Is The Shamin Trying To Squeeze Me??
There was another "chance" encounter with Caveman Guru, the shamin who lived in a cave for "a thousand days and a thousand nights" in apparently, Hawaii, meditatiing upon Shiva, the feminine diety, and sleeping in a hammock and whose father is the king of a tribe somewhere along the Amazon.
He claims that they were in Venezuela, along the Amazon, but I have yet to google-map it to see if that river even runs through there.
I remember sitting in his Shiva-deco apartment the first time I went there, as he played back some of the "tribal music" which he had recorded, and which featured a drum that he played, which came from along the Amazon in Venezuela.
Quite frankly, as I listened, the thought he should put this stuff online, so the whole world can hear it wasn't exactly within the top 1,000 thoughts on my mind.
He reitterated his offer to pay me 20 dollars to create a blog for him.
I reitterated that I would feel bad taking 20 dollars for something that he could do himself by clicking a few buttons. He could come to this very site and click on "create a blog" and then just follow the easy instructions, and soon, he would tickling people pink all over the globe with his no nonsense approach to the feminine divinity.
I felt like just asking him, are you a homosexual with a really good hustle? You know, the statues carved out of rainforest wood, the insence, the candles, the "yoga instructor" angle....
The Cosmic Fabric
So, here is the cosmic fabric as it is woven at this point:
Sue was reading the book called "Human Sacrifice."
After we have "a little falling out" I find a book at the Rebuild Center's free-books-for-the-homeless, at-least-the-ones-who-can-read, rack called "Hawaii."
I start to read it, while Sue is across the Mississippi, under a hemlock tree reading about human sacrifice at the same time, having removed herself there after our spat over the money that the Russians had given me for playing "Imagine" 5 times.
"Hawaii" wasn't two chapters in, when the theme started revolving around the people of the island of Bora Bora, who are involved in human sacrifice...*twighlight theme music*
Somewhere around this time a box arrives from Alex in California, who once lived on the island of....let's all say it together: Hawaii *again* The box has a harmonica in it. It is a Lee Oskar harmonica.
I start to crave coconut around this time (Maybe because of the fat content; it being "winter" here). Soon, I am eating a coconut milk based thing almost every night. I find another book, "All Woman And Springtime," by an author whose bio states that he is a classical guitarist and metal sculptor, who lives in the state of, of course, Hawaii.
I am playing my Lee Oskar harmonica on Decatur Street a few nights ago.
A man walks up and asks me if I know a man named Stony Brown who he claims lives in the back of the building right across from my "Maryjane's Emporium" spot on Decatur, not 200 feet away.
He goes on to tell me that I should check that guys harp playing out, at a certain blues open mic, where, according to the gentleman, Stony "plays the hell out a harmonica" at that venue as one of its hosts.
*cue the twighlight thing*
He then added that Stony Brown was a world famous harp player and, in fact his "claim to fame" is that he's the guy who replaced none other than Lee Oskar in a certain band, whose name I will have to google. *da da da da dee dee da*
Making Sense Of It All
So, there is the connection between Hawaii and coconuts, Hawaii and Caveman Guru, Hawaii and Alex in California, Human sacrifice and Sue the Colombian lady, Human sacrifice and Hawaii, (I found a pina colada, untouched sitting atop a staircase on Bourbon Street last night, btw).
Is it possible that Caveman Guru is practicing some kind of mystical art and that I am being called, called, called... to the cave in Hawaii, to serve the feminine divinity and watch waves crash, over and over??
I Can Thrive; 55
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| Their faces may have frozen in that expression, just like their mothers once warned them that they would |
Gutter Punks In Grand Spirit
There is a glowing optimism and a diminishing of grouchiness in the deportment of the gutter punks. One girl, who was carrying a backpack the size of a bean bag chair, was absolutely giddy over having had very good fortune in the reception of various people's charity.
On her way from Oregon to New Orleans, people had given her things, which she then stuffed in the bag, and she arrived in time for Mardi Gras and much the richer.
I think "humble gratitude" would have been a more appropriate demeanor, rather than her attitude which seemed to convey "This is awesome; I'll never work another day in my life!!"
Many people mentioned the harp while putting the 55 bucks in my case, especially at the Bourbon Street spot, where it is quietest.
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