Man The Invention

   
      I caught a cold. That's something. I'm getting ready to record a bunch of acoustic songs at a friend's ranch near Sequoia. It's gonna be just me and my guitars for a couple of days. I'm starting to think about fire wood and food. What kind of food should I take? 
      Oh yeah, I finished my album, Solar Road. It's on Bandcamp under The Glen Livers. I need to promote it better, but I'd rather work on my art. I got the book to edit, and songs to write, and a crapper to build. Life is good when the mind is active. My problem is, I'm scattered. There are so many interesting things to learn about. Old songs, and AI, and crypto-currency, and good bots and bad bots, and block chains. The world's economy is changing right before our eyes and it has little to do with man force, or everything to do with it. I'm not sure what's going to happen. Greed probably. A different kind of greed, but greed nevertheless. 

Flying Matresses

      I figured out why mattresses and seat cushions fly out of trucks on the freeway. It's because they know they're going to a home with a cat. Or worse yet, cats. And the thought of the impending torture is too much for them. So they panic and let the wind hit their sails and fly away.
      I'm not sure if they think it all the way through though. The chances of getting hit by a car on the freeway are pretty good. But it must be worth the risk. Death by a car, or a lifetime of claw scratches. That's a tough one. Either way I could understand their concern. 
      If they're lucky the cat will use the couch as a scratching post, but then the mattress or seat cushion will have to listen to the couch's cries for help and agony. And that's no way to live. So it makes sense to jump out of the truck while you have the chance. 
      It took me years to figure this out, but if anybody out there has a question or problem that needs solving let me know. Sooner or later I'll come up with the answer. 

Manson

On Charles Manson: he gave hippies a bad name. 

The Show Must Go On

      I have a show with The Glen Livers on Monday at the historic Dresden Room. It's an LA institution. I've been trying for weeks not to get sick. It seems everyone around me has been sick with a cough or a cold, and as the singer of the band I can't let that happen.
      My body was starting to feel achy yesterday, so I shut it down and came home early from a party to go to bed. I've been taking mega-doses of vitamin C and eating turmeric, ginger, and habenro chilies, and drinking lemon tea with honey and cayenne pepper. I took an ibu yesterday when I started to feel achy. I feel pretty good today, but I do have some phlegm in my throat. Any variance in the throat can make a huge difference in the tone and quality of my singing. 
      My gut says my voice isn't going to be at its best, but at least I don't have a sore throat or a cough. I'll have to fight through it somehow, and sing the best I can with what I got. 

Daylight, More Night

      I fell asleep early last night. Daylight savings hour had me confused. I'm pretty good at guessing the time in the morning by looking at the sunlight. I can figure it out with a plus or minus of ten minutes. But today I had no idea. It seems silly and a bit arrogant to manipulate time like that. It doesn't make any sense to me. 
      A coyote and a possum were at war while I was sleeping. I heard the coyote chasing the possum and the possum was squealing as he ran away. I'm pretty sure the possum climbed a tree and escaped. My head felt heavy like a bowling ball. I could barely move it I was sleeping so hard. I didn't bother to get up and look. I just lay stiff in bed. 
      The possum had been licking the grease off of my barbecue. He wasn't shy about it either. He'd make a bunch of noise while he greedily went at it. He came back two or three days in a row. I saw him doing it a few times and figured it was only a matter of time before a coyote caught wind of it. Sure enough, last night was the night and the chase was on. 
      Everything is peaceful now. Just hawks circling for squirrels, and the sound of leaf blowers in the distance. And of course sirens on Figueroa street for the human casualties in life.

The Proletariat

      It's tough being part of the proletariat. You work hard for not much money, and you have do things you don't want to do to make ends meet. At my peak membership I was waking up at 5:30 am to be at work by 6:30. Those were what I refer to as the "dark days." The lost days, so to speak, when I was trying my best to fit into society and make something good of myself. After work, I'd go to my university, where I'd nap in the student union in between classes just to get by.
      When my college days were over I found any old job to pay the rent. The one job perk I had was a week's paid vacation, but I never had enough money to go anywhere far. The cruelty of it was I'd see advertisements in magazines and billboards of tropical paradises with beautiful women sunning themselves in bikinis. They'd have a drink in their hand and a pair of sunglasses on their face. It seemed like at every turn there was a billboard for Cancun, Fiji, Hawaii, or someplace nice like that. Not that I'd want to go to a tourist destination, but still.
      That was my life as a proletariat. I was a good soldier. I payed my taxes, which I saw as a fee for residency in the United States. I followed the rules, mostly.  
      I'm part of the artisan class now, which is like being part of the proletariat, but I set my own hours. Now, I make even less money than I did before. 

Discipline

      Sometimes you need a kick in the pants to put things in perspective. There are some people in this world, artists and otherwise, who are prolific. My painter friend is one of those. I talked to him today at his studio, and came away feeling inspired. He writes a blog a day, which is amazing to me. He never misses a day either, and he's a painter. I felt small talking to him about it. I realize that he and I are different people, but it did strike me as odd that he writes more than I do.
      It's no coincidence that he's prolific. He has discipline. You have to put the time in. No time, no results. I put the time in, but I'm not a maniac about it. I should be though, not knowing how much time I have left. It's easy to think you have all the time in the world, but you don't. Wasting time is life's crime. And it's easy to do with all the distractions in the world, cell phones and what not. I've wasted a lot of time in my life.   Now when I see others wasting time it makes me angry. Probably because it reminds me of myself, and all the days I took for granted.