This was originally at Diary-X (where all those dead ideas may rise up again one fine day real soon here now), as an attempt to "get my arms around" the bulk of my adult life, if that is that part I have my arms connected to at the present time. Some philosphers wonder if time is actually real. I wonder how long they think they can think about that before time runs out. Maybe they will answer it at just the last moment. That is how some folks intend to say "oops, I didn't know that!" and call it a day in the life, oh boy.
Crazy Ideas, Not Necessarily Asylum Material, Only Nonsense (CINNAMON)™
For whatever reason it seems like I cannot stop the thinking process constantly unrelenting, the things I wonder about nowadays have me… wondering. Why do I forget to think about some of the things I "should" be thinking about, and instead (it might seem, by choice) I think about the most "curious" things? George?
For instance, I sort of, almost, nearly, know somebody who has had to have, by the "roll of the dice" in life, surgery (more than once upon a time) to correct physical "problems" that give her cause to doubt very strongly whether anyone even wants to look at her, much less think she's good looking at all. This condition is lamentable since I know she is beautiful, and scars have nothing to do with it. Actually, I know more than one person like this, more than one "she" and maybe even a "he" somewhere along the way. And, in any one of the instances that only *I* know about all of, it would be nothing less than wonderful to know that I'll be knowing this person for the rest of my life. I tend to become "attached" by some sort of invisible threadiness. Many among us insist that unseen things simply do not exist. I say that intelligent conversation with unbelievers is highly unlikely, even if they do belong to Mensa.
Here's an idea from out of somewhere. I will list the names of bands I've been in, none of which are, or were, or ever will be, of any notoriety in comparison to the actual famous acts from the past. Also in my "musicology" I should go ahead and include all the local yokels and the stars from heaven (like Jen) that I've opened my ears and eyes long enough to find my own heart is still alive. It may be barely beatin', but the heart… you know the tune. Get ready to ROFL (and your butt off or whatever…), folks, I've been around some people even weirder than I, imho.
The Band List
- The Ivory Society
- Crystal Spyder
- Macadam Avenue
Which of these would anyone think was my idea? I happen to know who suggested each of them, and I was merely keeping track, for the most part, like I am still doing. Perhaps I am a "mostly silent" scribe of some kind, only speaking out when I see enough around me to become disturbed enough to imagine myself bold enough to give advice that was not requested. As my dad and I say to each other a lot nowadays, "Whatever…. Since each of these bands has a story and there were always other bands, we should list a few of those other bands, the Really Good Bands, the ones that were always better than our band (by a long shot), the ones that seemed to be able to get the gigs and make a few bucks with it. Rivalry amongst anyone working the "same side of the street" whatever the venue, another list produces itself:
The Bands List
- A Band Of Angels
- The Torchmen
- Thirteenth Story
- Portland Zoo
- Sleazy Pieces
Finally, there would be the celebrities of the time which also were influential to anyone else alive at the time, including me, so these would be the ones that made it clear to the rest of us, then, and perhaps now as well, and we can hope for the future, as well. This is obviously the most abbreviated list of all, since I am certain that I do not remember them all anyhow, and this is just a fraction:
The Real SuperStars List (RSS feed…)
- Mom (or either grandmother)
- Gershwin et. al.
- The Beachboys
- Paul Revere & the Raiders
- The Beatles
- Moody Blues
- ZZ Top
- Jennifer Knapp
Yeah, that's the short list, by golly. Holly. Jolly. Burl. Me? Polly wanna "eye ¶" ??
St. Ives (my version)
As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives,
Each wife had seven sacks,
Each sack had seven cats,
Each cat had seven kittens.
Oh, my stars, do they all want mittens?
Mercy me, and sakes alive, with Kittens and cats, those sacks and (Saxon) wives, How many were there in on the way to St. Ives?
So there's a box of cracker rox for us, mebbe I'll "see if I can" write up some things about all of this. Like each of the bands, and the people in them, as far as I know about anyone any more (which really ain't much, folks). But whatever…
†eLf† †eLf† †eLf†† † †
So that is how it looked on Oct. 24, 2005, before the fall, in the spring, when winter became summer…