Osprey, Mono Lake © Robert Sommers 2023

Monday, February 8, 2010

Whiney Bob blues

I take off in the morning for the Bay Area. Get to set up on a concrete floor in a large cold barn in the rain and seduce bored eleanor rigbys into buying my wares but really they are there for the walk and it's most probably cheaper than a theater ticket. Nothing feels fresh so I will have to repackage but the threads are starting to show and people seem to want to be entertained with new tricks in some novel way. Hope I can get through the Grapevine and it doesn't start freaking snowing or I go the slow way up the 101 and stop at the greasy spoon in Gilroy because it's my greasy spoon and there is something to be said for familiar ritual, I drive into the expensive gas station because I have done it before and it is imprinted in my neural network and I wasn't carjacked last time after all, my back is sore already and I haven't even sat in the van yet. The electronic doors are broken and it will cost real dough to reboot so I leave it. Still haven't fixed the roof either, if this show sucks and there is always that weird evil feeling that maybe I sell nothing and just stand there and seethe and hate humanity but if nothing sells, I start selling guitars pronto, of course all markets are dead and now europe is going into the shitter as well. And I can always tapdance. Minstrel Bobby's medicine show. Sarah Palin knows how to fix this country like it's written on the back of her hand, I can't wait. Jane M.M. told me last year that I was mixing up it's and its, the former it is the latter possessive and never apostrophied and for that I am eternally grateful. So I throw myself on the mercy of the good lord (lordette) and wait to see if I will be rewarded like a good little boy or get the lump of coal, of course its always my attitude, you are all just bit characters in my solipsistic screenplay. and I need a new agent. Central casting? Will stay in touch unless I get homicidal. Life's jackboot slowly crushes my larynx whilst the cicadas sing their timely ode to reveille. Weeds are growing tall with the rains. Off to the crusades and the sky is always falling.

There is a police helicopter circling my block. It has been orbiting for about 20 minutes. Apparently there is a robbery suspect on the loose. Great Fun! We have had a rash of robberies this past couple weeks, including the Wells Fargo with its particularly nasty teller. Suspect 5'5" tall mexican, mid twenties - somebody said great that only hits about 55% of the town demographic.

I put a positively perverse early piano cut on the blog today from Jelly Roll Morton. Truly raunchy, mysoginist and not for the faint of heart. I pulled it after I heard the whole thing through but not wanting to be a censoring prude, furnish the link and let you make your own consensual choice in the matter. That's how we roll in the vanguard of the new democratic party.


Anonymous said...

Sarah Palin's notes, written on her hand; redneck teleprompter.

shawnintland said...

Yo bro, Well in the last two days over here we have had one escaped convict and three escaped Bengal Tigers in the neighborhood! The tigers came back on their own but I doubt they will get so lucky down at the local jail!

Unknown said...

Well, that's pretty bawdy. Certainly a weird juxtaposition of lyrics and music. But as far as domestic violence its got nothing on Blind Willie McTell's "Your southern can is mine": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ds1xVHsXm7Y&feature=related