Jesus, reading too many political blogs again… old habit, i suppose. I always turn to the editorial pages first whenever I pick up a newspaper, which isn’t often any more. I have a sneaking suspicion that’s what gave my immune system a knee in the nuts and got me sick. Hey folks, if watching the end of the world won’t do it, tell me what will. Meanwhile, there’s this:
I need a “crazy photo” for the cover of an ebook of old Farr Site columns (1998) coming out soon. Thought I had one, but naturally I couldn’t find it. I file digital photos by, um, intuition, and I hope you don’t. There aren’t enough days in a year to go through all the images on my hard drives, so this is what I came up with this afternoon. My editor/layout person will probably hate it, har.
And that brings up the Eckhart Tolle part, because the photo is so obviously ego-oriented. So is software name-dropping, sigh. Why is it that just as I start to get a lovely ego sheen cranked up, I have to go and read how I don’t need one?! Serves me right, goddammit, always doing everything backwards. Actually the Tolle stuff is very decent, sometimes a great help. [See sidebar.] Anything that takes the pressure off, muchachos! I was a little too deep into the vortex this evening, so K. said, “Take a break! From me…” and I got up to go watch “Rome” on HBO. “Thank goodness we have TWO ROOMS!” she called out. Irony? What irony?? (You want big houses, stay where you are.)
Later I found a fresh email from Leo S. in Austin. Damned if he isn’t finally transferring the John Clay tapes to minidisc so he can send them to me. Now THIS is excellent news. At the very least I’ll get everything copied onto a computer for what passes for posterity these days. At the very most, there’ll even more Lost Austin Band MP3s available for download at FarrSound. This will be a labor of love. (Can you tell?) I was just a poor fucked-up twenty-something weirdo back when there was still grass between Austin and Round Rock, but those days of putting big fat ringing G-chords behind John Clay’s songs were holier than I had any notion of at the time. I bitched and moaned, but isn’t that always how it is? Doing it all backwards again, i tell you. Anyway, as the man himself emailed me three whole years ago (remember, time is an elastic concept to all enlightened beings):
Dear John Oh how I hate to write/ ta don ta don ta don/ but I must let you know tonight… Put the songs on the net. “Cast your bread upon the waters and it will come back cake.” Yours truly, John Clay
Putting this stuff on the Internet is manly bidness. So is drinking special Puerto Rican rum with my two musician buddies next week, but first I have to shake this stupid cold.
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