Tour Time Countdown

Less than two weeks and I can't wait. We're so so ready. It's pretty much consuming much of my thoughts. It's been a long time since live shows. I really am remembering how much I miss it. The clicking together of all the pieces and parts. Soundchecks. Laughing in the car. Fucking delicious feedback. Hell, right now, even lugging shit around sounds like something I'd put on a party dress for and follow an invitation. Our desire to put it out there the way we want to is large. And beyond. Yeah, there's a lot going on all the time, but like Material Issue said:
I'll pop back up when the pretty blue lights come on.

Pouring

It's cold and pouring and it's a thrill to have the door open and hear it while it tumbles onto the ground and across the normally dry patio furniture and soaks into the desert ground. Every day could be like this for all I care. I'd revel. I would glow. As each day, as of late, goes by, I feel more and more free. More and more clear. I rediscover bit of myself that got lost here or there in busyness or in just that's the way it rolls. That peace, man, that peace, it just keeps showing up. And I'm happy because I know I can be happier, still. So I'm committed to finishing my novel in a year's time. If not, not gonna kill myself, but I think it can be done. Reading bits of the novels of two friends right now, one old and one new--the friends, not the novels. Brilliant boys, both of 'em. Kudos to them for completion. There's something nice in wrapping up. Less and less, I like loose ends. Loose, but not loose ends.

But your lips spoke gold and honey, and that's why I'm happy when it rains.

Gonna Start a Revolution From My Bed

That's one of the best lines of a song ever, and can really be interpreted differently at any given moment. I don't care how soft they are, I love the Oasis, I really do. Someone I know deemed them my guilty pleasure, but motherfuck that, I have a. rocked so hard in my lifetime, both listening and playing that I can parallel it with the softest pillow rock I want and b. I have far, far, far guiltier pleasures that both do and don't have to do with music. So I tried to do something recently to amend a really shitty thing I did and well, it didn't really go anywhere. And it's so easy to see how some people can choose to not see others for what they really are. But generally, we're predictable and all true colors usually blaze at some point, so I expect maybe that will indeed happen. And if not, I dusted off my olive branch, stuck it out there and when it wasn't touched on the other end, I put it away. That's cool, ain't it. My peace lies within. Oh yes, it sure does.
Don't look back in anger, I heard her say

Remember this cat? I liked Captain Kangaroo but I loved Jack Barry. He was clearly the darkest, most pleasantly demonic gameshow host, ever. I was mesmerized by his presence and when the jokers on the screen would emerge behind him, it really was as if hell opened up the gates for a peek. Fucking glorious.
My friends and I decided that via his evil glare looming behind the smile, when Jack was smilingly encouraging contestants to pull the mechanical spinning arm, his inner voice was really and demonically saying "Go ahead sum'bitch, PULL." God, that's beauty. So's this line from my favorite songwriter, Justin Keane:

We're lovers, penitents, and angels in between.

Back. In Black.

Maybe I'm semi blog-challenged, for whatever it matters. I currently have so many roles in life and one of them is not really writing the way I used to, for better or worse. So here I go making another blog, abandoning those others, only slightly posted upon. Why the hell not? I've spent the better part of two days deconstructing lyrics from Exile on Main St., in my head, which is real common territory. Real-ly. I've made a point to try and listen to that record, oh forgive me, it's a CD now, every week, particularly on Sundays,for years now, because it, well, because it makes me want. And I like to want. I've been thinking about wanting, a lot. Not that I want A LOT, literally, etc., but the concept of wanting, specifically how that translates into interacting with others. I'm maybe attempting to attach a level to my own inherent selfishness. Do I really need to? Do I even fucking care? Those songs are so much more interesting to dissect, ain't they? Say now, baby, I'm the rank outsider/You could be my partner in crime is probably the most romantic thing I could think a paramour, or potential, could utter.
God, I love cement. These fucking palm trees, man, they're killing me.