It is 10 p.m. on a Saturday night.
I am sitting here with a can of Tecate next to me and a cashed bowl; and I am blogging; not playing my guitar at my spot.
It almost seems like I want to be broke.
I love to sit and write. Sometimes; right after I had written something which felt like it came out pretty well, I would find something like a full pack of smokes; or meet someone who would hand me something; or even go to my spot and, stoked by having written for hours would play at an unGodly hour; improvising lyrics about a time that my sisters friend stayed at our house for a week or so because she was arguing with her mother; and have a tip thrown to me large enough that I could reasonably consider it a substitute for whatever I would have made had I played for the 5 hours which I spent writing.
Coincidences; they all were, I know; but every time I go to that well, the bucket comes up with something. But, time spent writing is certainly making me poor right now.
This has been a way for me to avoid the temptations that only money can buy; you know, I'm not cheating on my wife with a mistress in New Zealand every time I fly my Lear Jet to Melbourne to meet with associates; having her put up year-round in a beach-side condo; written off as a business expense -the condo- of course.
I have avoided temptations such as these which would surely bring me down the road to ruin; by keeping my income at about $13 and hour, as a busker without an amp nor microphone; nor a dog; nor a female tambourine player; nor a big flashy gimmick like -I play a blue guitar; and have blue sharks circling my tips (before I have even counted them, is the premise) so why not play wearing only a jock strap which has been spray painted blue; and then paint my body blue; dye my hair blue; the same shade as the guitar...and then; what the heck; play Blue Bayou, by Roy Orbison, and Almost Blue by Elvis Costello, etc?
I would soon be singing them through an amp and mic, and could use the Gimmick as an inroad to gradually ease my own material into the rotation; and when you are making enough cash, it is easier to attract the right tambourine players and back up singers.....of course the Blue Man Thing has already been done.
But I need to go off and busk now; it is 10:30 and I have only spent a half hour on this...not bad...probably cost me about 7 bucks in lost tips...
The Life Getting Boring
The busking life has gotten boring; the way I have been doing it; which I guess is to say that the homeless busking life has had the romance go out of it to a large extent.
Yeah, having discovered that being sober and responsible and approaching busking
in NOLA as a business, and implementing a strategy for success is really the only sane way to go.
One just can't expect to be as dissipated as the tourists and to prosper; any more than the guy at the amusement park in the red and white (vertically) striped shirt whose job it is to turn the handle to the right to start the merry-go-round and then turn it to the left to stop the merry-go-round can jump up onto a horse on the merry-go-round so that he can enjoy himself right along with his "passengers," and still do his job.
I am sitting here with a can of Tecate next to me and a cashed bowl; and I am blogging; not playing my guitar at my spot.
It almost seems like I want to be broke.
Coincidences; they all were, I know; but every time I go to that well, the bucket comes up with something. But, time spent writing is certainly making me poor right now.
This has been a way for me to avoid the temptations that only money can buy; you know, I'm not cheating on my wife with a mistress in New Zealand every time I fly my Lear Jet to Melbourne to meet with associates; having her put up year-round in a beach-side condo; written off as a business expense -the condo- of course.
I have avoided temptations such as these which would surely bring me down the road to ruin; by keeping my income at about $13 and hour, as a busker without an amp nor microphone; nor a dog; nor a female tambourine player; nor a big flashy gimmick like -I play a blue guitar; and have blue sharks circling my tips (before I have even counted them, is the premise) so why not play wearing only a jock strap which has been spray painted blue; and then paint my body blue; dye my hair blue; the same shade as the guitar...and then; what the heck; play Blue Bayou, by Roy Orbison, and Almost Blue by Elvis Costello, etc?
I would soon be singing them through an amp and mic, and could use the Gimmick as an inroad to gradually ease my own material into the rotation; and when you are making enough cash, it is easier to attract the right tambourine players and back up singers.....of course the Blue Man Thing has already been done.
But I need to go off and busk now; it is 10:30 and I have only spent a half hour on this...not bad...probably cost me about 7 bucks in lost tips...
The Life Getting Boring
The busking life has gotten boring; the way I have been doing it; which I guess is to say that the homeless busking life has had the romance go out of it to a large extent.
Yeah, having discovered that being sober and responsible and approaching busking
in NOLA as a business, and implementing a strategy for success is really the only sane way to go.
One just can't expect to be as dissipated as the tourists and to prosper; any more than the guy at the amusement park in the red and white (vertically) striped shirt whose job it is to turn the handle to the right to start the merry-go-round and then turn it to the left to stop the merry-go-round can jump up onto a horse on the merry-go-round so that he can enjoy himself right along with his "passengers," and still do his job.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Only rude and disrespectful comments will be replied to rudely and disrespectfully. Personal attacks will be replied to in kind, with the goal of providing satisfaction to the attacker.