6.18 - 20.'09

These last few days have been like a dream. Everything is upside down, inside out.
The water can dilemma. Wanted one. A particular one. Plain metal. Raindrop spout. That's it. Looked for four days. Saw every type of water can. Plastic Plastic Plastic. Painted. Lots of happy colors. Flowers, too. Bleccch! Finally found what I wanted. Cost? $57 and change.. Felt stupid while buying, but it's what I wanted. Feng shui is everything. Everything included is a work of art. Period. Wrote Wrote Wrote.
Stuffed the poblanos w. dirty rice and baked.
Couldn't handle the cost of the water bucket. Took it back. Bought a coconut ice cream bar. Found a gut bucket for 1/3. Took the rest saved and ought a black leather ottoman from a woman who could barely speak english. Snappin'.
Ate two of the stuffed poblanos and soooo good. So dang good!
Had a dream. Future. I met my dad in First Baptist Chuch in Ruston , La. Told him so. He couldn't accept it. Looked for Brother Jimmy. I felt totally calm.
Weird nocturnal gigs to be. Slipped it. Buzzed out, noshed on taquitos, jammed stupid.
Had several moments with Bela that represented true love. We snuggled, and the sounds she made, her physical movements in response, all signified incredible an incredible love shared. A pure love. I am so blessed.
.Basta. -dony

6.17.'09

I gotta find a plain metal water bucket. After ingesting my green stuff, I went to The Great Outdoors. No such luck. However, I did find a cool piece of yard folk art, a very distinctive metal pig with wings. He's chipped up metal black and rusty. Also found a beautiful set of chimes, thin glass, the most beautiful greens, yellows and whites. Got them both on the back porch where they keep me company all the livelong day!. Feng shui is where it's at. Worked on a short story most of the day. Had a great conversation with Jon Sanchez, one of the most gifted guitarists I've ever worked with. Like me, he's big on uniqueness. Either make a statement, or get the fuck off the stage! Glad to know I'm not totally crazy; keyword: totally. Went and saw Charlie Faye, heard some of the new recording I did with Will Sexton. She's a groovy gal, such a sense of style, said she liked my new hirsuteness, sez she likes scruffy men. Well all right then! There's hope for me yet in this Sam Peckinpah phase I've undertaken. She then told me she had a dream the night before where I was recording with Charlie Sexton, well all right then again! Cooked up some turkey augmented dirty rice to stuff into some poblano peppers. Chopped up some fresh green onions, tossed them in the pot, too. Had a long conversation with a once dead negro, another incredibly talented, mofo, Frank Blair. We talked shit and reminisced about our days on the road. I laughed until I hurt. Little bite size pieces of Butterfinger are dangerous to keep around the house in bulk. Just one more little piece before I go to bed... -dony

6.16.09

Days are turning into nights as the quiet and the cool of evenings in Austin are eminently preferable. Bela's frustrated, but father knows best. Got back on a health regimen involving ingesting all sorts of green powders. By mid afternoon my body was humming. The least I can do for a body who's seen its fair share of rock and roll over the years. Tomato plants are growing growing growing. Can't wait to begin harvesting the Better Boys. Met an age old friend, Craloix, at the best Cajun food restaurant in town, Evangeline Cafe, where he treated me to a splendiferous, belated, b'day dinner. We noshed on Oysters Contraband for a starter and I had my normal, chicken and sausage gumbo. Incredible dark roux. And couldn't resist the praline stuffed pistolette, either! A girl was waiting on us who looked like a real Cajun. Short. Dark. Swarthy. Mysterious. When I asked her where she was from she replied, "Nepal." Not the answer I was expecting. You've herd the expression before, "a person's eyes are glittering." In my entire life I've never witnessed such a phenomenon, until today, that is. This woman's eyes literally were glittering. And when she smiled her nose wrinkled. How cute. Did my usual, napped from 8pm until 11pm, then got on with my "day". Worked all night on a new short story that took an unexpected turn (don't they always?!). Took a break to go to HEB and stock up on some fruits and vegetables. Love grocery shopping after 2am. No one is in there. Perfect. Finished the story around half 4. Celebrated with a few glasses of vino rosa, then watched Family Guy on Hulu. Dig their unique brand of sick and twisted. Two things I'll always remember about Bela. when I return to the truck, she's always delighted to see me, especially if I stop short and say, "there's a big black dog in the back of that truck." and when I reach in through the window to scratch her chest, she sits up and grabs my arm with her paw. Uber cute! And I love when she sleeps on her side she will cross her back legs. Such style, such personality she has! Hit the sack with a vengeance before daylight. Done. -dony

6.15.'09

My Mom's b'day. We got to chat for a spell. Me and my mother have always had a very open dialogue. We talk about everything, no subject taboo. I cherish our relationship. My little Blossom. Picked up my vittles from The Soup Peddler. Mac 'n cheese was on it. The brisket was also very good, but the stuffed baked potato salad was knockout!! Hopped onstage with Jodi Adair, the coiled spring in a woman's body. Total frustration with a player who kept taking the safe route, and despite pulling out all the stops to allow him to be free, he simply proved unable. She, however, beguiles me, looking as if she could eat me alive, and I could think of much worse deaths. Next stop was my set with Billy Harvey, OC hisself. I'm always totally transported to another time another place when making music with Billy. Creating with him gives life a more distinct purpose. Astral traveling. Next went over to the Gallery and made some exotic rumps move with David Garza. Much mirth and merriment with the two Jackies! Tina R. stops me dead in my tracks. Hellified woman indeed. Earthy. Soulful. There isn't enough vino rosa in the world.

6.14.09

A freon infused central air unit rocks in 100 degree plus heat! Mrs. Johnson's Donuts are to die for. Go around 9 in the evening when they are pulling fresh glazed ones hot off the line. I'm writing writing writing writing. Back into the second novel, started a new short. Tibetan singing bowls are floating in the air. Stay inside! Beat the heat!! -dony

6.13.'09

Once again, me and the pillows have a lovefest. Farmers Market and I get a passle of fave raves, spanikopita, tamaleo, bela snack. cucumbers. Nap. Hit a glorious stride making music with Jackie Bristow and Jon Sanchez. Magic fills the air... I am so blessed. A Cuban sandwich. Don Rickles makes me fuckin' laugh. Hard. African music is a link and my mind dances. Cucumbers in water, vinegar, sea salt, peppers, and onions, is to die for! Vino Rosa, and I feel good, like I knew... like I knew... -dony

6.11.'09

I'm rounding a new chapter in this whizbang existence, and something is telling me to get my house in order to be able to scale new mountains with very little drag. So, instead of parties and all the raucousness that goes along with these these types of soirees, I've chosen a different tack. On my birthday, and the day after, I washed clothes, folded, hung them. I went through everything I owned, threw stuff out that wasn't in alignment with this new chapter, organized everything to be ready for anything that comes my way. I hugged my dog. A lot! The silence was indeed, delicious. I watered my tomato plants. I cooked a delicious stew of ground turkey, brussel sprouts, corn, onions, mushrooms jalapeno peppers, Vietnamese chili sauce all fresh, made a spinach puree, a pot of basmati, threw it all into a bowl, cajun style. YUM! Also while buying some new ink for my printer, decided to buy myself a b'day present, and went to squeezing pillows. Found the right ones, ironically, ones made for folks who sleep on their stomachs, and for the past two nights I've had the most splendiferous of dreams and the pillows (added to my gaggle of goose downs) have supported me in a way I've never felt. Nirvana, as dreams and sleep become as important as waking these days. Had freon added to the central air unit, and man, my nipples are hard, even in the 100 degree heat that boils outside the house. I busted out the second novel, gearing up for a new onslaught. Something looms, something this way comes.... and I am ready. -dony

Sun. March 16th, '09

Lent my friend, Alex Gonzalez, pieces of my kit for his production today. Always glad to give my friends a helping hand.
Zapped over to the Convention Center to pick up the SXSW press pass for the Film Fest. Found an easy parking space, was in and out of there in 15 minutes. Now we’re talking...
Snagged the Mad Mexican off the street, had Eggs Benedict at The Woodland’s brunch, brought Bela a piece of sausage and cheese grits. Love the Benedict here! No hollandaise from a can, either!!
Mad Mex signs up for Travis Heights living. Problems may have just been solved. Took him on an errand, dropped him off back at the Convention Center.
Line too long at Amy’s ice Cream, Ben and Jerry’s is closed (for good at this locale) so I hit the well known Naus Enfield Drug Store for the first time and hit them up for a thick chocolate shake. They deliver!
Ride with Mary Lyn, Randy Weeks, and Rick Poss to a gig at The Mucky Duck in Houston. Racuous crowd, lotsa rain, but great service all the way around. Radio station has a spunky, fat-bottomed gal (yay!) there to take care of us, showing us to our well-stocked hospitality room. Scarfed down some of their indescribably good Shepherd’s Pie (the real deal neal) served by yet another friendly, leggy lass assigned to us.
Threw down on stage, despite a blinding yellow light and no monitors to speak of. Asses be movin’!
Great conversation all the way home. Ate a Payday.
Bela and I were both thrilled to see one another. We both snored. Happy contented snores.

Sat. March 15th, '09

Hopped over to Boo’s to put the finishing touches to “Belony Canampra: A Trilogy in Arf Minor”, my and Bela's opera. We did a bit more work than I’d planned, but all mix notes that’d been stuck in my head for some time got done. Sounds otherworldly. Amazing that me and my dog would collaborate on a song! Hard to believe...
Managed to scoot by Enchiladas Y Mas, where an infamous family recipe for tex-mex enchiladas holds court. Place was seriously bustling. I got lucky, seated almost immediately, and yeah, the Comida Regular was slammin’!
Went over to Billy Harvey’s crib and listened to Duckee’s new recordings on his boom box. Boy did a masterful job. Tracks sound great, lotsa personality in a subdued framework. Art, plain and simple. Happy to have taken part in these sessions. Came home, listened to it on headphones. Even better.

Friday March 14th, '09

I sat in Darwin Smith’s home studio, the walls oyster shell blue, the windowsill egg shell cream, and outside were some green bushes with fiery red leaves covering the top of the hedge. The effect was lving in a painting.
By phone I spoke with a friend I’m madly in love with. She’s enroute from New Orleans to Austin for the SXSW film festival and I’m thrilled, Our conversation is so easy, so natural. I love hearing her voice, her thought patterns. She is divine.
I had a vermicelli bowl from Hai Ky for lunch. My mouth was sparkling from the basil, cilantro, cucumber, mint, fresh lettuce, grilled chicken and egg rolls, drizzled in hot chiles and Sriracha. I could live on this dish. I’m energized!
Performed with The Scruffy Chillens at Hole in the Wall. Always big fat grooves. No artifice. Just great songs and players listening to one another.
Dropping my drums at Boos he gave me a bite of some potato gnocci slathered in a garlic cream sauce he’d cooked. Damn good!!
I listened to a friend, Michael O’Neill's recording. He and I cut the basic tracks by ourselves a few months back at Willie Nelson’s place, Pedernales Studios, and so glad we did as our work perfectly described how the songs should feel and sound, and the end results were imminently satisfying.
In homage to my depression era mom, I snackd on mayo on wheat saltines w. chunks of maple ham. Baked potato and vino rosa, too. Yum!

A New Day

Now that I'm linking this blog to my website, www.donywynn.com. I'm changing tack. For more regular type blogging, check out Dony Wynn on Facebook. Here I'm only going to tell the beautiful things I encounter each day that move me, inspire me, a stop and smell the roses kinda deal... Yeah, like that. -wdw2

It’s Dark Outside

If an unthinkable fall from grace occurs after a lifetime of belief and faith, this document will be the last thing I will ever write.
As of now, my fate inconceivably hangs in the balance. I’ve circled the wagons. I’ve dispatched the carrier pigeons. Smoke signals for days on end. Log drums continue to take a beating.
Not even a passing acknowledgment from the peanut gallery, nor a sign from above.
Nothing.
Has it all come to this? This nothing? This prickly blanket what smells of irrelevancy and so what?
Funny thing is... I’m pleased now when I catch a glimpse of the person staring at me from the mirror, a long time in the making. Yet it’s all I can do to open my doors to greet the horror of what lies in wait; a world inside-out, upside-down, bursting with lock jawed indifference, craven choice, hang dog confusion, a land of no cheer. This is not my home.
The ebb and flow of my currents never once failed me. But today the water is dead still. No wind. No birds. No clouds. No sky. Just silence. A pine box of nothing.
And I wait. I wait for the lurching waltz to return; staggering down gilded alleyways, a lusty, beautiful woman on my arm, where I belong.
Yet, when I think this existence can’t suffer another injustice, I’m brought to my knees again and again by bare-knuckled brutality. No love. No caring. No understanding. No eleventh round magic in sight. And I wonder...
Has it all come down to this? This nothing? This shadow of self, a shadow that never moves or runs away, to flee the sun’s shine that invariably devoured it?
It’s dark outside. Where is the light? When will it be time to come out and play, play as if you will live forever and make a difference? Will the dawn dare show its face ever again?
A piano keeps playing those sad, mournful notes, notes that echo time imortal and give no hope, no transcendence, only predictability, conformity, a color I don’t even recognize.
Amidst the howling, bestial wail I listen carefully for the rhumba, where I will not hesitate to take my beautiful woman by the hand and dance until we are so far away, we are but a wisp, a blink of an eye.
So much to give, I am here. I am ready. I am nothing if not love. Surely the rhumba will return, surely...
Yet here I sit, drowning in nothingness, my existence a rotting corpse spinning aimlessly in brackish backwaters of a diseased river.
This is not my beautiful world.

My Take On Modern Communication Devices

E-mails are a fantastic means of expediting information. You have a specific question, needing details, relaying specific plans or communicating an idea? E-mail is perfect. I send MANY per day, relating to both business and personal issues, but only when dealing in specifics. What I hate are letters that state, "What's Up?" or "How are you doing?" Why do I hate these? Because , to truthfully and honestly answer those questions takes a letter of novella length. In the past I have done so, and answered these inane, banal questions, and poured my heart and soul into the letter. Takes hours. What have I gotten back almost 100% of the time? Bupkiss. Not a fucking word. So when I get these mails that ask me these banal questions, I choose not to answer, or, I do the very best thing which is to call that person so we can hear each other's voices, hear the emotion in what we have to relay to one another, and that is a PERSONAL contact that is eminently more satisfying and productive. Letters contain very little in the way of emotion, unless you spend HOURS writing them (I AM a writer, a blessing/curse). Talking directly to a person puts you in direct emotional contact. In my mind, an easy choice. Which is why when people send me these e-mails, wanting me to write something witty or clever to entertain them, inform them of my state of mind, WHAT'S UP with my life, I choose to call instead, preferring real emotion and contact, maximizing your time. What does confuse me, however, is someone who has a phone but seemingly never uses it. Plus I'm all the time writing voluminous e-mails or writing stories which has me writing many many hours a day ( my time is valuable to me, and I only have so much left in this life), so I prefer a phone in some cases, is why I pay my bill every month so I can have a device whereupon I can actually SPEAK to someone. I love e-mails, they have their place in this world (most don't have a clue what to do with them and have e-mail addresses but never use the fucking things, so why do they have them? I ask myself, over and over and over and over and over and over again...) and when I receive a letter that demands a specific reply, I dutifully write a letter back, almost immediately, 100% of the time, unlike most EVERYONE else. But when there is a need to have an emotional and quantitive substantial contact, there isn't any device that can replace a phone, the exception being in the same longitude and latitude so you can touch someone, look into their eyes. yadayadayadayada. Get my drift? You call me on the phone? I answer it, unless I'm in a meeting or busy in a recording studio, where I will usually have my phone off which you can tell because it will immediately go to voice mail. But when I I turn it back on, I check my voice mail and if someone has called, I return that call IMMEDIATELY. Is why I have a cell phone, so people can reach me when they want to talk. I don't check Caller ID to see who's calling so I can decide whether to talk to them or not. I hear the phone ringing, I answer it. That is why we have all these communication devices so that we can stay in constant communication, THEIR PURPOSE! But, I see it as yet another toy in people's lives so they can continue avoiding more and more anything to qualifies as being a HUMAN BEING. What should they do? Get rid of both phone and e-mail so we who do use them don't waste our fucking time and energy. I hope this letter, which took me about 30 minutes to write, explains where I stand on COMMUNICATION.
Hugs and kisses,
-dony

Poised

Unbelievably, or so he thought, here it was again, the end of his rope.
Very little sustenance.
Some water.
Truck falling apart.
Body falling apart.
Apartment gone condo. Begone!
No work.
No income. No outgo.
Here he was ...again.

He took stock, and counted. Pooled the last of it.
Not much.
What was important?
A need to communicate.
A letter of hope.
An onion.
He knew what was important...

All said and done, there he stood.
Alone.
Nothing.
Just hope. And faith. An onion for
a better day.
A better day on
the rise.

He knew
what was
important.
Keep your wits.
Enjoy
the
ride.

A Siegel Woman

I’m smitten.
Totally
smitten.
And all I’ve seen thus far is a pair
of dark, furtive eyes in a
black and white photogaph. I’ve heard
much more. Much much more. But make no mistake, for of this I am certain... I am totally, and absolutely... smitten.
I walk the Earth...
smick smack,
smick smack,
smick smack,
smick smack ...
while she
throws rocks with purpose. She plucks, she
gouges,
she rends and tears. She pummels and wails, caterwauls, bashes, bangs and parries string and wood,
a
willing
participant.
This Siegel woman is an
animal, a vital torreador, a
tempest.
A whirling
dervish.

Thank you, thank you,
oh Siegel woman.
I hear and I lose my breath.
Because of you.
This.