Free Bird

Id like it to be a completely bloody surprise. On the day I turn 40 Id like to show up at work early, send bulk mail with something as cool as Chatwin’s “Off to Patagonia” or maybe, something nastier made to order for my boss and some of my colleagues who steal my ideas and hog all the credit, stop at the city’s only lame excuse for a park ,kick of my shoes let the grass underneath tickle the soles of my feet,Return home and wait for the significant other. I will..believe you me do absolutely nothing with my time other than read, write,play my beloved ole’ guitar and indulge myself in as much sport as I can. (If all this isn’t to much work in itself) drink in moderation, exercise again in moderation and practice vegetating…You see I plan to retire at 40.

I think I can do it coz time is on my side. I am you see all of 30. I do not have any debts against my name any outstanding bills to be paid or parents who need to be supported. I am in the process of working it all out in my head the amount of money I would need to maintain my altered lifestyle......to be continued

The Face of Jim Morrison

The Face of Jim Morrison:

The halls are crowded,filled with the sharpness of rumor. Stained glass, beautifully glowing with the great world of lies. It is all of the things that babies don't know. Perfectly cut glass, distorting what lies on the other side. The glass begins to shake. Christ is bleeding on the ground. Each of his faultering steps leads him farther astray. The glass shakes harder and harder, until finally it shatters and the glass falls, in millions of pieces, crashing to the hall floor. Each piece that lands ingnites an incondesant spark. Watching them crash... Watching them... Crash. Little bits of brown and pink, black and blue. They exploit sound as they land; creating a great thunderous crash which shakes placid dreams, and carries throughout time. The pieces settle in an almost surrealistic pattern. People gather around and stare blankly down. Staring, unmoving,at the face of Jim Morrison.

A song for the old man

This is the song I'm gonna play on the eve of my 35th birthday. Which BTW is thankfully a few years away.

He turned thirty-five last Sunday
In his hair he found some gray
But he still ain't changed his lifestyle
He likes it better the old way
So he grows a little garden in the back yard by the fence
He's consuming what he's growing nowadays in self defense
He get's out there in the twilight zone
Sometimes when it just don't make no sense

He gets off on country music
Cause disco left him cold
He's got young friends into new wave
But he's just too friggin' old
And he dreams at night of Woodstock and the day John Lennon died
How the music made him happy and the silence made him cry
Yeah he thinks of John sometimes
And he has to wonder why

He's an old hippie and he don't know what to do
Should he hang on to the old
Should he grab on to the new
He's an old hippie...his new life is just a bust
He ain't trying to change nobody
He's just trying real hard to adjust

He was sure back in the sixties that everyone was hip
Then they sent him off to Vietnam on his senior trip
And they forced him to become a man while he was still a boy
And in each wave of tragedy he waited for the joy
Now this world may change around him
But he just can't change no more

Well, he stays away a lot now from the parties and the clubs
And he's thinking while he's joggin' 'round
Sure is glad he quit the hard drugs
Cause him and his kind get more endangered everyday
And pretty soon the species will just up and fade away
Like the smoke from that torpedo...just up and fade away