Sunday, August 30, 2009

It Always Comes Back To The Blues

I've no idea why that is. Even though I'm not really a blues player, in a technical sense. I guess I am in another sense. It's an emotional thing, when the opportunity arises, and that is real blues. It is not that great to feel it, but that is jst the way it is.

The theme carries further than playing stupid blues harmonica. I always think my limited playing ability is stupid, even though I do pretty much kick ass, and I'm no copy cat.

What it really comes back to, and this definitely has some blues to it, is what once was said about me by a close relative; "He's blablabla...IF you can get past THAT". I understand the That, and I'm not sure I can get past it. That one couldn't. I guess in the past I'd managed to cover or compensate or something.
Truthfully, I don't expect anyone to get past THAT. I can't help it. I'm not that different from anyone else except a little less involved in ways.
Anyway, it will never bother me again. And I will never be so dumb as I was the time I was monumentally dumb in the most expensive way.

Mostly I figure I will survive, despite that fact that I know damaged goods, and it r us. That is sad to me. I am pretty sure I’ll never be hitting on all cylinders because one or two are just gone. Make the best of what there is. Can’t think of a better goal. I also can’t quite figure out what that means, or how to do it.

I’m angry tonight. I was thinking of the old staff I had when I first entered the Memphis scene at the airport. What a lying stealing bunch of people, including my boss. Thieves over me, and thieves under me; liars all, and the sorriest group of workers I’ve ever seen. I guess I did do some good. At what cost to me, I wonder. I did have a few of them convinced I would only put up with so much on the job–pc policies and modern corporate double talk protects the dishonest and incompetent–so I let a few know I was ready to surprise them in the parking lot with a ball bat, and that I had nothing to lose so I did not care about consequences. I half believed it myself. Never had to do it.

That was hell.

This is not, but the THAT thing bugs me to this day. Sometimes I hate relatives and wish they would shut up.

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Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
Like spring on a summer's day


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