It’s a hand to mouth existence, but it beats the alternative of working for the man. Working for the man in my experience has been a disappointment. The man doesn’t care about his labor. The man has nickel and dimed me. The man seldom has money for a raise. He’ll squeeze you dry if you let him. If I’m going to be dry it might as well be on my terms, and it might well be by playing music, and writing books. After all who needs the man anyways?

Freedom

            I had to work on Independence Day, so much for freedom. I played a gig in Venice. The usual suspects were there. Tree Man and the others. I didn’t get a chance to see many fireworks. After my gig I took a stroll on the beach. It must have been about eleven o’clock. I was walking on the sand heading toward the water when I saw a flying butterfly in the sky. It exploded beautifully in the distance. I love fireworks. It’s a nice contrast to the dark sky.

I happened to have a harmonica in my pocket. It’s a long story. I’ll save you the details. I started to play it as walked toward the water. There was nobody on the beach. It was dark and empty. Perfect. I thought this would make a great movie. A man playing the harmonica on an empty beach. I started blow the harp real load. I was just playing any old thing. It didn't matter. I was alone.

            I made it to the water. The ocean was calm. I bent down and touched it with my hand. I stepped back and took a look around. Ahh, freedom.  

Incense Cedar

            I did my gig in Venice on Saturday. Tree Man sat in with us again. I love Tree Man. Oddly enough; I was on my way to dip my toes in the ocean on a break when I saw a man standing on a flatbed truck in the parking lot. He was moving what looked like infant pine trees around.

            “Are those pine trees?” I asked.

            “Incense Cedar,” he replied.

            He was a volunteer for an organization called Vietnam Vets for Trees or something like that. He was wearing a cowboy hat and had on a pair dark sunglasses. He proceeded to give me a lesson on Incense Cedar Trees. Then he gave me a seedling to take home. I was happy to have the tree. I walked the tree to my car and placed it in a cup holder for safe keeping. It looked like a little hitchhiker sitting there.

            I didn’t get a chance to dip my toes in the water, but on the way back to the bar I saw a man in leopard skin shorts dancing on the boardwalk with two sacks on his head, a sack of beans, and a sack of rice.  

The Muse

            The muse. I seldom talk about the muse. I suppose every artist should have an opinion about the muse. I find it interesting when artist offer their opinions regarding the subject. They tend to become animated, expressive, philosophical, and even poetic when they talk about the muse. The muse isn’t all that important to me. I seldom if ever think about her or him. It’s romantic to ponder and it has a long history in art, but for me it’s the process that keeps me interested. The muse is everywhere at anytime, but usually when you least expect it, so pay attention. That’s my philosophy when it comes to the muse.

However, when I saw an online ad written by a young lady wanting to be a muse, I responded.

            “I can always use a muse,” I answered.

            “What’s your medium?” she answered back.

             I'm a amused.

First Light

I woke up early this morning. It was four when I woke up. I tried to go back to sleep, but I didn’t have it in me. I checked my email, and put in some work on a bag of sunflower seeds that I had bought earlier in the evening. I had one handful of seeds that led to another. I couldn’t stop myself. Sunflower seeds are addicting. I sat there at my computer reading the news and cracking seeds.

            Soon it was the first light. With the first light the birds became animated. You’d think I was in Africa, not Los Angeles. There was a baby hawk squealing in a tree, and blue jay hacking. I was lying there listening to doves and finches and sparrows. There was an orchestra of birds singing. The night shift had ended and the day shift had begun. It was the celebration of the sun. It was so beautiful, it put me to sleep.  

Tree Man

I was at my Saturday gig in Venice Beach. All was calm for Venice, when our singer mid song yelled out, “there’s Tree Man!”

            I looked out the window and I saw a tall figure dressed like tree. He was on stilts. The stilts made him at least ten feet tall. He was a slender tree. He’s face was painted green and he had leaves and branches coming off of him. He was dancing on the boardwalk as we played. I laughed hardily.

            “Come sing a song Tree Man!” our singer said.

            Next thing I knew Tree Man was ducking down to lower himself through the front door to the bar. He took a few stiff steps towards the stage. He grabbed the microphone, and started to sing.

            “Sitting on the dock of the bay, I’ll be watching the tide roll away.” Tree Man had a good voice. I looked outside while he was singing. There was a short disheveled man with a mustache balancing a thirty-four ounce half filled plastic water bottle on his head.