Helena Ekdahl

"The happy, splendid life is over, and the horrible, dirty life is engulfing us."
(From "Fanny and Alexander.")

Christmas at my house

I've always wanted a sock monkey! Thanks to my sister.

 

 

 

MERRY CHRISTMAS...

...to anyone out there. (Yet another Christmas alone.)

 

Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology

We made it past the end of the Mayan calender (aka "The End of the World")!
I read an article, recently, about what the few remaining Mayans (who knew?) had to say on the subject. They said it wasn't about the end of the world at all, but it was the beginning of a new phase. They were excited and optimistic - so I've decided to follow their lead.
Why?
I say, "Why not?"

I don't believe in astrology, but I still read my horoscope. Below is one of the more interesting ones I've had, in recent memory. I'm going to lump it together with the Mayan thing and hope for a positive change in the new year.

 

Senseless...

Last Friday, December 14, 2012, a young man in Connecticut killed his mother, then went on a shooting rampage at nearby Sandy Hook Elementary School. The final grisly result was 28 people dead (including the gunman). Twenty small children were killed.
People try to make sense of these atrocities. They always ask, "Why? How?" We may never find suitable answers to these questions. I do know one thing, though: When something like this happens, it underscores how fragile and precious our time on this planet is. We should all try to make the best of it - and spread some joy, love and compassion.

12/12/12

Last Wednesday was 12/12/12. It will be another 100 years before that happens again. And, as there is no chance for 13/13/13, it will be nearly as long before ANY numbers line up again.
Just a thought.

Road Jam

Last Friday I made a trip to UNC hospital for a check-up. This is what I listened to on the road. By the way, the news was all good. Yay for me!

 

onlinecrosswords.net

I'm obsessed with the guy from onlinecrosswords.net. What does the rest of him look like? Who is he?

 

From our local paper.

 

Overwhelmed.

The last time I posted was in September!
It's 1:30 in the morning. It's raining. I'm exhausted. I haven't been able to sleep for 2 days. I'm sitting here looking at this computer screen, and my eyes are killing me. I'm overwhelmed by the notion of dying alone. That's about all I have to say. I'll attempt to be more up-beat in future posts. I'm going back to bed.

A & K

I'm still here.
No major health issues lately, so that's good.
It's raining right now - a nice steady rain, with a little thunder. I find it peaceful.
I've been working on a story, so I haven't been adding anything new to this blog. Whenever I feel creative, I go to the story project. I only have so much creativity to go around...
I'm worried about a lot of things in my life, but I don't feel like going into all of that now. I try to stay positive.
My dog Scooter is under my desk. I think the thunder is making him nervous. Everything makes him nervous. He's a nervous little dog.
I don't know where I'm going with this post. I guess I just felt like checking in. I'll be back ... eventually.

Thinkin' 'bout the Pointers.

Recently, I've had the Pointer Sisters on my mind. Now, the 80s stuff was pleasant enough, but me, I loved them in the early 70s when they wore the 40s thrift store clothes and sounded gritty and funky - and jazzy. That jazz stuff knocks me out, to this day. So, lately, I've been listening to the best of the Blue Note years, in the house and the car. Yesterday, I started trying to remember which one of the sisters (there ARE [were] 4 of them) went solo in the late 70s and had a couple of disco hits. I checked my "54" soundtrack disc, and yep, it was Bonnie. So, I sit down at my desk, fire up my lap-top, and BOOM! there's a big photo of Bonnie on my home page. It was her birthday!! She's 62! How do things like that happen? It almost makes you want to "believe in something..."

 

A & K.

Yeah, I'm still here (he says to no one). I've been doing a bit of writing elsewhere, which has been the outlet that the blog would normally be. I think I'm best suited, at least at this point, to write for myself - then, when I've finished something, I'll just present it to ... whomever. Anyway, the point is: I'm still alive and kicking. Not as high as I once was, but it sure beats the alternative (or so I am told).

RIP MCA. May 4, 2012.

 

Good-bye, Maurice Sendak. May 8, 2012.

 

Ok, two things. First, I've updated my "Songs I Never Tire Of" list. Every time I turn the radio on in the car, I hear something else. Secondly, Blogger has changed things up again - and I'm hating it. I see no improvements, only negative change. I can't understand the thought that goes on behind this sort of thing. I had to figure out how to add the new songs to my list. Boo Blogger!

Somebody help me.

I was going to try to keep this new blog fairly positive and light, but I gotta tell ya - I'm down. I'm bewildered. I'm tormented.
WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?!
I'm a nobody. I've never done anything and I'm never going to do anything. I'm taking up space. I'm old and in the way. But I feel horrible when I see extremely talented people - artists - die. It doesn't seem fair. They have a few years, they're amazing and innovative, they give it all they've got - then they're gone. Ashes. Dust. What difference does it make that Chet Atkins could really play that guitar? Or that Ella sure could sing? Kurt Vonnegut was some kind of writer, wasn't he? Leonardo painted some nice pictures, didn't he? When it came time for them to die, they died.
But they left a "legacy," you may say. Is that what it's all about - leaving something behind? Me? I'm nothing. I'll leave nothing.
WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO? THINK? BELIEVE IN? DOES ANYTHING MATTER AT ALL?!
Toward the end, Dick Clark told someone that he would trade all of his wealth and fame just to be able to walk again.
WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?!
Everything saddens me.
People, the world over, create and perpetuate fairy tales to make themselves feel better about their mortality. Even that saddens me.

Songs I never tire of.

These are songs that excite me as much today as they did the first time I heard them - some more than 35 years ago. Isn't that something?
I left out some of the more obscure stuff. These are mostly radio friendly tunes.

"Jungle Love" by The Steve Miller Band.
"Bungle in the Jungle" by Jethro Tull.
"Cars" by Gary Numan.
"Brown Sugar" by The Rolling Stones.
"La Grange" by Z.Z.Top
"Maggie May" by Rod Stewart.
"Rock-n-Roll Part 2" by Gary Glitter.
"Bang a Gong" by T.Rex.
"I Can't Wait" by Nu Shooz.
"Do Fries Go With That Shake?" by George Clinton.
"Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult.
"Get Down Tonight" by K.C. and the Sunshine Band.
"Dancing Barefoot" by Patti Smith.
"American Band" by Grand Funk Railroad.
"Hello, It's Me" by Todd Rundgren.
"Private Idaho" by the B52's.
"Use Me" by Bill Withers.
"Fire" by the Ohio Players.
"Free Ride" by the Edgar Winter Group.
"The Joker" by the Steve Miller Band.
"It Takes Two" by Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock.
"Black Dog" by Led Zeppelin.
"Low Rider" by War.
"White Wedding" by Billy Idol.
"She Sells Sanctuary" by The Cult.
"Free Man in Paris" by Joni Mitchell.
"Let It Ride" by Bachman Turner Overdrive.
"Land of a Thousand Dances" by Wilson Pickett.
"Groove is in the Heart" by Deee-lite.
"Electric Avenue" by Eddie Grant.
"Lady Marmalade" by LaBelle.
"We've Only Just Begun" by The Carpenters.
"More Than a Feeling" by Boston.
"Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting" by Sir Elton John.
"Who's That Lady?" by the Isley Brothers.
"Werewolves of London" by Warren Zevon.
"Hold Your Head Up" by Argent.

The Punk Rock Rack is Back, Jack!!

This is its 3rd incarnation. I had to modify it a bit, this time. I figure my hoopty is wrecked and ugly, so I might as well make it useful. I've already hauled a stack of plywood and 3 doors.

 

Smith-Douglass fertilizer plant.

This is where my dad worked when I was a kid. As he died when I was 14, it's the only place I ever remember him working - although he told me about other jobs. He used to plow fields, with a mule, 10 hours a day, for one dollar a day. He also worked with a mule, pulling logs out of the woods. That job was called "Mule Skinner." There's an old song called "Mule Skinner Blues." My dad's name was Blue. He was "Mule Skinner Blue." He worked in the installation and repair department at Sears Roebuck. And he worked at another fertilizer plant, in a nearby town.
This photo must have been taken early on, as I remember things a bit differently. There was another building beside the washroom (the small white structure on the right) and the sign out front seemed much larger than the one pictured here.
I grew up in that plant. I knew it inside and out. I can still remember the dust and the smells. I recall feeding the German Shepherd that guarded the back door of the office. I can remember walking across the platform at the front of the building with my dad. He was singing "May the Bird of Paradise Fly up Your Nose." Sometimes, when he shaved in the wash house, he'd let me "shave" at the sink next to him. (He'd give me a hand full of shaving cream and a razor with no blade.) At the back of the building, where the railroad tracks ran off into the woods, there was a trestle. We sometimes walked across it. It seemed magical - and scary. I saw my first fox by the trestle.
My sister thinks that may be my dad's car at the center of the photo. Could be.

 

RUBY STARR at The Crest.

I found this card, during my shop cleaning project, advertising upcoming shows at The Crest, May 1979. The Crest was a rock-n-roll club in Wrightsville Beach, NC. Now, 33 years later, it's a fitness center. A fitness center!
I have such fond memories of The Crest. My friends and I were there every weekend. And I am so happy that, on May 13, 1979, when I was 18 years old, I saw Miss Ruby Starr there. She made her entrance by doing a cart wheel in heels and a mini skirt. The show was high energy and her singing was superb. The woman should have been a big star. Sadly, she passed away in 1995. I miss her.

 

 

View Master.

While cleaning out my attic, recently, I came across a packet of View Master reels entitled, "Prehistoric Animals." I still have all of my View Master stuff from 1966-1968. A couple of years ago, I purchased a View Master projector at a flea market. I always wanted one, as a kid, but couldn't afford it. The Standard model (like my flea market find) sold for $8.95, in those days. The Deluxe model sold for $17.50, while the Custom model was $29.50! What made it "custom," I haven't a clue.

 

 

It still matters to me.

Have you ever gotten an email from someone who can't spell. You'd think that spelling would be no problem, these days. All you have to do is hit Spell Check, right? But correct spelling doesn't seem to be a high priority in our modern hi-tech world. And some researchers are suggesting that, maybe, it just doesn't matter:

Aoccdrnig to a reeschraer at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht hthe frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

Allen D. Bragdon

(Wow, it was fun Spell Check-ing this post!)

The last couple of days.

I continue to have sleeping problems. I have the strangest dreams all night. Some of them are horrible. I wake up feverishly hot, every few hours. And one leg - the right one, from hip to ankle - aches at night. Only one leg. Only at night.
I had some sugar free pudding last night. There is some ingredient in it that doesn't agree with my condition. I've noticed it before. When it comes to diet, I try to look for trends. I try to work my way around them.
Having said all that, I have felt better in the last few weeks than I have in some time. I know it won't last, so I'm trying to get some things done. I cleaned out my shop, recently, and the last couple of days have been spent clearing out my attic.
My attic is a raw, unfinished, creepy place - with lots of suspect wiring. Some of the stuff that was up there has been there for 40 or more years. No valuable antiques, mind you, just trash. When I piled it up outside and surveyed it, I felt like one of those hoarder people from TV. 95% of it was garbage. I did find a couple of interesting things: my wedding certificate, some report cards, my GED diploma, some old German coins. And a lot of childhood artwork. I was a prolific "artist" in those days. The things I saved fit into 3 small boxes.
God, it makes me feel good to get rid of clutter! I'm a collector by nature (I have a theory about growing up dirt poor and having nothing), but I'm not going to live in filth.

"High" school photo... (Late 70s)

 

A pleasant little surprise.

In the late 80s, I was a freshly divorced "free spirit." I felt creative and alive! I was hanging around with the downtown crowd: gays, artists, musicians, drag queens, interesting street people and poor little rich kids, who slummed with us and then went home to their parent's historic mansions. My little group were sort of post punk/goth/glamsters - ready to wreak havoc on the dance floor at the drop of a pill box hat (black, of course). The downtown scene was the closest thing to an accepting, liberal experience one could find in my area. Which is not to say it was without its risks. Even there, we stood out - and were sometimes accosted.
Around this time, my nephew told me about a friend of his who was looking for musicians to start a band. I went down to the beach to meet him. Not one of the nearby beaches, but one that was further away, and a good deal more rural. We started playing and I began to spend my weekends down there. This particular beach crowd was really removed from the crowd I had been hanging with. This was a whole nuther scene. Imagine hard drinking, pool shooting locals, who loved their "Skynert." Ok, I'm gonna go ahead and say it: rednecks. The thing is, I brought my freakiness with me. When my band-mates and I first hit the bars together, there was really no way to know how I was going to be treated. But I was very confident, in those days, and oddly enough, most people were cool. At first they seemed to be perplexed, then fascinated by me - staring and smiling. Soon, they began talking to me and buying me drinks. One guy dubbed me "Freedom." I ended up making a lot of great friends on the beach, played some rock-n-roll, partied like crazy and had lots of sex. Those were some of the best days of my life.
Recently, I ran into an old friend of mine from that era. I hadn't seen him in almost 20 years. We exchanged email addresses. I sent him some pics of us, taken by my (at the time) girlfriend, in a bar that no longer exists. This is an email he sent back:

So how are you doing brother i was just looking at the pics of us all those years ago wow good times. i am now realizing that i have always been a free spirit who lives in his own world and from time to time I run into people who are the same way. Just so you know you had a big part in me being the person that i am today. you showed me that it was ok to be you no matter what so thank you.

A.

I can't tell you how touched I was to get that. What a nice thing to say. I guess you never know how your life affects others.

The Quangle Wangle's Hat.

This is from an old magazine that I bought, second hand, in a flea market in the 60s. I think it was called "Children's Digest," but I can't be sure, because the cover was missing when I purchased it. I love Edward Lear's poem, and I love the illustrations, by someone named Paul Harvey. I wish I could find some copies of this mag online, or some information about the illustrator. It really was a great publication for kids - it was both fun and educational - and holds wonderful memories for me.

 

 

Uncertain future.

I have a bad heart. Eventually, it will fail me. When a person's heart fails, that's it. It's over. The heart is crucial. There's no mystery as to why people use the word symbolically in expressions like "the heart of the matter." It's at the core of things. It's at the core of your being. It's central, essential, an Organic Imperative. It's the crux of the biscuit.
I don't want this to sound dour and dismal. I'm going to wring whatever I can out of life. But I'm conscious of the proximity of death. It's always there, lurking. Like the Nazgul.
I can't sleep, anymore. I was awake at 3 am, considering the fragility of life. I thought about the time, when I was about 9 or 10, my parents and I made a condolence visit to a distant cousin's home. His kid's toy airplane (those balsa things - we all had them) had landed on top of an heating oil drum in the yard. The drum was perched on a stand. The stand must have been shaky, because when the kid climbed up to retrieve his plane, it toppled over and the drum crushed him. One bad decision and BOOM! He was no more.
I thought about a teenager, some friends of mine knew, who thought it would be fun to ride a skateboard while hanging onto the the bumper of a car. He lost his balance and hit his head on the pavement. He was gone. Just like that.
I remember another kid in my home town who was playing in his yard. He touched an ungrounded AC window unit. He was electrocuted.
An adult cousin of mine was also electrocuted. He was a smart guy. He'd spent 20 years in the Navy and retired in his late 30s. He only got to enjoy his retirement for a few months. While attempting to lay a long piece of metal pipe in a ditch he had dug in his yard (for some reason), the pipe made contact with an overhead electrical cable. That was the end of his life.
Death can be the result of childish behaviour or bad decisions, but, sometimes, the person is just doing the wrong thing in the wrong place at the wrong time. I wonder if any of them had time to be surprised. Boy, I didn't see that coming. I can't believe this is happening to me. When I was driving my car today I thought about how easy it would be for an oncoming truck to swerve into my lane and take me out. I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's not always the other guy. If it can happen to them, it can happen to you (me).
Boy, I didn't see that coming.
It only takes one second to change everything. Good heart or no, we're all hanging by a thread.
Be good to people and enjoy the now.

Superstar.

According to Jehovah's Witnesses, this is JC's current incarnation - not a baby in a manger (apologies to Ricky Bobby) or a crucified man, but an EXALTED KING! (From a pamphlet left on my door.)
My humble question is: What Would Jeebus Wear?

 

Anais Nin

"The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself."

 

Spring is here!

Ok, I missed it yesterday.
Today is my dad's birthday. Had he not passed 37 years ago, he would be 91. It's not so crazy to think he could still be alive. I know several people in their 90s.

 

Adventures in my '99 Contour.

I'm just about finished with my shop clean-up project. As the problem was years in the making, the job was daunting (especially considering my current health issues).
I really need some jam when I endeavor such an (ahem) endeavor, but my old boom box is on its last leg. The cassette door (yes, cassette!) is broken off, the right speaker cuts in and out and the CD player will only play about 1/2 of a song before the music goes dead and it sounds as if the disc is being hurled about, willy nilly, inside. It's so old that it never would play MP3s, anyway.
Meanwhile (back in the jungle) I have to get my car inspected. Because of a faulty catalytic converter the engine light stays on. It won't pass inspection with the light on, and catalytic converters cost a fortune. In fact, there have been a rash of thefts, recently. People are crawling under cars and sawing off converters. So I did the old pull-the-cable-off-the-battery trick. This is the kind of measure one has to resort to when one is financially challenged. Taking the cable off (and putting it back on) resets your engine light, but you have to put about 50 miles on the pedometer before it can be inspected - otherwise the mechanic can tell that you're pulling a Super Fly (i.e. "trying to get over..."). I thought I would kill 2 birds with 1 stone and drive around to various pawn shops, searching for a cheap ghetto blaster. I can't bring myself to purchase a new CD player, just to put it out in that dusty old shop of mine. Anywaaaay, as I was pulling into a pawn shop parking lot, a guy started backing out. I could tell he wasn't going to stop, so I jerked my car into reverse. When I did, the car went back a bit (enough to avoid a small collision), cut off, and would not start. I pushed it into a parking space and continued attempting to start it. Nothing. I thought that I had ruined my transmission. Or that the timing belt had jumped. Eventually, I bit the bullet and called for help. My brothers-in-law both came out. The problem - much to my amazement - turned out to be a blown ignition fuse. $2. Considering what had transpired before-hand, I would never have thought of a fuse. So, a big thanks to my family. I have never been so happy as when that car fired up!
Boom box? I'm still looking.

If I won the lottery.

I've made a mental list, over the years, of things I would purchase if I won the lottery. The first thing would be a Corvette. I've wanted one since I was a kid, so I'm not even going to feel guilty about it. Then a truck. I'd make a dental appointment and have my eyes checked. Then I'd buy a house. I wouldn't buy a rapper's mansion, with an indoor pool, bowling alley, movie theater, etc., but I would buy a nice, roomy, well built home. Preferably 2 stories.
If I won the lottery I would buy good socks, quality paper products (towels, toilet tissue), a top of the line mattress and some quality sheets. Sheets like Oprah uses. One thing that would give me great pleasure would be to have intense water pressure. I want Commando 4000 pressure.
Whenever I'm in the shower, I usually think of 3 things: "Fire" by The Ohio Players (don't ask me why), something I heard some comedian say years ago ("The older I get, the lazier I get. I can't remember the last time I washed my legs in the shower...") and Lyndon B. Johnson. I had a history teacher in high school who loved to personalize historical figures. She once told an anecdote about the first thing Johnson did when he became president: he had the water pressure cranked up in the White House. He was a no nonsense Texan. He wanted to be hosed down like a steer (or whatever they hose down in Texas).
I realize I've digressed. I seem to digress a lot these days. Like right now I'm wondering if information contained in parentheses is by its very nature desultorious. Data crammed edge-wise into the sentence proper. Parenthetical digressions, if you will.
But I digress.
Corvette.
House.
Good socks.
Nice bed.
Water pressure.

BARNABAS LIVES!

Tim Burton is releasing "Dark Shadows" on May 11. It is, of course, a big screen adaptation of the gothic soap that ran from 1966 to 1971. It stars (as apparently decreed by law) Johnny Depp, in the role of vampire Barnabas Collins.
I used to run home from the school bus stop (I lived down a long dirt road) to watch the original series. I had a cat named Barnabas.
I just listened to the theme song on YouTube. Yep, it still gives me chills.

"Foot Foot!"

Last Friday marked the 42nd anniversary of the one day recording session for The Shaggs' "Philosophy of the World." Austin Wiggin told the engineer that he wanted to "get my girls while they're hot!"

 

Online correspondence.

Bobby.
A little about me?
My last (live in) relationship ended 5 years ago. Badly.
I have 2 much older sisters. The oldest got married a week after I was born. My brother and mom died in '85 - 4 months apart. My dad died when I was 14.
I've lost 3 best friends over the years.
I've had a lot of health issues over the last few years (nothing contagious). Because of that, I'm kinda retired. I realize that saying you have bad health and no job isn't very sexy, but that's where I am.
I live in an old house. It's an endless source of projects. So, yes, I tinker also.
Music has saved my life more than once. My taste in music is probably best described as eclectic.
I'm passionate about art.
I read a lot. I love crossword puzzles.
A couple of my favorite movies are "Fanny and Alexander" and "My Life as a Dog." There's just something about those Swedish directors... I love the Coen brothers, Lynch, Kubrick, et al. I'm a huge Woody Allen fan. (Have you seen "Midnight in Paris?" Have you ever read "The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas" by Gertrude Stein?)
I can be moody (goes with the artistic nature, I suppose), but I describe myself (in my blog and elsewhere, when needed) as an "Optimistic Melancholic." I try to be positive.
How's that for a start?
Now... I'm wondering about your "ticking time bomb" and "dark side" references. Care to elaborate? :)
Jim

A La King...not!

This is a doodle from the Western Steer days, that I recently found. It was drawn on an order ticket.
"You want fries or baked potato with that?"

 

408,222!

My little book is No. 408,222 on the Amazon Best Sellers list!

 

"THEME FUROR" is:
A somewhat psychedelic, whimsically profound, sometimes silly sail down the Stream of Consciousness, with a small, down-to-earth and thoroughly outrageous, seemingly omniscient and indubitably deliciously naive entity inextricably embroiled in the naturally magical goings-on of the world he loves, and the lives of its zany inhabitants, who love him.

When I was a Live Guy.

This was the band Stick The Live Guy (Mach II, in Tap-ian terms). I'm second from the left.

 

Last night.

I had a rough night, last night. I started feeling awful and came close to blacking out. It happened so fast. My blood pressure went up extremely high. When it gets that high, the digital monitor won't read it. It says: E (for Error). I took an extra half of one of my blood pressure meds, went to bed and held the phone in my hand - hoping I'd be able to make a call to someone before I passed out. I stayed awake for hours - afraid of going to sleep. Afraid I wasn't going to make it through the night. But, here it is Sunday morning, and I'm still alive, albeit nervous and weak.
When I don't sleep well I have crazy dreams. Last night I had a long, detailed dream about being some sort of military spy who swims to Cuba - with whom we may be at war (or close to it) - and secretly visits some high official, with a word of warning from the US government (hoping the official will receive the information and not turn him in), and, upon departure, rescues a Cuban girl and brings her to America.
A small group of people (her adoptive parents?) greets the girl, on the beach. I'm happily holding her hand, when I'm approached by a small boy. It's Stewie from "Family Guy." In the dream he's smart and talks, but he's not evil like on TV. He wants me to pick him up, and I do - telling him that I love him more than cheesecake. That's something I say to my dog, in real life: "I love you more than cheesecake!" Next, we're rambling around a farm (her new parents' home) looking for a pig, whose name I can't remember (in the dream), even though he belongs to me. I think I find him, perched atop a small tin shed (!). The little Cuban girl wants to pet him, but I'm worried he'll bite her. But then I realize that it's not the pig at all, but a very small and quite old horse. I get the feeling that this horse has been ignored. It makes me sad.
The dream was rife with details, but everything is fading now.
Fading, fading, fading...

Ummm...

Do you ever wonder if your perception of reality is distorted - or just plain WRONG? Surely, crazy folks think they're sane, right? And, as far as that goes, who's to say they're incorrect? Maybe we're the one's who have gone off the tracks. (Us Against Them-ism. It's a really easy and handy philosophy!) Or, maybe there are no tracks. It seems to me (Me vs Everybody Else-ism) that everything is subjective - even objectivity. Some cultures find nothing wrong with cannibalism, for instance...
See, I don't sleep well. I lay awake at night thinking about stuff like this.
I think too much.

Because I ain't right.

I used to work on a golf course. There was a restaurant in the club house. They had a chalk board by the door, advertising the daily specials. Sometimes, before the restaurant crew came in, I'd make up my own specials. They went something like this:

Pig snouts in lime Jello
Rooster's comb salad sandwich
Goat's head soup
Boiled duck feet
Chipped armadillo on toast (mit onions)
Kudzu salad
Badger's spleens
Wolf nipple chips (Get'em while they're hot!)
Goat tripe
'Possum shanks and dirty rice
Duck-billed Platypus eggs served with Piney Grove Rooter sausages
Chilled monkey brains
Cream of eel soup
Bowlofgreasewithahairinit (10 cents for each additional hair.)

End of the day.

I didn't get much sleep last night (see last post). It's 8:26 pm and I'm already out of steam. My head hurts, too. My bed, crossword puzzles and half read copy of "Sense and Sensibility" are seriously calling my name.

Nocturnal inanities.

It's 3:11 am.
I have been having a lot of trouble sleeping, lately.
I've given a lot of consideration to the quantity of life/quality of life question in the past couple of years. I lie in bed thinking about it.
I'm a Melancholic, to begin with. (An Optimistic Melancholic, I tell myself.) It's probably not a good idea for me to be posting in the middle of the night.
I saw 2 people from my past, yesterday. Usually I'll just let these past people pass but, yesterday, I spoke to them.
How strange.
How very strange.
I'm rambling (as is my wont).
What's it all about?
As Robert Plant sang, "It really makes me wonder."

Just a reminder...