Monday After Sunday

A good way to knock out more blog posts is to plan to jog, like I did today.

I'm procrastinating upon going out and running, doing this instead...

Domingo Addendum

A brisk bike ride to the Family Dollar, where I purchased toilet paper, kitty litter, a can of food for Harold and an energy drink, which I spiked with kratom, complete, I now prepare to get back on my bike and go by some trash that someone put out in front of a dwelling.

There were 4 Sony speakers, which were slim and tall and rated at 4 ohms.

They would perfectly plug into the radio that I am now listening to the Saints game on in monophonic, because one of the speakers cables is broken.

I have already grabbed an almost full gallon of paint from about a dozen cans of it that were splayed about the pile of trash as if to cordon it off and prevent cars from crashing into it.

The paint is "highly reflective" white latex, intended for indoor use.

My kitchen walls, for one, are stained with everything from grape juice to oil spattered out of pans on the stove. We have been informed that all improvements, such as painting over a wall like that must be done by the maintenance team here, the ones who often never even show up (unless they have a work order and the resident isn't home; in that case, they seem to be very efficient at entering the vacant apartments and snooping around while changing the light bulb or painting over a kitchen wall. I leave my Snowball microphone on "record" whenever I put in such an order, even (especially) if I have specified a certain time when I would like them to do the work because I will be there to let them in then.. But I digress.

I am going to just paint over my own walls with highly reflective latex, a departure from the flat kind that they use which retains stains which cannot be wiped off without sanding off the whole layer of paint.

I'm pretty sure they only want the maintenance guys to paint because they are afraid of residents using a flammable type of paint and setting the whole building on fire because of it. And, they are afraid the resident will get paint all over something, thus "damaging" it...

Domingo

This Sunday morning, after having busked until about 1 AM, then returned home where I must have been asleep, after having had a vegetarian meal of succotash

and potato wedges that I baked so they were as crisp as fries on the outside and were like baked potatoes on the inside, probably around 3 AM, I woke up, refreshed, alongside Harold at about 10 minutes before noon.

As soon as I stood up, my phone chimed with the message: Patriots/Jets game starts soon. At last something useful comes out of that phone instead of an ad trying to sell me tires for my "Jeep."

Immediately, I thought about riding my bike to Harrah's Casino, where the game should be on one of their TVs, since the hometown Saints aren't playing until late in the afternoon, being in Seattle.

My mood was a lot better, even though I had had a dream/nightmare that I have had a lot before, where I am looking for something that I never find; or that I am at an airport and my luggage was sent to the wrong city and I am trying to get to that city to get my luggage in the dream but always wake up before I do...

Getting ready to look like a tourist, ready to gamble at the casino. I will be betting that I will be able to stand around watching the Patriots game without gambling, while there....

Ten minutes before the game is to start (left).

No time to straighten out the studio a bit before hopping on my bike and heading for the casino.

After a strong cup of coffee.

The 33 bucks that I made the night before was "a good thing" and hopefully will take the despair out of going out to busk in the upcoming days, something which had crept into my psyche after a couple months of nights where I might only make 5 dollars by going out.

One might say that that is better than nothing and that I should still go out every night. But this doesn't factor in the wear on the guitar strings, when I could take the luster off a brand new set from a couple hours of hard playing in the heat when the strings would wind up as covered in sweat as me...

I got nicotine pods for my vaporizer last night, and I must admit that a lot of my despair and depression and complaining stems from not having nicotine, which is an addiction.

But, don't most people leave their houses to go out into the world to fuel their addictions?

I used to be on the treadmill of going out to work just so I could have a trailer in Florida, where I could flop down on the bare mattress in the unfurnished room to rest up so I could go back to work, in order to keep the place, and to line the wallet of the guy who was renting (to own*) it to me.

*It became apparent to me that the guy was hoping that I would stay there and make monthly payments, but would screw up at some point before the title was actually transferred to me, so he could put some other sucker in the place for another 4 or 5 years of paying rent before screwing up and being evicted...

I am grateful for the situation I have now, now that I think of it.

So far, the voodoo is working...

And kind of feel silly about feeling suicidal at times. I think if I actually do go out to busk every night, religiously, then that will take care of a lot of those feelings, come what may...

If I'm not going to get a job peeling potatoes or something then, what other choice do I have...holding a sign by the road at some intersection?

Those spots are already taken, by skeezers whom have placed a folding chair and/or a cooler there, to claim the spot for themselves...

I Could Eat A Horse

I am back from busking on a Saturday night that somehow produced about 35 bucks, helped greatly by a twenty dollar bill from someone, who hid it under the ones.
I believe it was a couple who came over and asked me what song I had been playing, which was "Little Wing," the Jimi Hendrix song covered by Stevie Ray Vaughn and Sting, to name a couple.

I had struggled with the same anxiety over going out that had been plaguing me lately; but was able to set myself into robotic motion at the prescribed time for a Saturday night departure, and I arrived at the Lilly Pad at around 10:45 and played for what amounted to a bit over 2 hours for the 36 bucks.

I had a more optimistic view of the human race, also, thinking that there might be some divinity there.

On the way home, I stopped for a can of cat food at the Banks Meat Store, arriving just as the second police van was, with a short toot of his siren.
A couple of black girls had been arguing with one of them grabbing a wine bottle off a shelf, breaking it, and attacking the other girl with the shards of glass. A truly ghetto knife.
There was a puddle of red wine, a puddle of white wine (a bottle of it was knocked to the floor during the tussle) and a line of blood droplets, leading away from the scene and up the next aisle.

I arrived home hungry enough to eat a horse, having forgotten to eat anything substantial, during the day. I had some boiled winter squash and one packet of flavored oatmeal.

I have got some thick slices of potato baking in the oven and added vegetables and tomato sauce to the squash and reboiled it, adding a bit of wheat starch for good measure.

I feel better, and hope to sleep well. Money does make a palpable difference. Or more specifically, having had your music validated through the tip jar makes a difference.

Depression Sets In

I am up to Chapter 3 in the Photoshop book...

If I owned a gun, I think I would have put it to my head this morning, and then thought really hard about pulling the trigger, perhaps waiting for some kind of sign, as to what I should do.

I felt disappointed with being a human being.

With our feet and our teeth and our bodies that aren't that much different than the apes in the jungle, only a step ahead in evolution.

I think it might be related to the really strong weed that has been given to me by well meaning friends. I think it depresses me, and yet I keep smoking it, as if the alternative of boredom is worse. Maybe this last batch was sprayed with some chemical that can cause mental confusion.

I just really didn't want to go out to busk.

It was a Friday night.

I logged on to the Bourbon Street webcam and saw a huge swarm of tourists. This was at about 8:30 PM.

I decided to rest and to try to "center" myself and maybe psych myself up.

By midnight, it had just gotten worse. The music on the radio seemed to mock me by being performed by musicians whom, although I had never heard of them, were playing at a higher level than I do.

I initially chose music because I loved it so much; all I needed was a good album and the day was made.

But, it was also a vehicle for self expression. And to "connect" with other people through it. And, to leave something that will endure after I am gone. But that is another thing; how fast music is forgotten.

Eddie Money died last week, for example, and had his last 15 seconds of fame when the news stations reported it, played a few seconds of his hit songs, and then moved on to the weather.

I decided to just try to go to sleep.

I could have had a hundred plus dollar night out there, but I felt stupid, and that my songs were even more stupid and pointless. I imagined another group of musicians set up at the Lilly Pad with their tip basket overflowing, and ready to tell me that they had been there all week and had spoken to Lilly, who had told them that I hadn't been around lately and that I must have quit busking.


They are "pickling" the pipes that are connected to the heating and air conditioning systems here at Sacred Heart, and I wouldn't be surprised if noxious gasses are leaking out of those ancient units.


It's kind of weird because just recently I couldn't believe how happy I was. I felt guilty about feeling so much joy.


I feel like, to those whom a lot is given, a lot is expected in return.

I half expect that any day now, some group is going to knock on my door and say: "You've been here for seven years and have produced no albums, written no novels or done any great works of visual art. You live in an all expenses paid studio, with all these tools at your disposal, and yet, have wasted it all, now get out!"

But, it is now Saturday night, and very windy out.
I suppose I could just dial Lilly's number and talk to her; explain that I've been taking a lot of time off to mess around with the keyboard and the electric guitar that I now have around the apartment.

Hopefully tomorrow's post will be much more upbeat. I haven't been posting much lately because most of them would have been just as dour as this one...

Gone Fishing

I am dividing my time about 9 ways, with the studying of the Photoshop type book being near the top of the pile.

Plus, I have at least a couple more "songs" that just need one or more parts to be complete enough.
Plus, I'm in the middle of reading a dozen books.
There is lot of classical music I want to check out, with downloading more Schumann and more Brahms, Bruckner and Stravinsky being at the top of the list.
I am still doing the self help dialogues, when not setting them to music.
And, I think that, by the time I can play the stuff in the Mel Bay Modern Guitar Method, Book 2, to my satisfaction, then I will just about be able to play the stuff in Book 8 just as well. It is kind of like learning to read. Once you can do so, there is nothing that you can't read. Comprehension is another thing, but.
Jacob and I were just talking about how there are some very amazing and "gifted" musicians out there, but some of them are so "good" that they are not accessible to the common man.
Stravinsky was arguably in this group, as is the guitarist Alan Holdsworth, who is idolized by some for his technical abilities, but dubbed "Mr. a-million-notes-that-say-nothing" by others.
I guess there will always be a longer line outside a Madonna concert than the one outside Symphony Hall, on any given night...

This Is More Like It

Sitting in my room, going through the Photoshop 6 book (an application that my GIMP attempts to emulate. I think that, without actually using the word "plagiarized" they say that it's a free, open source program "that users of Photoshop will find familiar" or something) and I guess I have to take back what I said about myself taking to it like a frog to a pond.

Because,now that I think of it, the app has a boatload of bells and whistles and things that can get out of control in a hurry (see photo left).

This photo, I will call "Jacob and His 100 Pound Gorilla," and is a graphic representation of the power that his laptop has over him, as symbolized by the gorrilla that seems to be spewing "the cloud" out if its mouth.

The next chapter will teach me the dozen of more ways to "select" parts of images, and should propel me forward at a great rate of learning.

Now, I go to prepare another music file to load up here.

Busking has been productive, when I have gotten out there. I have been trying to take Monday through Wednesday off to catch up on things around the house.

Bobby in building C has been pushing me to try to obtain a social security "disability" check.

He is pretty sure that if I go to the same shrink who he sees, and tell the guy about how I have often woken up with a sinking feeling in my chest, like I am on an elevator going down, and how I am struggling to find meaning in a world being quickly overrun by the mass shooter generation with their 24/7 screen time mentality, then the guy could write me up something to take to the social security administration, or for the same lawyer who ran Bobby's paperwork over there to do so, and, within a few short months, I can begin to receive a check for $743 on the first of every month, to compensate me for this disability of mine.

"Imagine not having to go out there and play when you don't feel like it, just so you will have a dollar in your pocket when you wake up the next day!" said Bobby, or words to that effect.

Yes, it would be nice to be a full time artist; cranking out music and drawings and children's books and novels and blog posts and making videos and writing screenplays and lyrics and...

By quitting smoking pot, I could even triple my output and maybe even output an adequate amount of material for someone with a commission like mine...

The song "Impact Words" is just one piece that I composed using the self help dialogues.

I had found another one which I could also only vaguely remember putting together, and had played it for Jacob, who agreed that it was a work of art.

That one was just called "Prepare Yourself," and I was pleasantly surprised to have found it, since I had all but forgotten doing it, but it needs to be cut down a bit from its current 17 minute length.

And then, I did still another work, using poetry that I had laying around the house, which also needs to be edited down from its 28 minute form, called "Lispland," about a place where everyone speaks with a lisp.

What I am finding is that by shucking the guitar and getting on the keyboard, I unburden myself of several thought processes related to having the guitar around my neck which may have been holding me back.

Maybe my expectations from myself are higher when I play the guitar, since it is my "main" instrument, and the one that I am "supposed to be" good at.
The songs just roll off of the keyboard like I am Elton John, or someone. Maybe because the pressure is off me.

Or maybe because today's synthesizers practically write the songs themselves.

I can scroll through hundreds of drum beats, finding one that fits the song in my head; adjusting the tempo up or down as necessary and then, select from a couple dozen bass instruments from fretless to synthesized, and, before I know it, I've got the bass and drums ready to become the backbone of a song.

I am starting to think that this is how Prince wrote his stuff, and why he was so prolific, as it is totally possible to knock out 3 or 4 brand new songs a day using that Casio WK-200 (which D'oh! I forgot to download the user manual for, so I can learn how to do multi-track recording with the thing. Layering all kinds of synthesized instruments over each other...)

Now, to post this up using the hotspot connection, before checking to see how many megabytes will be used up in doing so.

Now, I have only used about 10 megabytes to post this, or about one half of one percent of my alottment for the month..
I guess I can conclude that it isn't blogging that is eating it up in large chunks...

Impact Words

Yeah, so it isn't like I haven't been doing anything lately.
The idea of the

"Awaken the Genius" book has to do with somehow aligning oneself with the intelligence which made the universe, and by not resisting it, becoming more of whom you were meant to be, etc.

So, the song above started out as a recording of one of the dialogues that are provided in the book and are meant to be made using a person's own voice, because of that having been proven to be relaxing and soothing, and are intended to be listened back to and used to hypnotize and program oneself. The theory being that it would be easier to talk oneself into walking around flapping your arms and clucking like a chicken than it would for any unfamiliar sounding voice to do so.

 But, I have stuck with these dialogues longer than I have with any other self help type of program in the past.

Usually, as soon as I started to see positive results and realize that the new program might lead me down the quick path to success, I back off a bit, to give myself time to ponder if that is really what I want, type of thing, and then I usually never got back to the book or CD, or whatever. Fear of success and/or self sabotaging might be terms that professionals would use to describe that phenomenon.

There was a pretty cool cassette series of "subliminal suggestion" recordings, which had a spoken monologue on one side, basically a hypnotist doing his thing...I know this is a cassette, but at least try to imagine that I'm swinging a pocket watch in front of you...

And, on the other side of the cassette was music with subliminal suggestions contained within it. There was also the sound of waves splashing on a beach in the background of the music; perhaps to help mask the suggestions and to throw in some additional relaxing mental imagery.

This was meant to be a one-two punch in the sense that the spoken hypnotist dialogue was aimed at one of the sides of the brain, whereas the music and waves crashing and messages too soft to even hear, is for the other side.

I set aside those tapes after getting to the part where the guy (on side A) said something like: "If you are currently using alcohol or drugs, then please refrain from using this method until you have made an effort to back off from, or eliminate entirely, these things from your life."

I backed off, for sure. That was 1987.

I also struggled with them for the very reason that the 2017 version of them (from the Awaken The Genius book) addresses by having the "your eyelids are becoming very heavy; like lead weights" type dialogues recorded in the person's own voice.

The guy on the cassette, I couldn't help picture as being a kind of short stocky and balding guy with a beard, whose appearance, even though only imaginary, begged the question: What the hell would he know about living life to it's full potential? and he wasn't a type of guy who would be able to hypnotize me.

My attention was drawn to his annunciation of certain words, and instead of going into a positive state of relaxation, I was thinking about things like his odd choice of words, or maybe all the way up to the point where the guy kind of burps, thinking about that; and then thinking: Why didn't he just edit over that? for the remainder of the "session."

And, then the music side, intended for the "abstract" portion of the brain, was a disaster, as all I could do was listen to the simple major chords, played on a piano and a guitar and the very childish, "Curious George" genre of it, and wonder things like: "Is this what they have determined to be the most relaxing kind of music? 

It's in kind of a 12/8 meter, I guess that's relaxing... 

An acoustic guitar and piano; organic stringed instruments, relaxing and hypnotic as hell, I guess...

Is this kind of music going to lull me into a trance so that the subliminal suggestions will be planted, and I'll be programmed for success?

Because it's simple and repetitive..?

What is that saying about people in general..?

I mean that's just a G major chord with the bass note doing a lazy dotted eighth note movement...

And the sounds of the surf. I think they are having a reverse effect on me, and now I only feel successful when I'm at the beach...

Anything to keep me from being hypnotized be the thing.

And, I would wonder things like: If the messages are so low in volume as to be heard only by the subconscious mind, but yet, still are heard, then why don't extremely soft sounds in every day life have a strong power of suggestion over us.

Like the guy in the apartment next door to me now?

The one whispering: "Daniel, give Wayne a cigarette next time you see him..." over and over, so softly that there is no way that I could ever hear him. Especially not over the music, and whatever seashore sound effects I might be using..

I have just recently cracked open the books about the GIMP editor, and am emboldened to make another foray into the world of digital imagery.

I must admit that, when I first started messing with the GIMP, I was amazed by how easy it seemed to be to create interesting artwork with it, and I thought that, as in music, where anybody with a piano in their living room has the "ability" to play Chopin, it would be more about what I did with the tools at my disposal, rather than the about those tools.

I thought that I came up with some pretty good art. I even thought that it might have been beginners luck. Or maybe that, since I had very little idea of "what" I was doing, I had been forced to rely upon instinct and raw determination, type of thing.

But, after having shown one of my works to a certain young lady, who commented that she hated it when she could tell, by looking at a piece, that it had been rendered using a special effect from Photoshop.

I think I have gotten past the sting of that, and am ready to dive into the Photoshop 6 book that I got for 50 cents at the Goodwill Store.

Smarter Phone

The Catch-22 was that, my government phone was chewing up data left and right because up to 50 pages of ads were downloading onto the thing as soon as I turned it on to say, check for messages.

The solution began with trying the top suggestion on the web, updating my Android operating system on it.  

Sure, that makes sense. Maybe the latest Android version has addressed the issue of 50 new tabs of ads popping open on the phone. And the phone heating up like an iron as the battery meter drops noticeably.

But, then, after I got my free 2 gigabytes of data, I hit the button to update everything and then was informed that there were 32 minutes "left" to perform this task.

An Abortion

I cringed to think of how much data could be transferred in 32 minutes, and so I cancelled the operation.

448 megabytes, or about 20% of my monthly data had already been used, apparently in the aborted attempt.
So, that seemed like a Catch-22. The only way to fix the problem of all my data being eaten up is to update the system, a process which will eat up all my data...

Not to fear. I have come to the computer room at Sacred Heart, where I have, along with uploading and linking the song at the top, used my laptop as a hotspot, and my government phone as the recipient of the signal, and have updated the Android system! on it, so that hopefully I will not be asked if I want to Play Now, any of up to 50 games online.

It bugs me to think that the phone company could be in cahoots with these producers of data hungry games. Wouldn't Sprint love to see me addicted, at ten bucks for 5 gigabytes, to driving a virtual car around and shooting cartoon people that I see on the virtual street for hour after hour after....?

Though, I know this has nothing to do with why this current generation of Millenials could go down in history as "The Mass Shooters" any more than it might have with a person listening to the Impact Words song above then doing acid and dropping out...

Done Using Smartphone

 it's just a matter of getting back into a routine of posting to the blog everyday I just need to fix my government phone so it doesn't load 50 pages of ads everytime I go to check a message or something I need to update it and updating it will consume just about all my month's worth of data -a Catch-22..
Unless I go to the computer lab to set up my laptop as a hotspot then update the thing over wi-fi..
I have been consumed by musical persuits lately
I suddenly find myself with a Casio WK-200 keyboard and an Ibanez electric guitar
The guitar was from Bobby in building C.
And Jacob left the keyboard at my place, so he has it there for when we jam.
Will post something soon...
Am studying Photoshop once again, and will post something soon, also..
Hopefully to go with a music video
My lyrics are starting to pour forth, now that I have the capacity to knock out a whole song in one session...
I busked with Jacob on the acoustic bass last(Friday) night and we made 46 bucks.
Most of it will go towards kratom and cat food.

If I Wait Until The Post Is A Masterpiece...

There's more than one way to skin a cat..

Yes, I have devised a new way to post to the blog Called "photo blogging."
This allows me to write with a pen and a piece of paper (and it does not escape me that this would be a great way to post certain words and phrases that might otherwise trip alarms, such as hate speech and terrorist kind of language -just put it in a photo and then run your hate website and promote your manifesto that way -just an idea I can't help thinking of these things)

Yes the food stamp money comes in less than 3 hours from where I sit now and time is just rushing by like a white water rapid