Consider The Lilies Of The Field...

Nowhere Man
I know I sound better than this; but I like the little solo that was loosely based upon George Harrisons.

Incubus- "Drive" Note to self: Learn.
Staind- "Fade" ditto.
Well, I suppose that running into the nice Lilly The Banjo Player on Dauphin Street last night might have been the highlight of last night.
It (the highlight) certainly wasn't standing in front of The Battle House Hotel, sneaking peeks through the window at the football game between two teams vying for the best draft pick, and sneaking sips off a can of Steel Reserve that I had stashed in a flower bed. And then sneaking to my covert holly bush and building a discreet fire and cooking a "top round" steak with green beans in a pie tin (and forgetting that I had fresh garlic to add d'oh!) and then, sleeping fitfully until such a time that I woke up and day was breaking, but it was still too early to gulp down the red Mountain Hollar (which echoes Mountain Dew) which would propel me to the Big Clock Spot to try to replicate my feat of two weeks ago when I made 18 dollars in 50 minutes.
I guess running into Lily was more interesting than all that.
In an earlier post, I described her as something like "19 going on 38," due to her, at the time, haggard look.
Well, she has bounced back and now looks like a ripe tomato, rather than a prune.
There was a small crowd of street life around her, as I first walked past her where she was playing in front of The Bier Garten on Dauphin Street.
The crowd included none other than The Guy Who Comes Along And Strikes Up A Conversation Then Plops Himself Down By You Hoping That Someone Will Throw You A Nicecce Tip So He Can Beg You To Buy Him A Beer (the hweeb), and a blond haired woman of about 40, who was sitting on the other side of Lily.
A skinny, inebriated black guy, who only last night had showed up where I was playing with the hweeb at my side, and told us that he was from New York (with an accent which sounded like "fake New York") and that he had lost "everything" in Hurricane Sandy; his house; his car -all under water- was teetering in front of Lily gushing praise for her playing and her singing and the songs she was doing and her hair and her banjo and her boots and..."My name is Mike," he said, offering Lily his hand, as soon as she finished the song.
"You already told me," said Lily, not shaking his hand but rolling her eyes.
Then there were two other young black guys, who seemed determined to find out if Lilly was alone and if she had a place to sleep.
The hweeb gestured towards me and told Lily: "Hey this is guitar man, he's really good; you two should try to play together."
"He already met me," said Lily with another roll of her eyes.
By the time I returned from seeing that Heroes Pub was not showing the game, the crowd had abandoned Lily. Maybe she told them that she never made as much in tips with people crowded around her than otherwise.
I had seen her earlier, playing her banjo while looking at a notepad.
"Were you learning a new song, earlier?" I asked.
Her face lit up. "Yes, I was!" she said, and then played the new song with the proportional amount of miscues which come with a new song.
It was a song by the band Marcy Playground, and I can't recall it right now, but it was an excellent song, one which suited her style and which I had heard before and always thought was The Red Hot Chili Peppers.
"No, it's Marcy Playground; their only hit, really." said Lily.
We chatted for a while. I told her about the hweeb and my post about him. She smiled.
Then I asked her about the guy who lost everything in New York during the hurricane (even his JOB!!) and was here, "starting over."
She said that he had mentioned none of that to her. "That's interesting," she added...
Before I left to catch the game at the swank hotel, she told me that she was on Facebook, as Lily Guthrie.
"Spelled like Woody and Arlo?"
"Yup."
So, I now prepare to go to the park and get online and will try to post a picture of Lily The Banjo Player.
I made $6.79 at the Big Clock Spot, in a little over an hour.
It was 45º when I started, and 50º when I knocked off when the bank opened at 9 o'clock sharp.
And that is where it stands now.
My goal is to learn at least one new song today, so that when I play tonight, it will more interesting to myself.

Can I Last The Last Day?

There is a fountain just like this in Mobile

And The Lord Spoke to me in Bienville Park,
And His voice sounded like the rushing of many waters, and He said: "Leave! Get out of Mobile! Can't you take a hint?!?"
Last Of Stuff Taken
It is Monday.
Saturday, I went to the Christ Church Spot to find that the last of my stuff, which was a sleeping bag and another bag full of non perishable food items, was taken from the spot in the bushes where they had been hidden successfully, off and on, for a year.
This makes my decision to leave Mobile, pretty much academic.
Not so much to tote.
It is the people that, largely make a place "good" or "bad" to live in. However, it is also the geography that makes varying degrees of difference.
For example, the people of New Orleans may be very nice and have good hearts, but, they demonstrate a basic level of stupidity, in choosing to inhabit a patch of land which is under sea level and is "one hurricane away" from being washed off of the face of the earth.
The people of Mobile labor under the same disillusionment, thinking that their "heaven on earth" might be created out of this hot and muggy river delta.
I have encountered some nice people but, for the most part, there is an almost evil oppression hanging over the residents. The economy is a factor in that. There are also swarms of the homeless and/or disabled, who seem to have come here seeking to be taken care of by the government, and by the residents who have jobs and whom they beg incessantly. Plus, there are some of the weirdest freaks that I have ever seen, like Thomas Antione, whom a lot of people call "The Pink Man," because of the color of his skin, which he sports atop his shaved head. He is a "skinhead," "neo-Nazi" and claims that his father was involved in the assassination of President Kennedy (Ok, he popped up from a sewer grate and fired the fatal shot. I've seen a picture of one of the infamous "four hobos" and one is the spitting image of Thomas, by the way). He walks around carrying nothing but what is in his pockets. He often grins for no apparent reason, as if listening to some inner comedian. There are at least three of his ilk, who skulk around the downtown streets of Mobile. Take your pick, they're all equally wacko; I just don't have the space here to describe them all.
Waiting on Wilma
I once again postponed my trip after I talked to one of the librarians here named Wilma. She told me to meet her here on Saturday, and she would give me some clothing and hygiene stuff. She also asked me what kind of cigarettes I smoked, giving me further incentive to wait a couple more days before leaving.
She wasn't here.
I had previously postponed the trip while waiting upon my ID card to be sent through the mail. During those two weeks, I saw what money I had evaporate, (along with some possessions, that I had stashed.) The ID never arrived. I wasted 20 bucks, two weeks, and now will be thrown in jail by the New Orleans police on anything they can think of, just so they can get my prints and "ID" me, as soon as I tell them that I have none.
Mobile seems to have a consciousness which is bent upon my destruction. Could it be, Oh, I don't know....Satan??

I had never used this picture from '06, because
I had barbecue sauce all over my arm.
Solution: Cut off my arm!!

I Am Fed Up
Sunday, I walked to the Central Presbyterian Church. I was in time for the free breakfast, even though I didn't plan upon eating.
I was appalled to see a bunch of the regular crew of free meal eaters there; the one's that are usually at 15 Place, being fed. Very few of them would be staying for the church service.
Some churches feed the meal after their church service, and some even require attendance at the service in order to eat. The Presbyterian does it the opposite way, which is smart. Why have a bunch of antsy non-believers disrupting the dynamic of the service, then racing off toward the food,  before the "amens" have even quit reverberating.
I decided to approach the line of tables which were set up and off of which the servers were spooning out something that looked like quiche or omelet, along with grits and a biscuit. They also had cantaloupe, which is what I had my sights on as I neared the tables.
The regular crew of "freegans," were in their usual form and, seeing me approach the tables, jumped out of their chairs and rushed in front of me. They seemed to fear that they would not be able to get "seconds" if the food ran out through me getting "firsts." Yes, they wanted a second plate and didn't care if someone else didn't get a first. 
Canes, Because They Aren't Able
This was remarkable for the fact that the majority of them were rushing to jump in front of me using canes and other walking sticks for assistance. You see, "assistance" comes in forms other than free omelets and grits from churches. The majority of them are getting Social Security benefits for being "disabled," with the cane being the implement of choice in perpetrating their frauds. If their case workers could only see how nimble they are when racing to the front of the food line, they might re-evaluate their conditions, and cut their monthly checks out of the state's budget.

Housing, disability checks, free meals, narcotics (prescribed for phantom, undetectable pain), which can be sold on the street for additional income, and enough of the population who have jobs and whom they can beg; add it all up and Mobile is a pretty good place to trade your dignity for a free ride through life. It's enough to make the working man (like myself) disgusted. I would open up a walking stick store, to capitalize upon them but I fear that they would circumvent my business by contriving a way to get free walking sticks off of the government. 

I'm Sure Dante would concur that these people are
risking a purgatory spent  being chased throughout
eternity by a giant walking stick insect!

I go to New Orleans, not expecting to find people who could be deemed "the salt of the earth," as those folk would have been dissolved and washed away. I rather might expect to meet "the brackish of the earth."

I am hoping not to be inconvenienced or become victimised by their stupidity, and that the tourists who are merely passing through will be generous in supporting my music.
Diversification Planned
I have also had a revelation in which I realised that I can work on pencil sketches that I can display around me when I am playing and which I can sell for extra income.

I played at the artwalk last night and made a piddling, measly amount of money. There were other musicians out; none of them seemed to be doing much better. I guess that is the sign of a bad economy, coming to roost in my guitar case.

There are also people working against me, like the guy with the hat, who stands out in front of his restaurant, telling passersby not to tip me. I think he feels like he has a lot of political power and can run someone out of town, if he likes.
I am trying to avoid back to back lousy days.

"It's never too late to have a happy childhood." - Wayne Dyer



"NO!!!"

I went to Starbuck's yesterday afternoon, to see if I could put someone's coffee on my gift card, which I got as a gift from The Lidgleys (and which still has 34 bucks on it) in exchange for cash of an equal (or lesser) value.

The first guy I asked, said "no" and said it in such a way that one might think that I had asked to borrow his car.

I was merely offering to save him money, as well as help myself out.

I sat and worked upon music, and noticed that the same guy, after getting his coffee, said something to the barrister in hushed tones.

When another customer entered, I started to ask her the same thing, and was interupted by the barrister, who said "Don't approach my customers."
I walked back into town with about 5 bucks on me.
It took me a while to stop imagining beating the brains out of the guy who, in addition to not wanting to help me out, went out of his way to see that I wouldn't get help from anyone else with whatever he whispered to the barrister.

I've read somewhere that everybody everywhere acts in their own self interest. Even when they give charitably to others, people get some kind of payoff from the act.
The guy was acting in his own self interest, that's all. He felt better after making sure that I couldn't sell a cup of coffee to someone, in order to have a few bucks in my pocket. He left Starbucks a happier man, I guess.
In A Puddle Of His Own Blood And Latte

I imagined him laying by his vehicle with a broken jaw and aching testicles in a puddle of his own latte frappicino.

But then, I theorised that the guy may have thought that I had stolen the gift card, and was letting the victim vicariously punish me through him.

Then, I theorised that he may have thought that I was going to use the money to buy crack and then run amok in town, slitting throats with my stolen gift card; a horrible death.

I eventually forgave the little dweeb. Maybe I was a total jerk once, and now the karma has come full circle.

I didn't make any money in town. It was cold. There were hardly any souls out.
Will They Care?

I am going now back to Starbuck's to see if the same barrister is working or not. I will ask whoever IS working if it is alright for me to put someone's coffee on my gift card. The last time I asked I was told "Sure, we don't care what happens to the coffee after we sell it. People can do whatever they want."

Tonight is the night that Jeff The Potter's church meets. If I have at least a couple bucks on me, I will feel better about taking the time off from playing the street to attend.

I'm not implying that if God wants me to go to church, He will see to it that someone lets me buy them their coffee in exchange for cash of an equal or lesser value; He may have other plans for me...I'm just saying...

Me And My Shadow

After I was back at the railroad track spot, was when I saw Alan, who had just gotten out of jail, and was laying "there."
We had a brief conversation that centered around the objects which have been stolen from us, and the likelihood that Thomas is the culprit, based upon evidence which I won't elaborate upon here.
Alan seemed to be broke and out of cigarettes and hungry. I shared some food.
This morning, he left at the same time as me and gave me every reason to think that he was going to follow me all day, and impose upon me to share everything that I have. He began shadowing me as soon as I left for town.
He gets his money in two days. He would probably pay me back for supporting him the next two days. He claims that he is going to rent a room, or at least get a motel for the New Year's weekend. I am close enough to trusting that his intentions are good, but I don't trust fate to keep him out of jail until Friday, when the money will arrive. Anything could and probably will happen to Alan between now and then, and I don't like to risk my money like that.
I couldn't think of a way to tell him that I couldn't take him everywhere I go and buy one of everything for myself, and then another of everything for him. Mostly this was because I would, frankly , find his company to become tedious as the day dragged on, if past experience counts for anything.

Guitar Stolen From By My Head

ID Card Was In The Case
I always suspected that there were people with nothing better to do than try to find out where a guitarist (or anyone with anything of value) sleeps and then plot to steal his guitar, or his thing of value, given the environment I am in.

My guitar was stolen from right by my head late last night, the same way the alarm clock had been, about a week ago. There are two other guys, who sleep around the side of the church, and who had a backpack stolen the same night my alarm clock was. We figured that the thieves had left town, as, few would be stupid enough to walk around sporting a stolen backpack. Maybe there are a fresh set of thieves.

The Guy And The Woman

I had lied down pretty early, and woke up around midnight, as a guy and a woman climbed up onto the porch, and were preparing to lay down in one of the other shadows. I was sure that I had seen them before. I didn't see them as a threat, but...

I was in and out of sleep, as evidenced by the gaps in the radio programs. I had my guitar right by my head, as noted in the head of this article.

Every time I woke up, I glanced over at the other homeless people, to see if they were still there. I was using them as an alarm clock, as I knew that they would most probably not miss the free breakfast. I don't know if the fact that one was a woman made them seem like less of a threat, but, I guess it shouldn't have.

Sometimes I observed them lying down, sometimes sitting up. They didn't have even a piece of cardboard to lay on. Both of these things should have been red flags, now that I think of it.

Their restlessness could have meant they were on crack; the lack of anything to lay on, could have meant that they weren't there to sleep, but on some other mission. Either way, I should have wrapped the strap of my guitar case around my arm, as I often do.

At one point, I was thirsty and had one of my energy drinks, even though they are not recommended for bedtime. This made my sleep even lighter.
I must have thought that I would wake up, should anyone come near.

In the early morning, I woke to see the two of them gone. I still had my guitar.
I rose one last time as dawn was breaking. They had returned, and were sitting up in their spot.
I noticed the guitar missing, and confronted them.

The man immediately got defensive and said something like: "If there's one thing that I'm not, that's a thief!"

I was thinking that it was exactly what a thief would say. In fact, the more vehemently they protest, the guiltier they sound.

Then he added, "Besides, what would I need a GUITAR for, anyways!?!" Perfect, just like the thief who stole a carton of Newports and defended herself with: "I don't even smoke menthols!," then went and sold them for 20 bucks to someone who did...

I sat there a while longer, considering waiting for them to leave, and then tailing them.

The guitar would have been stashed somewhere, to be sold later, or had already been sold during the night to a dope dealer, which would be consistent with them being up fidgeting most of the night, and then disappearing at 2 am, on some kind of "errand."

I told them that it wasn't likely that someone would come onto the porch with 3 people there, any one of which might be awake.
The woman answered "We left for a while," a little bit too quickly, I thought.

In hindsight, I should have acted as if nothing was wrong. (What did I expect them to say, anyways, when I confronted them?)

That would have cast a different light on people like the guy at The Coffee Club, who asked me where my guitar was, and when told that it was stolen, asked if I had any clues as to who took it.

He may have been trying to be helpful, but, he also reminded me of the arsonists who show at a fire, and ask if they have, "Any suspects?"

What To Do

There isn't much else to do about it, but inform the pawn shop owners, and I suppose, the police.

As far as what I will do myself, I'm posting this to let everyone (who reads this) know what happened, and I will sit and think, and drink grape juice for a day or so; and try to decide what to do next. I'm faced with the hassle of replacing another ID card, also.

This will also allow a couple of days for the chance that it might just "turn up" somewhere.

Nobody can reasonably expect to pawn it in this city, and it wouldn't be worth driving to another place for the 20 bucks, which is all they could get for it, as it has been banged around in the past year and a half.

Do I Really Want This?
It is Friday morning. I woke up with $19.58. I was on the marble "porch" of the Episcopal Church, which is Howard's spot. Howard has not been seen lately. I slept behind one of the huge (8 ft. diameter) columns, which look to be made out of some kind of stone, right on the marble. I've been too lazy to get any kind of padding. I don't think it has been bad for my back. I woke at 7:30, the starting time of The Coffee Club, without the aid of the alarm. I went and had a half cup of coffee. I sipped it slowly, asking myself "Do I really want this?" in between sips.
Yesterday, I had a whole cup, plus the gallon of apple juice; no energy drink.
Yesterday's 29 bucks went into action before noon, as I boarded the bus to the music store, only to find out there that the cheapest strings which they had were 6 bucks. I had my heart set upon getting some finer strings this time, and I did. I left the store in time for the buses return trip, so, at least I didn't waste time there. There was nothing to do there, no beer or cigarettes to buy, and no energy drink. The trip cost me about 13 bucks. That, along with 50 cents to print out some music at the library was all I spent for the day. (The apple juice goes on my food card.)
I put the strings on, during the bus ride back to town, losing a pick in the process. Whoever cleans the bus out will have a fine .75mm nylon pick; I hope he/she doesn't play death-metal with it. I got back with $15.95.
Sounding Good For All Four
After washing up at the park, I retrieved my backpack from the secret hiding spot, and then went to play at my favorite spot.
I started my case out with 4 bucks of my own, plus change. I got about $3.50 in about an hour, good, considering the amount of people who walked by. Almost all of them threw me a tip. In fact, I think only 4 people who weren't bums wanting a light, or one of my dollars, walked by in that hour, and all of them threw something.
If I were in say, New Orleans, and 10 times as many people walked by..., I thought to myself at one point.
One guy named Sam stopped and talked. He said that I sounded really good (brand new strings didn't hurt) and that he wished that he had some cash. He promised to come by tonight and give me something.
I can't wait to get the Yamaha guitar and sound even better.
I knocked off at 9pm. because it really does die down then on weekdays (until 2am., when a whole different crowd comes out,) except for bums wanting a light or a dollar; they pick up a little.
Health
I am noticing that the chronic inflamation in my left knee, the one that I broke in a motorcycle accident in '86 is subsiding, along with the chronic soreness in the back of my neck, where the small vertibraes reside.
My thoughts are more focused, I am remembering the chords of songs without hesitation, and my typing is faster.
I still have some small anxieties, and so, I must continue with Dr. Christopher's 3 day fast and cleanse and mucous free diet. Most of them are over what to do with the money which I should accrue, do to not spending any.
Things To Do
I need to go and get the large backpack, if it is still there. Mine is starting to rip open. I already lost one AA battery, through one of the holes, and my nail clippers fell out, but I heard them hit the sidewalk and got them back. If I had been on a grassy area, it could have been disasterous.
They don't let me bring the smaller pack into the library, and I have to hide it in my secret hiding spot, and so, I might as well carry the larger one, especially as a trip to New Orleans is a possibility.
I need to get the 5 gallon bucket, which I found in the Church Street Graveyard, and bring it somewhere to use as a laundry bucket.
Karrie used to take care of that kind of stuff, but, she has disappeared off the face of the earth.
I guess I can do my own laundry.
Now, I am off to work on music, and possibly walk the 2 miles to get the big backpack, before a bum finds it. I may work on the music in my head, as I walk.

Broken Sidewalks

I thought about Karrie this morning, when I was in the "eggs and cheese" section of Save-a-Lot. She loves eggs and cheese. I still find myself planning meals that she would like, even though I would never eat them myself.

I want to get some fish and try to smoke it on one of the grills at The Mobile Bay Adventure Inn. I can gather some oak wood from the woods somewhere, or snap it off of a tree along the sidewalk on Government St.

They seem to be protecting the trees here, in Mobile, but not the sidewalks. Most of them are destroyed by the roots of huge oak trees, and in pieces. Some parking lots have spaces where no cars can be parked, because of the encroachment of tree roots. I would hate to be riding my Peugeot English Racer at 25mph down the sidewalk above, and not be paying attention...

Last Link To Karrie Trashed
Last week, I walked to the place where I had hidden my large backpack, and the tent; miles out of town, near the Greyhound station. I wanted to see if they were still there. They were, but the backpack had been penetrated by water. I spent a few minutes gingerly pulling from it, wet shirts, a towel and a blanket. All were moldy, and so I threw them away, and left the pack where it would air out, or be stolen.

The blanket was just about the last physical link that I had to Karrie. After I threw it on a trash pile, I looked at it, and remembered how she and I wrapped up in it on cold nights, and how happy she was when it was clean and "April" fresh, and how she would shake it out in the mornings and hang it up, so that it too would air out, and how she would steal it from me like a thief, in the middle of the night...
A lump formed in my throat as I walked away from the wet, moldy thing, which once was important to us.

It lay there in a heap, like Karrie, after she has had too much to drink.

I decided then, that she is probably convinced that I don't want her.

40 Hours Between Tremors

Another 40 hour period of abstinence from Earthquake Lager ended yesterday afternoon, when I consumed three of them.

I had washed my clothes in the park, discovering as I did that my green pants, (which have lots of pockets,) had been stolen off of the bush where I had hung them to dry. I had tried to match a bush to the color of the pants, but my camo job didn't work. Now there will be someone my size walking around in my pants, and I will have to fight him. (Note to self: Buy a cheap knife at the Shell station...)

After washing my clothes, I chose to walk a mile to a spot near the "abandoned factory" sleeping spot, and hang them there to dry. I haven't had anything stolen from there, yet.

This put me within range of the magnetic force-field of the Earthquake Lager at the Exxon, which was nearby in such close proximity that I was unable to fight against it. I spiralled into the store, flailing my arms and kicking at the air, as if being carried by an unseen riptide; three times, it happened.

I then went to my playing spot and made back one (1) of the dollars that I had spent.

I got to the "abandoned convent" spot early, where I found my friend, Harold, already asleep, and without cigarettes. Harold very rarely asks for anything. He is The Antibum.

I offered him a cigarette when he stirred, set the alarm for The Coffee Club, and went to sleep.
I woke up at 6am., an hour and a half before The Coffee Club commences. Harold was already gone. I had $1.25.

Morning Songs
After breakfast, I went to look for a spot to play "morning" songs. These are songs which, according to Chris, the recorder player in St. Augustine (click on label below for more on him,) must contain major 7th chords. They cannot contain blues chords, because, according to that sage they "frighten people in the morning." Chris plays Christmas songs year-round on his recorder. (Some Christmas songs have major 7th chords, and those are the ones which he plays in the morning.)

Fueled Only By Coffee

I chose the "big clock" spot, right by Serda's Coffee, and there I sat, fueled only by coffee, and telling myself that I was playing for more coffee. At first, nothing happened, and then $4.75 found its way into my case, as I surrendered to the sweat which was coating my body, and ripped into "Eyes of the World," by the Grateful Dead; a morning song because of the line: "Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world..." and because of it's E major 7th chord.

I decided to walk the mile to the Shell and use my food card for an energy drink, rather than pay the $1.66 at Serda's for coffee. Tomorrow night is their songwriter's open mic, and I will want to have money to buy a coffee. That guy is supposedly going to record me and stream me up onto Utube, where it could become a "cult classic." Now, I need to practice up on it.

New Orleans Update

Now, Ben, the ambulance driver has weighed in on the debate over the wisdom of my going to New Orleans on the back of a grain car, with a hobo. Ben's comment (which can be seen by clicking on the "comment" section of yesterday's post) was that there is some kind of licence required to play on the street, and it is hard to obtain. The hobo corroborated the part about the licence, but he said that the cops only enforce the ordinance "in season," by which he meant after October. By then, maybe I can be a "resident," by switching my ID over, or something...

So, I guess there is nothing there to be afraid of, whatsoever...

What's Shaking In Mobile

Earthquake Lager
The drink which is cheap and even stronger than Steel Reserve, is now on sale here in Mobile. Note to Karrie: Mobile has something to offer.
First 20 Dollar Tip
I woke up with $4.20. I spent money on an Earthquake, and then went to the library.
Leaving the library when the clock on the computer read 3:38pm, I walked briskly to The Salvation Army, only to discover that the clock on the computer had been slow, and I had missed the meal. I consoled myself with another Earthquake High Gravity Lager.
I then went into town to play music. There were not too many people milling about, and, out of frustration over this realization, I went right out on the median of Water Street to play the off ramp.
I played the ramp for a little while, motivated by disgust over the lack of foot traffic in the downtown area. It was good for about 5 bucks, and, more importantly, reaffirmed my belief that I can always get a few bucks, if necessary, by going out on the ramp. I had lost my sign, which read "Thanks 4 Stimulating the Economy," and noticed that someone had stolen my markers, out of the side pockets of my backpack.
It is important not to leave anything visible to people of a certain mindset. If they see something, then they are at a loss to control their impulses to steal it. Out of sight, out of mind, applies here. Sign "fliers" have a need for markers and the one's that I've met won't take even one beer's worth of their money out to buy one.
I took my 5 bucks and then went to the corner, right next to Serda's Coffee, where the big clock is. I was playing and watching the big clock for the right time to go into Serda's and play the open mic night.
I worked on my latest song "You Must Be Getting What You Want," which is about Karrie and involves the fact that she hasn't contacted me at all in 5 weeks. She must have found a way to live comfortably drunk and cuddle up with someone nightly.
A few people threw me dollars. The spot is in between the swankest hotels, and amongst some of the finer eateries in town, and Serda's Coffee, too, of course. A man threw 20 bucks on top of the 5 one's, while I was focusing upon the song and trying to create lyrics. Maybe he knows someone like Karrie.
This was the second 20 dollar tip that I have gotten in Mobile. I have gotten one 10.
Songwriter's Open Mic Night, Whooo!
I was happy to go into Serda's with enough money that I didn't have to ask them for a free coffee for the third consecutive week. Wednesdays turn out that way...
I splurged on one of their cheapest expensive beers, which was $2.50. Take note, Dave Veautour. It was called "Flying Dog," and was extremely delicious, compared to Earthquake High Gravity Lager.
It also made me (note the distorted thinking of the alcoholic) it made me play fantastically. Though, I forgot a percentage of the lyrics, I flew (like a dog) through, "You Must Be Getting What You Want," "The Bum Suite," then improvised a little blues, then did an extended version of "Hubert's Trip," which I had written in 1989, and hadn't played more than 4 times since then. I remembered half of the original lyrics, and added some on the fly(ing Dog), especially one about how Hubert "goes to Mobile," and sees a guy in a coffee shop; singing about the trip he is on'
It got nice applause, and even some people going "Whooo!"
U-Tube For Me, Too
I was pretty pleased, myself and will have to write down the newly crafted lyrics, before I forget them and have to go up there butt naked again and improvise.
One guy said that he was going to bring some device next week (I think it was a "G3," or something) and somehow put me on U-Tube, singing "Hubert's Trip."
New Orleans Dreaming
I woke up with about $16, cigarettes and one last beer before bed having ruined me, once again. I can't wait to start my fast and cleanse tomorrow. I am reading about New Orleans and dreaming about it, too. I hope that there really are human statues there.
Asian Human Statues...