Solitary

The day of the maverick, the unique individual, the colorful rogue, is all but gone. Corporations are flexing their muscles as never before and the crushing aftereffects of their misdeeds are not so slowly wiping out all individuality. Ultimately our society will suffer on the whole, and it is happening without any fuss, cries of indignation, riots, nor blood in the streets as ones who grow up in this day and age don’t know the difference, conditioned to adhere to a lifestyle which frowns upon individuality, and they blindly accept all that’s foistered on them by this grinding capitalistic machine as simply the status quo. Step in line, pay up and shut up, and begin goose-stepping, please! And ones who strive to march to a different drummer are barely able to exist in a society that champions the corporation, as the corporations make it damn near impossible to even exist with the cost of everything necessary for quality of life reaching critical mass. How can one take risks when the risks could render him homeless, without proper food or medical care? Without incomes generated by cashing in and giving in to these faceless, soulless behemoths one simply cannot exist. “1984”, by George Orwell had it right, it was just twenty years too early.
I live in a town that thankfully does champion originality to a degree. And in this town I was able to watch two different movies, a rare concert film last night, and a BBC documentary tonight that showcased two incredibly unique and gifted and rare and important individuals that, dare I say, could possibly not even make a ripple in today's over saturated, media dominated, totalitarian, corporate existence.
The first was a concert by James Brown and the Fabulous Flames, shot in Boston the day after Martin Luther King was gunned down. The man was in top form and was singularly mesmerizing, on fire. It was a total joy to watch James and his legendary band leave the audience stupefied and energized beyond belief. We in this present day audience felt the same.
The second was a documentary on Don Van Vliet, or as some know him, Captain Beefheart. This man walked it like he talked it, and took his art forms to the extreme to make statements that no one else dared, and again, we were the richer for it. The documentary ended with some very insightful observations on the callousness of people and their effects upon not only society and nature, but especially the fragile individual who lives his life by art and love and giving alone.
Those days of enriching and championing the creative spirits are long gone.
People are killing the individual spirit by promoting and supporting mediocrity, buying into the copycat, sound alike, filch and pap that’s currently being rammed down their throats, turning their rabid, zealous mania of sports figures into something akin to the worship of the gladiators of Rome, and we know where they ended up, eh? And forget politics, that is an area that is too dark for me even to comment.
I am greatly saddened. And more than just saddened, I too grew up in this bygone era and I do know the difference. In this present day I struggle mightily to make my voice heard; some weeks a struggle just to stay alive, to afford another piece of bread, a roof over my head not guaranteed. I am drowning in a sea of dullness, the machine doing its best to pull me into the system, a system that would surely crush my spirit.
But my soul is a candle, and no amounts of darkness will ever snuff my flame. So I continue, and others like me will continue, for this world would be a mighty dim place without those whose candles burn bright, not only for themselves, but for everyone else who’s lucky enough to stand and bask in their light

And Then There Was Her

My last relationship left enough scars on me, in me, to last for sixteen lifetimes. God had a good laugh on me with that one. After all, she was everything I thought I wanted. That was part of the problem. She was what I wanted, not what I needed. But there she was, looking like a Penthouse Pet; sexy, beautiful, and fucked me every inch of everywhere. Dick was happy, but Dony got his ass kicked... repeatedly, and with intent and malice.
Thankfully, I finally managed to put Mr. Dick back in his place and rid myself of tar baby, but not before my body was riddled with stitches and staples and gaping wounds. Still, I managed to crawl away, a smidgen of wit, brain waves, and hutzpah intact.
Then she walked in.
I’m not sure what to make of it yet. Can it be? Could it be? The one?
From the moment I met her, interviewing her for a magazine article I was commissioned to write, I was intrigued. Intrigued by not only her beauty, but by her grace, her effortless skills, her calm, her peace. Oh yeah, did I mention she was a knockout, too?
We kept talking days after the interview was over. She would call me when I least expected it. She invited me over for Christmas day. She asked to accompany me on New Year’s Eve. I mean, she really seemed to want to spend time with me. I was intimidated. I’m still intimidated. Why? Because this woman is real. A force to be reckoned with.
I recall the beginning of New Year’s Eve. Downtown was a mess. Cops were closing streets left and right making it almost impossible for me to make the two sound checks I needed to make. The stress levels I was experiencing were higher than pleasurable. The old “could this be a fucking nightmare New Year’s Eve again” loomed large. Too close for comfort.
She and I had made plans to possibly have a bite to eat after the sound checks and before the performances, but everywhere I turned was nothing but chaos and half assed horseshit.
I sat on stage at the second sound check, way past the time we’d planned to meet, much less call, and I felt like shit not having a second in which to stop and give her a call to let her at least know what’s what. Not cool. In anyone’s book.
As I sat there, feeling like a complete shit, I felt something. Something like a breath of fresh air. I turned and there she was, looking like a million dollars. She’s taken the initiative to come down and meet me when she hadn’t heard from me. Oh yeah, did I mention she’s smart? Really fucking smart?!
i won’t bore you with the details, but from that second on when she entered the room all stress left my body and everything that happened afterwards was nothing short of a cool breeze type evening. Nothing but pure rhythm and groove. Made me pick up my game a notch or two, feeling I had a partner who was worth any amounts of effort I could put into it. Both shows were fantastic, as good a time as I’ve ever experienced beating the piss out of a drum kit with some really incredible musicians playing great tunes. Why? She was there.
We didn’t get into a hurry, had pedi-cabs take us where we needed to go, and had nothing but a low key, easy going, no pressure blast.
Since, life has continued this magical rhythm.
Should I be so lucky? Is it that time in my life to have that great one?
I don’t know. And furthermore, I’m not letting the weight of “what if” put undue pressure on us. We just hang. And groove. And get to know one another. Nothing else.
A concept, eh?
Can this white man be so lucky?
Time will tell. Meanwhile, I’m riding this wave for all it’s worth. And from here, the shoreline looks like the most perfect beach this white man has ever seen.
‘Bout time.
Bitchin’.