AS THOUGH IT MADE SENSE

I really have no business writing anything at this time as I have not really gotten that sequence into any presentable shape. I have plenty of notes, though. 

Besides listening to several versions several times of For Everyman, I answered email, two to yoga teachers who are mentoring me on the sidelines. But listen to this version of For Everyman. It is more melancholy than the one I previously posted from The Bread and Roses Show. And after you listen to Jackson a few dozen tries, check out this version of Suite: Judy Blue-Eyes. I cannot number the times I listened to this in this very house. Puts me right back to high school.

[Part 1]
[Verse 1]
It's getting to the point where I'm no fun anymore
I am sorry
Sometimes it hurts so badly, I must cry out loud
"I am lonely"

[Chorus]
I am yours, you are mine
You are what you are
You make it hard

[Verse 2]
Remember what we've said and done and felt about each other
Oh babe, have mercy
Don't let the past remind us of what we are not now
I am not dreaming

[Chorus]
I am yours, you are mine
You are what you are
You make it hard

[Instrumental Bridge]

[Verse 3]
Tearing yourself away from me now--you are free
And I am crying
This does not mean I don't love you--I do, that's forever
Yes and for always

[Chorus]
I am yours, you are mine
You are what you are
You make it hard

[Verse 4]
Something inside is telling me that I've got your secret
Are you still listening?
Fear is the lock and laughter the key to your heart
And I love you

[Chorus]
I am yours, you are mine
You are what you are
And you make it hard
And you make it hard
And you make it hard
And you make it hard

[Part 2]
[Chorus]
Friday evening, Sunday in the afternoon
What have you got to lose?
Tuesday morning, please be gone, I'm tired of you
What have you got to lose?

Can I tell it like it is?
(help me, I'm suffering)
Listen to me, baby
It's my heart that's suffering, it's a-dying
 (help me, I'm suffering)
And that's what I have to lose

[Chorus]
I've got an answer
I'm going to fly away
What have I got to lose?
Will you come see me Thursdays and Saturdays?
What have you got to lose?[Instrumental Bridge]

[Part 3]
[Verse]
Chestnut brown canary
Ruby throated sparrow
Sing a song, don't be long
Thrill me to the marrow
Voices of the angels
Ring around the moonlight
Asking me, said she's so free
How can you catch the sparrow?
Lacy, lilting lyrics
Losing love, lamenting
Change my life, make it right
Be my lady

[Outro]
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
¡Que linda!
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-
la traiga a Cuba
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
La reina de la Mar Caribe
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Quiero sólo visitarla allí
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Y que triste que no puedo. ¡Vaya!
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
O Va! O Va!
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do-do-do
Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do-do

So before I return to watering my newly planted roses and cherry tree, 

I am going to take five days off from writing.

Now

May 7th

This week has been short on writing but long on what I might call breaking on through to the other side. I don't think The Doors really thought about the pain and frustration that might be involved in such an endeavor.

BREAK ON THROUGH

Densmore/Kriger/Morrison

You know the day destroys the night
Night divides the day
Tried to run
Tried to hide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side

We chased our pleasures here
Dug our treasures there
But can you still recall
The time we cried
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side

Everybody loves my baby
Everybody loves my baby
She gets, she gets
She gets, she gets

I found an island in your arms
A country in your eyes
Arms that chain us
Eyes that lied
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side

Made the scene from week to week
Day to day, hour to hour
The gate is straight
Deep and wide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through, break on through
Break on through, break on through
Yeah, yeah, yeah,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, ...

Not meaning to turn this into a nostalgia fest or anything, but I find it interesting to look at these song and lyrics as freshly as I can. Great music here. Ugh on most of the lyrics. I am talking about Break On Through here. Suite: Judy Blue Eyes is beautiful.

Normal People is a short series streaming on Hulu. I didn't exactly binge watch it as much as I was in thrall to it. The series is intense and intimate to the point of making, at least this viewer, utterly vulnerable. Having had a relationship that was singular in the connection and intensity that is portrayed in the series made this exponentially more real and sad and poignant. Maybe everyone has had this. Not many discuss it. I don't even discuss it.

So, on that level, it has been an emotional and vulnerable week.This is in no way a bad thing, but it is a different thing. 

In the midst of this was the project undertaken with my excellent cousin Shelly to clean out the garage and the patio. The project was necessitated by the presence of a possum digging around and some gnarly smells coming from my belongings which had been ruined on our leaky patio. They smell so bad that it is traumatic to get near them. I keep hoping they will dry out in this heat, but so far, not happening.

The garage has not been cleaned or organized since my father died in 2003, since my brother died in 2009, since my mom shoveled her shit out there to not deal with it. And my extra layer of belongings I moved from Berkeley and New York. I don't think the thesaurus has a good synonym for clusterfuck. Of stuff. Of memories. Of whatever you might add to the mix.

Shelly is a champeen organizer and has the right amount of discipline and indulgence to deal with me when it comes to throwing things away. She is an amazingly hard worker She loves soul music and the blues, so we are quite work compatible. She can herd sheep or cats, as needed. 

N.B. My other cousins are no less awesome, just that they are not helping me with this project. 

So, some order is coming into these areas, but it is not the project of a couple of days. The driveway looks like Green Acres. 

One of my YTT classmates is a big believer in sustainability. Shelly will throw away anything. My tendency (understatement) is to try to save, recycle, reuse. I do see Shelly's point in needing to, metaphorically speaking, scrape that shit off your shoes and move on. It's a dilemma for me. This is the echo of the 1930s depression resounding, I am sure.

But things are all shook up. I had to go through my deceased brother Carl's letters yesterday. It was difficult to not read each and every one, nor to save them, to try to unravel the mystery that he was to his siblings. Romances that never reached the family acknowledgement level; are there clues to my own  romantic and commitment life? I won't know because I chose to throw most of them away without deep scrutiny. You know, I would be in there reading like a novel if I thought it would serve me.

And then there is the constant presence of my father. This garage is a 1950's hobbyist dream. He was a machinist so there are not end of books about that subject, about guns, about war, about taking girly pictures. All there. Most of it leaves me cold, but I don't have it in me to throw away Popular Mechanics and Popular Science Magazines from the 1920s and '30s.The art is so good.

In the far up reaches of the garage, Patrick and Shelly found a box tightly bound. Upon opening it, we found my father's US Navy uniforms that must go back to the 1930s. He joined in 1932 when he was 16. He was so tiny. But it is all so beautiful and well kept. That was another strike at my vulnerability. I found some tendresse there.

I don't find dictionary meanings have the same feeling I have when I think of tenderness. It is beyond just kindness and caring, tenderness means vulnerability as well, although I don't see that spoken of. To be tender, there needs be openness and acceptance. Kindness and caring can be accomplished without much of this.

Not surprisingly, Aretha nails one of my favorite versions. You might not like the strings in place of her more nuanced funk, but her vocal does it all. 

Strawberry jam hand pocket pastry courtesy of Shelly who is here working on the project from hell.

Last night in our YTT discussion, we talked about saucha, which is all about kinds of cleanliness. I didn't share what an armageddon of crap, belongings, dreams, and schemes litter my life. On the other hand, I had been practicing this yama earlier this week with Shelly.

Okay, I need to be working on this week's sequence as I only have until 11:00 when it is yoga time for Mom and I have to give up the computer.

FORGETTING

Forgetting takes space.
Forgotten matters displace
as much as anything else as
anything else. We must
skirt unlabeled crates
as though it made sense
and take them when we go
to other states.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, New York, Grove Press, 2010

And try a little tenderness.

STRUGGLE CRAZILY FOR PURCHASE

(Stolen from J. Schey.)

May 1 

dulciloquent, adj.

[‘Of a person: sweet-spoken. Hence also of an utterance, style, etc.: characterized by pleasing or mellifluous language.’]

Pronunciation: Brit. /dʌlˈsɪləkwənt/,  U.S. /ˌdəlˈsɪləkwənt/

Origin: A borrowing from Latin, combined with an English element; modelled on a Latin lexical item. Etymons: Latin dulcis, -loquent comb. form.

Etymology: <  classical Latin dulcis sweet (see dulce adj.) + -loquent comb. form, after classical Latin dulciloquus (2nd cent. a.d. in Apuleius).

That’s a bit more soothing than many things I begin with. The sky is a steely blue-grey over to the west although the sun is knifing past me to the north. Oona Minnie Pearl Moonlight likes to sleep on the veranda. I think there are fewer fleas there. She must have been deeply asleep as she can't quite figure out where the "kitty kitty kitty" is coming from.

I woke up before my 6:30 alarm. I have this Romantic notion that I will get up early and start getting things accomplished before the day kicks in full force. Sitting here watching the light reflecting off of the cement walls, I am sorely tempted to get back into bed to read until the coffee kicks in. Unfortunately, the Circle Jerks' song from yesterday keeps thrumming through my head.

We just get by
However we can
We all have to duck
When the shit hits the fan

And I know that time is now.

I suppose the general ignorance of the general population is one of the things that alarms me. Without a baseline understanding of hygiene, science, history and basic manners, the outlook for the behavior and wisdom of the populace is not good. When I read that people are starving in refugee camps and immigrant prisons, not to mention the poverty-stricken areas of this country and that animals and crops and other food products are being dumped MAKES ME CRAZY. This is what government is for, and I know we are preaching to the choir here, but infrastructure! Community and international aid and cooperation programs! Hell, we've got plenty of gas and unused airplanes. Plus, time on our hands for volunteering if we can figure out a way to do it safely. Hazmat suits anyone?

Many hours, interruptions, procrastinatory events later ...

It's getting to the 11th hour and I did not make the aguasacaca I had planned to take to YTT tomorrow.. Going into the kitchen to cook is more of a direct procrastinary event than I can allow myself.

I have tried to get in the spirit of yoga sequencing, but that isn't coming easily to me today. I have books and print-outs strewn about and ideas but just not the concentration to formulate them.

One of the books I read was T.K.V. Desikachar's The Heart of Yoga.

Another aspect of yoga has to do with our actions. Yoga therefore also means acting in such a way that all of our attention is directed toward the activity in which we are currently engaged ... (as if) ... Suppose for example that while I am writing, one part of my mind is thinking about what I want to say and while another part is thinking about entirely different. The more I am focused on my writing, the great my attentiveness to my action in this moment. The exact opposite might also occur: I might begin writing with great attention, but as I continue to write my attention begins to waiver. I might begin to think about the plans I have for the day tomorrow, or what is cooking for dinner. It then appears as if I am acting with attentiveness, but really I am paying little attention to the task at hand.

I am functioning but I am not present.

Yoga attempts to create a state in which we are always present—really present—in every action, in every moment.

This was just one paragraph but I wanted to tease it out a bit. He goes on to say

The advantage of attentiveness is that we perform each task better and at the same time are conscious of our actions. The possibility of making mistakes becomes correspondingly smaller the more our attention develops. When we are attentive to our actions we are not prisoners to our habits;

we do no need to do something today simply because we did it yesterday. instead there is the possibility of considering our actions fresh and so avoiding thoughtless repetition.

My spacing again there.

I think there is a lot to think about there, not only in a practice or a discipline, but how we live in the larger world. People in America, particularly, but the whole world, really have to stop 'phoning it in.

I have challenges being present as anyone who knows me knows. I am always doing at least two things at a time partly to avoid being present. Being present implies/demands/requests commitment and we have already been over that. Being present actually takes one out of the me and into the cosmic us of contribution of energy or good will or further consciousness.

So onto functioning AND being present. (And then a good night's sleep.)

GRAZING HORSES

Sometimes the
green pasture
of the mind
tilts abruptly.
The grazing horses
struggle crazily
for purchase
on the frictionless
nearly vertical
surface. Their
furniture-fine
legs buckle on the incline
unhorsed by slant
they weren't
designed to climb
and can't.

— Kaye Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, New York, Grove Press, 2010.

WON'T SHIFT THE VIEW

April 27

FOR EVERYMAN

Jackson Browne

Everybody I talk to is ready to leave
With the light of the morning
They've seen the end coming down
Long enough to believe
That they've heard their last warning
Standing alone
Each has his own ticket in his hand
And as the evening descends
I sit thinking 'bout Everyman

Seems like I've always been
Looking for some other place
To get it together
Where with a few of my friends
I could give up the race
And maybe find something better
But all my fine dreams
Well though out schemes
To gain the motherland
Have all eventually come down
To waiting for Everyman

Waiting here for Everyman
Make it on your own if you think you can
If you see somewhere to go I understand
Waiting here for Everyman
Don't ask me if he'll show, baby I don't know

Make it on your own if you think you can
Somewhere later on you'll have to take a stand
Then you're going to need a hand

Everybody's just waiting to hear from the one
Who can give them the answers
And lead them back to that place
In the warmth of the sun
Where sweet childhood still dances
Who'll come along
And hold out that strong
That gentle father's hand
Long ago I heard someone say
Something 'bout Everyman

Waiting here for Everyman
Make it on your own
Make it if you think you can
If you see somewhere to go I understand

I'm not trying to tell you
That I've seen the plan
Turn and walk away if you think I am
But don't think too badly
Of one who's left holding sand
He's just another dreamer
Dreaming 'bout Everyman

Yesterday evening I was driving down to SW's house when this one came up on an old Radio Sally Mix I had just uncovered, made in 2005 called Scrapple from the Apple. (I'll post the playlist at the bottom.) Maybe I am overly focussed on Covid-19 but the image of people fed up and taking off, of doing for themselves and not for the greater good quite struck me. 

And right after that was The Circle Jerks' When The Shit Hits The Fan and damn if that one wasn't fitting as well.

In a sluggish economy
Inflation, recession, the land of the free
Waiting unemployment lines
Blame the Government for hard times

We just get by
However we can
We all have to duck
When the shit hits the fan

Ten kids in a Cadillac
Stand in line for welfare checks
Let's all leech off the state
Gee! The money is really great!

We just get by
However we can
We all have to duck
When the shit hits the fan

Soup lines
Free loaves of bread
Five pounds blocks of cheese
Bags of groceries

Social security
Has run out on you and me
We do whatever we can
Gotta duck when the shit hits the fan

We just get by
However we can
We all have to duck
When the shit hits the fan

Soup lines
Free loaves of bread
Five pounds blocks of cheese
Bags of groceries

Social security
Has run out on you and me
Do whatever we can
Gotta duck when the shit hits the fan

I think I have hit the depression layer. I woke up before the 7:30 alarm but spent the next two hours dozing and sleeping, having anxious dreams. The anxiety is compounded by my mother being anxious. Somehow, she is stuck on the fact that there is just too much for me to do around the house. You hear me talk about the backyard being a jungle, however, I am not kidding. Some of it is beautiful and some of it is not. I don't know why I have focussed so much on the front yard, perhaps because it is so much cooler out there and I see it when we come and go. From this desk, I can see poppies, and overgrown bougainvillea as well as geraniums, calendula, and dinner plate sized nasturtiums. And weeds weeds weeds weeds.

Very hard to stay the course of making progress on the inside of the house when I just want to escape (which, as my brother David would attest, is the family way). I keep thinking that when teacher training is over I will have more time to put into maintenance, but we shall see. Sometimes it is just hard doing everything myself. I would have been a terrible single mother. 

April 30th

Ever find yourself with so many things to choose from that playing solitaire or watching Netflix seems like the easiest answer. I think that is going unconscious. And there may be nothing wrong with that. But there probably is.

In the annals of procrastination, I have put off writing my first 90 minute class all week. I have mentally and physically skedaddled here and there without significant forward motion except for finishing some books. Finally, I sat down and started sketching things out and doing some research, but that's another form of procrastination ... is there such a thing as positive procrastination? Must have another name.

Yesterday, I did an online class. Afterwards, I came back to my desk to see if I couldn't take some notes. Across the desk in the window sill was The Marauder Cat, aka Pogonip. He didn't look too good, as he is one beat up tom. I noticed there was a large section of cheek flap hanging down. I got up and went to confer with Janet about what to do. We agreed I should take him to a vet to see what it would take to fix him up some. Janet got her stimulus check and although we had other earmarks on it, we felt the critter deserved care.

I found a walk-in, inexpensive vet clinic not too far away. Lured by food, he went into the kitchen where Janet and I were able to capture him and get him in a cat carrier. I cruised him over to the vet. He scarcely moved and did not make a sound. At the vet's office, I could hear he was hyperventilating so they got me into a room fast. He hissed coming out of the carrier, but he did let me hold and pet him. We saw that in addition to his cheek, he had a bad bite and infection on hid leg. The vet came in, said he would fix him up. I asked him to neuter him at the same time.

Around 4, I called to see if he was ready to pick up. They said yes. Pogonip died shortly before I got there, 20 minutes later. 

I didn't know what to think or how to feel, other than shock. Pogonip wasn't our cat, really, but he was part of our everyday cat world. He took his naps on the lawn furniture and begged for food. Janet, as you know, wanted to adopt him.

The cause of death was undetermined, but the vet thought that Pogonip died of stress and possibly some other underlying issues. He looked awful in death. It may be wimpy and unkind of me, but I am glad I didn't have to hold him as he transitioned to another place. As he didn't know my body, my smells, and my touch at all, it likely would not have comforted him much.

We miss him. We were/are sad. 

And this morning, one of his brothers was walking around the front yard, already ready to take over the territory.

RIP Pogonip.

The Kermit Place Readers had a surprisingly lively conversation about Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca this evening. Afterwards, we hung around on Zoom to swap quarantine updates and commiserate about what might be next. There was not a general feeling of positivity. New York is waiting to see if the quarantine is extended, as we are here in California. It seems the height of freedom to be able to congregate in small groups with close family and friends. 

WINTER FEAR

Is it just winter
or is this worse.
Is this the year
when outer damp
obscures a deeper curse
that spring can't fix,
when the gears that 
turn the earth
won't shift the view,
when clouds won't lift
though all the skies
go blue.

— Kaye Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, New York, Grove Press, 2010

Radio Sally

                  SCRAPPLE FROM THE APPLE

February 12, 2005

(01) Dexter Gordon: Scrapple from the Apple        7:23

                  (Parker)

                  from Our Man in Paris, Blue Note, 1963

(02) Afro Celt Sound System: Dark Moon, High Tide   4:12

(Emerson/Spillane)

                  from Volume 1: Sound Magic, Real World, 1996

(03) Bananarama: Aie a Mwana          2:43

(Kluger/Vanguard)

                  from Deep Sea Skiving, London, 1983

(04) The Magnetic Fields: When You Were My Baby   2:43

                  (Merritt)

                  from The Wayward Bus, Feel Good All Over Records, 1991

(05) Phillips & Driver: Ready for Love                4:08

                  (Ralphs)

                  from Togetherness, Bar None, 2003

(06) 5 Chinese Brothers: All I Need   3:23

                  (Foglino)

                  from Singer, Songwriter Beggarman, Thief, 1-800-Prime, 1992

(07) Ray Lamontagne: Jolene                 4:14

                  (Lamontagne)

                  from Trouble, RCA, 2004

(08) Gregson & Collister: I Shake         4:24

                  (Gregson)

                  from The Last Word, Rhino, 1992

(09) Robben Ford & The Blue Line: Good Thing                7:12

                  (Ford)

                  from Handful of Blues, Blue Thumb, 1995

(10) Jimmy Witherspoon, Long John Baldry, and the Duke Robillard Band: Time’s Getting’ Tougher Than Tough       6:53

                  (Witherspoon)

                  from Jimmy Witherspoon with the Duke Robillard Band, Stony Plain, 2000

(11) Van Morrison: Allow Me              3:53

                  (Morrison)

                  from Poetic Champions Compose, Warner Bros., 1987

(12) Judy Collins: Since You Asked 2:53

                  (Collins)

                  from Wildflowers, Elektra, 1967

(13) Jackson Browne & David Lindley: For Everyman       5:41

                  (Browne)

                  from Bread and Roses Festival, 1977 Vol. 1, Fantasy, 1979

(14) The Circle Jerks: When the Shit Hits the Fan       3:13

                  (Hetson/Morris)

                  from Golden Shower of Hits, Rhino,1983

(15) Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings: This Land Is Your Land       4:33

                  (Guthrie)

                  from Naturally, Daptone2005

(16) Glory Fountain: Rosary                  5:28

                  (Blakey/Chumbris)

                  from The Glory of 23, LaJoy, 2001

(17) The Kingsbury Manx: Fanfare      4:41

                  (Kingsbury Manx)

                  from The Kingsbury Manx, Overcoat, 2000