Old Things Have Passed Away

They Show Up Every Equinox

A New Creature
This morning, I woke and looked at the position of the sun, and guessed that it was a little after 10.
My clock "told me" that it was a little after 9. We are almost half-way to the Spring Equinox, a bigger concern to those who live in the wild, than to others, perhaps.
A feeling not unlike "depression" was hovering about me, like a fog, as I recollected myself and took inventory of my life.
I had almost a full pack of cigarettes, which was good; having spent 4 bucks on them was bad, though.
I wasn't that hung over, having only drank one shot of brandy, and then 2 Steel Reserves. That was good. Having spent the entire $6.35 on the above, was bad, though.
The night ended at The Garage, where I entered and sat down and was invited to play within 15 minutes. There was a sparse crowd, something that I thought might have had something to do with my uninspired session at Serda's, the previous Wednesday. The same feeling of having nothing that I was excited about playing invaded me, after "the guy" asked "Do you want to play something?" I decided to force myself to do the best that I could.
He let me play his electric guitar, which opened up sonic possibilities while at the same time felt a bit unfamiliar in my hands, because it has been 10 years since I played an electric all night, almost every night.
I got some possitive crowd reaction to my half-assed improvisations. I sang as much as I could remember of some of my songs and improvised a few verses on the new song, "I Fell In Love On Facebook."

I think the crowd is "blues-ed out," a bit by the other performers, who play nothing but that.
My chords were probably like a breath of fresh air, because they are not the flatted 7th chords which had been ringing constantly for the couple hours before I got up there. I DID do a blues, but it was the Sesame Street song. It was cool to be able to step on "the guy's" distortion pedal and get out some frustrations with an extended solo on it.
After finishing, I sat and watched a women's tennis match on one of the TV's. Nobody came over to offer me a beer. The prettier woman won the match.
Before that, I had been at the acoustically superior spot, where I had made $6.35.

Perspective Is Strange
Five of that came from one of the Pentacostal girls who come to Bienville Park on Monday evenings, with last night being no exception. I was sipping my second Steel Reserve and struggling to entertain myself, so that, in entertaining myself, I might entertain others.
My music sounded to me like an old 78 RPM scratched-up record on a Victrola, seen in black and white, and skipping...
I felt like a mechanical puppet, being animated by a motor, being rocked and gyrated, while a stale song played, sounding like it was coming through a megaphone, and with scary lyrics, like "Meet me at the palley, and we will dance the night away..." persuant to which I could percieve the people's unvoiced "No Thanks," as they speed their gates and walk past. Yeah, that's kind of how I felt. (Like the puppet that used to be in front of the funhouse, in a glass case, at Whalom Park, in Lunenburg, Ma., Dave V., if you read this...)
The Pentacostal girl gave me some water, and told me that I sounded "great." I was almost sceptical and wondered how I wasn't like an amusement park mechanical clown being animated by a motor, to her...
Perspective is strange.