Booze and Blues: Emotion, baby - emotion from the blues, by the blu...

Booze and Blues: Emotion, baby - emotion from the blues, by the blu...: "Listen if you want to feel alive pick up a guitar and strum some basic blues chords. You will fly out of your chair and land in Bluesville, ..."

Emotion, baby - emotion from the blues, by the blues

Listen if you want to feel alive pick up a guitar and strum some basic blues chords. You will fly out of your chair and land in Bluesville, baby. Can't play guitar? Play air guitar, man - it's easy. The blues come from my soul and your soul and every soul that has ever inhabited the earth. Imagine the power of a music that is so tied in to the history of humanity. Blues is humanity, baby. It is happiness and suffering, it is murder and sex, it is love and hate, it is breathing and dying, it is truth and lying. Come on, get with the program. I can't trust anybody who doesn't dig the blues because you ain't digging life.
Worship the blues, the people who created it, the people who suffered to make it known, the people who got rich off it if their heart is true. The blues will make you cry, make you laugh, make you think, make you whole. Gobble them up and you'll be healthier than you ever thought imaginable.
Yeah I am losing weight on the blues diet, baby. Soul soothing music, whiskey and one banana a day. That's all you need. So commence to digging, baby. You won't be sorry.

Insane in The Membrane

Wow baby. I have been struggling to get this thing up and running. I am a dinosaur so the whole settings thing and this and that melts my brain. I probably don't have it set up optimally yet but I will keep plugging away, learning little by little until I emerge as Numero Uno of all King Hell blogs.
All I really want to do is WRITE and get some feedback. Unload my brain, air it out and see if there is any interest in my twisted thoughts and perspective. Ain't got no interest yet and I don't know if it's because I haven't set the damn thing up right or if its because my words are garbage to the common man.
Not giving up. I'll love you if you'll love me. Basic human equation, which of course never works out, but the fun is in the trying, don't you think Pablo?
Ciao

I'm lonely

No visitors. Yet. How am I gonna get rich? I'll get you in here. Once you discover me I become an addiction. Haven't had enough time yet to devote to this. But I'll snag some. Then I'll snag you. Dig it baby and dig The Allman Brothers Band. Saw them this past Tuesday in NYC at The Beacon Theatre. It changed me forever. I am new and improved and rocketing upwards towards the stars. See you there.

March

March is a lying whore. One day its sixty degrees, the next day its twenty degrees, it snows, it rains, it exploits your emotions. November and March. They lie. November pretends to be fall until the 21st, March pretends to be spring on the 21st. November is winter. March is winter.
But March is more cruel. You see November coming. You know it will get cold, you will shovel snow until your internal organs explode, your car won't start, you will slip and fall on the ice and go to work with a wet ass.
Winter knocks you down and kicks you in the ribs as you slip trying to get up. It punches you in the nose and knocks a few teeth out. It kicks you in the kidneys as you lie, trembling and crying, on the ice.
But March. March taunts you. Just as you are weak and exhausted, praying for warmth and relief, thinking you cannot go on for one more day, March gives you sixty degrees. If you weren't so desperate you'd look around at three feet of snow and realize this can't be real. But you are like a heroin addict. You want it. Bad. And blam the next day it is twenty degrees and your body and mind are screaming. Then rain. Fifty degrees. Nineteen degrees, snow and ice. You are crawling towards spring but March has to get in a few more kicks. It is a cruel month using nature's superiority to prey on human weakness.
March and November. They are lying whores. And every goddamn year we pay for their services with our blood and crushed psyches.
Give me June, July and August. I trust them and love them. This year I will run naked through the summer and ignore the taunts of those who do not appreciate the inherent beauty of a well sculpted beer belly.

Getting at the essence

Changed the name of my blog. To get at who I really am. Originally I titled it "my brain is oatmeal." Thought it sounded funny. But that kind of stuff doesn't work for me.
Booze and Blues. That is who I am. Love the booze, love the blues. Discovered both when I was fifteen. That was a big year. Got high and drunk for the first time, got laid for the first time, and discovered The Allman Brothers Band. What a great year. Been trying to duplicate it ever since.
The Beatles blew my mind. Opened me up to my love of music. At the tender age of ten. Then The Stones, The Doors, The Who, Hendrix, Joplin, Santana and on and on and on. I was ecstatic. Music was, and still is, everything to me. Then, in 1969, I stumble across The Allman Brothers Band. I was already out of my mind over music but ABB blasted me into another existence. Better than sex. I wish I could remember how I discovered them, actually visualize the first moment, but I can't.
Once I got over the initial infatuation I began to study the music. Noticed a lot of the songs were written by other people. Willie Dixon, Muddy Waters, Howling Wolf. Who the hell were these people? Old blues dudes. I found another world. I have been happy there ever since.
Booze and Blues. Sums it all up for me. That's not all that I am about. I am a complex human filled with inspiration, vibration, creation and emancipation (I'm still working on that one). I have deep and personal loves and interests and I plan to live for 187 years so I can fully enjoy them all. But that's a story for another time and place.
For now, Booze and Blues is a good place to start.

Too quiet

Oooooooooohhhhh it is quiet in here. There is an echo bouncing off the walls as I type. I am alone. Completely alone. This must be what it is like starting at the bottom. New blog. No followers. I ain't in here to get creative. I am in here to get rich. To get known. I must build a following so I can eventually deposit $13 million dollars in my bank account. There is an echo in there too. It is goddamn empty.

But my heart ain't empty. My soul ain't empty. My brain is only half empty. Half full? That's because I have killed many a brain cell. But I can still function. No time today. Work. Gotta work for a non-living.

Allman Brothers, baby. At The Beacon. This is a religion and I worship with great devotion.

OK gotta go sell booze to people who NEED it, people who need it, people who are entertaining, people who want to spice up dinner, people who want to unwind, people who want to get very, very drunk and dream about killing their boss. Interesting job.

Ciao

What's shaking, baby

This is the dawn of a new day. New age. My first blog. I call it "my brain is oatmeal" because that is exactly true. My brain is so full of contradictions, information, misinformation, song lyrics, vulgarity, empty space, poetry, fear, confidence, love, sensitivity, self loathing and braggadocio that it is a miracle I can even walk. And when I get enough whiskey in me I can't even do that.

My goal here is to reveal my innermost thoughts. This could be dangerous for you. My thoughts are sick and twisted, loving and gentle, kind, angry, subtle, over the top, sensible, nonsensical, sometimes just plain silly. When your brain attempts to absorb the thoughts from mine, it is entirely possible that your head will explode. And that gets messy.

I'm a million different people from one day to the next. I always loved that lyric because its true. But I know I'm not alone. You are a little strange too, no?

Let's get to know each other, shall we?