I guess between updating music or vices, I choose the bands. It's just better to plead the fifth when it comes to this stuff. But here's a secret... I'm doing one right now 
So I'm going on vacation this week, but hey, my three amigoes probably already know that. Anyway, I promised a weird hobo-guitar story. It was weird in a zen way, but here goes. So I'm sitting outside of work and I'm practicing my guitar. Actually, it was a little more like saying my prayers than just practicing. I was in something of a spiritual mood that day. I barely get started, and this homeless dude (let's call him dr doom) sits down near me. No big deal, but he sits upwind and the old man doesn't smell very summer fresh. I practice with the TV on, and I think distractions are good because it's helps to focus better. Besides a good buddhist isn't supposed to be bothered by that kind of thing. Distinctions, eh? Anyhow, he starts talking. Don't fucking talk to me while I'm focussing, I have to ignore you by definition. But he's saying something about killing people. I stop and say what? And he says "I killed about 30,000 people" and I say "Oh, That's a lot" He says, "ya, know any bob dylan?" I start playing 'knocking on heaven's door.' It's not in my usual rotation of songs, but I mangle thru it and he's talking about if I know other dylan songs and napalm burning bodies and other crazy stuff I can barely hear. Two other guys show up. One looks like he works construction (Let's call him "Smashed Hands") and the other looks like he's taking a day off from nothing (let's call him "Mr Talky"). Mr talky is happy to see a guitar, and he's so good and if I just would, please, he would grace my guitar. I look at him, he seems sincire in his guitar repectfulness. I decide that I could chase him down and cripple him if he tried to run and I hand him my guitar. I've done this since I first started playing in the park. I figure that when the student is ready then the teacher appears, maybe I can learn something from this guy. The first thing I learn is that he's already drunk. He begs for a pick and he takes one of my mediums. Terrible right hand control, but his left hand is doing some advanced 'taught' chords. Just by listening I could see this guy had too many lessons. Anyway he drunkingly plays a couple of riffs over and over thru various permutations and he finally gives my guitar back. Smashed hands asks if he can try. He's alot bigger than Mr talky and Dr doom, but he struck me as the most reliable of the three so I hand it over and Mr Talky hands me my pick back. I take it and realize that he had it in his mouth because it's not wet but pasty with that crud drunks get in the corners of their mouths! Now the two of my freinds who actually know my nuttiness, know that I don't handle germs too well. But I'm thinking about those parables where jesus, buddha and others have met lepers and the way they treated them; so I try to play cool and I set the pick down on the bench and intend to leave it there. Smashed hands was the way better player even with his horribly mangled hands. His finger nails were black, crushed and splitting. The skin on his hands was badly scraped and it looked like fingers might be sprained. Still he played with a rhythym, and even though he wasn't playing anything in particular, you could tell that he was listening. So I learned something from smashed hands and learned something not to do from Mr talky. Smashed hands gives the guitar back and Mr talky starts clammoring for it "Just one more, please" I hand it over and when I do I realize that there is a little bit of blood on my hands! I wipe them of on my pants, freaking out, I get my guitar back and just start playing. Be cool, be cool. Mr Talky won't shut up. Says I have eric claptons hands
how he's someone famous and that I should reognize him. (I will say that he was rather well dressed for a guy carrying things in a trash bag.) But I didn't like mr talky and appearently the other two just tolerated them because they're all drinking beers around me and getting fucked up when Dr doom starts screaming, "You don't know what's it's like to kill people!" at Mr talky. Mr talky is giving a line a shit about the bush and smashed hands starts shouting. "You don't know about death, motherfucker! I can teach you all about death!" And Mr talky starts going "Ok man, yeah, alright, I was just saying..." and they're back to drinking again. All the while I'm tweaking out on what kind of germs must be on my hands while I keep thinking "don't touch you're face, don't touch your face" as i play. Mr talky keeps trying to give back the pick, and I keep telling him to keep it. Mr talky offers a joint, I'm gonna pass. When did I start passing? Ok! Time to go back to work. But mr Talky wants one last try. I can see he genuinely likes the guitar even though he is full of shit. So I let him and shake his hand. Smashed hands wants to play too. So I let him and shake his hand. They say I'm cool, ya ya sure. And Mr Talky says they ned to stamp my hand like his. No thanks, gotta be going. C'mon! lemme stamp your hand. I belive my exact words were "Ok, now you're being offensive." He seemed suprised by that (me too, what does that mean?) then he laughed and went back to his friends. I put my guitar back into the lab and was the handle with 95% ethanol. Then I went to the sink and washed my hands three times and three times again before I went to the bathroom and three times again before I ate my snack. It's not easy being crazy.
I've been thinking about starting a conspiracy theory group, because seriously, I need an outlet. Since I won't be back for a week, post your conspiracy theories here. One interesting one is that there will be an US-Isreali attack on Iran's nuclear facilities before the election as an october surprise. But
So I'm going on vacation this week, but hey, my three amigoes probably already know that. Anyway, I promised a weird hobo-guitar story. It was weird in a zen way, but here goes. So I'm sitting outside of work and I'm practicing my guitar. Actually, it was a little more like saying my prayers than just practicing. I was in something of a spiritual mood that day. I barely get started, and this homeless dude (let's call him dr doom) sits down near me. No big deal, but he sits upwind and the old man doesn't smell very summer fresh. I practice with the TV on, and I think distractions are good because it's helps to focus better. Besides a good buddhist isn't supposed to be bothered by that kind of thing. Distinctions, eh? Anyhow, he starts talking. Don't fucking talk to me while I'm focussing, I have to ignore you by definition. But he's saying something about killing people. I stop and say what? And he says "I killed about 30,000 people" and I say "Oh, That's a lot" He says, "ya, know any bob dylan?" I start playing 'knocking on heaven's door.' It's not in my usual rotation of songs, but I mangle thru it and he's talking about if I know other dylan songs and napalm burning bodies and other crazy stuff I can barely hear. Two other guys show up. One looks like he works construction (Let's call him "Smashed Hands") and the other looks like he's taking a day off from nothing (let's call him "Mr Talky"). Mr talky is happy to see a guitar, and he's so good and if I just would, please, he would grace my guitar. I look at him, he seems sincire in his guitar repectfulness. I decide that I could chase him down and cripple him if he tried to run and I hand him my guitar. I've done this since I first started playing in the park. I figure that when the student is ready then the teacher appears, maybe I can learn something from this guy. The first thing I learn is that he's already drunk. He begs for a pick and he takes one of my mediums. Terrible right hand control, but his left hand is doing some advanced 'taught' chords. Just by listening I could see this guy had too many lessons. Anyway he drunkingly plays a couple of riffs over and over thru various permutations and he finally gives my guitar back. Smashed hands asks if he can try. He's alot bigger than Mr talky and Dr doom, but he struck me as the most reliable of the three so I hand it over and Mr Talky hands me my pick back. I take it and realize that he had it in his mouth because it's not wet but pasty with that crud drunks get in the corners of their mouths! Now the two of my freinds who actually know my nuttiness, know that I don't handle germs too well. But I'm thinking about those parables where jesus, buddha and others have met lepers and the way they treated them; so I try to play cool and I set the pick down on the bench and intend to leave it there. Smashed hands was the way better player even with his horribly mangled hands. His finger nails were black, crushed and splitting. The skin on his hands was badly scraped and it looked like fingers might be sprained. Still he played with a rhythym, and even though he wasn't playing anything in particular, you could tell that he was listening. So I learned something from smashed hands and learned something not to do from Mr talky. Smashed hands gives the guitar back and Mr talky starts clammoring for it "Just one more, please" I hand it over and when I do I realize that there is a little bit of blood on my hands! I wipe them of on my pants, freaking out, I get my guitar back and just start playing. Be cool, be cool. Mr Talky won't shut up. Says I have eric claptons hands
how he's someone famous and that I should reognize him. (I will say that he was rather well dressed for a guy carrying things in a trash bag.) But I didn't like mr talky and appearently the other two just tolerated them because they're all drinking beers around me and getting fucked up when Dr doom starts screaming, "You don't know what's it's like to kill people!" at Mr talky. Mr talky is giving a line a shit about the bush and smashed hands starts shouting. "You don't know about death, motherfucker! I can teach you all about death!" And Mr talky starts going "Ok man, yeah, alright, I was just saying..." and they're back to drinking again. All the while I'm tweaking out on what kind of germs must be on my hands while I keep thinking "don't touch you're face, don't touch your face" as i play. Mr talky keeps trying to give back the pick, and I keep telling him to keep it. Mr talky offers a joint, I'm gonna pass. When did I start passing? Ok! Time to go back to work. But mr Talky wants one last try. I can see he genuinely likes the guitar even though he is full of shit. So I let him and shake his hand. Smashed hands wants to play too. So I let him and shake his hand. They say I'm cool, ya ya sure. And Mr Talky says they ned to stamp my hand like his. No thanks, gotta be going. C'mon! lemme stamp your hand. I belive my exact words were "Ok, now you're being offensive." He seemed suprised by that (me too, what does that mean?) then he laughed and went back to his friends. I put my guitar back into the lab and was the handle with 95% ethanol. Then I went to the sink and washed my hands three times and three times again before I went to the bathroom and three times again before I ate my snack. It's not easy being crazy.
I've been thinking about starting a conspiracy theory group, because seriously, I need an outlet. Since I won't be back for a week, post your conspiracy theories here. One interesting one is that there will be an US-Isreali attack on Iran's nuclear facilities before the election as an october surprise. But
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About conspiracies... I will think of some of mine to tell ya. I do, however, find it difficult to articulate myself with my thoughts.... probably because most of my thoughts are too 'out there'.
One thing that bothers me though, is it seems that the percentage of cars that are white are increasing alot. I may have told ya this before, but it really bothers me when I come out of Walmart & my white car is surrounded by 8 more white cars & then it seems that the whole parking lot is filled with white & beige & silver cars. It is damn creepy & I think there is a conspiracy in there somewhere. I feel we are all becoming like robots, one by one we are turning into the same, same cars, same thinking, same obeying.... creepy. SSRI drugs seem to be a part of it too. Gosh, everyone with the SSRI drugs... can't think.... mind control..... it's taking over.......
for that of another,
no matter how great.
Realizing your own true welfare,
be intent on just that.