Ideas wiz by too fast to capture. That’s my challenge. How to grab all the grace passing through me. A few days ago I wrote a new song, all in one go, about 2 hours. I did my normal routine of recording my draft on my iPhone so I can see the chords I’m playing and capture all the variations of the singing. I did that. Or, thought I did that. I only captured the chorus idea. It was the verse idea that was burning up my inspiration.
I don’t read or write music. I do it all in my brain. I memorize patterns and sounds. That’s how music has always been for me. When a producer once said, “I really love how you switch keys in the chorus” I was appreciative and confused. I didnt’ know what he was talking about. He tried to teach me the Nashville Numbering System, but I didn’t take to it. I get it. I think it would unlock more ideas and quicker, but I prefer the old school way of just hearing it out.
Now that song is in limbo. The graveyard of ideas. A partial song is not a song at all, it’s an idea. I’ve got ideas stashed all over my house, all over the web in my databases, in journals covered in my cursive scribbles.
Ideas ideas ideas. Are not the answer. Execution of ideas, that’s the key. Let’s take my writing for example. If I wrote the best debut novel of all time last summer, I would never know it. You would still never hear about it. And I would still be sitting here, in my modest living room smashing letters and strumming strings.
Another idea blows in. A band. The band. The live show. Players so far: me and bass player Tim, who was at tennis last night. He’s motivated. I am disorganized, but moving forward. I met a guitarist a few days ago, I will follow up with him today. He’s “metal” and didn’t really know Radiohead, but he was hungry for a part. Might be a little stiff for me, but let’s see. What’s the risk. Have him over. Play some stuff. I need a guitarist and a keyboard player. Today, most drumming is handled by computers, and though I don’t like that sound as much, I can see how simplifying my quest is the shortest path to launch.
MVP. Minimum Viable Product. The ten songs are done. “In the can,” as we say in the business.
I’ve been thinking of changing the name of the band. But what’s the point of that? The few thousand listeners I get a month on Spotify, don’t need any barriers to discover my new music. My ‘non-radiohead’ covers.
Getting to perform life again… That’s part of it. Getting to play on a regular basis with other humans, also a goal. And if the computers provide backing tracks until we complete the lineup, well, that’s on me. I could be performing live tonight, if I put my fingers in motion. I’m not focused on that, right now. It would be a distraction.
Here’s what I need.
An infusion of cash. Or an increase in my cash flow. Even 2X would help.
Time is expanding as I’m single and bowing out of the dating dance. Let’s just work on our acension and focus on what is most important.
Writer. Cash flow. Book. Publisher. First, I need an agent. Someone who gets me. Sees the potential in four connected books. And can see the potential in my 20,000 subscribers, and my ongoing production of music, books, and poems.
En fuego, mi vida.
Come on, baby, light my fire.
I’m here. I’m writing at the top of my lungs. Diving into subconscious streams. Hyper-connected fiction. Or hyper-fiction. Look at that, I’ve even coined a term for my writing. How cute. Well, Gonzo and Beat were already taken.
I am, in fact, a modern day hippie. I believe in free love, environmental protections, and the unalienable rights of women to control their own bodies. Shit, we’re losing all of our democratic controls. The protests are tanking his approval rating, but he doesn’t care. Driving a Nazi and 1984 agenda. He renamed the Department of Defense, the Department of War. The Gulf of Mexico: to… fuck I can’t even say it. So dumb.
Yet, so in charge. Through bullying the billionaires. Threatening their empires and profits. Bow to the king, tell him how wonderfully smart and handsome he is. Say he’s got massive BDE, big dick energy. He does not.
He’s decaying before our very eyes as he out-Satan’s Stallin. And the millionaires in congress, in his party, are afraid of complaining at all. The fear of retribution is real. He is snuffing entire governmental agencies. The good ones. He’s installed the dumbest tv show hosts from the network that payed millions for lying to the American public. They all got jobs in his cabinet.
The little prince is quiet now, he was threatened with his government subsidies. All the talk of forming a third political party in our country, now silent as he tries to resurrect the electric car company he torpedoed with his megalomaniac leadership ambitions. He was tight with President Cheetoe until he was expelled from the kingdom. He’s on track to be the worlds first Trillionaire. What a sick idea. What has either of them done for the non-billionaire, non-millionaire class?
Nothing.
They want more money. More more more.
To the ultrarich, it’s a race for the trophy. Boys fighting for the best mansion, the best rocket to Mars, the youngest and artificially sexy wife. Or egg donors, in the case of the little prince. For their workers, and the citizens of Earth, it’s more like “Let them suck on my balls.” Artificial Intelligence-first! President Kill first! As America withdraws its leadership from the world stage, our enemies are gathering without Cheeto or the little prince. And Mexico has become Canada’s largest supplier of cars. Well done, Canada.
What does one more billion mean to these five white whales? Don’t they care about the life they are leaving to their kids? Even the guy with twelve kids from six moms. Doesn’t he care about what his daughters are going to face after this administration takes us back into the dark ages before the birth control pill? We’re moving away from the Summer of Love into something more approaching Kristallnacht (the bombing of Dresden’s decorative glass factories in World War II).
The current team in charge is blowing up all the artists, glass blowers, musicians, protesters, singers, news casts, and even late-night comedians. The war against art and love is on. Perhaps he should’ve named it The Department of Love.
How we love the mineral rights of undeveloped countries. That is, until they can fend for themselves. And if the WMF did its job right, they will be burdened with 100 years of debt to pay for the benefits we bring. And if they resist, we will go to war. And if we see one of our enemies going to war against a peaceful nation, we’re either going to stand up for them or acquiesce.
And the enemies of the state are manning the ramparts. The president is the enemy. And now the enemies of the president have played his ego so well, he’s more impotent as ever. His body visibly rotting off him as we watch in horror. Where are the standup members of Lincoln’s party? They are keeping their mouths shut. And when they speak, they are praising the emperor’s beautiful clothes and large hands. Even the tech billionaires of the world are feeling threatened.
He killed a billionaire in prison. He released the J-6 insurrectionists. He’s is going to come after you if you quit goose-stepping to his evil tune. His military parade was a joke. To the entire world, he is a joke. When he speaks, real kings laugh at him. When he speaks, he sounds like the kid who didn’t read “Where the Red Fern Grows” is giving his report. “There was this fern…”
How did we get here? The better question is, how do we get out of here? What’s next? How do we fight an enemy that controls all the branches of government without any oversight? The Supreme Court is now a puppet organization full of liars and cheats. It’s documented: their lies, their insider trading, their fealty to the pseudo-king.
“We don’t have kings in the United States,” we chant.
The juggernaut moves along, ripping out National Parks, healthcare support and vaccines. All the while, the Cheeto and his children have amassed an additional 5 billion dollars in the 8 months since he’s taken (stolen with Elon’s help) office.
I’m not moving to Canada or Mexico, but I cheer their alliance. We’ve always lied about Mexico. In the Alamo, Mexico was on the side of the slaves. It was a war that Texas needed to win. For slavery. Slavery made the cotton South possible. Texas has always been on the wrong side of human rights. Still is.
Today, much the same is true. We cannot support our country, our food supply, our worker supply without help from Canada and Mexico. Yet, our Grand Leadership is trying to isolate us from the rest of the world. And it’s having an effect. Expenses are going up. The business market is confused and directionless. The world wakes up each day to another horrific idea, from the golden ballroom to Milania’s hat choices in the UK.
They, America’s first couple, are a joke. A meme. As bad as the Russian couple from Rocky and Bowinkle.
