Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Answer #36 - the intensity of the gamma rays

I dream of mud some nights.  I read the poem years ago - the frog prince who dreamed of mud while his flour-dry princess bride slept soundly.  'In March I dreamed of mud..'

I don't sleep well, in general.  One of the genetically-blessed for whom sleep is a challenge and a paradox, I stay in a kind of vague twilight state half the time. 

And then, some months, inexplicably, I sleep. 

What changes?  I don't know.  This month, I dream of mud.

I have about one month until I get on the road for Europe.  In Europe I will dream of bread and cheese.  Which, incidentally, will be mostly what I eat.  I sleep well in Europe.  Again, what changes?  My theory is that the corporate powers that be are pumping something, inconsistently, over the U.S. airwaves in order to scramble our brains and get us all to buy expensive drugs to counter the scrambling effects of stress, depression and ill health.  Europe doesn't let them do that.  Just like they don't let them sell Wonder Bread.

But that's just paranoid conspiracy theory nonsense.

Unless it's true.  And then I'm a genius.  And I'll probably write a book.  Maybe call it 'To Serve Man.'
And then I'll wake everybody out of the Matrix, like Neo, and peace will guide the planets and looovvvee will steer the stars.

For now, I'm working on the new album, performance-wise.  Looking for exotic instruments to take on the road - sruti box, hurdy-gurdy, didgeridoo, that kind of thing.  This weekend, I'll score a choral version of 'Clock of the World' - currently on YouTube if you're interested, and will most likely drink a little too much wine at a cocktail party.  [This doesn't take a psychic to foresee.  There's a cocktail party, I'll be at it.  You do the math.]

For now, I'm picking up shows, getting used to a 65-degree house because I'm NOT a spoiled American, I'm not I'm not, and languishing a bit in the blue winter light.

For now, I dream of mud.  We'll see if I get used to the flour-dry.

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