I Make "Something."

Wasn't it last Monday night that I played on Bourbon Street and got a 5 dollar bill and a 1 dollar bill, and then left to get a large Hurricane Lager then stood and watched football outside a bar; and then found a bunch of excellent food; and went back to my spot and got to sleep relatively early; and woke up Tuesday morning with a couple dollars and change on me?

I think that was last Monday.
Well, I basically did the same thing; again.
With the exception of Leslie having invited me to crash at his place at around 10 p.m.
And with the exception of not being spit upon by a "dog skeezer."
By the time midnight came and I had gotten sandwiches, corn, lemon rice, fresh broccoli, apples and a pear from Rouses "friends of the homeless" Market, I forgot all about Leslies offer, and went back to the sign spot on Basin Street.
A Nightlight?
The newly renovated Saenger Theater across the street from where I sleep has installed a big sign over its entrance which was glowing with a hundred light bulbs last night; illuminating me too much and forcing me deeper into the brush.
I hope that they have it lit just to publicize the fact that the theater is almost ready to re-open; and don't plan to keep it on every night, like the Joy Theater does on the other side of Canal Street...
Homeostasis

Now, I am off to see if I can improve upon last Tuesday.
It seems like I have reached a point where I am putting out a steady amount of music and getting back a consistent amount of just a bit less than what I need.
Last night, I sounded out the chords to "Something," by the Beatles and am only hazy about one particular chord...
I have been able to put songs together faster, lately.
Doing things first thing in the morning helps; and cutting back on drinking at night has, too.
I am coming up with a list of songs to eventually go on my first CD...

• The Bum Song
• Hubert's Trip
• Crazy About A Crazy Girl
• Terrapin Station
• A Day In The Life
• The Man Who Couldn't Decide What Flavor He Wanted
• Computer Technician Blues

 

Plus, I've started a couple new songs, one tentatively entitled "I Didn't Have Time To Write This Song," and another one called "Purple Heart," about a homeless guy I knew in Jacksonville, Florida who had one...
And, I might try to polish off one of the songs that I wrote when I was 14 or 15 years old and only knew major and minor chords; and try to give it some New Orleans flavor.
"Hubert's Trip," kind of falls into this category, as it was based upon a simple bass guitar riff which I would play at the same time as I sang. I'm able to play more complex things and sing now, and thus will be looking for a way to jazz it up.
Paul, of Doreens Jazz Band, seems to like the lyrics and has asked me if any recordings of the song survive.
Unfortunately, all those cassettes have been lost in transit.
There was one version which had a vibraphone mixed in; which I thought was cool.
It was made at the house of a person who collected exotic instruments (native indian and such) which was being house-sat by a friend of mine; back around 1988.

The Bum Suite?

Here it is Wednesday once again, and Tanya and Dorise may be playing again at Caseys In The Quarter tonight.

Or it might be tomorrow night.
There is some confusion there; because they started out playing Thursday nights but switched to Wednesday; or vice-versa.
I am staying sober; didn't smoke out this morning and haven't had a drink yet; it is 2 p.m.
I will walk by Caseys and ask them if the duo is playing tonight.
Amongst Brians Advice
If indeed they are; and if they invite me to jam; I will probably take Brian Hudsons advice and play a simple song; all the way from start to finish; with a minimum of ad-libbing and stick to the structure; so that Tanya can recongize a pattern and join in.
I Want 2 B On TV
I am hoping that someone will be shooting a video and that I can ask them (force them at gunpoint?) to upload it to Youtube.
People are always telling me that they will.
A guy last week showed me the pictures that he took of me while I was playing and promised to e-mail them; that was last week; no pictures have arrived.
I think the only way to get something done is to stand there and get the person to mail it to you right then and there; while you give them your address verbally and they type it in and hit "send" right in front of you...
What Song?
That being said; I am leaning towards either doing my "Carcass Song," which was a favorite of some people in Mobile, Alabama and which is simple (doesn't even have a "bridge" [yet]) and which has funny lyrics about dogs.
My friend from Mobile (Becca Griffin) is coming here in less than a month and will probably request the song, also, making it a good one to "bone up" on.
Excuse the Pun....
Or, I might consider doing part or all of my Bum Suite; the lyrics to which I have reclaimed from my e-mail inbox from the time I was mailing my lyrics to myself; to preserve them...
The Bum Suite
The Bum Suite in G


intro: G, B7, C, A7


No, I aint got nothing for bums

who sit in the park all day, on their thumbs
They've got life all planned out, they're just gonna stand out, with their hand out
Ain't it grand out here..in the grand outdoors

Data Bytes The Dust

A Grievous Loss
Somehow I managed to lose my little change holder type thing. In it were my food card, my jail ID, my Starbucks card, and the little 1 Gigabyte "data traveller," which held hundreds of pages of my writings, including the lyrics to about 30 of my songs, many of which were in progress and had recently added lyrics which will be hard to recall.
I think, after buying a sandwich at Pollman's Bakery, I put my change holder type thing in the bag with the sandwich, because my hands were full at the time. I then threw the bag away, after eating the sandwich, and I guess not becoming alerted by the bag's weight being off by about the weight of a change holder type thing.
I suppose I have done well in hanging on to the thing for so long. I just recently pondered trying to back up all the data from it to an online storage type place, in the event of the event above.
The food card will take a good 3 to 5 days to be replaced, limiting my diet somewhat.
After noticing the thing missing, I wasn't even very enthused about playing at Serda's. I thought that it would weigh on my mind, along with the burden of having to come up with another paper to help the Bangladeshi guy with.

I Recognized Her At Once From Seeing Her On Facebook

A Glorious Gain
Then, I decided to go to Serda's, where I observed a rapper named Venom, rapping.
Then, in walked no one else than Becca, and her friend Hannah.
Jimmy Lee then let me go up to play, while Becca was getting me a Flying Dog. She got my favorite flavor, "golden ale."
I then began to play, on Jimmy Lee's guitar, which is expensive.
I played a long intro into "The Carcass Song" and sang half of it, before going off in another direction.
I thought I saw a look of disappointment cross Becca's face, and realised that, even if I am tired of hearing some of my own stuff, there are people that only hear it once a week, or less often. I jumped to "The Bum Song," which I about completed.

Only Heard Half A Carcass Song

I then did "Crazy About a Crazy Girl," and then "The Man Who Couldn't Decide What Flavor He Wanted," took a sip off of my Flying Dog (my favorite flavor,) and then improvised something that I have been writing in my head for several weeks, and at certain times think that I come up with some pretty funny lines for. It is "The Funk Song (in E)" and will be called that until further notice.
It is one of the only songs that had lyrics which weren't on the data traveller stick thing that I probably threw away into the Panda Express' trash.
I was so happy to have Becca and her friend in the audience, as I didn't have to put a bridle on ideas that I might otherwise have thought that nobody was going to get. Everything went pretty well.
A couple of people commended me afterwards, and I gave Becca one of the teddy bears which I caught at a Mardi Gras parade. I think it came from Venus (the character on the float, not the planet.) It was the least I could do in return for her company, a Flying Dog, and a chance to hear her perform one of her songs.
She forgot the lyrics to it, but I told her that that was a good sign, which means that she is growing, and changing the way she looks at the world and that the lyrics probably don't mean the same thing to her now; so she forgot them.
Burden Removed
I had been struggling mightily for an idea to use on the Bangladeshi Guy's paper. He had rejected my best ones, like a program to issue certain counterfeit money to the citizens to give to the bums; or tattooing the bums yellow in the face, after a third offence.
He wanted me to do it on some subject like parking in downtown Mobile. I was asking him for information about the parking problem when he seemed to realise that he could write the paper himself. That was kind of a relief because this one wouldn't have been worth the money for the aggravation.

Songwriters On Songwriting



Self Explanatory

Yesterday, the skies opened up and it rained for a good portion of the day. I took refuge in the library, where I logged on to weather underground, and saw on their radar image that the rain was moving onward, to menace the homeless in Montgomery, and we would soon be rid of it. This made me abandon my plan to spend my first night at the Waterfront Rescue Mission, where John The Street Preacher has been holing up these past few cold days, and which has been assessed by him as being "clean."

Instead, I went to the Shell, bought an

Earthquake High Gravity Lager, and then sat in one of the trolleys, consuming it, and waiting a half hour for nightfall. It became pretty cold, enough so that I kept an eye out for musk oxen, because of their unpredictability.

Under the cover of darkness, and fortified by the Earthquake, I crawled under the trolley and, noticing that the ground where I had been sleeping had been encroached upon by a puddle, I grabbed an extra sweatshirt and my sleeping bag and managed to remove them without letting my body dip down low enough to encounter the puddle. It was like doing a one handed push up, the kind the Marines are required to master. I was glad that I had retained enough of my conditioning, from having worked as a laborer 3 years ago, to have accomplished the feat.

I tied my bag onto my other bag and then went into town, where I sat down and played for about an hour, and was only thrown some change by one of the few people milling about.
I walked back to the Shell for another beer on my way to Terry's former sleeping spot, in the back of a U-Haul van, which is "in moth balls," and has a mattress in it. Terry has moved on to a garage at a friends house, and I congratulate him, I'm not envious; my time will come...


Musk Oxen; Looking For Someone To Mess With

I slept pretty well, but had a dream that I broke a guitar string. The dream was so vivid, that I opened my case in the morning to see if I had a broken string.

Today was spent for the most part at this library. I found a book entitled "Songwriters On Songwriting," and spent 3 hours reading what Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, Brian Wilson and Randy Newman had to divulge about their craft. Dylan said that Hank Williams was the greatest songwriter, Simon said that Dylan was, even though he is "impenetrable," Brian Wilson said that Paul McCartney was, and expressed surprise over the fact that Paul cited him (Wilson) as a big influence, and Randy Newman raved about Bob Dylan and Paul Simon, even though he couldn't understand what Simon's "Hearts And Bones" was about, nor what 90% of Dylan was about. He said that it is harder to write a song that has a clear meaning, rather than writing about crystalline apparitions in deep space, or words to that effect.

It is now almost 7 pm. I haven't played a note. Tonight is the first night in a month that Serda's Songwriter's Open Mic Night resumes being what it was before the contest.

I am going to refresh my memory of my lyrics by poring over some of them, and then I might go and play. I am down to $1.35, which is about "par for the course" on a typical Wednesday night. Serda's must be wondering if I will EVER buy a cup of coffee from them.

I am thinking of doing The Bum Song, but, knowing myself, I fear that I will get up there and be unable to resist the temptation to make something up on the spot about crystalline apparitions in deep space.

Third 20 Dollar Tip In 52 Days!

Working Hard On Song About Bums
Wednesday began with The Coffee Club, as I was woken at 6am. by some kids bouncing a basketball in the church parking lot, and started my day then.
I had $6.01, as I recall.
The day was pretty much spent working on The "Bum" Suite.I took a break, and had a couple of Earthquake Lagers, at about 5pm.
I planned upon playing near Serda's from then, until such a time that I had the suite ready, or if not, 9:30pm.
I was thrown a 5 dollar tip, and a 20 dollar tip. The rest was change. I was on my third lager, and playing "Dear Prudence," the John Lennon song, as I recall, when Ben, the amulance driver with Bubba, the ambulance rider, stopped by, and played my guitar. He put it into a "dropped G" tuning, and played some interesting stuff, giving me lots of musical ideas.
Fortified by 27 bucks and change, and lots of ideas, I went to Serda's for the songwriter's open mic thing. I was tempted to keep the guitar in that tuning and just go in there and "wing it," flailing away on the strings and screaming at the top of my lungs. (I think the warning label on Earthquake Lager makes some mention of that.)

She's Losing It Up ThereUpon my arrival, the MC asked me if I would go up immediately and play. He said that whomever was currently on stage was "losing it," or words to that effect.
The MC let me play his guitar, as mine was in dropped G tuning, and I wasn't Ben, the ambulance driver.I was rushed onto the stage and greeted warmly by a group that collectively wanted to hear "Hubert's Trip," which I had done the previous week (for the first time in 20 years.)

I wasn't confident that The "Bum" Suite was ready, in fact, I was pretty sure that I was going to screw it up, unless a miraculous improvisation happened, as had on "Hubert's Trip" the week before. I decided to give the people what they wanted.
One Flew Over The Coffee HouseI guzzled a Flying Dog Amber Lager (it's the AMBER LAGER which is so delicious) and did a half-assed version of "Hubert's Trip."

Results vary when one improvises, plus, I probably didn't need the Flying Dog Amber Lager, though it was delicious again.

I was torn between trying to recreate the lyrics from the previous week, or to totally improvise, (which is basically how they got there) and hope for similar results. I wanted to repeat some of the lines which got "good laughs" from the people, but I wanted to make up others. A recipe for a half assed version! (I don't think I "lost it," though, thankfully.) Nobody told me that I needed a Geography lesson, either...

I got a good round of applause from the dozen or so there, but, some of them asked me what "happened" to certain verses from the previous week's rendition. I explained how I usually made up "Hubert's Trip" as I went along. I picture a map of the U.S., and try to give Hubert an interesting and funny adventure, and one that rhymes. The people left half satisfied. There is always next week, (unless I am in New Orleans.)

I wonder sometimes why I put so much "on my plate," and don't just sit down and write out all the verses that I can remember, instead of going "up there" hoping for a miracle...
One guy said that he and his friend had been waiting for a certain line about Las Vegas. It was about Hubert doubling his money. (he probably put a quarter in a slot and "doubled his money") The MC also said that I sang something about "Bach at the Moon," which sounds like something Hubert and I used to joke about; a heavy metal version of J.S. Bach called just that. (a play upon Ozzy Osboune's "Bark at the Moon," of course)

The Bum Suite In Its Entirety

In time for, and in light of tonight's open mic night at Serda's Coffee House, I am frantically preparing "The Bum Suite. "
I woke up with $5.23, after playing at the "New York Hi Style" spot, for maybe a couple of hours, last evening. My expenditures for the entire day were for 2 Earthquake Lagers, and 1 Steel Reserve 211 Lager, and one Bud Ice. ($4.14)
I ate turkey hot dogs with pickles and an energy drink, for those keeping track.
I am procrastinating upon Dr. Christopher's 3 day fast and cleanse and mucous free diet.

The Bum Suite in G major
intro: G, B7, C, A7, D7
No, I aint got nothing for the bums
who sit in the park all day, on their thumbs
They've got life all planned out, they're just gonna stand out, with their hand out
Ain't it grand out here..in the great outdoors

Hey guitar man...let me have a buck
It'll give you good karma.. It will bring you good luck.
It's gonna come right back to you, the Lord, He will provide
But this monkey on my back, you know; won't Be satisfied

So, Break bread, guitar man; break it 'till you're broke
You'll come to see that we ain't such bad folk
We're just pitifully poor, hungry, thirsty, half-naked
So give us a beer, don't make us have to take it

No, I ain't got nothin for the bums
that sit in the park all day, on their thumbs
They've got life all planned out, they're just gonna stand out with their hand out
and wait for a hand out, ain't it grand out, here in the Great Outdoors

I try to keep my distance, but I can hear them holler
Hey guitar man, come here, are you doing alright? That's good; let me get a dollar
Oh, I'm thinking of just avoiding the parks all together....(segue).......
Yeah, Im thinking of just avoiding the parks all together...(segue)....

((Sung to the tune of "Here Comes The Sun," by The Beatles))

Bienville Park, yeah...It's been a long, hard working day...
Bienville Park yeah...I come here just to get away...but
Here come the bums, do n do do
Here come the bums, and I say "It's not alright.."
Spanish Park, yeah...They smile as I turn into their spaces
Spanish Park, yeah...They ask for beer, as I draw near
Here come the bums do n do do
Here come the bums, and I say "It's not alright..."
(bridge)
Bums, bums, bums, here they come
Bums, bums, bums, here they come (interlude)
Cathedral Park, yeah...I see their ice is slowly melting
Cathedral Park, yeah...It seems that soon, they'll have warm beer
Here come the bums, do n do do
Here come the bums (we need ice, man) It's not alright....
Bums, bums, bums...here they come .......(segue)......


Some of them, I swear to thee; have got no brains at all
They'll steal your underwear off a tree...crap stains and all
I'm getting so when I see them, I try to duck
before they ask me for my lighter, a cigarette, or a buck

I realise that you get your check on the first
I understand you're about to die of thirst
There's no doubt in my mind that you'll pay me back ten fold
I'm sorry to hear that your food stamps have already...been sold

So I ain't got nothin, I'm sorry...but wait...I've got an idea! Why don't you collect up aluminum and cash it in, down by the Exxon station...like The Can Man....(segue)
(Sung to the tune of "The Candyman," by Sammy Davis Jr.))

Who can make some change flow...
To pay for his own beer...
He doesn't have a job, but then, he doesn't have a fear
He's the Can Man...Yeah, the Can Man can....
The Can Man can, 'cause he picks up shit with love and makes the world look good

The Can Man takes aluminum and makes
A trip upon his bi-cycle, oh
and brings them to be re-cycled
I think that his name is Michael

Who can take your drained ones...
-crush them on the ground....
put them in his bag 'til he's collected up a pound
The Can Man; yeah the Can Man can
The Can man can 'cause he picks up shit with love and makes the world look good
(bridge)

The Can man takes...empty cans and makes
a little bit of dough out of it
The environmentalists, they love it
Don't ever think that you're above it...

oh...He picks up aluminum....copper, tin and brass...
You could do the same if you would get up off your ass..
The Can Man....Yeah, the Can Man can...
The Can Man can 'cause he picks up shit with love and makes the world look good..
(bridge)

The Can man takes every cent he makes,
and satisfies all his wishes
oh, you talk him down, all childish and vicious
I think that he's ambitious

Well, Who can make some change flow,
To pay for his own beer
Doesn't have a job, but then, he doesn't have a fear
The Can Man, yeah the Can Man can
The Can Man can 'cause he pick up shit with love and makes the world look good
The Can Man can 'cause he picks up shit with love and makes the world look good....(jam)..you might want to consider it....Because....

'Cause, I aint got nothing for you bums
who sit in the park all day, on your thumbs
If I had any less, I would be penny less,
If I give you any more, I won't have anymore

(improv, fade, end)

Pretty Slick

No One Bothers Me
It has been amazing how fast things are moving, now that I do a meditation in the Church Street Cemetary, every morning.
This morning, I woke up at 6:30. My alarm was set for 7:30, in time for The Coffee Club at the Presbyterian Church, but, I arose, remembering that I had wanted to put in an application at the Labor Finders temp place. This is the place where my friend Don, who plays guitar, go his job unloading a cargo ship and made $117.
I Bother Some BumsI got to Labor Finders at 7, and tore through the application in record time. I left there at 7:17 and went and ate at the Presbyterian. There were some guys there, who were angry at me because they had heard me singing "The Bum Song," on my spot the previous night. They threatened me, and told me that I should leave town, because they didn't appreciate the lyricsand that I needed an attitude adjustment. I think they were mad because they were ready to beg me for something, ant the lyrics stopped them in their tracks. I told them that there were some bums who acted exactly like I portrayed in the song, (but not them, though. )
A Job On The Beach; Money On The Horizon
I left there and went to the food stamp office and was approved for another year (gulp) of food assistance. It will start as soon as my new card is mailed to 15 Place. It will have $180 on it. I will be eating healthier soon. Not that I didn't appreciate the doughnuts and cool-aid for breakfast on some days...
Then, I went to 15 Place, to pick up my plastic ID card, which had arrived. There, I learned that a van was to depart for "The Career Center," where there would be a signing up of people who wanted to work on the oil spill cleanup. I got on the van.
Since I had a valid ID (gotten that same morning,) and can pass the drug test, it seems almost certain that I will be hired to work seven days per week, twelve hours per day, and gross a thousand bucks per week, cleaning up the spill.
The complications are that they require steel toed boots, and that they have no way to contact me, outside of calling 15 Place and leaving a message, to tell me when the training classes begin. The training classes are three days, unpaid, and twelve hours per day.
Then, the job will start the next day, at 4:30 am, when the bus will pick us up not far from here, and bring us to the job. The first paycheck may not be for more than a week. They may find me dead on the beach, covered in oil, alongside a sea turtle and a bird.
I have decided to do this, because it seems to have been cosmically ordained. Seeing the Scottish guys at the hotel pool and how much money they were making, then seeing my friend Don with his check for $117, and then, having put an application in that very morning and then stumbling upon 15 Place, just as the van was leaving, left me feeling that I had been blessed.
My music has gotten me in trouble with some bums, who are threatening me for singing lines like these, from "The Bum Song: "

I aint got nothing for the bums;
who sit in the park all day, and twiddle their thumbs.


They don't play guitars, drums or flutes; they don't even own a pair of workboots
They've got their lives all planned out, they're just gonna stand out, with
their hand out
aint life grand out, in the grand outdoors....
I walk through the park and I see them and try to duck
"Yo, come here, guitar man, let me get a buck!;"It will give you good karma; it will bring you good luck
It'll surely come right back to you; the Lord He will provide, but
this monkey on my back, you know; he won't be satisfied..
So, break bread, break it until you're broke
You'll come to find we really aren't such bad folk
We're just pitifully poor, thirsty, tired and half naked
So, give us a beer, don't make us have to take it!"




No I aint got nothing for you bums, not today; go away


Just leave me the hell alone; no, you can't use my cell-a-phone (etc...)

The open songwriter's night at Serda's Coffee is tonight, and that may be a better venue for "The Bum Song."