Hello,
Yesterday (Wed) began at about 1 pm.! I hadn't warmed up enough in my bag to get a deep sleep until the sun light hit me, and I slept more relaxingly from that instant until the ungodly time above.
The new spot (let's call it "the railroad track spot") is chillier than the church spot, which has recently been encroached upon by the guys that wear yellow shirts and drive purple trucks, and is hence, temporarily to be avoided. The straw, the heating unit and the fact that the church seemed to block the wind, make for about and 8 degree difference, in my estimation.
But, at 4:30 or so, maybe sooner, I tried to call you on a guy's cell phone, and got a message that you were not a valid number, or something like that. I went to a payphone and got what sounded like a black man, who told that "aint no Jeff here." I redialed, in case I had mis-dialed, and got what sounded like the answering machine of a black man, which was playing what sounded like a guy rapping "Aint no Jeff here, Yo....aint no Jeff here," through the payphones antiquated receiver.
It could be that the phone companies only go through certain networks, or that the owners of the phone boothes are phone companies that are engaged in hostile, cut-throat business wars with each other and trying to monopolize phone service, so that soon you will only be able to call your friends if you buy certain phones. I don't know.
I was up for going to the church service, and could even have paid for my own meal.
The previous (Tuesday) night I was blessed with 40 dollars from a young couple who walked up in the middle of "I Lost My Sparrow," which I quickly began to edit in my head and restrict to PG13. I felt like that was the way to go.
I then profusely made excuses for the brevity of the song, by telling them that, since there were hardly any people out, I was working on new material and that that particular song is in its infancy.
They asked me if I was homeless. I told them my opinion that Mobile was one big house, just with no roof over it, and McDonalds is the bathroom, the library is the study; and the pantry being the Shell station, also, of course, the several bars, all of which are located in wooded areas and behind buildings, out of the sight of the general public.
Well, the female of the two walked over and handed me 40 dollars, and suggested that I get a room, on that night when the temperature would drop to 27 degrees, cold enough to turn a man into a Popsicle...
I played at Serda's Open Mic, since I had the luxury of about 36 bucks, and could afford to take time off from the street, and at the same time, promote my music amongst young people who have digital devices that can capture it and promote it on the grand scale of the Internet, so that soon every man, woman and child will be listening to it on their own digital devices.
I played two songs and got some very good crowd response, it was one of the rare times that people cheered the introduction to one of my songs, once recognizing the tune...It was The Carcass Song, by the way.
I think I improvised some clever things, I can hardly remember them, so much was I in my "zone." I think I might have "musical autism" to a slight degree, in that regard. I think I focus on the music at times and try to just be conversational in the lyrics. And I don't remember everything I said, the next day, just like I don't remember everything that I have said to every one today.
But, I remember the laughter of the people and knew that whatever I had unconsciously done, was entertaining to them.
Now, I get set to play some tonight. First I will read one more interview of a songwriter, out of the Songwriters On Songwriting, book, compiled by some guy named Zollo.
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