Bobaloo and me

Besides my parents, Robert Palmer was, and is, the singular most important person in my life... so far. Our partnership, our friendship wasn’t just about music, even though musical discovery was our modus operandi, the success of which became my ticket ‘round the world. Together we instigated a ruckus that will never be silenced.
His role as teacher to my student opened doors to literary prowess, gastronomic delights, fine wines, delightful spirits, thought provoking celluloid, sartorial splendor, art of all media, arresting photography; all the while embracing obscure cultures and discovering artisans of every polka dot and stripe from sea to shining sea; a sherpa who taught me to live well, righteously, dangerously, giving me the freedom to willfully fling myself into the void and become a true citizen of this planet. ...One could say the boy put some spit and shine on this rube. ...Yeah. ...Like that.
Every mark I make in the creative domain of this life -which is just now rounding into a new chapter- there is a piece of him in it. In everything I do, Robert’s always there, up my ass, goading me, prodding me to dig deep and deliver, be the very best I can be in whatever I so choose.
My friend. Gone.
Me, here, to pick up the pieces, carry the torch.
My burden. His gift.

A Pot To Piss In

Like a recovering addict, I’m struggling today with my very existence. Stronger than I’ve ever been after due diligence, the very cognizance of this subtle addiction, however, caught me quite off guard. You see, up until now, me and my good friend had been damn fine company for the other. In each other we found solace, room for growth, as well as introspection. But today, an intractable wall has been met.
Years ago I took a personal vow of poverty. Having lived for many years and dabbling in every excess I could, living my life to the hilt, the time came for me to cleanse my system of the wretched excesses which had made me a slave to their every want and need. And there were many...
Selling everything I had and removing the yoke of debt which had kept me the financial slave was very easy. Liberating even. Moving to the middle of nowhere to squat on a friend of mine’s sprawling ranch gave me time to cleanse myself of most all that civilization had foistered upon me, leaving the imprint of Western society far behind. I was alone and unencumbered. Me and nature. And slowly, over time, as if tempering a sword, I was made stronger by my ability to realize what was important in this world, what my needs were versus mere wants, my body and my mind strengthened, gaining knowledge with every passing day from the solitude and surrounding nature. From time to time I would have a chuckle recalling all that had cluttered my life heretofore, wondering if perchance I’d chosen the wrong tack. But like a recovering addict who knows this course of action to be life affirming, I persevered to rid myself of what had once kept me a prisoner; a prisoner due to a lifestyle that hadn’t an ounce of importance in the big scheme of things. Diddly squat, really.
The test of my resolve required that I take a vow of poverty. No job. No paycheck. Nada. Without a stack of monthly bills, only requiring nourishment, the lack of money wasn’t a problem, my simple needs always met. Whenever I had to budget a couple of dollars, I grew excited and invigorated at the power of meager needs. Going out in public and not wanting to rearrange my viewpoint or splash money around like a fool, empowered me. And slowly, assuredly, I grew stronger with more clarity and focus than I’d ever felt before.
A short time ago, after three years of complete and utter solitude, below the radar of poverty, I moved to the city to put into play several business options whose doors opened to me, the universe working its magic. I figured I must be ready for the tasks at hand, and now the time to move into this next chapter.
Over the course of the next year, remaining true to my vow of poverty, I’ve managed to get closer to my goals every day, staying due course. Seed that has been planted during this odyssey is only now breaking ground with new growth. I can literally smell the next chapter.
But unexpectedly, the worm, she did turn... and the time of change is upon me.
My friend, poverty, taught me much, but like a drug that’s run its course, the buzz is no longer there. And instead of teaching me, shaping me, the poverty is now a ponderous weight that keeps me from flying. Like a drug, who is now master and who slave?
The time to break from the crushing grip of poverty is now. I have learned. I’ve been tempered. The time has come to wield the sword and live a life deserving.
Ungowa!

Shipwrecked

I’ve sat back and watched the most unbelievable scenarios unfold post our presidential election. The ones who voted Republican seem to think their victory gives them free rein to chastise, condescend, and laugh in the face of any who voted differently. This is our president’s version of uniting our country, eh? Go ugly week, you ask me.
I am sick to my stomach over the tension I feel from all this imbroglio. I can only guess this is how our Civil War got started. On this side, rage, frustration, and on the other side, a smug superiority coupled with over the top vindication; all at direct odds with one another.
Luckily for me, I’ve only been witness to these clashes. An observer, one could say. But, unfortunately for me, all that swirls about came to a head last night and took a steaming shit on my doorstep.
I’d called my mother and father earlier in the day as I’d not heard from them in some time. Politics aside, I’ve not had very many quarrels with my parents. They’ve always been cooler than school, and we’ve always managed to work through any differences we’ve shared. But during this election it was obvious that we were on two different sides of the fence. We had some lively conversations over our differences, but we always managed to put a big grin on it. Until last night, that is...
I picked up the ringing phone only to be greeted by uproarious laughter. I wanted to be in on the joke too so I asked, “Gosh, what’s so funny, ma? Let me in on it, I want to laugh that good too.”
When she could finally compose herself, she said, “Well, I guess it looks like your people lost the election in a big way, huh son?” Then she doubled over in laughter again.
Her laughter hit me like a Tyson overhand right. She was laughing at me, the loser.
Our conversation never got any better unfortunately, doing my best to let her know that contrary to her rather narrow confines of beliefs, mine were scattered all over the place, neither Republican or Democrat, but my own view of policy based upon, what I consider, the right things for both humanity and the world in which we dwell. Well, I might as well have been talking to a rock because not only did she barely listen, she couldn’t help telling me how wrong and basically stupid I was. When I told her that I read many things from many sides from all over the world on a daily basis to become well informed, she then chided, “Son, do you believe everything you read? And that Internet thing is so liberal, they’ve got you believing everything they print and say.”
I was floored as my mother has never been on the Internet, thinking it is some foul beast waiting to eat everyone’s brain away. but now she was an in house expert.
So, I tried to balance the conversation and said, “Well, Mom, I will say this, the Republicans had an incredibly organized campaign and they won based on that organization. Karl Rove, as much as I dislike him, did a helluva job.”
“Who’s Karl Rove?” she asked.
I was dumbfounded.
Here was my mother preaching to me what a doofus I was for reading and searching for truth, when all she did was cast aspersion over things she knows diddly about.
The conversation never got any better, the condescension only getting worse and finally tiring of verbally flogging her son, my Mom, the Christian, tried to end the conversation, laughing all the while, “Well, we love you son, despite what you think.”
My only reply was “Nice talking with you”, then I hung up the phone without a good-bye.
If I disliked the man before, now I hated him, and hate isn’t a word to be tossed around lightly. But because of George Bush and his staff and their calculated brainwash of most of America, especially the religious right, we now have a divide in our country that I’ve not felt since the rancor over the Vietnam War.
In short, I don’t know when I will speak to my parents again, if ever.
For now, enjoy the victory folks!
Meanwhile I wait for the bottom to drop out, because I know it will. You cannot keep fucking people over and lying and mangling and distorting without it finally catching up with you, and Dubya will have his day of reckoning, I’m sorry to say.
I used to be proud to be an American. Now my head hangs in shame and brother is pitted against brother, while George gloats and says, “I earned my capital, and by God, I’m gonna spend it.”
I’ll leave you with this...
“When I despair...I remember that all through history, the way of truth and love has always won. There have been murderers and tyrants, and for a time they can seem invincible. But in the end they always fall. Think of it ... always.” - Gandhi

Present Reality-A Letter to a Friend

Bob-e,
Was watching the Bill Maher show on HBO this evening and the picture's never been more clear. He has special guests who come on an in-house screen from time to time and he conducts interviews via this fashion. Well, this evening he had a Senator Simpson from Wyoming, I believe, and what I saw tonight and what I witnessed the other night at Larry's has given me a clear picture of the shape of things to come.
As soon as Bill asked his first question -which was tinged with a bit of comedic sarcasm- he was viciously attacked by the senator and it never got any better. It got personal and real quick, the Senator repeatedly ignoring the questions and not really "hearing" what Bill was asking, instead chiding and attacking Bill and others like him for their views. Flagrantly cursing and attacking with severe condescension were the gist of the senator's replies. Reminded me of your "conversation" with Tom the other night at Larry's.
These people (see how I'm talking, it is an "us" vs. "them" mentality-fucking hate it) feel they have won some sort of victory that gives them free rein to attack anyone who thinks differently. There isn't any understanding of any sort. We are either on their side and agree with them or we are the enemy. Whose words are those? Dubya's of course, and he's stained the consciousness of our country beyond belief with them. Dialogue is gone for now, and we'd better get used to it. Our founding fathers must be turning in their graves!
What does this mean? We certainly don't give up, but we'd better be ready to challenge them on a level they understand, which unfortunately, reverts us back to Cro Magnon. Quick on our feet, in other words. Survival of the fittest.
These next few years are going to be the most challenging of our lives. We'd better get some thick skin and a laser like vision, plenty of patience, fortitude, and clarity. Otherwise, we'll go down in the flood.
-bd

The Last Splash

After listening to two very good friends of mine descend into a winless, backbiting argument the other night during a spectacular dinner with other close friends, the precious balance and worth of true friendship has weighed heavily on my mind and heart in these dark days of a seeming pending apocalypse post the presidential election. And in doing so, a memory came to the fore.
I remembered the last note I performed with my late “singin’ his ass off” friend. As if it was yesterday. At that time we’d been embroiled offstage and on for the better part of 15 years, and the record we’d been feverishly working on came to a close, for my part at least, with the single tinkle of an eight inch cymbal. I distinctly remember a wave of emotions flooding me after the cymbal had decayed to silence. My friend pressed the talk back and said, “That’s a wrap”, and solemnity shrouded me, inexplicably feeling as if I’d played my very last note with him.
That night while at a Mexican restaurant in the land of wine, pasta, and artisans of the most high, that inescapable feeling overwhelmed me again, feeling like some great chapter in my life had come to a close, even though there wasn’t anything on the horizon to indicate such. But felt it I did, and midway through our festive repast I had to take leave from our table to let tears spill from the confines of my emotional cup.
Bizarre, really, on the face of it, as I said there wasn’t any indication that my feelings held portent. But now, looking back on it, that was indeed the very last time that me and my friend made recorded music together. That single, solitary cymbal splash was the final note of many we’d created over the years. From the world’s finest stages and studios scattered all over this globe, we’d made quite a rumble during our heyday, but on that day, our working chapter had come to a close.
And now he is gone. And I still feel him. I still miss him. And every musical mark I create in this world there is a piece of him in it.
I still remember the splash of that little cymbal as it decayed into nothingness. It was a beautiful sound.

Shanghai Slimmed

This morning I awoke, sick and disgusted with what we’ve endured as of late courtesy of the presidential campaign. Before I could even get out of bed a more deeper profound disgust settled in when it dawned on me just what a horrible species we’ve become, seemingly doing our best to bring on extinction by every means necessary.
Humanus walkus erectus is truly the scourge of the earth. We, as a race, should be ashamed, repentant, but we’re far too arrogant and self absorbed to be concerned with the big picture, so we continue to malign and pollute and mangle and destroy -all under the name of manifest destiny- everything and anything that stands in the way of this maniacal greed run afoul.
Even last night I listened in horror as two really good friends of mine got crossways due to their differences in opinion of what our country stands for. Next thing I knew the words grew more personal, plumb rancorous and dagnasty, and then came the inevitable, “Come on outside so I can kick your ass!” ...Goodness gracious. Hava nagela. Holy bubba... Instead of relishing a lively debate amongst friends breaking bread, we’ve been reduced to screaming meemies over some ridiculous ass behavior that just recently got mandated. And our leader is gonna bring us together? ...Yeah.... this coming from the fucker who took an irrevocable bad left turn and refuses to admit mistakes, leading us deeper into madness, the ever growing rift more virulent by the day. Yeah, sure he’s gonna galvanize the world! Blow the fucking whole shebang to smithereens is more like it.
Not wanting to get into a purple funk over all this recent squabble and fuss, I tooled it over to my favorite outdoor tacqueria, needing some comfort in which I find in their pollo delights.
I sat at the picnic table and unwrapped my first taco. The first bite let me know I was at the right place, just what the doctor ordered. Before I could swallow the delicious mouthful of char grilled chicken smothered in onions, cilantro, and lettuce, swaddled in a corn tortilla, drizzled in a verde sauce, I noticed a group of sad looking birds standing in a semi circle, staring at me intently. Seeing that I’d taken notice of them, the birds gathered even closer... and then it hit me. As much as we’ve killed and maimed and fucked each other over with alarming regularity over the centuries, we’ve also fucked with mother nature too, doing our best to destroy the very thing that gives us life, and here stood yet another sad example! These birds, these vital creatures who’ve also existed on this planet for centuries, were now reduced to mere beggars, forgetting their very purpose and reason for living. Their very essence compromised by our endless wanton, mindless, corruption.
It was all I could do to finish my meal.
This world is in some sorry ass shape. Violence begets violence and we’ve now entered into a brand new religious war, and it ain’t gonna get any better anytime soon. When are we gonna learn? We’re probably not. We are on a collision course with extinction. As it probably should be.
The meek shall inherit the earth, and then, maybe then, the beautiful, harmonious ballet of nature will return. And maybe, just maybe, the offspring of these lost birds will emerge from the sad hollow existence we’ve forced upon them. Those poor birds who’ve forgotten who they are.
A dark cloud stole the sunshine.
You know it’s a bad day when even a righteous get down taco can’t take you away from the omnipresent skullduggery.
I continued to eat, bombarded by a corderie of sirens that shredded the peace and quiet, the squall of crack heads fistfighting on the corner, my food turning to sawdust. And the birds just stood there. Pitiful fucking things. Dead birds begging.