Feel better all ready

Summer breezes sometimes blow cold
Across the bay with pastimes grown joyless
But whip them in the eyes I must
To feel them surge warm and thrill once more

The rising sun and Jimi Hendrix
Losing traction on the curves
Forgetting self on carnival rides
Hypnotized by the abyss

The subtle joy of pain every true skateboarder bemuses
Has taken flight across unskateble cobbles, to werewolf moors
Self absorption steals the joy, lends power to death, fear to life
But the moving love that keeps me free is on the move again

To spin, to dance, to fly & sing
Meditation, music making, progressing across watery bodies
Sensing seasons, ignoring reasons, howling at the moon
Crying with the stars, trees grow with me, coat my car in sap

April 2010, in Some Walnut Shells

Spring storms blow in rough and wild but cannot quench my blistered feet blazing around the verdant trails. Wind and rain, flowers and sun, this tree huggin' soil worshipper zims that vernal edge singing the body electric, feeling real Walt Whitman up in here, Leaves Of Grass, up in here.

"Buddhas do not wash away ill deeds with water, Nor remove transmigrators' sufferings with their hands, Nor transfer their realization to others. Beings are freed through teachings of the truth, the nature of things. --Buddha

Swam Donner Lake at 9:00 AM 4/26/10 for ~1 minute. Yes, there was snow on the beach. Immersion in cold water is some crazy stuff. I do believe I liked it. Then I learned to snowboard; loved it.

Used to wait for my favorite pet wild freshwater crab sitting on the shore of San Francisquito Creek. I did not know one could find crabs in freshwater until she scuttled by my favorite creekside basking spot, little blue devil with her home under rock. I hope her descendants scuttle there still.

Kids' art takes me places people plumb forgot existed, and beyond. My son convinced me to roll down a steep grassy hill in Tilden Park with him, the one between the botanical garden and the Brazilian Room. Had completely forgotten how dizzy that can make a person, but now it's the freshest, way. Daughter did it too, of course - 1st time's free.

Son says "I wouldn't want to live in a little bitty world, and have a little bitty life, because then you would be born and die in like five minutes." Might be good enough for Alan Jackson, but we're looking for that step up.

"Surrealism is not a school of poetry but a movement of liberation, a way of rediscovering the language of innocence, a renewal of the primordial pact, poetry is the basic text, the foundation of the human order. Surrealism is revolutionary because it is a return to the beginning of all beginnings." --Octavio Paz

Chthonic. Look it up. Jung laughs with us while Faust and Faunus smile vacant past unthinkable dreams, or are those memories? Reflections of reflections through looking glasses and shattered knives.

"This life disappears only very quickly Like something written in water with a stick." - Buddha.

Found daughter trying to figure out the cover to Cheap Thrills by Big Brother and The Holding Company, yes the real album cover from 1967. First it brought back memories of myself trying to figure that art out, then I went ahead and actually looked at it. It has to the funniest album cover of all time. Long live R. Crumb. About Janis on the back my daughter said "She's happy."

"There ain't no money in poetry. That's what sets the poet free...cold dog soup and rainbow pie is all it takes me get me by." --Guy Clark Windy

Winter night, edge of Tomales Bay: no tent, old bag, let breeze in strong through zipper. tickling chill woke me every 20 -minutes - I laughed and thanked lucky stars for wil...d gifts, turned over to more ochre dreams.

Feeling inspired for more night hikes after last full moon traipse in the howling cold wind & pouring rain. Have finally realized, with a little help from a extraordinarily visionary friend, that we do not have to wait for any weather, moonphase, or water temperature to arrive.

"May we have the confidence of joy and delight When food and wealth accumulated with miserliness are left behind And we separate forever from cherished and longed-for friends, Going alone to a perilous situation." -The First Panchen Lama

Chamomile Harvest

First year we planted a vegetable garden. Planted chamomile as a border and it came out great. Turns out that the boy just loves harvesting - kale, chamomile, tomatoes, potatoes, squash, corn, you name it, his joy shines so bright I have to wear dark glasses. Darling daughter likes it too, of course, but the garden started as mainly a father-son project so she just gets in on the good parts. My dad allegedly once told me spouse that I didn't know how good I had it. Sometimes I wonder.

Listening to Funkadelic and loving it, sweaty from too much caffeine.

EPMD @ Club 6 in October Rain

Wowie zowie this night sparkles in the rain. What a great night, for all the right reasons. Met one of my brothers and his girlfriend at Club 6 to see EPMD, the legendary rappers. I got a call from my dear friend Anjeni while parking my car, and it turned out that her plan with her couple friends wasn't working out, so spontaneously, at the last minute, she shows up with her buddy Manjou and her osteopath mentor/boss. It was shaping up to be a fine fun night anyway, but when those lovely osteopaths and Manjou, who compliments them well because he's an acupunturist, showed up the dance party blew up bigger than life. We were wild, we were crazy, we knocked into people, Anjeni and I bumped knees as hard as I've ever bumped knees with anyone. We danced upstairs, downstairs, I danced in the rain in the smoking pen, we watched the too-cool-for-words break dancers upstairs, they went off. I had so much fun that I gave a homeless guy paper money when he asked me for it after the show, which I don't do except when in full celebration mode.

Anjeni & her entourage split, which left me to join my brother & his girl for a tasty breakfast of waffles, eggs, and bacon at Mel's Diner at Mission & 5th St. And I'm still in a good mood, so thankful for the unexpected night of dancing with some crazy good dancers. It rocked, way-way-sha-nay-nay-way-hay-eh.

RZA at 1015

Dragged myself to the city on a recent Saturday night that happened to be the summer solstice to see RZA rap with his live band Stone Mecca. The show was spot on rockstar shit, way good. I love the way hip-hop shows have improved the sound such that one can even hear the lyrics now, which was not the usual case 10-year ago. Pretty much a sausage-fest, although there were a few females representing, shaking what their blessed mother's gave them, thank Goddess. Even with a generally sedate and non-dancing crowd I had a great time, which tells one how ripping the show was. Mr. Digital (RZA=Bobby Digital from Wu-Tang) laid down those rhymes as good as any I've seen, way sick.

I do have a bone to pick with the door workers at 1015 Folsom however. I showed up in shorts and was turned away at the front door due to a dress code. My friend Mike and I then drove all over San Francisco after 11PM looking for pants. Found a shop on 18th Street near Castro called Chaps that sold more than pants, stuff like electric enema kits, S&M toys, giant black dildos - you name it. The operator was very helpful, and I purchased a motorcycle-chain choker in addition to a $40 pair of camouflage pants that I very well may never wear again. We made it back in time to see the start of RZA, but found out upon our return that the door people that refused me were for another event that was happening in the front part of 1015. The genius club operators had divided it into two sections with zero signage, and us lowly RZA fans were forced to go around to the side door, like we were the wrong color or something, where there was of course no dress code. The RZA bus (the Wuchess, cute) was parked right there in front of the front door, so the door guy might have guessed that we weren't there for his bullshit dress-code party, and it was natural for us to assume that was the door, but the whole situation made for copious laughter for Mike & I, so I almost forgive him & his ditsy assistant waving the metal-detector wand. Fuck clubs that search you; I'd rather be stabbed.

Play Johnny

The other night a short time after I came home from work I found myself selecting some music to play on my .mp3 player. At the same time little Sister cried and tugged at my shirt tails wanting me to pick her up. Since selecting music takes two hands, I sat down and invited her, now barely two-years old, to help me pick the tunes. She watched attentively as I scrolled through the inscrutable rows of text, for a few seconds anyway, before boldly stating "Johnny, play Johnny."

"Johnny Cash?" I asked, somewhat surprised.

"Yes, Johnny Cash, play Johnny Cash." So I did, marvelling the whole time at how naturally she had selected the artist, a born DJ. We danced, laughed, carried on, tasty slices of musketeer life.

Too Much Fun Again, Again

"Like a girl too pretty or a car too fast, I ain't never had too much fun."

Found myself downing ibuprofen caplets with great intensity of purpose last Friday afternoon, recovering from dancing my back into spasm at the M.I.A. concert the Wednesday before. M.I.A. rocked the crowd of twenty-something women wearing short shorts and fishnet stockings, rocked them silly with crazy good beats, crazy good. The acoustics at the Concourse at the San Francisco Design Center are crap however, so the bass response was pretty messed up. Would be cool to see her at Burning Man, or maybe The Greek.

The Jerry Garcia Band with Melvin Seales on organ Friday night at the Great American Music Hall thumped the spasm right out of my back, but I pulled a hamstring dancing like a hyperactive superball. Hippies kept strolling through my dancespace, so much so that at one point I had the distinct feeling of playing hippy Frogger. My dear friend Anjeni joined our happy-go-lucky party that night, which excited us both to no end. The first show she saw after moving to California from Vermont in 1989 was a Jerry show. She went with me, and it was our first show together, such that last Friday night, a good 18 years later, we felt like we had arrived home after epic travels. When the wife & I arrived Anjeni ran right up and jumped into my arms. I must have carried her for the better part of a minute, just to show how happy we were to be blessed with this magic music, and to perch with Cheshire smiles at the top of our dancing evening, dressed so fun, eyes lit up like stars over the Sierras. We danced wild. We danced free, like tomorrow & yesterday forgot about us. The sweat poured off of me and the whoops & hollers proved uncontainable. Such a fun night, hell of, hamstring healing.

Took the family to ride the steam trains in Sacramento Saturday, very nice, along the river. The kids loved it, especially in concert with the over-priced antique candy store. Cross that one off the list.

Sunday loved the bicycles, loved them to revolution. Rode from Newark to Sky Londa & back, right across the Dumbarton Bridge, through Stanford, and up, up, up to the spine of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Siobahn & Ruxana joined me, and I daresay that they had heck of fun. Lunch at Alice's Restaraunt, racing butterflies up Old La Honda Road, Rodin's Gates of Hell sculpture, peeing at the Stanford Art Museum, zimming down Highway 84 at a white-knuckled deathclip, all added up to a stellar ride. That kind of ride shows what killer bikes and feeling radiantly great are all about.

Dad gave us a new fancy charcoal grill, so I tested it out yesterday with some lamb chops, lamb steaks, and lamb ribs, mmmmmmmm, lamb.

That concludes my documentation of what them jealous spoil-sports keep calling too much fun.

Boy Sings Prine

The boy has taken to singing various Prine Songs, but the one you see below was his first. So strange to hear him try it, alone in the kitchen, unprompted, in his skinny 4-year old child's voice, especially the first time. John Prine is one of the artists that the wife & I share the most love for, so the 59 Prine songs in our collection get a lot of play. Gumbo appears to be using my award-winning karoake strategy of starting with slow songs without too many words.

The heat wave feels plenty hot, burn the tar out of you feet Jamaican sand hot, and I do love it so.

If You Don't Want My Love ©John Prine & Phil Spector

If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
I know who
I'll give it to
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
anymore.

If you don't want the thrill
If you don't want the thrill
If you don't want the thrill
I know who
I know who will
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
anymore.

If that's the way that the world goes round
then that's the way
that it all comes down
and when you want me
I won't be around
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
I know who
I'll give it to
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
anymore.

High On Fire at the Uptown

High On Fire at the Uptown went off like salt rock in a shotgun, loud and painful but a ton of fun. All of our party and most of the crowd agreed that the show was excellent. That custom 9-string sounded more magic than ever. Sweated until blind and delirious, short of breath and full of pain, plenty of grins to go around. Got knocked down in the pit a couple times, knocked some people down, helped some people to their feet, met some very fun folks, exhuberant roaring, laughing, classic venue. Julia estimated the ratio of men to women to be 5:1, but I don't know if it was really that much of a sausage festival, although there was an awful long line for us guys to piss, while the ladies just waltzed in and out of theirs.

Beats, Rythms, and Staccato Noismaking

Little Gumba got these finger cymbals making music a few minutes after introduction. Someday we'll tour the galaxy together, with the pets, and a killer digital sampler, much like the Musicians of Bremen.

Had true wild time at an after-hours party called the Ultra-Video Lounge last Friday night. DJ Goldilox did her thing from 2AM-3AM, and she rocked it bigtime, blooming incredible. I'd been trying to get to one of her gigs for the past 3 years, so the night was extra special. My lovely spouse had made a special dragon frog hat with flashing red pom-poms for my birthday, which made it's debut at the party. Turned out to be quite a hit, put to fabulous use by a lively blonde dancer named Fayette, who made like she knew me well before snatching it off my head with a childish squeal. The hat came to life on her, a very animated individual, so all in good fun. Beautiful night, dark bay whirlpools murmuring conversation with the red flashing lights that top the bridge towers. Check out DJ Goldilox, as well as many other artists not available at Tower Records on Addictech