The Great Catch Up

• Mama Cat Gives Me A Bike
• Mama Cat Takes The Bike Back
• Leslie Gives Me A Harmonica
• Mom Sends Money
• Micro Chip Replaced
• Crab Boil On Birthday
• My Favorite Mule
• Capo Replaced

 The sign spot, as seen in the morning (left).
Since I last posted, all of the things mentioned above happened.
I got a call from my mom on Friday, telling me that 100 dollars had been wired for my birthday, which was the following day.
I had $2.16 on me when the call came, having squandered money making opportunities Thursday night, by choosing to watch football and consume, rather than go out and gather.
I was at the Veaux Carre Baptist church, waiting for a shower.
"Wheelchair" Charlie and "wheelchair" Sue were there, along with heroin addict Bobby.
Bobby had stayed briefly at Leslies house along with the other two, long enough to urinate and vomit on the floor and leave beer cans on under the bed.
I was invited to become the fifth resident at that place last week, when we thought a tropical storm was coming, but I declined, opting for underneath the dock where the Natchez lands instead.
There has since been posted a note by Leslies landlord on his door admonishing him to have no guests at all.
I heard Charlie on Friday night, asking Leslie for the key to his place and telling him that he needed to keep his woman safe (that would be wheelchair Sue)..
Leslie refused to give them the key and I was proud of him.
He understands that he can lose his Section 8 benefits, or whatever they are, for any number of violations; and it is his opinion that Charlie and Sue don't care about that, but are only thinking of their own creature comforts.
Charlie told me that; every once in a while, one must "kick his (Leslies) ass," and that will make him "a good little boy," for a few days; a good little boy who will spend his whole paycheck on beer for everybody.

Knows The Drill...

 My Favorite Mule
Well, I have had this picture for a while in my phone, and can only now post it to this blog, after the purchase of a new USB micro sd adaptor; due to a generous birthday gift from my mom (see above or below).
The mule shown is the mule that I chose to be "my favorite mule," when I sing the song of the same title.
Often times when it pulls its carriage by, I break into the song: "...Did I just not see my favorite mule; my favorite mule...etc.."
I came upon the very same mule and learned from its driver, a middle aged lady, that it is her favorite mule also; she loves it.
The mules name is Sparticus, and the lady told me a story, which I will para phrase:
One night, Sparticus was being driven by a guy who liked to drink whiskey and drive a mule and carriage.
The guy was on pain medication of some kind, having visited the dentist or something that day.
He passed out.
The Japanese tourists in the carriage, who were busy taking pictures and hadn't been listening to the drivers foreign gibberish anyways; were unaware that he had checked out and was slumped over at the reigns. 
Sparticus did the entire route, according to witnesses, making all the right turns; stopping at the right spots, waiting for approximately 2 minutes in front of the Blacksmith Tavern and even for the traffic light to turn green on Decatur Street before pulling onto it.
He then got back in line behind all the other mules at Jackson Square.
The driver was woken up and fired.

What kind of parents would let their children play on Bourbon Street?

Crab Boil On Birthday
I was invited (begged) by Leslie to attend a crab boil, which happened to fall upon my birthday.

At 10:30 in the morning, he told me, they would arrive at the sign spot to pick me up.
By 11 a.m., they had not arrived, so I left to use the McDonalds restroom.
I had forgotten to dig up my money from where I bury it next to me; and so I had to return to the spot to get it.
It was then that the truck arrived, carrying Leslie in the bed and his boss and 2 co-workers in front.
We rode quite a ways to the huge lake north of NOLA, where we boiled "$240 worth" of blue crabs; threw a football around, listened to music and enjoyed my birthday.
Thanks to the money which my mother had wired to me; I was not stressed out over having to get back to the Quarter and back to work.
One of the co workers spoke very disparagingly of Leslie, saying that the boss, on occasion, would pick him up at a bar at 7 in the morning; and Leslie would emerge, stumbling drunk, and not having slept, and would go to work in that condition.
He would then have to be supervised closely and shown repeatedly how to do the simplest tasks.
The boss, Paul, is a general contractor and seems to have adopted Leslie as a charity case.
I tried to hint around that I wouldn't mind pushing a paint brush around for 8 bucks an hour every now and then...
Crab Grabbers
Another couple joined us shortly after the crabs began to boil; and there then became a schism between the bosses and the workers; with each group seated at separate picnic tables.
One of them had brought the football, which was an official NFL ball and might have been caught at a Saints game. The guy sure seemed proud of it.
The batches of crabs which were coming out of the boiler were set upon by the bosses, with the new arrivals grabbing greedily at the corn on the cob and the potatos. The crabs which made it to the "Leslie" table came minus their claws.
Instant Karma
So, it seemed like instant karma when I punted the football and it got stuck at the top of a queen palm tree; becoming an official NFL coconut, and its owner began to ponder bringing out some kind of construction equipment to retrieve it...

The dock spot (left) -needing a bit of stone masonry to smooth it out.

 When it rains; the drainpipe becomes a nice shower!

A blurry Leslie in his garden.

Rural Alabama

Songwriter's Open Mic Night

Wednesday (last) night, I walked, unburdened by a guitar, to Serda's, as their Songwriter's Open Mic Night, was beginning.

There were a lot of people there, several performers, many of which seemed to know each other.

I was greeted by one kid, who recognized me.

The crowd was young, seemed to be cut from the same fabric, and most had devices for recording music and video. They were using them to document their friend's performances and, as in the past, were ignoring the other artists, for the most part.

But, not to think this "sour grapes" from me, I welcome the challenge to entertain so well that they will want to turn their devices on and record the performance, then put it on U-Tube.

I haven't seen this come to fruition yet, but have had at least one offer to do so, a few weeks ago.

The MC asked me if I was going to play, and offered to let me use his guitar, after I had told him that mine was stolen, and he had said "That sucks."

The performers before me were bizzare and interesting, and seemed as if their music had been spawned way out in the country, where there were not many other influences to rub off upon it.

They were musically proficient, but, the one's who were more skilled on the instrument were generally less inspired lyrically; the one's with the better lyrics just strummed simple accompaniment, in general.

I had to keep telling myself: "Don't judge them, they probably think you're just as weird," as I watched and listened. One very short guy, actually introduced one of his songs, and then added "...and it's cute," before playing a number which left me at a loss to find any "cuteness" in. He asked the audience, a great portion of which were his friends, how his hair looked, before starting. He seemed half serious in his inquiry.

Performance Marred By Lack Of Warming Up

Having not played all day, and using a pretty unfamiliar guitar, I was not very comfortable; pretty rusty. I usually play for a couple hours on the street before doing the Serda's gig.

In the back of my mind was an awareness that I was playing for some strange people from the hills of rural Alabama, and had trouble deciding which songs might appeal to the 25 or so, of them, how to do them, and should I tell them that the songs were good, before launching into them.

I was glad that nobody who had been there in weeks past requested "Hubert's Trip," or "The Carcass song," and I was able to give them each a well needed rest.

I hadn't really worked on anything, not having an instrument, and wound up doing "My Favorite Horse," after telling the story about how it was composed for a guitar missing a string.

I then did "Crazy About A Crazy Girl," and was informed by the MC, after I finished it, that there were still several more performers on queve, and to do one more song, a good one.

I did "You Must Be Getting What You Want," the song about Karrie, and how she hasn't bothered to find these 12 weeks that I've been in Mobile.

I was a moderate success. I wasn't really in my element, wanting to keep it simple, for not being warmed up, but wanting to play something kind of fancy, in order to self-promote, because one never knows when opportunity will knock, and one might be invited to join a hillbilly band in rural Alabama.

After the event, I slept at the church spot, next to the two guys who are afraid of being attacked during the night.

This morning, I had just coffee and gave my food to one of the guys who is afraid of being attacked, and thus, continued my juice diet, which I began yesterday. I have only had a handful of peanuts, and three bananas, the past two days, but, a lot of grape juice. I feel great, and the stiffness in my joints has subsided.

Just A Backpack

I feel strange, walking around without a guitar on my back. Fewer people say hello to me, because now I represent a simple homeless man, and not a poor guy struggling to make a living playing music. There is a big difference to some, and I am looked at "askance" more often now, as I sport just a backpack.

I still walk with my head up (like my favorite horse) because I know I am still a musician.

Guitar Still Not Found

Support from several homeless

I have gotten a lot of support from other street people. Not all are spitefull nor glory in the misfortunes of others. There are some who certainly resented me being able to make money playing songs, as if it called attention to their lack of ability to so the same. These do not make up the majority, I am finding out, to my mild surprise. There are many who despise people who would steal from other homeless.

It occured to me that the eyes and ears of all the homeless might be a more effective dragnet than any that the Mobile Police might muster.

The guitar might still be found. It will probably be in the hands of someone who bought it from someone else, perhaps for "peanuts."

A Lead

Someone told me, over coffee this morning, that "a new guy" was seen playing a guitar in front of a certain "peanut" store, one who reportedly could hardly play, and was fussing with the strings.

This someone didn't get a detailed description of this supposed guitar which this supposed 'new" guy supposedly had, but, my guitar was stolen after I had tuned it to the unorthodox "open G" tuning, which I had been working on. This would explain a novice player's bewilderment over the relationships between the strings, and cause him to sit in front of a peanut store and fuss with them.

I Am In Mobile, Alabama, Feeling Low

Guitar Breaks





I am in the heart of Dixie. I got hear at 4 am., after a 7 hour bus ride, through which I slept and woke feeling scared and lonely.
Once, I woke because I thought that I felt Karrie kiss my lips.
It was probably the weird guy in the seat next to me who kept coughing.


I slept until sunup at the Greyhound. I was then told to leave, since Mobile was my final destination. It was foggy and I could hear thunder in the distance, as I began to walk in the direction of "downtown." It proved to be a big city, much like Ocala.



I walked in the direction of downtown, stopping behind a church of sorts to hide the heavy tent in the bushes, and then continued on.
I stopped at a store for a Mountain Dew.
The lady was nice, the guy told me to leave my bags up front, and was very curt with his answers to questions about Mobile, in general, and resources for the homeless, in particular.

Goths Find Me



I found a bus stop and was sitting there when a couple of gothic teens, a guy and girl, walked over.
The guy had piercings, like the goths in Mandarin, and, like them, expressed interest in music and a curiosity about my doings.
I played a song on my broken guitar. It was a song that I wrote in St. Augustine when I had broken the "g" string, called "My Favorite Horse."
They then gave me a ride to the library, where I learned that I couldn't come in with my big pack.
I went on a city bus to hide the bag, way out of town near the Guitar Center, where I had to pay 40 bucks for a whole new set of tuning machines, in order to make my guitar playable again of songs other than My Favorite Horse.

On my next to last day in Mandarin, my pick broke while I was playing. Then, when I went to tighten up the g string, the tuning machine broke off in my hand. Then, later on the g string itself broke. All on the same day; my last in Jacksonville.

Karrie Cries


I left Karrie at the bus stop on Monday. I was thinking that Monday was the first of June, forgetting that 31 days "hath" May.

I got to the Greyhound early enough to correct the mistake and get back to Mandarin, on the last bus out of town. It was raining and I was toting all my stuff. I got back in time to find Karrie asleep on the back porch of the office building. I had taken the tent from the woods. I felt like I was taking her home away as I uprooted it.



Karrie was her most clinging self ever that night. I could hardly sleep because she was arranging my limbs as if I were a Ken doll, and she a Barbie; if Barbie were an octopus.
The next morning, I ran into Dave and Debbie, local homeless, who informed me that Karrie had sat at the bus stop and cried for a long time after my bus left.
She really thought that she had done everything in her power to please me, and that driving a guy to anger is part of a relationship, and so is him yelling at her; it's a healthy way of showing love, in her opinion.

I rode most of the way to Mobile thinking What kind of man doesn't do every thing in his power, beg, borrow or steal, to make sure his girl is by his side, if he really loves her. I felt guilty.

Dauphin Street

I have found Mobile to be pretty much as advertised.
I now know of 4 places to shower and eat and sleep.
I was told by someone that I will make money on Dauphin Street, and that the cops won't bother me because I am "trying to work for a living."
Right now, I am having a hard time motivating myself.
I was unable to get a bed at the Salvation Army, on such short notice, though I did eat. It was liver and onions, one of Karrie's favorites.
I face the prospect of finding a spot to sleep after I play. I won't have the blanket, because it is in the heavy pack, hidden in the bushes, far from town.

I'm feeling low right now. Oil is washing up upon the island here.

My Favorite Horse

Monday night went alright. I made some money, while not compromising my values. I played "My Favorite Horse," which is a song that I wrote for every horse that went by my church spot, but then later distilled down to be specifically about a certain white horse which pulls a white carriage.