Computer Geek Blues (live from Lilly Pad)

I was messing around with this audio file that Jacob sent me from when we played Christmas Eve at the Lilly Pad.

"Computer Geek Blues" is about a fictitious computer geek who is going to be from Walnut Creek from now on, even though in this version of the song, he is from Fountain Valley, California.

He steals a fictitious girlfriend from a fictitious guy; and the song attempts to describe how that would go down...

Time crept along until it was midnight when I arrived at the playing spot; without the amp and microphone, just the spotlight.

I made 32 bucks in right around 80 minutes of playing.

It was good to know that I can make money playing without the amp; people just stand a little closer.

I have all kinds of ideas about what kind of songs to add to my list; I've been limiting them to a few keys that match the harmonicas. A really good player can get something like 5 different keys out of a harmonica.

Well, I've been up all night after getting home; and before I know it, it will be time to go back out; this time with fresh batteries in the amp and the spotlight; and hopefully a brand new song. I have just about learned "Half A Person," by The Smiths.

If I was smart, I would find all the songs I can that have harmonica in them; maybe by Googling; "which songs use a D major harmonica?"

I'm pretty sure "Heart of Gold," by Neil Young does.

The Extra Safe Casino

The birds on my Singing Bird Clock have just chirped for one in the morning.

I got back from making a run down to Caesar's casino, where, instead of just carding people who looked under thirty, the security people are checking vaccination cards and scanning phones that had some kind of application on them, linking people (through their smart phones, which seem to be the de-facto ID cards these days) to a government database of who has paid Big Pharma, and who hasn't. I had forgotten all about the viral hysteria; I don't go to bars or restaurants, and so, never thought about it. I'm sure the big grocery markets are unable to institute such a policy because of the certain mass revolt of people; who would show up in armed militias to get food for their families. F*** the asymptomatic Abominable Snowman, my kids are hungry!!"

I don't want this post to be all about The Snowman, but...

I looked at all the people in the casino, which only seemed to be about half full, and thought: so this is what the poor hapless ignorant lemmings look like. I saw these people in an original light. And the longer I stared, the more I started to pick up on tell tale signs that I might never have noticed before, but which now labelled them as being right out of George Orwell's "1984." They were the ones who believed that 2 plus 2 equals 5. They kind of did look ignorant and had dumb looks on their faces. Vaccines for polio and small pox and rubella actually prevented a person from getting those diseases. But this one doesn't do that; not at all. But they had all gotten it out of fear; and marched to the beat of a few elite globalists, who have their own ideas about how humanity should be run...

I couldn't stand to be around them; and of course I wasn't able to cash the chips in and buy beer; but I only saw that as being part of a greater, underlying force. I was bothered by the fact that I was inclined to drink a couple beers before going to the stadium to play; that was the thing I prized the most during the 1,387 days that I went without drinking; that I no longer "needed" a couple beers to get in the mood. And so, the Law of Attraction worked to insure that I wouldn't gulp down a couple and that tomorrow would be my third day without drinking and perhaps put me over the hump, in that regard.

I was aware that me making it as far as the sign posted to warn people that they needed to show some card before going any further, and then me just turning around and leaving, might have subjected me to a group of progressive liberals that might be amassed outside in order to club and stab "anti-vaxers" to death, similar to the fate that awaited the aristocrats that were leaving the courthouses, where they may only have been fined or otherwise found not guilty of being of a certain class (maybe their last name made them suspect but they were able to prove that they were Jacobin's or whatever). And, so I pulled out my little wallet and fumbled through my cards, and inspected one for a second, before shaking my head, and then leaving.

I didn't see any axes or knives or cudgels in the possession of the group of people on the steps in front of the place; but they could have had them concealed. Better safe than sorry, right vaxers?

But the urge to have a couple beers before playing had been replaced by "needing" a bowl of weed while tuning up to get in the mood to play, back during the 1,387 day stint. 

That had the side effect of me only playing for approximately 80 minutes every night; I almost knew what the time would be when I checked it at the point that I felt the desire to play wearing off; it would be 80 minutes after I had started; many times to the exact minute.

Then, once I started doing a shot of kratom each evening before going out; the weed was all but forgotten; it, in fact made me more prone to puke up the kratom after making me a bit dizzy. Then, I would have to find a large mouthed cup to puke it into in order to swallow it back down. It was a good thing I was always on an empty stomach when I went to the kratom bar; drinking only fruit juice during the day and then mixing the kratom in a Monster Zero drink. Nothing repulsive about drinking that back down...

So, I skipped playing outside the stadium altogether -even though that was leaving money on the table; and decided to go by the Lilly Pad. But, it was later than I thought; I guess I had spent more time time staring at the people in the casino, memorizing their idiosyncrasies, so as to be able to spot the mindless lemmings in the future. I watched them until I had taken an inventory of common features, ticks and mannerisms which would make it easier for me to discern them from people with common sense, in the future.

The quarterback from the home team was missing from the game because of Covid protocols. Largely as a result of that, the home team lost miserably and hurt their chances of making the playoffs; all because of a virus that is mutating so as to purposely become less lethal (humans are such good hosts, why kill them?) and more infectious.

I put on the noon news on one of the local stations and you would think that we were in the middle of a pandemic the likes of the Yellow Fever of 1819, or whenever that was. You would wonder when the trucks would come down your street that day with someone barking: "Bring out your dead!" so the bodies could be taken somewhere to be cremated.

So, now the virus has personally affected me, and angered me such that I will never get the experimental gene therapy shots, or whatever they really are. The more anyone tells me what to do, the more I resist. Full stop.

Especially idiots who went from calling Trump supporters "deplorable's" to imploring them to get "the thing." What's wrong with that picture, shouldn't they have wanted them all to die? And as far as the unvaxed spreading it to the grandparents of the vaxed; before those grandparents are both struck by lightning; I guess that's a chance you have to take when dealing with people who would have likely died the next time they got the regular flu (not the high-test one). Aren't the grandparents more likely to get it at the Christmas party from one of their triple vaxed grandchildren; who might have contracted it at a BLM protest?

I trust the scientists who haven't been bought off and who don't come on the free TV over the local stations; all of which are owned by the same 2 or 3 corporations. One has to manually type in the URL's to those scientist's websites. Google isn't going to show them in your search results. 

Unless your are in China. Then, you can't even access the URL. This blog has been "secretly banned" by the Chinese government, according to a message, written in Chinese that I got a couple months ago, and I imagine everything else that doesn't fit a certain "narrative" is likewise squelched...

Yeah, I'm a little angry over not having been able to cash the chips in at the casino; but not so much because I wanted to drink -during my trip along Bourbon Street, on the way to the Lilly Pad, I saw at least a dozen drinks that had been set atop trash receptacles outside the bars that don't allow outside drinks inside...

I could have gotten pretty smashed. Unless, of course I was afraid of catching something from drinking them; LOL! That's hilarious. But, I am happy and grateful that some higher power protected me from drinking tonight. I felt a conflict of values within myself that came from knowing why I was going there to cash the chips. I guess it serves me right that I had to see the hideous underbelly of this race we call human.

Ironically, I might have caught something from being around the casino, where everyone has to show proof of vaccination at the door. I wouldn't be surprised if the virus isn't energized by contact with the vaccinated, in such a way that makes it more infectious. Let that be a conspiracy theory for now, but check back here in a year when "there might be some evidence now, that..." (that is the case).

So, I feel feverish and am sneezing, after having gone to the extra safe casino. As Elon Musk would say: "The irony!"

The Dolphins Come Swimming In

 Every second I spend here typing is one more second later that I will arrive at the Caesar's Dome to play for those of the 65,000 people that will either march past me as Saints fans, or swim past as Miami Dolphin fans.

If I was as on the ball as Tanya and Dorise used to be; I would have a couple Miami Sound Machine songs on tap; and might be able to "turn the beat around" as required.

I'm going to have to put into practice a discipline of adding one new song to the set list every night; either one reclaimed from the forgotten past; or one that I could learn in 5 minutes; like most Tom Petty songs.

I had 4 one dollar chips thrown as tips on Christmas Eve, from the Caesar's casino, and I guess I might go and cash them in, in order to tank up on a couple beers before setting up in the chaotic environment across from the stadium.

The "fears and insecurities" section of the brain is mostly occupied by worrying that they have re-arranged things and that the spot where I used to play by the stadium might now have a hot dog cart parked there, or something..

Put those thoughts can be replaced by: happy to have air in the tires; and at the very worst, I could cash in the chips and drink a couple beers then go to the Lilly Pad, if the stadium spot proves to be untenable.

The amplifier on full volume would come in handy; but the batteries are dead from it having turned itself on inside my backpack from being jostled just enough last Tuesday; the night it was raining hard enough to give me an excuse to stay in.

Oddly, the amount for a fresh set of batteries is the same 4 bucks that I have in casino chips; but I would have to cash them in and then ride 2 miles back to Family Dollar for the batteries and then 2 miles back to the spot...

That seems to be a hardship which was just run-of-the-mill back when I was homeless; but that was also when I was drinking; probably as a buffer against hardships...

Tonight, there isn't a very valid excuse for not at least going out. I won't be able to decide at 4 in the morning that, come to think of it, now I do feel like going out.

Jacob is transferring the Christmas Eve busking recordings into stereo mixes; and so perhaps I will have that to look forward to upon returning home; and might be able to post up another Soundcloud file here soon...

Like I say, every second spend typing here is....

Red Meat And Gasoline

All I Want For Christmas Is A New Basket

I've realized the extent to which I beat myself up for not going out to busk at times like now (when the photo below was taken). 

There is a 99% chance that at least one 20 dollar bill would have gone into my basket, along with a "Merry Christmas" being uttered. It might have even come from someone who lives in the Quarter and walks past me every night, but doesn't tip, because that would get expensive; but who might at least throw me something on this Christmas Eve's Eve. But, of course there is always the real Christmas Eve, tomorrow.

I should go out there during daylight hours. One of the matters on my mind when I was plucking that figurative daisy earlier ("I should busk...I should busk not...I should busk...etc.) was the fact that, a couple nights ago, after I had bagged up my stuff and went out into the parking lot to find that rain was falling pretty heavily; and came back inside, a couple hours passed before I turned off a couple lights because Harold was trying to sleep. I then noticed a faint orange glow coming from inside my backpack; and discovered that the switch to the Yamaha amp had switched itself on from being jostled around in the bag.

The question became: How much juice is drained by an amp that is turned on but has nothing plugged into it? 

I know, from being an "electronics technician" in a previous life, that that creates an "open" circuit, through which no current can flow, and so no juice would be used; except what is used to light the front of the amp and make it glow orange. This might be just to make the amp look "cool" when it is on, but uses a tiny amount of electricity. 

Of more concern to me, it advertises the fact that I'm using an amp to play in front of Lilly's house, which is hypocritical, given that on at least one occasion, other buskers have been run off by residents who were looking out for me, under the guise of no amps being allowed in that residential block. Perhaps the most infamous example being the running off of Johnny B., known as "the clean guy," by long ago blog readers.

There's ol' Barnaby!

Barnaby and his then girlfriend, Vickie used that particular regulation, which they pulled out of their asses for the occasion, to remove Johnny B. and his Roland Street Cube amp, on that fateful evening in 2015 .

I blogged about that whole thing.

Johnny B. busked on Royal Street, which typically dies down around midnight, which is right when the Lilly Pad is just hitting its peak in traffic.

It was the time he was staying at my place for a couple weeks in exchange for that same Roland Mini Cube amp. He was preparing to go back to New Jersey and didn't want to have it in his luggage; and had proposed that deal.

It was a very good deal for me; and it saved him the cash he would have used to rent a place for those last 2 weeks and lightened his load at the same time. He even threw in the Beatles Complete Scores sheet music book (with U.S. $85.00 printed on its back above the bar code) telling me that he couldn't read music. We were getting along swimmingly.

But then, as a solution to the problem of him needing me to be at the apartment to let him in when he finished busking, I suggested that, when he knocked off around midnight, why didn't he pull his little tote holding his amp and guitar, over to the Lilly Pad, where, instead of him just waiting for me to finish, we could do a few songs, then go together to the street car when we finished.

Well, the first night, we did a few songs and made something like 80 bucks -it was just one of those nights; we had 36 bucks, I recall, thrown into the basket during the first song we did, which was "Comfortably Numb."

This precipitated a sea change in the attitude of Johnny B., who decided that the next night, he would skip Royal Street entirely and accompany me at the Lilly Pad.

I was agreeable to that; partly because it would only be for a few more nights, as he was leaving for New Jersey; and because I thought maybe we could repeat our success of the previous night when we had been able to harmonize vocally like a couple of Simon and Garfunkle's. Johnny knew all the lead vocal parts, and I knew all the backup vocals for songs like "Turn The Page," by Bob Seger, and a slew of Eagles and Beatles stuff.

The first sign of trouble came after Johnny had emerged from the bathroom after having made his toilet (if people still use that phrase). This took him at least a half hour; time spent combing and spraying, sneezing and tweezing, before getting into his spit-shined shoes and putting on his immaculate jacket.

I could use a thousand words to describe the end result of this daily ritual; but this photo (right) which made me think: "Wow, that's Johnny B.!"  the first time I saw it; is frighteningly close to him in appearance. It is most likely the look he was "going for," and probably calls himself Johnny B, because the guy pictured went by "Mr. C."

Johnny had everything but the ink...

Myself, I was just lollygagging about, finding a shirt that I hadn't blown my nose into the night before, or at least turning one inside out, if I had, and choosing between the brown or black hat.

"Dan, it's almost 7:30; I don't know about you but I like to start a little before 8!" said Johnny, a bit edgily.

Then, after riding the street car down to the Royal Street stop, and hearing Johnny bark: "Come on!" as soon as the thing had stopped, as if he thought I might sit there for a while, we started up Royal, myself with the guitar and backpack, him pulling his 2 wheeled thing behind him.

I wanted to run into The Unique Store for something, when we got there. 

Johnny fidgeted outside, after having rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh over my wanting an energy drink or something.

I was somewhere in line half way to the register when I heard a whistle like someone hailing a cab. Looking towards the source of that, I saw, you guessed it;  frantically pointing at his fake Rolex and then spreading his hands out in a gesture that could only have meant: forget about your drink or your cigarettes, just throw them somewhere and come on; we gotta go!

This irked me enough to say: "Hey, man, I'm not a really schedule driven type of guy; never was. I'm not really into this kind of pressure, I've kind of spent my whole life rearranging it to avoid this kind of thing. This is like having a manager! Why don't you just play your Montdeleone spot and we can meet up after midnight like last night; because I like to just take my time; I might even want to stop and talk to somebody, who knows?!"

At this, he changed his tune and kind of apologized, saying that it was the waiting in front of the Unique Grocery that was freaking him out because "There are some people that hang around there that I don't really want to see..." and that he had been worried that one of them might happen to show up.

It crossed my mind that he might have owed some heroin dealer money, and was hoping to avoid him -skip off to New Jersey and leave the guy holding the bag. But that didn't make sense because everyone there would have known that he was 2 blocks up the street every night, across from the Hotel Monteleone. Most likely, he was just trying to test how far he could push me before I pushed back (OK, nix the dog whistling...type of thing).

Johnny B. Gone

We got to the Lilly Pad and set up. Barnaby and his girlfriend were sitting on their stoop with the door to their condo open behind them.

I "set up" by plopping myself down on my milk crate. 

Instead of sitting on the stoop next to me like the night before; Johnny erected his microphone stand and stood next to me, in his shiny shoes.

The night before, he had adjusted his amp down to the level of my acoustic guitar, but not 30 seconds into the first song, it was apparent that it was going to be "The Johnny B. Show," with my guitar a faint drone behind him. His voice had the echo and reverberation on it; mine, well it's a moot point because you couldn't really hear it.

I caught an incredulous look on the face of Barnaby's girlfriend, Vickie -kind of a "Who's this guy think he is?" expression. And then, at the appropriate point in the song, when about a half dozen people had congregated around us, Johnny snapped his fingers at me; and in a Perry Como way (I guess) said: "Give me a solo, Danny boy!"

I thought I was doing a pretty good solo; having shrugged off the thought of: "Excuse me?...give you a solo 'Danny boy?!'" that went through my mind; but it was pretty hard to hear my acoustic solo. Maybe he was trying to demonstrate how loud the amp was that I would be getting, I don't know.

"Go Johnny, Go!"

I didn't have to wonder long because an irate and pretty well lit on gin Vickie was soon in Johnny B.'s face: "Excuse me, but we live right over there; and nobody has ever been allowed to use amplifiers on this block! Daniel has been playing here a long time and we like to listen to him; but we can barely even hear him over you. You've got to go, buddy!"

Then, turning to me: "Do you know this guy, or did he just show up?"

"Yeah, I know him...we did a few songs last night, but I didn't know he was going to crank his amp up to 11..."

Then it was Johnny's turn to look incredulous (picture Perry Como with steam coming out of his ears) "All, you had to do was say 'could you please turn down some, that's all!"

"You mean, snap my fingers and say 'Give me some lower volume, Johnny boy?'" I figured I could be snide because he was the one who wouldn't have a place to sleep if feelings became hurt.

"Alright, alright..." Johnny quickly packed his 2 wheeler, muttering under his breath something out of which I could only catch an occasional "bitch" or "something up her ass" or "can't appreciate music" type of things. He went off in a huff, staring straight ahead as he went by Barnaby and Vickie, who were once again side by side.

I walked over to them and started to explain how I had thought the two of us might have been able to do OK.

Barnaby (who works for the "drug court" as a probation officer, but was an "Easy Rider" type hippie biker in the late sixties) said: "No, it was clear to me that he was just trying to move in on your territory. How long before you show up one night and he's already here and tells you he wants to play solo?" and then, Vickie kind of hit the nail on the head:

"When he snapped his finger and said: 'Give me a solo, like you were just his side-kick...give me a break, he's not even as good as you; that's when we were like; this guy's got to go..besides, he was too loud for some of these other residents...and when he walked past us, he didn't even say 'sorry' or 'have a good night' or anything!" 

I guess people see the dinner jacket and expect the guy to exhibit manners commensurate with it...

So, that (illustrated through a short anecdote) is why I wish my little Yamaha amp didn't have orange lights glowing through its grill...warning: hypocrite ahead!

A Gift To Harold From The Lidgley's

I went to Winn Dixie for food; trying not to berate myself too much for not going out to play tonight.

"I'm starting to get the feeling that someone wants us all to go vegetarian and drive electric cars," I said to a guy who was next to me at the meat cooler. 

First I had kind of looked him over to assess the odds that he would get the joke. He didn't totally ignore me, which was fortuitous, here in Ignoreleans, and smiled after I clarified with "given the way the prices on them have gone up..."

There was a "rack" of lamb, about the size of a small ladies purse that was priced at $95 and change. "Hey, can I borrow a hundred bucks so I can make a couple lamb sandwiches?" I joked to the nearest person to me there...

Then, into the canned fish aisle I went, where I noticed that mackerel has closed the price gap between it and salmon, with salmon having gone up maybe 20%, but mackerel having nearly doubled over the past couple years.

Oddly, wine seems to have remained somewhat stable in price, except for the cheap 4 dollar bottle having become the cheap 5 dollar bottle. My theory on that is that this proves that wine has always been artificially inflated in price; not because of the cost of producing and shipping it, but rather, on how good tasting a particular batch had come out. They are able to avoid raising the prices on certain bottles because they are already priced with no grounding in normal economics.

I got a can of mackerel, planning upon trying some on Harold, and a tin of sardines for the same reason. Tuna "in water" remains the ol' standby as far as being able to feed him when I have no cash, but plenty of food stamps.

Finding sympathetic (to Harold, not me) people in the cat food aisle who would be willing to let me use food stamps to buy something in their basket of a value slightly more than the cans of Friskies that I'm trying to get, is an option that becomes far less viable when it is a half hour before the store closes and that aisle is empty. I might try to start showing up earlier when the store is busy; especially since cat lovers seem very likely to just hand me a couple dollars in cash, saying: "Here, you don't have to buy me anything, just get your cat its food..." type of thing.

Over by the alkaline water, I joked to an employee who was stocking eggs: "Ah, alkaline water, been swearing by it since 1853 when I first started drinking it; they say it's good for longevity!" 

The egg man didn't get the joke initially, but I explained it. 

I then noticed that the only difference between Egg Beaters "Original" and their "Egg Whites" versions was that the original had beta carotene added to turn it the color of egg yolks, as if whole eggs were used to make it; even though both styles had only egg whites listed in the ingredients. 

I wondered if that was a psychological ploy, the way orange color is added to orange soda (which would otherwise be clear).

The reason in this case would be people feeling more comfortable biting into an egg sandwich that has yellow egg in it. Or, maybe they are trying to fool people into thinking that the original flavor is made out of whole eggs; like how they put the whole milk next to the skim stuff. 

It is kind of deceptive, I think, to have "original flavor" next to "egg white only" when they are both egg white only; as if one is a lighter, more healthy alternative, when they are literally made of the same ingredients except for some fake yolk coloring.

"I don't know," said the chubby white guy in his late twenties who was stocking the eggs..

"I don't know either. I gave up trying to figure out the egg game a long time ago. Have a good night, Merry Christmas..."

"Merry Christmas"

Coming Soon: The story of the twin that I was once told I had; but now am apt to believe in, given photo evidence...

This isn't me; I swear!

I once met a guy who looked kind of like Kenny Rogers in St. Augustine, Florida. His name was Art, and he invited me to share a beer or two with him; and asked me if he could take a picture of me; otherwise the people in Key Pine Bluff, Florida wouldn't believe him when he told them he had met a guy (me) who was the exact twin of some guy who lives there.

"I want to show him your picture, because you guy's could be twins. He even talks like you; about the same kind of things; and he plays the guitar!"

I let Art take a few pictures of me and asked him if he would e-mail me copies, because I had so few pictures of myself for this blog, back then in 2010.

This was about 2 months after Alyne Lidgley had taken pictures of me and promised to send me copies. By then I had figured that Alyne had either lost my e-mail address, or lost her camera, or whatever.

Art promised me he would e-mail me copies.

The very next day, I logged on to the computer at the library and went to my e-mail, and the first thing I saw was mail labelled: "Here are your photos!"

Wow, that was fast, Art really is efficient, I thought.

When I opened the mail, though, they were the photos that Alyne had taken a couple months earlier, that she was just getting around to sending.

I looked at the timestamp on her e-mail, subtracted the 8 or 9 hours between St. Augustine and London, and it seemed that Alyne was hitting "send" to send me her pictures within minutes or at the exact same time Art was snapping his pictures; pictures that I have never gotten, even to this day.

When I saw the above picture; I couldn't help thinking this is the guy from Key Pine Bluff who looked so much like me, that Art just had to have a photo of me to show him "Because it's gonna freak him out, the resemblance!"

Lillian Breeze - Il Mio Cuore Va...plus: New Souls!

I was sitting there, wondering if my heart would go on; weird thing to be pondering, but I was out of alcohol and weed and kratom and...how did I ever choose a video that would auto-play to this one?

I'll tell you why: Because Jesus is from an alternate universe and wanted to give me a Christmas gift...
You, know, I'm sure that when they hit the spike with the hammer the first time, it didn't probably pierce all the way through, maybe it did, that would have been a whole lot less painful than having it just bruise the tissue but not penetrate...but who knows how dull the spikes were, back then
Then they would have had to draw back and prepare to hit it harder, to make it go all the way through to the wood of the cross...after having flubbed the first attempt.

Like when the dentist pulls so hard on a tooth that it hurts like hell but the tooth doesn't budge. Pain for nothing.

It gives me consolation, and assuages any guilt that I might have over having hurt any other person in my lifetime. This is the animal that invented the crucifix; they deserve to be crucified.

But they don't have to be...

If Jesus' example of forgiving them "for they know not what they do' doesn't resonate with people who are pissed off because someone left the milk out of the fridge all night and when they woke up and went to put some in their cereal, they realized it was sour; then...?

If you don't shed a tear listening to Lilly (as I have taken to calling her) singing this song, then, you ain't human.

Lidgley Gift Arrives

Something made me think of e-mailing Alyne and Mike Lidgley yesterday.

I was hesitant for a second, realizing that it was a few days before Christmas and worrying that they might think that, since they have been sending me Christmas gifts since I met Alyne in St. Augustine in 2010, I was just trying to remind them that I exist; like after not having communicating much all year, I was suddenly cropping up right before the time that they have been sending parcels..

Like: "Hey, don't forget me when you are sending out gifts this year," type of thing.

Well, the calendar arrived the very next day after I had emailed; affirming, for at least the third time, that there is a telepathic thing going on between myself and the Lidgleys.

Let me try to dig up the story of the photos in St. Augustine in 2010; and I think I can even add to it given a new photo that I discovered online...

I will have to reprint that later; I can't find that right now. So, now for something completely different...

11 signs of a spiritual awakening ending your relationship

How can a spiritual awakening end a relationship?

You would think that one person going through a spiritual awakening can only be a good thing. After all, spiritual awakenings are meant to make you more at peace with yourself.

But problems can occur in relationships when one person goes through a spiritual awakening and the other person doesn’t.

The reason this causes tension is that one person has come to a series of profound realizations about their life and the other person struggles to comprehend what’s going on.

If you feel like a spiritual awakening may be ending your relationship, then keep reading.

I’m going to share 11 classic signs that a spiritual awakening is ending a relationship. I’ll also cover the ways to tackle the pain of losing loved ones after a spiritual awakening.

This way you can continue focusing on your spiritual journey instead of holding onto stagnant relationships.

Let’s begin.

What is a spiritual awakening?

“Spiritual awakenings occur when we see glimpses of the much bigger picture around us and find humility in the moment. We can become aware that humility is not thinking less of oneself, but rather thinking of oneself less, and that we are worthy of self-compassion.”

It’s the moment in your spiritual journey where you overcome thoughts of the future or memories of the past, the ego, and all superficial desires.

Something shifts in your perception of the world. You’re no longer just you; you’re part of something much bigger, in which every living thing is connected.

But that doesn’t mean you’ve achieved perfection, it’s more about being aware of what’s going on inside you and externally, paying attention to the spiritual flow of the world, and seeking knowledge about the life around you.

It’s a process that is different for each of us. No two spiritual awakenings will be the same, because we all have different perceptions and each goes through their own spiritual journey.

What does remain in common is how a spiritual awakening can make you feel alienated, misunderstood, and frustrated when it comes to the relationships you had before becoming enlightened.

It’s not an easy journey, and the effect it has on your relationships can at times be very painful.

On one hand, you begin to understand your purpose in the world, you can explore your passion and creativity, and live life being your true authentic self.

On the other hand, you might feel intense pain at the changing relationships around you. Those who were once a source of comfort and understanding are no longer on the same frequency levels as you.

But pain is part of the process.

It’s also inevitable. As you grow in your spirituality, you naturally change from who you once were and this can put a strain on your relationship with friends, families, and partners.

And as much as this can hurt, once you’ve gone through a spiritual awakening, there’s no turning back.

1) You might feel drained by other people’s energies

Have you ever got home from hanging out with a friend, maybe jamming in their studios, and felt completely exhausted and drained?

We’ve all come across people like this during our lifetimes (Bobby, Jacob), whether we’re spiritually awakened or not.

They don’t mean to drain your energy, but whether it’s through being super energetic or extremely down and depressing, some people just take it out of us.

You might have been aware of this before becoming spiritually awakened, but after your transformation, it all becomes much more obvious.

This is because you have changed significantly, and so has your energy.

Your thoughts, feelings, and processing of those around you have changed, and you can no longer handle being around certain people.

Unfortunately, some of those people might already be in your close circle, or even a parent or partner.

It’s a sad truth to face, but your soul starts to search for people with energies that match yours.

And for the energies that don’t – you won’t be able to ignore the feeling of being completely out of sync with them and tired out by their presence.

2) You don’t attract the same type of people anymore

As you evolve within yourself and in your spirituality, the people you attract will start to change too.

You’ll find yourself being unable to connect with former types of friendships or relationships and instead be drawn to people with similar spiritual energy to you.

Whilst this might not happen overnight, trust that the universe will put someone in your path who understands you and is on the same wavelength.

Even though it can feel lonely at times, trust that the right people will be drawn to you and the loneliness doesn’t last forever.

In some cases, it’s simply part of the process.

The more you accept the changes to your current relationships, the more you’ll be open to forming new ones which are much more enriching to your life.

4) You feel misunderstood

Feeling misunderstood by the people closest to you is one of the main feelings that people who go through a spiritual awakening feel.

And it makes sense.

Picture how your life has changed, expanded, and pushed the boundaries of what’s ‘normal’.

Now imagine your friends and family who haven’t gone through this change.

They can’t begin to imagine the changes which took place at the core of you, including how your perception of the world has changed.

Unless you are blessed with very open-minded people in your life, the heart-sinking experience of watching your loved one’s zone out as you explain your newfound spiritual knowledge will inevitably take place.

If you’re lucky, some might try to take an interest, other’s will politely listen but ultimately you’ll never feel truly understood until you meet someone who is also spiritually aware.

5) You might feel lonely

Leading on from the previous point, without the understanding of your loved ones, spending time with them can start to make you feel lonely.

You might physically be together, but as you’re not connecting on the same levels anymore, you can start to feel isolated and alone.

It’s a very painful thing to experience, especially if it’s around people who you once found much comfort and company in.

No one longs for loneliness, right? But some long for understanding and a new awareness of the life they live.

It’s tough, but it’s all part of the process. You’ve experienced something which has inherently changed you, and you can no longer pretend to be something you aren’t.

6) You start to see your relationships differently

You begin to see people for who they are, not who you wanted or imagined them to be.

7?) You have less in common with your close friends

As you embrace your spiritual journey and start to pay more attention to what truly makes your soul energized and happy, you may find with close friends,  you have less and less in common.

Whether it’s your hobbies, passions, or just the things you talk about, you’ll begin to notice the difference between you and your close ones.

Whilst you’re looking at the bigger picture of things and working out how certain events might be linked or connected, your close ones might be viewing the same situation in a completely different way.

You might find that all those things you once had in common with your loved ones gradually fade away.

8) Some relationships become frustrating

We all know the frustration that comes with miscommunication or not seeing eye-to-eye with someone.

A person who has gone through a spiritual awakening might find that their old relationships become tense due to the lack of understanding.

You’ve gained so much knowledge on the world around you, yourself, and your spirituality, why haven’t they?

It hurts you because you want them to experience it for themselves. You want them to try and be the best they can be, to be aware of the flow of life which is much bigger than just themselves.

But they can’t. At least not on the same level as you.

I know it’s frustrating, but you have to keep in mind that everyone’s journey is different. Some may also embark on a spiritual path and others will never give a second thought to it.

Being frustrated with these relationships is completely normal, and eventually, you either learn to embrace the relationship in a different way or take your separate paths.

9) Ignoring energies which no longer align with yours becomes hard

Have you ever had a friend or partner who you knew wasn’t quite right for you, but you went along with the relationship anyway?

Maybe out of curiosity or maybe just because they had some nice qualities which kept you in the relationship.

But deep down, you knew you hadn’t connected with them from your soul. It’s a superficial relationship but a comfortable one.

If so, you’ll understand what I mean when I say this becomes very hard to turn a blind eye to when you’re spiritually awakened.

You can no longer entertain people who don’t have similar frequency levels to you.

You can’t spend hours in their company, pretending to laugh or be interested in the same things as them.

This isn’t because you’re better than them, or that they’re bad people -even though they might be bad people LOL!.

It’s because you’ve become so aware, so awake to life around you, that it almost becomes painful to be around those who aren’t.

You know that around them, you struggle to be completely yourself. And this goes against what you should be feeling and doing after a spiritual awakening.

10) Conflict starts to arise

Conflicts in relationships happen, but after a spiritual awakening, you might find that these problems get worse.

Let’s use the example of two partners.

One has experienced a spiritual awakening and the other has no interest in it. As the enlightened partner tries to embrace life in a much more authentic, in tune with the universe way, the other partner might become resentful or confused.

They won’t be able to understand what’s changed in their partner. This might scare them or make them feel nervous.

From the point of view of the awakened soul, they might start to feel like their partner is holding them back or not supporting them in their spiritual journey.

People grow apart and conflicts arise for all sorts of reasons, but a spiritual awakening is a hard one to resolve unless the other partner takes the time to understand the changes which have happened.

11) You become unrecognizable to them and vice versa

As you’ve changed as a person, your loved ones might not see you in the same way, and you may start to view them differently too.

Although you may still love each other, you might begin to feel like you don’t recognize who they are anymore.

And to them, you can seem like a whole new person.

Your outlooks have changed. The way you live your life has evolved, and you take pleasure in living in the moment, vibrating in sync with the energy of the world around you.

Imagine who you were before that transformation.

Probably someone very different from who you are now, right?

Except you’ve made the changes yourself, and you can see where you’ve progressed and which challenges you’ve faced.

Your loved ones might not see all of that background on your journey. To them, you were once one way, and now you’re something different.

Does a spiritual awakening mean a complete end to your relationships?

So whilst it might feel like all your relationships as you know them are coming to an end, does that mean you have to leave everyone you’ve ever loved behind?

No.

You don’t have to cut ties with friends and family who have different energies to you, but you may have to adjust the relationship.

A positive response

If your partner or family has a positive response, that’s great news. It means that they are willing to support you and take an understanding approach to your life changes.

They might not embark on a spiritual path themselves, but they won’t reject learning about it either (to understand you better).

• A neutral response

This means that they are indifferent to your changes.

 It might be a little upsetting that they aren’t taking more interest in something which means a lot to you, but they’re also not getting in your way or holding you back.

A negative response

If your partner or family responds negatively, this can start to affect the relationship in ways that might be beyond repair.

If they don’t take your spirituality seriously, or they try to make the process harder for you, eventually the relationship will probably break down.

Depending on which response you get, you can decide on how to continue with the relationship.

Some will be easier than others to hold onto, and some you may feel have come to a natural end.

Life is a series of different relationships, some will continue for years and others will become fleeting memories.

The main thing is to focus on the relationships which add value to your life and allow you to embrace your spirituality, without judgment or negativity.

5 ways to handle the changes to your relationship after a spiritual awakening

Whether you end up parting ways with certain people in your life, or you decide to keep the relationship going in a way that works for you both, the changes can be tough to deal with.

Here are some steps to take in making the process easier:

1) Trust in your journey

Whenever we take steps to better ourselves, it’s only natural that doubts will pop up from time to time.

An experience like a spiritual awakening isn’t an everyday thing, so it’s quite normal to be unsure if you’re doing the right thing.

Add into the mix the fact that you might lose close friends or loved ones and it’s easy to understand where doubts might creep in.

In this situation, you need to have trust in yourself and in the spiritual journey that you’ve embarked on, regardless of what people around you might say.

2) Accept that some relationships will naturally change

As you move through life, the relationships around you are ever-changing, and most of the time it’s for the right reasons.

People come and go, some stay on longer because they’re valuable and add worth to your life, others simply stay for some time.

Sometimes they are a blessing, and sometimes they are a lesson.

Resisting this natural flow won’t make you feel better in the long run. Knowing when to take a step back can save you from relationships that could turn toxic.

3) Don’t be afraid to open up

If you face a situation where you don’t want the relationship to break down, but the other person has a very negative response to your awakening, you might need to overcome your fears of rejection...and like, communicate with that person, not just smoking weed together....

It’s not an easy step to take, especially if you already have a complicated relationship or history.

But sometimes it’s the only way forward.

Be honest about your spirituality, share with that person how you feel and why you’re concerned about the relationship.

Ultimately, if love and respect are there, you’ll both agree to be understanding of each other, even if it does mean the relationship is different.

If they don’t, then you know where you stand and that you’ve tried your best.

4) Surround yourself with like-minded people

You are the company you keep, as the old saying goes.

Whilst it might not be true in every situation, the majority of the time the people you surround yourself with can have a huge impact on your mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being.

If you find that your old or current relationships are struggling because of your spiritual awakening, see it as an opportunity to narrow down your circle and find people who are on the same frequency level as you.

You’ve taken steps to open yourself as a person, open your soul to be more in tune with the world, and now it’s time to open yourself up to new and more fulfilling relationships and friendships.

5) Don’t give up hope (but don’t sit around waiting either)

The ending or changing of a relationship doesn’t have to be the end of the world.

Of course, it’s painful and something we all try to avoid, but always keep in mind that people can change.

Just because a relationship breaks down now, there’s nothing to say that you won’t reconnect with that person again in the future, if and when your energies are more aligned with each other.

Just as you have opened yourself up to spirituality, they may too one day be more understanding or even interested in it themselves.

So instead of seeing it as the end of a relationship (which in some cases, it may just be) try to see relationships as an evolving process.

Those that are meant to be in your life will come back around, and hopefully, the relationship will be even better and stronger the second time around.

New Souls, Yay!!

As no two spiritual awakenings are ever the same, it’s hard to predict how you might handle these changes in your life.

Relationships play a massive role in our lives, and there’s no denying that losing a connection with someone you love deeply can hurt.

But keep in perspective that after a spiritual awakening, it’ll hurt much more to keep losing a piece of yourself to someone who doesn’t align with you anymore.

Besides, the ending of one relationship opens the way for new souls to make their way into your life...

Reprinted from off my hard drive origin not remembered

These Are The Type of People...

...who might stop in front of me, positioning the stroller so that the little tyke could see someone playing a guitar and a harmonica, while trying to draw the kid's wandering eyes in the right direction. And, then might drop a couple bucks in the basket. Darn! I wish I was out there right now, so I could take advantage of that!

I woke up at almost 6 in the evening; feeling depressed in a way that had me flashing back in my mind to things that I wished that I hadn't done.

But, then I thought about the fact that it was only the other people involved in those situations, ones that I could imagine recalling the same event and thinking: "What a jerk he was," that was bothering me.

Then I realized that those people, if they are even still alive, most likely saw the event from an entirely different, and maybe opposite angle...

I thought about an Eddie Van Halen interview I had watched on Youtube and how much work and devotion one would have to put into reaching his technical level on the instrument, spending all day, every day approaching music from every angle -he said that he didn't listen to any other music because he didn't have time; he was too busy practicing to sit down and listen to an album.

Somehow that depressed me. I figure that relates to the feeling that I had that I am so far behind Eddie that I would have to go back to being 7 years old and spend my whole summer vacation wailing away on a guitar from when I woke up at 7 in the morning, until my mom told me to shut it down because she and my dad were about to try to go to sleep, because it was after 10 p.m. and dad had to get up for work.

Then, if I was Eddie, I would drift off to sleep imagining different ways to string my guitar, or whatever and be already messing around with that when mom interrupted me to say that breakfast was ready.

I guess I figured that Eddie had already done "all of that," and what point would it serve for me get in my practicing that morning...

It took about 25 minutes to change the sinking feeling with one of gratitude and joy. I think the 3 things I came up with before getting out of bed were that I had alkaline water and plenty of juice and would start a juice fast. I had been a glutton the day before; unable to resist the sugary cereal that is everywhere around Sacred Heart. Someone had placed a bag of food outside my door, out of which I should have just taken the can of green beans out of, then slid it down to in front of someone else's door...

But, I wound up adding peanut butter to the cereal, then stirring coconut milk into it, sprinkling some cocoa powder on top along with some honey and then repeating the processes until the empty cereal box was in my trash can...

If it's not crack or alcohol, it's cereal...seems like battling addictions is one of the main story lines of my life.

But, I was thankful for the water and juice, first, and the second thing was that I had gotten a text from my childhood friend David Veautour, who said that he is moving from Massachusetts, where we grew up together, to Florida; next week.

He mentioned being then close enough to visit me during Jazzfest. Number 2.

The third thing, I don't recall, but as soon as I had placed myself in a happy and grateful state, I checked my phone to see that the Lidgley's had emailed me, mentioning that a Christmas parcel was already on the way. Then I went to my mailbox to discover that the Venmo debit card was in it.

I activated the card, and now prepared to go to Winn Dixie where I we be able to get Harold some food that he likes, perhaps buy toilet paper, but probably just stuff my pockets full of the free kind in the restroom...

And, well, it is already almost 9 in the evening and it is 46 degrees outside, just 3 degrees above the busking limit I have set for myself.

The de-cluttering continues. I've been going through all my recordings of myself and paring them down to the best parts, and have been working with knobs and levels and editing software to make music out of stuff that has already been recorded, maybe 11 years ago...

This is what I always thought I would do if I were in an accident and lost both arms. I would learn how to run the laptop using a pencil in my mouth and would continue to create "techno" music using the raw ingredients of tracks that can be sped up slowed down, layered on top of each other, etc. and the sung over. I would have to take the pencil out of my mouth, but that would be my method of making music if I lost both arms. I would be happy and grateful for that, I suppose.

A Good Cold Rainy Night To Stay In

This will be another attempt to embed a Soundcloud file here.
I have trouble listening to them myself a lot of times because of all the ads and all the other trackers and other websites that are linked to that "free" music hosting site.
"Nothing is free in this world," my dad used to say. And, I am pretty sure that advertisements for dog skeletons will start popping up in the sidebar of my Facebook page, out of the blue, once I publish this.
I guess it it won't play through your browser, you can track the track to Soundcloud, like a bloodhound, to hear it there. There, they can try to interest you in "similar" music. Good luck with that, LOL

Daniel McKenna, Jacob Scardino and Buckshot Willy · The Carcass Song Live Bourbon feat. Buckshot Willy on Fiddle

You Lucky Ones

 

This is my excuse for not getting on my bike and riding to the Lilly Pad, even though there would be people walking through the rain there, and some of them might throw me a 20, saying: "I guess the rain has put you out of business and you're not going to make anything..."

There must be a term for that kind of irony; when a person is throwing you a bunch of money to make up for the fact that you are apparently not going to make anything; and you wind up making more money off such people than you would have if it had been a clear and beautiful night and you were playing "Who's That Girl," by Madonna, over and over, or something...

So, I have used the weather as an excuse to stay in and get drunk and plan to go on a cleansing fast starting tomorrow.

The beauty of a cleansing fast is that, with the diminishing of desire for the satisfying of all addictions comes the secure feeling that all is well. I don't have to do a couple shots of brandy and smoke a bowl of weed while I am tuning up in order to match the mindset of the people walking past the Lilly Pad...

I don't have to make enough money to buy anything, really; the food stamp program is truly an enormous blessing. Unless the absence of it would force me out to work every single night and that would have translated into an even more genuine blessing...

Did I mention that Rouses Market is once again putting their trash out onto the street in a dumpster; after having taken 4 years off from doing so.

I guess the reasoning is that there are hardly any homeless people here in New Orleans any more. A lot of them, I see whipping out hundred dollar bills in the Unique Store, before getting into their cars, that are parked out front without any apparent concern by them of being ticketed for parking in that particular zone...

There has truly been a "reset" due to the fake pandemic, where a virus that would not be too severe, but severe enough to kill off the weak would be released and that would be used to shutter the middle class businesses, forcing the owners of such to lock down and stay home; and the employees of those to lock down and stay at home; and then the money would start to appear on a Bank One card, linked to their Pandemic Unemployment Assistance accounts...

This would move all of the assets of the middle class into the coffers of the global elitists -all the citizens would be living off of government handouts while they hunkered down at home; and they would be provided with unlimited data flow and be able to watch Youtube et. al. all day and be brainwashed by the content...

Pretty soon, everyone would believe that by 2030, they would "own nothing, and be happy."

Geez, all that is beyond the scope of this blog, yet, in a sense, not.

Because of the shadow banning algorithm, I am able to say things on this blog that would have otherwise been censured on other sites. Cancelled.

I have already been shadow banned and so, the algorithm believes that I am only communicating to no more than a handful of people with this blog, so let me say anything I want.

I could post anything without fear of seeing this blog "removed" because of it; and in my more drunk moments, I am tempted to do just that.

The only way anything here would go "viral" would be through people choosing to "share" the content. Not likely when I post about me going out and playing music and getting tips...

So, everybody is happy. My dangerous ideas are kept under wraps...

But, let me check my stats....

Wow, a blog that is only shown to the 16 followers of it, and has been disappeared to the rest of the world-wide web had 135 people check it out yesterday alone (which makes that a slow day, by the way).

It's interesting.

I'm flattered enough that I want to strive to make these posts better; but stay true to the blog's busking roots, of course.

So, in that spirit, I will sign off now, as I sit here, on a Sunday morning, having not gone out to busk because it was raining pretty moderately; I would have been soaked and it wouldn't have been good for my wooden guitar.

Friday Night, And, So This Is Christmas

I should just stay in..

I should just go up to A 206 with my guitar and jam out and drink and smoke weed and live off the all the food that is available here...

I had enough money to buy batteries for my amp with only enough left over to get a couple shots of brandy; so I made that trip on my bike.

The patches I put on the tubes are holding out amazingly. Before, I would have to put some air in every week or so, but now the tires are staying hard.

I got back to the apartment and laid myself down to listen to a Youtube thing about the history of Russia. I already knew so much about Peter the Great that, when it got to that part, I was able to supply the dialogue before the narrator "That would be Charles XII, whom his army lost to the first time, but then they returned and routed them..." type of thing...

But, then I fell asleep and only woke up at around 10:40 p.m.

My plan to arrive at the Lilly Pad at 9:45, just as in the old days, was once again thwarted by circumstance. I blamed it on the 2 shots of brandy, plus the weed that the guy in A 206 had smoked with me, after I had knocked on his door on my way out to get batteries..

I was hoping that he would get me drunk and stoned and I could then use the money for the best batteries for my amp, without compromising in order to spare me some drinking money.

That goes so counter to what life as a busker had taught me.

What I have learned is, even if you are a drinker and someone who feels like you need to smoke a joint to get into the music, you must spend all the money you have, including that earmarked for those intoxicants; on the best musical gear you can afford.

That means, getting the best batteries for the spotlight and the amp, and perhaps breaking the bank for the best strings for the guitar, and, in the days before I knew how to play more gently on a harmonica, that often meant spending all 30 dollars in my pocket on a nice Suzuki Folkmaster harp, instead of 10 bucks on a Hohner Ol' Standby and the rest on a sack of weed and a couple quarts of beer.

I got the alkaline batteries and then there was nothing left for me to do but to go into the Quarter, where I arrived at about 11:45.

There was a guy sitting on the stoop where I play, selling beads, yelling to everyone who passed by "I've got beads," and then adding something about "trying to get something to eat.."

He recognized me from almost 2 years ago when I was a fixture at that stoop. He was one of the ones who would try to get me to pay him to leave the stoop so I could play, but had relented after Lilly and her daughters walked up, whereupon the guy affected being so glad to see them, and started to tell them about how he was watching their place and making sure nobody pissed on the side of their house, type of stuff. And as soon as he heard Lilly ask me if I was going to play, he just abandoned his plans of exacting a few bucks from me in order to leave.

This time, he sat there for a few minutes after I started playing. 

I had arrived so late that I was ready to accept the consequences of that, one of which was that there was some guy directly across the street with an acoustic guitar who had managed to attract a small group around him, who were singing along with a few of the standards that people request.

I started playing "Another Brick In The Wall (part 2, or whatever they call it) and, shortly into it, I noticed one young lady out of the group waving me over, as if she wanted me to go across the street and join the guy with the acoustic in entertaining them.

I thought about it; thought that the group might give us each 20 bucks, or something, but it was the sloppy way I heard the guy playing "Sweet Home Alabama," that made me want to stay put. I didn't like the fact that his presence was presenting the tourists who came along with a choice between who to listen to; one that devolved into the chaos of each of us making the other sound like crap by playing over each other.

The guy came across the street at one point, carrying his guitar in one hand and a 12 pack of Heineken in the other. He gave one of the beers to bead man, who was still sitting there and said something about "no money," perhaps referring to the group of people giving him Heineken in lieu of money. 

And, soon the bead man was gone, after making a couple of false starts at it, as if he was considering standing his ground in a "I was here first" attitude; but he eventually walked off and so did the guy with the guitar across the street.

That was good because I just wasn't going to call Lilly so late. She might be itching for a fight less and less as she ages, or for whatever other reason. She used to seem to love to come out and lay down the law, telling other musicians that they were in a residential block and that they were technically breaking the law by playing there, and that she had consulted with all the people on the block an they had agreed to let me be the neighborhood busker, something that would be a constant.

When I had ridden by Tanya, she was being beset by "the clappers," who are a heavyset couple of black people who used to just clap and sing Jesus loves me, type of song "for the bible tells me so," type of thing. They used to do that with their little daughter by their side clapping right along; and I was always amazed that they were able to make a living, because their singing was so bad that they needed Jesus to save it; and the presence of the little girl must have endeared people to them. I often saw them coming out of Rouses Market and flagging a cab to take them home (I guess obese people have to rely upon the livery service) carrying bags full of their groceries, which were all off of the Little Debbie rack -chocolate cupcakes, Zebra Cakes, Oatmeal cookies (maybe for in the morning) along with huge bags of Doritos and other chips; and 2 liter bottles of soda. That seemed to be the diet of the clappers; junk food.

But now the girl is like of high school age, and sits there poking at a smartphone and the clappers no longer clap, but sing along with a karaoke type speaker that is cranked up, no longer playing Jesus loves me music, but more like Motown stuff. They still sing horrendously.

They were right across from Tanya with their speaker cranked so much that it was distorted.

I stopped and asked them if they were trying to run Tanya off.

"She's trying to run us off!" said the father.

I was ready to remind them that they used to sing gospel music "What happened to that?" and that they seemed to have been blessed by doing so, and why were they now trying to ruin Tanya's gig when they have to know that she is there in the same spot every night from Thursday through Sunday.

Maybe they, whom I can't really call the clappers anymore, maybe the Jesus sell-outs, had gotten to that corner before Tanya set up; maybe Tanya was late herself for some reason; but come on...

I didn't say much else, but just gave them a look that was intended to convey "You know better than this..." and then rode off towards my spot, where I thought it was a sign that something was just in the air that night when I saw the guy with the guitar across the street from me.

But, it all worked out and I think I played my best music ever. One young lady named Fawn, stopped and listened and cried over something I was playing; she tipped me all the money she had on her and said that she has been living In New Orleans for a while and works on Decatur Street.

I told her my history here and she was surprised that she hadn't come upon me playing anywhere before. I used to play on Decatur Street near MaryJane's Emporium, I told her.

"That's a chocolate place now," she said.

It was a great night, music-wise. I guess I thought that if I couldn't out-play the guy across the street than it would turn into no-man's land.

Getting there late and playing for 2 hours meant that, after getting cat food and a nicotine vape, I was short the amount for a 3 ounce bag of kratom.

I suppose that is all part of the grand scheme, though; going out tomorrow night as sober as can be, without even a couple shots of kratom to help me focus.

I was focused like hell tonight, though.

There are so many other minute by minute details, but it is already 5 in the morning and it will be time to go out and play again in a mere 12 hours or so. Weekends have to be like that; with the discipline to go straight to bed after work and then to get up well rested and start preparing to go out and play again.

Learning one new song every night has been a goal that has eluded me. Some consolation is that, I have dug up one song every night that I haven't played in a long time. I credit the list of songs that I add to every day and then stuff in my guitar case for that.

How else would I have remembered that I know "And So This Is Christmas," by John Lennon, and used to play it in Jacksonville, 15 years ago?

A 206

Now, whenever I want, I can knock on the door of A 206 and the guy who lives there will offer me booze and weed, and want to jam on acoustic guitars, in an apartment where I feel oddly liberated from inhibitions surrounding the disturbing of neighbors. Below him lives Carlos, who often plays loud music himself and so, is in no position to protest about others doing the same.

I originally thought that I would be bored, given the skill level of this guy, whose name I haven't gotten yet, but instead, I find that I am free to play anything I want; from my subconscious mind.

The guy is, on the surface, a retard. He reminds me of another resident here who admits to having eaten LSD like candy throughout a great portion of his life. But, that is not a knock on him, for it is believed by many, to include the late great Timothy Leary, that what LSD burns out of the brain, was holding your spiritual evolution back, and you are better off without that energy.

I agree, and I have found a friend in, whatever his name is, in A 206.

I just returned to my apartment after jamming with him for about 2 hours, during which I recalled a bunch of songs that had been lost to me.

I remembered some "classic" rock songs that I might have played nightly 20 years ago, but which the stresses of daily life and the primal urges of fight or flight and survival type stuff had pushed out of my mind, I guess.

I have a chance to truly relax when I am up there playing stuff that garners instant approval, and recognition, from the guy who actually makes up in enthusiasm for any lack of technical skill on the guitar. He has a lot of fun trying to play along; and I like the fact that his room just seems like you can be as loud as possible without disturbing anyone. My room used to be in the chapel, back when Sacred Heart Apartments was a school; whereas his room was probably a noisy classroom.

Plus, he has something like 4 guitars and one of them -a miniature one- I found very easy to play, as if it was a toy...even though it is a real instrument.

Wow, This Blog Is Still Here?

Everything, All The Time

I left on my bike Tuesday night, on my way to the Lilly Pad.

I didn't even have enough money on me to stop and get a beer at the Unique Grocery...oh, I'm sorry I just caught myself.

The Law of Attraction is based upon the fact that you attract into your life, more of what you think about....

I had been thinking that I subconsciously make myself run out of money at such points in life where addictions are out of control and the only way I'm not going to drink and smoke crack and try not to notice that, out of the corner of my eye, the things I value the most are dissipating.

So, I wasn't going to drink that night; I was going to go to the Lilly Pad totally sober and set up and play. If music wasn't enough of a source of joy for me, then they are hiring overnight stockers at Winn Dixie and starting them at 14 bucks an hour.

I rode down whatever that street is that pops out right in front of The Ideal Market, which is painted yellow and is staffed by and all Latino crew, and about which nobody complains; no black person feels slighted by the hiring policies of that store, and nobody is pushing for "diversity" there. That is funny.

I think it is because those are some hard working people. I would venture to say that they (Latinos) even work harder than me. 

I was one of the "star" employees at the labor pool that I worked out of in Jacksonville, Florida, back in 2006.

I used to show up in the morning, with bodybuilding supplements in my lunch pail. While the other guys out on the same jobs would look for the nearest Rally's or Wendy's when lunch time came, I would gulp down a bottle of a drink called XXL (something) which boasted 1,150 calories, with 40 grams of protein and a ridiculous amount of carbohydrates, plus every vitamin under the sun, and trace minerals and amino acids and, add to that, I would spike the thing with 5 grams of pure creatine monohydrate powder; which is something that the baseball player named Mark McGuire used heavily during the 1999 season, when he broke the home run record for a single season by hitting, I think it was, 77 of them.

By contrast, Babe Ruth (who ate hot dogs and hamburgers and was known to have a six pack of Budweiser stashed somewhere in the locker room, for the 7th inning "stretch" hit something like 60 home runs; and maybe Roger Marris (sp?) had 68, to break that record.

I saw Mark McGuire play that year. I was in Phoenix, and it was 113 degrees outside, but only 72 inside the Bank One Ballpark, that had a roof that would close over the place, keeping the cool air in. I would buy the cheapest ticket, which was called, quite aptly "a four dollar seat." That was just to get me inside the place as a respite from the life sucking heat outside. I would find my four dollar seat and plop myself down and be fast asleep for the duration of the Arizona Diamondback's game.

Every once in a while I would wake up when some guy did something on the field causing the crowd of, usually about 30,000 to go wild, cheering. I would wake up just long enough for it to register "Oh, yeah, I'm sleeping in Bank One Ballpark," and then, back off to dreamland.

This program actually worked out so well that I was able to catch up on my sleep, since the Diamondbacks would play these 3 or 4 game series on consecutive nights against the same team. So, I could be in my 4 dollar seat, sound asleep a good hour before the first pitch, and then continue to sleep until some guy came along with a broom about 2 hours after the game ended; affording me up to 5 hours of sleep in the air conditioned atmosphere, provided the teams cooperated by playing for more than 3 hours.

But, I saw Mark McGwire taking batting practice and, with arms that looked like tree trunks, hitting home runs so far that he was knocking light bulbs out that were above the 2nd tier restaurants and seating areas where one would never hope to catch a ball, never mind to have the light bulb above them shattered by a ball hit by someone like McGwire...

We were pretty sure he was aiming for them. The scoreboard up there became hard to read because you wouldn't know if the Diamondbacks had only 3 runs, or if they had 8; but Mark had just knocked a few bulbs out during his warm ups...

To cap off the McGwire story; Major League baseball outlawed the use of creatine monohydrate the very next season, after he edged Sammy Sosa from one of the Chicago teams out, in the "home run derby" that was going on that year. They both outdid Roger Marris (sp?) whose record had stood for something like 34 years; all in one season.

So, creatine monohydrate was banned by the league; Mark McGwire saw his muscle mass decrease. He struggled to reach 50 home runs the next year; and wound up just quitting baseball entirely. 

He blamed it upon the stress that having that much muscle mass had been putting on his bones and joints, but anyone who does creatine knows what the reason was. Barry Bonds has been discredited as a hall of fame member for "performance enhancing substances, also."

To make that relevant; it reminds me of those musicians that show up bright eyed and eager to jam. They are enthused about passing the joint around and getting started. Ready to rock and roll!

But, after the weed guy never shows up; or the guy who was supposed to bring the case of beer arrives empty handed ("They closed just as I was pulling in the parking lot, ain't that a bitch?") they decide they just don't want to play anymore; like Mark McGuire. They just quit the game...

"Oh, I need my yogurt and hummus, now!"

But, I was showing up at the labor pool in 2006, using all kinds of body building supplements, and the harder the job they gave me, the better.

"Gunslinging," was what they called working on the trash trucks. All you had to do was go through about 2 miles of residential streets, picking up all the trash barrels that people had set out for "trash day" and then lift them up and empty them into the hopper, so the truck could use its hydraulics to crush it all down, and then it was off to the next house..

This job struck fear into most of the labor pool workers. Most of them would rather not work that day than to go out on a gunslinging ticket. "You can have that..." they would say.

I was never even considered for one of those jobs. I weighed 140 pounds. They just overlooked me, but asked the 200 pounders if they wanted to gunsling.

The heaviest allowable trash container that people could set out was 100 pounds. The gunslingers had a general sense of whether or not they would empty a can if they thought it was heavier. They might leave a notice stuck to it explaining how it exceeded the weight limit, or whatever; rather than just get 2 guys to grab it on either side, and do the resident a favor.

There were times when, after a tropical storm, people might have a lot of sand to sweep up off their driveways and that might make a trash can more than 100 pounds; but there was also racism involved.

The mostly African American gunslingers, while happy to gain the spoils of half full liquor bottles thrown in the trash after parties, and other treasures in people's trash, were quick to refuse to lift a can that was too heavy.

So, it was as if the idea had only then crossed his mind when the manager, Victor, sheepishly asked me if I wanted to go on a gunslinging job.

I had heard the horror stories; but, then again I considered the tellers of those stories and how I had outworked most of them on other jobs.

I took a gunslinging job and was soon hanging on to the back of a trash truck as it meandered through upper middle class neighborhoods in Jacksonville Beach.

I grabbed the trash barrels  by myself and heaved them into the hopper. That was good news for the guy driving the truck; I didn't need a second person to help me.

I ran from one house to the next. I know the trash truck might have a maximum speed of 80 miles per hour, but it could certainly go more than walking speed. I was aware of how tedious it would have been for the guy driving the truck to do 4 miles per hour between houses, or to drive quickly and then park and wait for the gunslinger to mosey on up.

So, I ran to the next group of barrels, the truck driver soon adjusted, and we had knocked out the whole route for which 8 hours had been allotted in 3 and a half hours.

The driver was overjoyed. He was periodically leaning out of his window and telling me things like: "You don't have to take that!" as, in one case when a resident had apparently pruned his lemon tree and left a sinister pile of unruly branches that had thorns like hypodermic needles, in a pile by his trash cans. I had started to try to throw them in the hopper and it was like the tree was pissed off for having been pruned and was telegraphing messages to its estranged branches to "get him!"

"No, that's alright; that's what these gloves are for, I guess."

By the time lunch time came, we were done the entire route. That meant that he, the driver, could goof off for the rest of the day; which meant us parking by the beach, where he talked on his phone, and I consumed my lunch, in the form of a bottle of Nitro Fuel, a Twin Labs product that was later taken off the market.

So, to bring this full circle; Victor, the manager at Workforce (Quality Temporary Staffing) was astounded when I came back in, having been written in for 10 hours of work, though I was only gone for 8, and in the comment section of the work ticket was written: "Please send Daniel back!"

"Wow, Waste Services loves Daniel!" he said to the other guy.

One of the issues they had been having with sending their people out on gunslinging tickets was that a majority of them would "hurt their back" not long into their shifts; and would apply for Workman's Compensation, or whatever they call that thing.

Not 2 hours into their shift, they would strain their neck or whatever and, I guess they already had certain doctors they knew, ready to be unable to prove that the stabbing pain in their backs didn't exist; and to push the paperwork on to the Workman's Comp insurance people. The nervous system is a mysterious thing.

I returned with a few scratches from lemon tree thorns, but no strained back. (Not long afterwards, workers had to sign a paper affirming that they had never filed before for Workerman's Comp, or whatever they call it; before they would send them out on a gunslinging ticket).

So, to bring it full circle, I was sent on the most grueling jobs that the labor pool filled; all 143 pounds of me; and I generally worked circles around those that ate their breakfasts of eggs and hash browns and bacon at Famous Amos, and then their lunches out of (insert chain restaurant here).

But, I was still in awe of the "Mexicans" that I often encountered at the job site. They would be pushing wheel barrow after wheel barrow, laden with molten stuff that gets sprayed on the sides of houses, non stop, for however many hours it took to finish the job. They would start just after sunup and finish perhaps at 8 p.m. -a 15 hour workday of non stop back breaking work. Carrying 40 pound bundles of roofing tile up a wobbly ladder to a height of 45 feet; and then nailing it down under direct sunlight on a 98 degree day; and doing it for 10 hours, with only Red Bull and a Tupperware full of something their (typically beautiful) wives had prepared for their lunches, at a cost of just a few dollars worth of rice and beans and chicken.

Those were the hardest working people I've ever seen.

One time I asked a group of them if I could push one of the wheel barrows full of that Spackle stuff, along the thin path of boards laid end to end along the muddy ground, just to get an idea of how hard it was. It was hard enough just to balance the thing and keep it on the boards and out of the mud, while straining with the weight of it. I was kind of winded by the time I got the thing to the house; and I had only done one 50th of each of their day's work...

Tuesday, I rode my bike down the street that pops out by The Ideal Market; thinking about how I only had a dollar on me; and wouldn't even be able to get one beer to drink before busking. I decided that I would be happy just to get Harold a can of food.

I decided to go down the street that Patrick lives on; just in case he happened to be sitting on his porch and would smoke some weed with me and/or give me one of his beers.

In the parking lot of Ideal, I saw a quarter, and then another one and then another, next to a dime and a few pennies. It was a total of $1.22 just strewn about a parking space. Why did this not surprise me?

Having enough to feed Harold, and it being a Tuesday when I hardly saw anyone on the webcam, I had the notion to get Harold some food and go home. It would be about 10:45 before I played my first note.

I decided to go play, and to gamble upon spending Harold's food money on a large can of beer.

I played my first 4 songs without getting a tip. It was just when I might have started thinking that I was being punished for spending Harold's food money on beer that I caught myself about to have that negative thought and I made myself become grateful and happy for what I had.

Then, after playing with my head down, I looked up to see 2 one dollar bills in my basket that I had no idea where they came from. I looked up and down the street and didn't see anyone.

And then a couple guys came along and asked me if I had a Venmo account. They told me that they never carried cash but, if I had a Venmo, they would tip me.

I pulled out my new smartphone and one of them was able to install Venmo on it, and passing me the phone so I could create a password, and choose a user name; they both demonstrated how easy and beneficial it is going to be for me to have a Venmo account by each putting 50 dollars on my new account.

They told me I could get some kind of thing like Tanya Huang has a half dozen of, so that people without cash could tip me just by scanning the code, etc.

Tanya has it set up so that people can purchase her music and have it downloaded to their phones right there at the spot where she plays.

Asians are smart and hard working, also.

I left the spot having made only 4 dollars (not counting the Venmo money that I have ordered a debit card for, since I don't have a bank account. It seems like Venmo wants to get their tentacles into people's bank accounts, or that certain institutions just want everyone to have a bank account as an additional tool for controlling the population; something to freeze the assets on, should the person not be able to show proof of all 7 vaccinations, type of thing...

But, instead of going home, I became kind of nostalgic and wanted to take a slow ride through some of the old haunts. I rode through the Frenchmen Street area, noticing that there was smooth asphalt where there used to be a mine field of potholes. "This is the smoothest asphalt in the whole city," I said, to a random guy I saw.

Then, I went by Checkpoint Charlie Bar, where I had played at their open mic night, back when I saw a path forward by garnering a following in that venue and waiting for some patron or other musician to play match-maker and pair me with the McCartney to my Lennon, type of thing; "Man, your music is a lot like this guy we know in Slidell; do you have any recordings of your stuff that we can play for him? He knows Greg Kiln..." type of thing.

"Wow, they moved the stage back and added more seating," I said to a couple random ladies who didn't respond...

Then, I rode up Decatur, past the spot where I used to play, and I realized that the memories had crossed the bridge into the land of nostalgia, where it seemed like I could break out an play my guitar right then, but it wouldn't be the same. There would be no Sue, my Colombian lady friend, nor would there be that heightened instinctual sense that comes from having a fear of not surviving; of thinking that at some point, New Orleans would have chewed me up and spat me back to wherever I came from, like so many before me. That is what drove me to sleep under the wharf, rather than to have to be at the mercy of the competitive music business here, just to pay rent somewhere; or to have to compromise myself artistically (i.e. play Eagles songs for 3 hours once a week in Finnigan's Irish Pub).

I then rode by Rouses Market, where I was shocked to see that they are, once again putting their trash outside at the end of the night.

It used to be that the multitudes of homeless people would dig into their dumpster and leave a mess all around it; and would fight over "the chicken bag" which, as the name implies was what chicken was left over on the warming rack; chicken fully cooked and ready to eat after fighting over.

Now, the homeless people are few and far between. All of them have been put up in various places, ostensibly to keep them safe from the Covid (the abominable snowman, I call it) and now all the benches in Jackson Square are empty and there is hardly a doorway to a business with a cardboard fortress around it; it is a pretty empty city at night when there used to be up to 30 people vying for the chicken bag.

And so, Rouses is once again putting their trash outside. At first I though they might be doing it in the name of social justice -so that the unemployed homeless aren't being disadvantaged for lack of money- but, after 2 days, I realize that there is just nobody interested in the food. Everyone is getting an extra $150 added to their food stamps, because of the "pandemic emergency" or whatever they are calling The Abominable Snowman.

And, being curious, and only having made 4 dollars playing; I looked in the dumpster; and it was just like old times.

So much yogurt, still cold and with condensation on it; so much sushi, and hummus, lots of hummus. I knew which bags would have what in them, just from memory of 5 years ago.

I was glad I hadn't brought my amplifier because I grabbed a half dozen yogurts in my favorite flavors; especially the 3 dollar kind that is imported from Greece or whatever; and I took 4 things of hummus. I did all that without getting off my bike. I had the notion to break out my flashlight and really dig for gold (wine bottles that had their label torn and, thus, couldn't be sold) but I actually felt kind of self conscious. I didn't want anyone to worry that I wasn't being taken care of by the Biden socialist regime.

"I've got plenty; in fact I have more than enough; that's the way The Law of Attraction works...to those that have, more is given; and to those that have not; even what little they might have will be taken...I think that is even "biblical."

"I have a refrigerator full of yogurt, but I just didn't have any in this "Strawberry Shortcake" flavor, er, actually I did have some; and it's right here!" is what I was prepared to say to anyone who might have been concerned.

Then, it was off to the Unique Store to spend a couple of the 4 dollars on a beer, before going to CVS for a can of food for Harold.

As soon as I pulled up, a young black guy asked me if I had a light. I did.

"I'm just trying to light my weed," he said and then proceeded to light a blunt as thick around as a cigar, but only an inch long.

"You can have the rest of this," he said, handing it to me after he had taken a couple hits "You're only gonna need one hit, trust me, this is the fire!" he said.

I took one hit and then saved the rest to smoke 3 more times off of.

Then, I went to CVS, where I discovered that I had become something of a celebrity, with the tale of me whacking the skeezer over the head who was letting the air out of my tire having grown taller over the course of a couple days.

"That's him," I heard one of a group of guys wearing business attire say to the others. I glanced towards them to see them all smiling but not looking directly at me. I'm figuring that they frequently gather in the block at the same time; maybe they all work the night shift and take their break at the same time; maybe that exact skeezer has tried to skeeze them and then turned violent upon being repelled. I guess whacking a guy in the head with a can of cat food is just a slice of Americana or something. I wished they could have seen the shape the can was in when I took it out of the bag. I definitely caught the skeezer with the can on edge...

I got home and ate way too much yogurt and hummus. That was Wednesday morning.

Wednesday evening, I went out to busk and made 22 bucks in about 80 minutes (80 minutes being the duration after which I typically feel like I've had enough and want to go home; I would have to force myself to go longer, maybe for financial reasons; or because a group is standing around requesting songs and passing the time by tipping).

My lighter died right before I left home, but I found two (2) of them on the ground -one of them brand new (you can tell by the stiffness of the flint wheel). 

I bought a Twisted Tea for 3 bucks and then took another lazy ride through different parts of the Quarter; each one with its stories; I feel like I could give a tour of the place "...and here is where Leslie Thompson and I had a fist fight -the first one..." type of thing.

I got Harold 2 cans of food and returned home a hero. Only I did get another large can of beer, which brought the total spent on alcohol to 5 bucks, out of 22 made.

I went out to play without drinking first and it didn't bother me; so I should probably not make a habit of drinking.

I noticed the employees of CVS pointing me out to one another and smiling. 

There was a group of young black guys out front, who seemed to be skeezing.

After I grabbed the 2 cans for Harold and a beer for myself, I felt it incumbent upon myself to complaint to one of the cashiers: "You know, I'm taking care of a cat and getting one beer for myself and that's about all I can afford. I really don't appreciate it when the bums out front give me dirty looks, like they think I'm made of money but am just stingy; let them go out and play a guitar for a few hours every night, instead of just asking for free money at everyone else's expense. There's no way in hell I'm gonna go without this beer, just so I can "bless" them (making air quotes sign) with a couple bucks. They probably make more than I do just from begging everything on 2 legs they see!

I took my guitar and backpack off at my bike, so I could put the cat food in the latter. I locked the two ends of the cable together, thinking, you never know when a weapon like it can come in handy; one that I kind of discovered by accident.

After I had locked the cable together, I noticed the skeezers leaving the vicinity in kind of a hurry, and disappearing around the corner, while glancing back at me.

I can only wonder, given the way the gossip mill works, if it had gotten back to them that I randomly attacked beggars with my bike lock; and after I had put my stuff down and locked both ends of the cable together, it looked to them like I was getting ready to attack.