Holy Guacomole

7 Days Sober
Food For Thought

Yesterday, (Monday) I woke up and began working on my 7th day without alcohol.
I had taken Sunday night off from busking, as I felt physically weak after not having eaten for 6 days.
I went to the Ideal Market, where I decided that I would break that fast with "something."
I bought a large avocado, a few tomatoes, an onion, and a Serrano pepper, $2.68 total.
In the late afternoon, I knocked out a quick recording of a song which was written by a high school friend, who became a college friend of mine.
I had been straining my memory to recall the verses of that song, which I last played in 1985.

"Do You Believe In Paradise" -Bill Lenfest

"You live at the end of a shadowy street.
Don't you know that cobblestone is hard on the feet
With your hazy morning eyes and your serendipity style
Your New England accent, and your L.A. smile

Your father's afraid of living; he say's life's become too cheap
Your mother wants it easy; she wants to go in her sleep
Your sister and her boyfriend; they are digging up my grave
They want to resurrect me; but I never will be saved

Do you believe in paradise?
Do you believe it's true?
I've had enough of your visions
You're stuck in this wasteland too

Images of sunlight and the visions of the past
visions that you prayed for but knew would never last
The stained glass window you gaze through to see the universe
You see the lines that divide us all but can't tell which side is worse

Now go unto your doctors because they know what you need
But starlight falls on silent swings where pretty children bleed
But the more you manage to learn about the time that you're alive
The more you know about the jungle the better the chance to survive

(2nd chorus)

"...nothing old; nothing new
no reason to follow the son
nothing borrowed; nothing blue
how can we explain what we've done to everyone..."

Now listen to the Spanish man, and the words he said
Let them all divide your mind but stay inside your head
And your sister and her boyfriend they are giving me last rites
"**********?"

That is all that I can remember of the song from 30 years ago; and I have trouble remembering what all I did two days ago, Sunday....

There is another verse that I can't (yet) remember the first line of:

"*************************
It echoes distant laughter that you heard in better days
It sounds like rusty church bells or the crack of brittle ice
But here at last within your arms I've found my paradise

I do believe in paradise
I do believe it's true
I want all of your visions
I want to get out of this wasteland too..."

I knocked out a recording of it over a drum track with guitar, vocal and bass, in about an hour and a half, and then went into the Quarter, where I found an almost deserted Bourbon Street, but managed to make $6.75 off of the 20 or so people who walked past me.
It was hard to get motivated; partly because I was hindered by a skin reaction to what I had eaten.
After 6 days on a liquid diet, the guacamole that I had made by juicing the tomato and onion and pepper and then mashing the avocado into; sat in my intestines like a sluggish river.
I was tempted to drink alcohol just to numb myself of the sensation.

Today, I have gotten all the same ingredients, but have substituted a potato for the avocado...