Chasing my tail

The winter has faded to spring and now spring is struggling to shake off the last of its bad habits and become summer. And so it goes.

I've been doing some struggling myself to get another video edited, and I'm finally done.

Look here.

I've been getting a few questions about an 'album' and it's not in the cards right now. I can write at my leisure, make a video, post it where I want and therefore don't feel a need to make an 'album'. I like it that way. Download what you want and burn it to a CDR.

I have recently opened a Bandcamp account, though, and for those of you who would like to have better quality files can download them from there. It will cost you at least a dollar!!! I warned you. It will also send a little remuneration my way, so if you feel so inclined, I'd appreciate it.

Other than that the band is still in rehearsal hammering away at arrangements and I'll let you know when to expect something concrete.

Until then, be good. 

Facebook Surprise

A friend just sent me a link to the updated Facebook rules on content.

You hereby grant Facebook an irrevocable, perpetual, non-exclusive, transferable, fully paid, worldwide license (with the right to sublicense) to (a) use, copy, publish, stream, store, retain, publicly perform or display, transmit, scan, reformat, modify, edit, frame, translate, excerpt, adapt, create derivative works and distribute (through multiple tiers), any User Content you (i) Post on or in connection with the Facebook Service or the promotion thereof subject only to your privacy settings or (ii) enable a user to Post, including by offering a Share Link on your website and (b) to use your name, likeness and image for any purpose, including commercial or advertising, each of (a) and (b) on or in connection with the Facebook Service or the promotion thereof.

Same as before, however, they've dropped this section:

You may remove your User Content from the Site at any time. If you choose to remove your User Content, the license granted above will automatically expire, however you acknowledge that the Company may retain archived copies of your User Content.

...which means that they get to keep the rights to your photos, stories, music etc. even after you've deleted the account.

I really have to be more careful about the fine print. You should, too.

The Mourning Kitchen

Time flies when you're not looking at the clock. It's been a long while since I've posted anything and my excuse is as follows. I get distracted easily. The best way to get my attention is to wave something shiny in front of me. 

I suppose that the most recent news is that the album (read collection of songs) is done, with more on the way. The website is nearly ready and the band is cramming for exams.

In the mean time, I've put a couple of covers up on Youtube, go here to see. I've also partnered up with Return Fire and we are in production on a video for Less Than More.

Check out the Facebook page here

I'll still use this space as a catch-all for the various goings-on around here, but like I said earlier I get distracted easily. 

I woke up, this morning, to the sounds of an all out pigeon rumble. Like our own reality, the tethers that bind each individual to the community can grow taut and along those cables a percussive tension can travel, exacerbating the difficulties inherent in communication. The vibrations blot out the sensible and can make even the most carefree mind unravel, causing anxiety and frustration. 

Picture this. Each of us has a link to the natural world, a conduit along which we receive and transmit our co-ordinates. If we fly in circles those conduit cross and the inevitable buzz that we hear, as a result, gives us pause as we struggle to re-connect. The easiest remedy would be to cut the cable and fly free, but even a pigeon fears that, and us, well, it would spell the end, wouldn't it?

The cause of all the fuss was probably nothing more than a french fry or a chicken wing, left over from the weekend grab-fest, a morsel of human waste tossed overboard, declared unfit for consumption but exciting and invigorating to the mind of a bird. One of them spotted it, on his morning patrol, and the burst of excitement he experienced was instantly sent out over the wire, so to speak, and within seconds an entire community was fighting over enough food for one breakfast. 

It would be comical, even without the comparison to our own behavior, except for the fact that when the wings were lifted and the hullabaloo softened to a sniffle, there was one pigeon who didn't take flight. He walked in circles, making spastic attempts at flight, dragging a bent and broken wing behind him. He looked up, knowing that was where he was supposed to be. Instead, he was grounded, and all in the time it takes to choke back a rotted piece of meat. 

No hospital for him, no screaming sirens as the pigeon ambulance chases down his pain, no recovery or physio, and no tearful reunion six weeks from now, the cast just off and his eagerness to get back in the game palpable in the jovial greetings he gives his compatriots.

As quickly as it had begun, the war was over. A few of the hopeful hung in the air riding the breeze, looking for a missed morsel, oblivious and unaware that they had left one of there own behind, that there were fewer voices crying into the morning light, that some one's cord had been cut.

It's a tough life, that of a pigeon.     

Hotel Gladstone

I woke up with the last line from the Eagle's 'Hotel California' in my head. Not the song, just the lyrics.
As I sat, trying to run down the reason the words were still reverberating in my skull, I could make out the strains of the song re-assembling in the background. It's been years since I've heard it and while I can't remember who you are, I have no trouble remembering, note for note, a guitar solo I heard thirty years ago. The highlight of the song is, obviously, the now-famous guitar dualing at the end, between Don Felder and the 'new' guy, Joe Walsh. If I could hear it one more time, I'd prefer not to listen to the pre-amble. Straight to the guitar rock, if you please.

I read a book a few years ago called 'The Dancing Wu Li Masters' by Gary Zukav, before he dove head-first into his quantum physicist/spiritualist phase, in which he haphazardly assembled a belief system based nearly exclusively on Thomas Young's double slit experiment. Interesting stuff. In the end Zukav came to appreciate the phrase, "what you see is what you get," and for a while I went to bed dreaming of a day when I could harness my mind's full potential and finally become a super-hero. Really, all I was after was a way to see through women's clothing and so far I'm not having much success. What good has physics done me after all?

I caught part of Alan Zweig's "Lovable" on T.V. last night and I've decided that he is the saddest man on the planet. He's discovered that some of us will never find someone to love, or find someone who loves us and that he could easily spend the rest of his life alone. I wonder that it's never occurred to him before. The only thing I learned from him, is that chain smoking really isn't all that attractive.

Practice makes perfect. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Lift your ass off the bike when you go over a bump and then you won't find it painful to sit down when you get home. I'm not sure if I want calluses on my ass, but it appears that I've got it coming to me.
I've decided that I don't want people to look away in embarrassment when I take my shirt off this summer. Vain, I know, but I never get tired of people saying to me, "Hey, have you lost weight?" At this late-stage in my life, I've finally realized that a sound body pre-figures a sound mind. I was hoping it was the other way around because it's so much easier to sit on the couch and think than it is to torture muscles into shape. I used to work out regularly but gave it up when my friends expressed dismay at the pitiful amount of beer I could drink. I began a new kind of workout that helped me develop an astounding tolerance for alcohol.

All of this, and it's still there. 'You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.' Cue Mr. Walsh.

If that's the case, then I don't think I'll check-out just yet. And if I'm staying then I'm not doing it like this. I don't want to reach the end of days only to discover that I didn't have much say in how I lived. Intentions are fine but without actions they're nothing more than thoughts. The big questions? "Who am I?', 'Where did I come from?' and 'Where am I going?' can wait. With apologies to Zukav, Zweig and everybody who has seen me shirtless in the past, I have no intention of growing old and decrepit, while I waste time thinking myself into shape.

Looks Don't Mean a Thing

"What are you doing?" The voice came out of nowhere and I jumped up in surprise.
"Holy shit, you scared me."
"Sorry, brother. What's going on?" The voice was attached to a boy who had come up the other side of the hill.
"I'm making a sacrifice to Hades. And I'm not your brother." I answered shortly. The kid had a simple look to him.
"Here? Why here?"
"Well, it's a Cypress tree isn't it?"
"So?"
"The Cypress tree is sacred to Hades. Were you born under a rock?" The kid smiled at me with a toothless grin.
"I didn't know that. Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why is it sacred to Hades?"
"It just is, you moron. Now leave me alone." I went back to my preparations. It had to be done just right or I'd end up pissing off the Great Pissed Off One.

I'd never thought much about it before. I'd heard about Hades' attachment to the Cypress tree but you can never get a straight answer from anyone about stuff like that. You try sorting out all the nonsense that people propagate when it comes to their gods. I swear that if people thought about it there'd be a god and a holiday for every good bowel movement they'd ever had. As it is, I just do what I'm told and I'd been told that if you need a favour from the crustiest of gods, you'd better make it a good sacrifice.

"What is it you want?" said the dumb kid.
"It's none of your business." I said.
"Well, it might be." he answered.
"Kid, don't you have some sheep to flock, or something?"
"No." He stood entranced by the fire I had started. I thought about giving him a good thump on the head, just for bugging me, but then I thought better of it.
"Look, kid, I need a favour from him and the priest told me to make a sacrifice under a Cypress tree. Now, fuck off and leave me alone." I blew on the kindling and the fire flared up for a second but then dwindled away again.
"I can make a fire." the kid said, still hypnotized by the small flame.
"Good for you, kid. I don't suppose you have any dryer lint on you, do you?"
The kid laughed out loud at that. I reconsidered the head-thumping business and stood up. As the blood rushed from my own head I began to feel a bit whoozy and the kid spun out of focus. I jammed a hand out and grabbed onto the tree.
"Be careful." the kid intoned in a sing-song voice as I fell to the ground and lost consciousness.

When I came to, I was lying on the floor of a stone cavern that soared more than a hundred feet above my head. I stared, stupidly, at the ceiling for a minute or two before I realized that I wasn't anywhere near the Cypress anymore.
"How do you feel, now?" I heard the kid's voice in my ear.
I jerked around and found myself staring into his vacant eyes. He was squatting about a foot away, looking intently at me. The queasy feeling in my stomach returned as I realized that this was no normal kid.
"Where am I?" I said. My voice sounded hollow and hoarse.
"Right where you wanted to be, aren't you?"
A terror I can't describe descended on me as I realized that I was looking at the Master of Doom. He needed a bath though. And then, I fainted again.

"Orpheus."
I followed the voice up from the blackness that had enveloped me and when I opened my eyes I saw her. I promptly gagged as my breath caught in my throat and I started to hack and cough violently until she had to pound on my back. Finally, I could breathe.
"Eurydice? Is it you?" I spat out.
"Of course it is, Orpheus. What the hell are you doing here?"
"I came looking for you. What's the matter? Aren't you happy to see me?"
"Of course I'm happy to see you, you boob. I mean, how did you get here? Did you die?" She helped me up into a sitting position, the love of my life and the reason I couldn't go on.
"I was making a sacrifice to Hades." I said and then I thought of something else. "Hey, did you see a weird kid here, a second ago?"
"A kid? What kid? Hades told me you'd come for me and that I was to take care of you until he returns. There's no kid here, just you and me."
"Huh." I said.
Just then a door screeched open and a regal looking man entered, only to pause, rolling his eyes, and say, "Do you think you could put some oil on that thing? Would that be too much to ask?" to the servant grovelling behind him. The servant disappeared and returned a moment later with an oil can and squeezed some onto the rusted hinges.
"Orpheus." the Lord of Dread said, "What's going on?"
"Nothing, Master." I did some grovelling then, too. It's hard not to.
"Get up. Get up." Hades sat down on a throne that appeared out of nowhere. "Now, what's all this nonsense about? I hear you've been asking around for me. What's on your mind?"
"Uh." I started.
"Whoo boy! For a writer, you sure don't use a lot of big words. Let me save you the trouble. Take her, but before you do, you have to do something for me."
"Really?" I asked, not a little suspicious.
"Sing, man. Take a look around here. I haven't seen a good show in years. Apparently dead people can't sing very well. I didn't know that. Did you know that?" He waved a hand and a lyre appeared, which he then handed to me. "Do it. Or nobody goes anywhere." he added with some very convincing malice.
I wondered what he wanted me to play and began to dig around in my alcohol soaked brain for a good old rousing 'let them go' song. I couldn't think of a single thing.
"Sing" Hades thundered, and right there I made up a song about how great Hades was and all the cool things he can do. He liked it well enough, although I think he'd have rather'd a song about girls.
"Now," he said leaning forward, "get the hell out of here. And don't bother looking back. If you do the deal's off." He turned and sat down wearily on his throne. "I'm telling you, more people wander out of here than come in, anymore. What's a God of the Dead to do?"

"I can't believe it." she said to me.
"I know. I don't believe it either, but I'm not sticking around for him to change his mind." And I gave her arm a tug. "Let's go."
Just then I spotted the half-witted kid again. I waved to him but he just stood there, not waving back. I should have punched him when I had the chance, I thought.
"Hey, is that the kid you saw?" Eurydice turned as we passed him.

So Cold

Dr. James Bedford was a psychology professor, born into the family that gives its name to Bedford, Massachusetts. Although his published work explores the ideas of youth vocational interests and studies, the reason his name is still in circulation today is that his body is as well.
Bedford is recognized as the first successfully cryonically preserved human. There were earlier attempts but none were successful.
Bedford died this day in 1967 in Glendale, California and was immediately frozen. Despite the advances in technology in the last forty years, there are still no methods known to reverse the effects of being cryonically frozen, much less to reverse the causes of his death.
Being dead and frozen, however, doesn't bring to an end the trials of life. Seventeen people were cryonically frozen between 1967 and 1973, with Bedford being the only one still waiting for science to catch up with him. In 1979 it was discovered that a number of these early human popsicles had thawed out enough, due to equipment malfunction, that re-freezing was impossible and they were removed from the program.
In 1991, Bedford was moved to a new facility and when they checked on him, all seemed to be in order. He was still frozen, still dead and still waiting for someone to do something about it.
Curiously, a paper of his, written in 1956 is entitled, "Your future job: A guide to personal and occupational orientation of youth in the atomic age." Insert your own cynically detached punch line here.
The most disheartening thought of all is that, even if we had the smarts to thaw him out, cure his ailments and re-instate his standing as a living, walking member of the human race, he likely wouldn't be too happy about being brought back to life, at this point in time. As a society, we probably have less regard for old folks now than they did in 1967. I can't imagine that Bedford went to all this trouble just to be thawed, cured and then shipped off to an old age home to spend the rest of his unnatural life being ignored, mocked and forgotten all over again. He's better off where he is now.

A note to anyone who cares: I'd rather not be frozen, if it's all the same to you. I'm only half-way down to path of my normal life expectancy and I don't understand most of what's going on around me now. And besides, I hate the cold.