" So, I'm leavin in the mornin
If I have to ride the blinds
You stole my heart but you can't
Take my mind"
-Dan Auerbach
That line's been used in various iterations in numerous blues songs. The first two lines are kinda like "roses are red, violets are blue" but in the blues tradition. The second two are kinda fill-in-the-blank... I used Dan's version 'cause, well, it's the Black Keys, man. Before we launch into the meat of the bloggage (this one won't be very substantial I think), I'll gift you with two of my favorite tunes (read "the first two I thought of") that include this line. First is Robert Johnson's ever classic Walkin' Blues. Also, here's a version of the same tune done by R.L. Burnside. I added it because I find it funkylicious in a most excellent way. And here's The Black Keys' Countdown. It's off their very first album, which I've noticed many johnny-come-lately fans haven't even listened to. I love their new shit too, of course, but I kinda miss the 'Keys' old low-fi sound.
Anyway, the reason I'm posting this is that I, too, am leaving in the mornin'. Although I won't be riding the blinds, and this journey has very little to do with my ever-tragic love life, I will be traveling by rail. Just inside, in the relative comfort of the coach car. Yup, that's right. The day has finally come to embark on my epic tour of the U.S. But I must take the opportunity to quell a rising rumor (apparently inadvertently started by me, indulging in obscure terminology). This is NOT a music tour. I will play in a couple places on the way, but I hardly think that qualifies. It's just a regular tour, guys. Like... with postcards and whatnot.
Actually, this trip has a lot more to do with scoping out potential places to live. It seems that my familial support for my non-collegiate foolishments will soon be running out. This does not come as a surprise- it's just like in the deal. But having to find an independent means of subsistence, coupled with the absolutely SHITTY musical opportunities for a mellow fellow such as myself, and the fact that I no longer go to UNM... well, let's just say there's not a hell of a lot to compel me to stay.
That said, I still have a few ties here. My dad, my Kung Fu family, and the few friends I've gleaned from my socially unambitious life at UNM are all still in the abq, as well as this little studio apartment that's been in the family for enough years it's started to feel a little... homey. I still love each and every one very much (well... "love" is a little strong for the apartment), and I don't really relish the idea of leaving them behind and starting again by myself. But it kinda feels like time to move on. That's probably why I feel sadder than I should leaving for just a month or two... basically, I don't expect to be back very long when I return.
As far as where I intend to go, I don't really know yet. Right now there are three possibilities in my mind. One is moving to Asheville NC if and when my sister goes in September- but she's not sure she's going to yet, and I'm not sure if I want to move there anyway.
Another is moving to Portland- I have a friend who's moving there soon, so I would have connections, and I hear the music scene is pretty cool. But there's two problems with that... I've never been to Portland (I will rectify that on my trip), and let's just say having that particular friend as my only connection might make things... a little more complicated than I want.
The third option is to give it all up, sell all my shit, take a backpack and a guitar, and go where the wind blows me, much like my Kung Fu brother Camilo. I've followed the spiritual path (and watched Camilo do his thing) long enough to know I don't really need my stuff, and I'm reasonably sure I could let go of it without overmuch fuss. But there's always a catch, and the catch for this option is... I don't really want to. Possessions, I don't care so much about. But I do care a lot about my connections. As aloof and reclusive as I may seem to the casual observer, I like hanging out with loved ones... in fact there's not much I like better in life, and I like having somewhere to come home to. I'm not really an extraverted person, and it takes people awhile to warm up to me. So, as romantic as it is, the footloose and fancy free persona doesn't really fit me so well. I'm calling it plan C.
I don't really expect any, but if you have any awesome ideas for an alternative, I'd love to hear them. I haven't planned my whole trip yet (it's been extended to include Massachussetts and Nebraska, by the way), and I'm specifically leaving a couple transfers free for later inspiration. So if you think I should visit somewhere that's not on my itinerary (see my previous entry "death and travels"), holler at me.
One way or another, I'm hoping this journey will help clarify where I want to go next in life, literally and figuratively. I intend to have fun too, though.
I think that's all for now... check back for posts on my journey. I'll try to put anything interesting up here when I can, and I have a camera now, so photos should be forthcoming as well. I'll leave you with another cool song about traveling (and sex, 'cause sex is cool too...). These guys are probably old news by now, but... I like 'em.
Bye folks
-Mojoe
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
The Brand New Me (my shit's fucked up...)
I know I've been promising everyone recordings of my stuff and generally not delivering. Recording is harder than you might think, and I'm too aurally sensitive for my own good, which results in obsessive deletion and re-recording of my stuff. I'd like to promise I'll finally hook it up with my youtube channel before I leave on the 8th (gulp), but knowing me like I do, I should probably just say I'll try really hard. Anyway, I'm sure you're all crying yourselves to sleep for lack of my music...
Anyhoo, I wrote another song, and I felt like sharing the lyrics. It's (obviously) about the general tendency of people these days to medicate copiously. Whether it's self-medication or prescribed medication makes no difference. As long as they don't tie you down, it's all self medication in the end, no?
Brand New Me
Hey there, buddy, have you heard the news?
All about the brand new you?
Drinkable, shootable, inhaleable, doable
Comes in pill form too!
Just take it down
Never a frown
Buddy, it'll help you fit
Just put it away
Three times a day
Share it with the wife and kids!
I'm goin down to the corner store
Gonna buy a cure for my blues
Ain't seen my baby for a month or two
Don't know what to do
Gonna drink it down
Sink right down
Won't feel bad no more
Gonna kill my pains
With the brand new me
That I got at the corner store
Well, my bossman, he don't treat me right
Mama don't like me too
"Better find a way to fit, before you get licked
Or you'll never get ahead, you fool"
So I'm goin' down
To fix my frown
Make a good boy outta me
Can't wait to see
How proud they'll be
When they see the brand new me
Hey there, buddy, do you have the time?
I got somewhere to be
Gotta get to work, make a dollar or two
So I can buy a brand new me
I'm gonna work
'Til the sun comes up
Don't need to sleep no more
'Cause all I need
Is the brand new me
That I got at the corner store
Need a pill or a shot
Or an herbal remedy
Gonna ask my doc
What's right for me
Change my name
Numb my pain
Find a way
To play the game
Buy me a me from the man on the corner
Just five times a day
Won't need any more
Just a little at a time, and I'll be fine
Won't be mad, won't be sad
I won't care if the world's unfair
Need no more than a pill or four
Can't wait to see how proud they'll be
Cause all I'll need
Is the brand new me
That I bought from the corner store!
I think it needs to end, obviously. What started off as an honest (albeit somewhat misguided and misunderstood) attempt of folks in the '60s and '70s to "expand their minds" has turned sour. Most of the drug craze was initially about rebellion against the cultural status quo. I'm all for moving outside the mainstream, so I give credit where credit is due to that generation for mixing it up and endeavoring to find a way to think and live outside of the proverbial box. Unfortunately, they decided on a pretty dysfunctional way.
While it's true that drugs have been used for a long time (which, by the way, is not in and of itself a justification of anything), they have previously been used with respect. Like... in sacred rituals, ceremonies, and other once-in-a-long-time practices. This is because the first time it's used, it might be revelatory. Maybe the second or third too, if you space them far enough. But the western ideal of "more is better" has once again bested us, resulting in all this addictive "regular maintenance" shit. I'm glad people are starting to realize we, as a species, are a little fucked in the head. But sadly, trying to fix your spiritual and mental problems by numbing them with chemicals is a bit like trying to cure your broken leg by beaning yourself over the head with a 2X4. Yup... it'll stop hurting for awhile, but what happens when you wake up in the morning?
I dunno... that's my two cents, anyway. I've seen enough people I've liked or loved exacerbate their problems with habitual medication, most of these problems coming from the belief that they need to "fit in" instead of being themselves. I feel this is something we need to let go of. It's pretty clear that we as a species need to grow up a little (sooner than later, too) and that's not gonna happen through a chemically induced fog.
In lieu of an actual recording of my song, I'll leave you with another song on a similar theme.
Badass guitar on that one, too.
Oh, and for the record, I'm not claiming saintliness here. My shit's fucked up too, ya know, and I've dabbled in self-medication myself over the years. But, like the man says, "the shit that used to work, don't work now".
Peace!
-Mojoe
Anyhoo, I wrote another song, and I felt like sharing the lyrics. It's (obviously) about the general tendency of people these days to medicate copiously. Whether it's self-medication or prescribed medication makes no difference. As long as they don't tie you down, it's all self medication in the end, no?
Brand New Me
Hey there, buddy, have you heard the news?
All about the brand new you?
Drinkable, shootable, inhaleable, doable
Comes in pill form too!
Just take it down
Never a frown
Buddy, it'll help you fit
Just put it away
Three times a day
Share it with the wife and kids!
I'm goin down to the corner store
Gonna buy a cure for my blues
Ain't seen my baby for a month or two
Don't know what to do
Gonna drink it down
Sink right down
Won't feel bad no more
Gonna kill my pains
With the brand new me
That I got at the corner store
Well, my bossman, he don't treat me right
Mama don't like me too
"Better find a way to fit, before you get licked
Or you'll never get ahead, you fool"
So I'm goin' down
To fix my frown
Make a good boy outta me
Can't wait to see
How proud they'll be
When they see the brand new me
Hey there, buddy, do you have the time?
I got somewhere to be
Gotta get to work, make a dollar or two
So I can buy a brand new me
I'm gonna work
'Til the sun comes up
Don't need to sleep no more
'Cause all I need
Is the brand new me
That I got at the corner store
Need a pill or a shot
Or an herbal remedy
Gonna ask my doc
What's right for me
Change my name
Numb my pain
Find a way
To play the game
Buy me a me from the man on the corner
Just five times a day
Won't need any more
Just a little at a time, and I'll be fine
Won't be mad, won't be sad
I won't care if the world's unfair
Need no more than a pill or four
Can't wait to see how proud they'll be
Cause all I'll need
Is the brand new me
That I bought from the corner store!
I think it needs to end, obviously. What started off as an honest (albeit somewhat misguided and misunderstood) attempt of folks in the '60s and '70s to "expand their minds" has turned sour. Most of the drug craze was initially about rebellion against the cultural status quo. I'm all for moving outside the mainstream, so I give credit where credit is due to that generation for mixing it up and endeavoring to find a way to think and live outside of the proverbial box. Unfortunately, they decided on a pretty dysfunctional way.
While it's true that drugs have been used for a long time (which, by the way, is not in and of itself a justification of anything), they have previously been used with respect. Like... in sacred rituals, ceremonies, and other once-in-a-long-time practices. This is because the first time it's used, it might be revelatory. Maybe the second or third too, if you space them far enough. But the western ideal of "more is better" has once again bested us, resulting in all this addictive "regular maintenance" shit. I'm glad people are starting to realize we, as a species, are a little fucked in the head. But sadly, trying to fix your spiritual and mental problems by numbing them with chemicals is a bit like trying to cure your broken leg by beaning yourself over the head with a 2X4. Yup... it'll stop hurting for awhile, but what happens when you wake up in the morning?
I dunno... that's my two cents, anyway. I've seen enough people I've liked or loved exacerbate their problems with habitual medication, most of these problems coming from the belief that they need to "fit in" instead of being themselves. I feel this is something we need to let go of. It's pretty clear that we as a species need to grow up a little (sooner than later, too) and that's not gonna happen through a chemically induced fog.
In lieu of an actual recording of my song, I'll leave you with another song on a similar theme.
Badass guitar on that one, too.
Oh, and for the record, I'm not claiming saintliness here. My shit's fucked up too, ya know, and I've dabbled in self-medication myself over the years. But, like the man says, "the shit that used to work, don't work now".
Peace!
-Mojoe
Monday, June 20, 2011
I promised you sunshine and daisies...
It's true. If you read my other blogs, you may remember I wrote a P.S. swearing I'd post something "a little more sunshine and daisies" someday. Having re-read (skimmed) my last post, it occurs to me that buddhism sounds kinda emo from an outside perspective. I swear it's better from the inside. Anyway, that wasn't very sunshiney. Since 1/3 of the feedback I've gotten on my blog so far (literally one out of the three people that comment) is about the music I post, I'm doing another music post. This is my attempt at a crowd pleaser.
Obviously this will be mostly blues-related, 'cause I'm a bluesman, born and bred. But blues is more diverse than you might think. In fact, it's kind of everywhere. Prepare yourself for an onslaught of linkage! So, beer in hand, tonight we're going to play a musical association game, similar to "6 degrees of Kevin Bacon", but without a consistent element like Kevin Bacon.
#1- Dirty, dirty, dirty blues!
Seriously. This is the dirtiest blues you will ever hear. An artifact of the shit they played in after-hours clubs that was too taboo to record. Fun fact- at one point, Lucille Bogan started recording under a pseudonym (Bessie Jackson), presumably because she'd earned a reputation singing songs like This.
#2-Asylum Street Spankers
These guys are awesome. And they do a version of the last tune. They came to the ABQ not long ago, but of course I didn't get to see them. I was introduced to their music by my sister, whose favorite song (mine too) is This'n.
#3-Scott H. Biram
I met him. Seems like a nice guy. Scott plays what's known as Blues-Punk, or Hellbilly. Here's another song about drinking!
#4-Canned Heat Blues
Yet another drinking song- this one's done by a brilliant delta blues man by the name of Tommy
Johnson.
Robert Johnson is the delta blues guy everyone knows (the Robert Johnson Foundation likes to pompously claim "no Robert Johnson, no rock and roll!"), and most people know the "sold his soul to the devil" legend, but guess what... that was Tommy's legend first.
Canned heat is Sterno. Apparently it's basically made of grain alcohol, and there was a way of rendering it back that left you with a cheap and effective way to get 'faced during prohibition. And blind. It made you go blind, too. Here's Tommy Johnson's Canned Heat Blues.
#5-Mojo Hand
Like I said, Robert's legend was Tommy's first. Many blues guys have legends about how they got so awesome, and I am no exception. My own involves a key and a mojo hand... if you come to one of my shows, maybe I'll tell it for you sometime.
What's a mojo hand? Well, my blues name, to begin with. But in the broader scope, a mojo hand is a hoodoo charm. Most often a love charm (but not always), a mojo hand is the hoodoo equivalent of a medicine bag- a bunch of powerful objects tied up in a red flannel bag with spells and whatnot. I'm hoping to get one permanently applied to my flesh in tattoo form when I go to New Orleans. You'll see why in a minute (listen to the lyrics). Anyone know any tattoo artists in Louisiana?
Anyway, here's another great great (Texas) blues man by the name of Lightnin' Hopkins playing one of his songs, Mojo Hand.
#6- Silky Smooth
Since Lightnin' can be held responsible for inspiring almost as many people as Robert, I can pretty much go wherever I want from here. I'm gonna switch back to the more modern age and tell you about a few contemporary musicians who inspire me. First up is Gaby Moreno. I heard an NPR interview of hers in my dad's car, and looked her up 'cause she releases multi-genre albums, which is kind of what I wanna do. Her voice is indeed silky smooth. And she's cute. I think I'm in love...
#7-Dan
Did you actually think we would get through an epic music sharing session without talking about Dan Auerbach? Silly rabbit. I don't believe in idolizing people, but Dan is my fucking idol, man. What a badass. I've been listening to TBK since I was 16, and they are the reason I started playing blues to begin with. His voice, and his guitar, are silky smoother even than Gaby's. Most of you have already heard The Black Keys, and if you haven't... shame. You might not have heard dan's solo stuff though, which, in my opinion, is just as awesome. Dan gets two links 'cause I think he's that cool. In a totally non-gay way.
#8-I need a dollar too! Where's MY goddamn dollar?
My sister turned me on to this guy. For someone who listens to as much obnoxious happy-hardcore techno as she does, Amy sure does display some impeccable taste sometimes. Aloe Blacc is another totally awesome vocalist who may be singing in a town near you. And apparently, he really, really needs a dollar.
#9-That old Mississippi sound
Blues is changing again. Now it's not so much with the Chicago and Texas dudes, trying to imitate SRV and BB King... we're going back to the delta, baby. I like that. A lot. I think I already linked you to Ben Prestage (clearly, I need a cigar box guitar). This next dude's music was introduced to me by a friend who runs a guitar store here in town (Grumpy's). He (the next guy) is the only contemporary musician I know of who's clearly studied Skip James , one of my own delta blues idols. I'm not sure how I feel about this, since that was gonna be my thing. Here's an awesome delta bluesman by the name of Mississippi Gabe Carter. He's 26, and white, by the way. Why do I feel like I'm already falling behind, before I've fairly begun?
That's it, for now. As inadequate as I may feel about my own musical endeavorings, I would like to once again hammer in the fact that I finally booked a decent gig, all on my ownsome. It's not much, but certainly a bit of a milestone in my own slowly budding career.
I will leave you with a bit of a musical blessing. This is a Bob Dylan song I found on an episode of a badass show called Sons Of Anarchy. I mean it, for all you who care enough to follow my silly ramblings.
May you stay forever young.
-Mojoe
Obviously this will be mostly blues-related, 'cause I'm a bluesman, born and bred. But blues is more diverse than you might think. In fact, it's kind of everywhere. Prepare yourself for an onslaught of linkage! So, beer in hand, tonight we're going to play a musical association game, similar to "6 degrees of Kevin Bacon", but without a consistent element like Kevin Bacon.
#1- Dirty, dirty, dirty blues!
Seriously. This is the dirtiest blues you will ever hear. An artifact of the shit they played in after-hours clubs that was too taboo to record. Fun fact- at one point, Lucille Bogan started recording under a pseudonym (Bessie Jackson), presumably because she'd earned a reputation singing songs like This.
#2-Asylum Street Spankers
These guys are awesome. And they do a version of the last tune. They came to the ABQ not long ago, but of course I didn't get to see them. I was introduced to their music by my sister, whose favorite song (mine too) is This'n.
#3-Scott H. Biram
I met him. Seems like a nice guy. Scott plays what's known as Blues-Punk, or Hellbilly. Here's another song about drinking!
#4-Canned Heat Blues
Yet another drinking song- this one's done by a brilliant delta blues man by the name of Tommy
Johnson.
Robert Johnson is the delta blues guy everyone knows (the Robert Johnson Foundation likes to pompously claim "no Robert Johnson, no rock and roll!"), and most people know the "sold his soul to the devil" legend, but guess what... that was Tommy's legend first.
Canned heat is Sterno. Apparently it's basically made of grain alcohol, and there was a way of rendering it back that left you with a cheap and effective way to get 'faced during prohibition. And blind. It made you go blind, too. Here's Tommy Johnson's Canned Heat Blues.
#5-Mojo Hand
Like I said, Robert's legend was Tommy's first. Many blues guys have legends about how they got so awesome, and I am no exception. My own involves a key and a mojo hand... if you come to one of my shows, maybe I'll tell it for you sometime.
What's a mojo hand? Well, my blues name, to begin with. But in the broader scope, a mojo hand is a hoodoo charm. Most often a love charm (but not always), a mojo hand is the hoodoo equivalent of a medicine bag- a bunch of powerful objects tied up in a red flannel bag with spells and whatnot. I'm hoping to get one permanently applied to my flesh in tattoo form when I go to New Orleans. You'll see why in a minute (listen to the lyrics). Anyone know any tattoo artists in Louisiana?
Anyway, here's another great great (Texas) blues man by the name of Lightnin' Hopkins playing one of his songs, Mojo Hand.
#6- Silky Smooth
Since Lightnin' can be held responsible for inspiring almost as many people as Robert, I can pretty much go wherever I want from here. I'm gonna switch back to the more modern age and tell you about a few contemporary musicians who inspire me. First up is Gaby Moreno. I heard an NPR interview of hers in my dad's car, and looked her up 'cause she releases multi-genre albums, which is kind of what I wanna do. Her voice is indeed silky smooth. And she's cute. I think I'm in love...
#7-Dan
Did you actually think we would get through an epic music sharing session without talking about Dan Auerbach? Silly rabbit. I don't believe in idolizing people, but Dan is my fucking idol, man. What a badass. I've been listening to TBK since I was 16, and they are the reason I started playing blues to begin with. His voice, and his guitar, are silky smoother even than Gaby's. Most of you have already heard The Black Keys, and if you haven't... shame. You might not have heard dan's solo stuff though, which, in my opinion, is just as awesome. Dan gets two links 'cause I think he's that cool. In a totally non-gay way.
#8-I need a dollar too! Where's MY goddamn dollar?
My sister turned me on to this guy. For someone who listens to as much obnoxious happy-hardcore techno as she does, Amy sure does display some impeccable taste sometimes. Aloe Blacc is another totally awesome vocalist who may be singing in a town near you. And apparently, he really, really needs a dollar.
#9-That old Mississippi sound
Blues is changing again. Now it's not so much with the Chicago and Texas dudes, trying to imitate SRV and BB King... we're going back to the delta, baby. I like that. A lot. I think I already linked you to Ben Prestage (clearly, I need a cigar box guitar). This next dude's music was introduced to me by a friend who runs a guitar store here in town (Grumpy's). He (the next guy) is the only contemporary musician I know of who's clearly studied Skip James , one of my own delta blues idols. I'm not sure how I feel about this, since that was gonna be my thing. Here's an awesome delta bluesman by the name of Mississippi Gabe Carter. He's 26, and white, by the way. Why do I feel like I'm already falling behind, before I've fairly begun?
That's it, for now. As inadequate as I may feel about my own musical endeavorings, I would like to once again hammer in the fact that I finally booked a decent gig, all on my ownsome. It's not much, but certainly a bit of a milestone in my own slowly budding career.
I will leave you with a bit of a musical blessing. This is a Bob Dylan song I found on an episode of a badass show called Sons Of Anarchy. I mean it, for all you who care enough to follow my silly ramblings.
May you stay forever young.
-Mojoe
Monday, May 16, 2011
Two questions to live by
I have reached something of a turning point in my life recently. My love of art and spirituality, my dispassion for the current culture and priorities of the world, and my own deep capacity for love and empathy have combined over the past year or so to decimate most of what I thought about myself and the world at large. This has significantly intensified during the current year.
When I look around at people I mostly see wonderful creatures, with power and potential beyond their wildest dreams, who spend much of their lives in pain and suffering and weakness. Not only is most of this agony self inflicted, it is done so willfully, and (at least ostensibly) in an effort to avoid the very thing created. Through fear, denial, violence, and rationalization, we wreak emotional and physical havoc- least of all on perfect strangers, more on those we profess to love, and most of all on ourselves. And somehow we manage to convince ourselves that this is the only way to live. Like the puritans of old, through fear of hell, we create hell. It's an obsolete occupation and it needs to go away. There are quite enough ways to suffer- we don't need to create our own.
I believe the world is ripe for an advancement in consciousness like it has never been before. Contrary to the "hell in a handbasket" theory, I believe the world is almost ready to become a much nicer place to live. I would like to help.
It is a fallacy to presume that life should be painless. Clearly, life is not without pain, and never will be. If it were, there would be no pain involved in birth or death. The idea is, that instead of denying that pain, perhaps you should accept it. Perhaps you should use your pain to bring more beauty in the world, instead of trying to slough it off onto your fellow man, and creating more pain in the process. It's emotional alchemy!
To this end, I would like to give you two questions that, if used wisely, will change the way you see your life, and may just serve to unlock your truer power and purpose.
Be cautious, though... rationalization is a powerful tool. Just because you can think of a logical response doesn't make it true. This exercise requires that you listen to that naive childish voice deep inside you that seldom speaks safe, and always speaks true. And if the answer is an honest "I don't know", that's good. Now you know to start looking.
The first question was asked me a couple years ago by a great friend and a true brother. At the time it was in discussion of a political agenda that (like all politics) I still consider too narrow to bother with. But for all his talking, that question was perhaps the wisest thing he's ever said.
1. If you never had to worry about money or security again, what would you do with your life? How would you spend your time?
The second question is of my own contrivance. It is meant to deal with those situations where a choice must be made, an answer provided, or action taken, and the path is not clear. Stop, take a breath, and ask;
2. Where is the love in what I am doing?
If these questions do not seem very reasonable, realistic, or logical, good. They are meant to appeal to a deeper part of you- one beyond rationalization.
Try it out. If it works, tell your friends. Remember, there's nothing I would love more than to see you peaceful and happy.
Here is an awesome song that deeply represents the emotional alchemy I refer to. This, at its best, is what art is. As an artist, I'm proud to say it's what I do.
Love
-Mojoe
When I look around at people I mostly see wonderful creatures, with power and potential beyond their wildest dreams, who spend much of their lives in pain and suffering and weakness. Not only is most of this agony self inflicted, it is done so willfully, and (at least ostensibly) in an effort to avoid the very thing created. Through fear, denial, violence, and rationalization, we wreak emotional and physical havoc- least of all on perfect strangers, more on those we profess to love, and most of all on ourselves. And somehow we manage to convince ourselves that this is the only way to live. Like the puritans of old, through fear of hell, we create hell. It's an obsolete occupation and it needs to go away. There are quite enough ways to suffer- we don't need to create our own.
I believe the world is ripe for an advancement in consciousness like it has never been before. Contrary to the "hell in a handbasket" theory, I believe the world is almost ready to become a much nicer place to live. I would like to help.
It is a fallacy to presume that life should be painless. Clearly, life is not without pain, and never will be. If it were, there would be no pain involved in birth or death. The idea is, that instead of denying that pain, perhaps you should accept it. Perhaps you should use your pain to bring more beauty in the world, instead of trying to slough it off onto your fellow man, and creating more pain in the process. It's emotional alchemy!
To this end, I would like to give you two questions that, if used wisely, will change the way you see your life, and may just serve to unlock your truer power and purpose.
Be cautious, though... rationalization is a powerful tool. Just because you can think of a logical response doesn't make it true. This exercise requires that you listen to that naive childish voice deep inside you that seldom speaks safe, and always speaks true. And if the answer is an honest "I don't know", that's good. Now you know to start looking.
The first question was asked me a couple years ago by a great friend and a true brother. At the time it was in discussion of a political agenda that (like all politics) I still consider too narrow to bother with. But for all his talking, that question was perhaps the wisest thing he's ever said.
1. If you never had to worry about money or security again, what would you do with your life? How would you spend your time?
The second question is of my own contrivance. It is meant to deal with those situations where a choice must be made, an answer provided, or action taken, and the path is not clear. Stop, take a breath, and ask;
2. Where is the love in what I am doing?
If these questions do not seem very reasonable, realistic, or logical, good. They are meant to appeal to a deeper part of you- one beyond rationalization.
Try it out. If it works, tell your friends. Remember, there's nothing I would love more than to see you peaceful and happy.
Here is an awesome song that deeply represents the emotional alchemy I refer to. This, at its best, is what art is. As an artist, I'm proud to say it's what I do.
Love
-Mojoe
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Death and Travels
SO! Some of you, but likely not all of you, have heard of my trip this summer. I will be traveling the U.S. with a bag and a guitar, in true bluesy fashion. I have yet to make any definitive purchases yet, but I will soon be buying an Amtrak rail pass for the grand sum of $600.00. This will give me 12 travel segments (basically defined as anytime I get on and off the train) and 30 days in which to travel them. I now have a tentative route- still no idea how long I will stay where or anything like that- I'm a shitty planner. But I hope to book a couple gigs on the way, so that may help me flesh out the scheduling. In order to allow your better imagining of my epic journey, here is a map!
http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&msa=0&msid=218034421956240013613.0004a294a867484c081a7&ll=32.435613,-91.142578&spn=5.284152,9.876709&z=7
...with an appropriately epic URL. It also took me an appropriately epic amount of time to set this up... Google maps for some reason loves to rearrange all my location titles as soon as I save the map. I think it's worked out now, though. Lemme know if it isn't.
I don't really have any idea of where to stay when I hit Portland and New Orleans, or really what to do in any of these places when I get there... I won't have overmuch extra cash for fun stuff. No theme parks or any of that crap. Some good music never goes amiss, though... Let me know if you have any suggestions...
Also, I wrote another poem awhile back. I've been working through a veritable ocean of personal shit lately... becoming more conscious of myself, etc. etc.- most of it centered around a girl I love that ain't around, largely thanks to my own actions I suspect. Cliched, I know, but... there it is.
So one of the main themes in all this spiritual and emotional exploration is death. Not so much literal death, like with corpses and whatnot, but symbolic death- the cessation of one form and its transformation into another. I suspect that's a pretty constant factor in spiritual development, as development, almost by definition, is transformative.
Death is largely a taboo concept in our society.
Like sex, it's something everyone does and everyone more or less acknowledges goes on, but if you get to the nitty-gritty, most people (with the notable exception of many artists) shy away. Where we come from, death is tragic, death is bad, and death is always too soon. Awhile back, I told the aforementioned girl about a premonition of mine-that I would die relatively young. While that premonition is no longer with me (in an odd symbolic sense I already did a couple weeks back- going back to that transformative thing), what remains with me is the reaction. The look on her face- one of deep pain and fear. The notion that "too many people had died with their potential unfulfilled" and the fervent denial of her own mortality. In fact, that is the only subject I ever remember her refusing to discuss. But death is more illusory than not- and its tragedy is found primarily in a clinging to set form, rejecting all else that might exist beyond the veil. The obsession with "what was is gone and can never be again".
I think i told you, a couple wordy paragraphs ago, that I wrote a poem. Without further ado, here's my take on the whole death thing:
P.S. I promise I'll make one of my posts a little more sunshine-and-daisies one of these days...
http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&msa=0&msid=218034421956240013613.0004a294a867484c081a7&ll=32.435613,-91.142578&spn=5.284152,9.876709&z=7
...with an appropriately epic URL. It also took me an appropriately epic amount of time to set this up... Google maps for some reason loves to rearrange all my location titles as soon as I save the map. I think it's worked out now, though. Lemme know if it isn't.
I don't really have any idea of where to stay when I hit Portland and New Orleans, or really what to do in any of these places when I get there... I won't have overmuch extra cash for fun stuff. No theme parks or any of that crap. Some good music never goes amiss, though... Let me know if you have any suggestions...
Also, I wrote another poem awhile back. I've been working through a veritable ocean of personal shit lately... becoming more conscious of myself, etc. etc.- most of it centered around a girl I love that ain't around, largely thanks to my own actions I suspect. Cliched, I know, but... there it is.
So one of the main themes in all this spiritual and emotional exploration is death. Not so much literal death, like with corpses and whatnot, but symbolic death- the cessation of one form and its transformation into another. I suspect that's a pretty constant factor in spiritual development, as development, almost by definition, is transformative.
Death is largely a taboo concept in our society.
Like sex, it's something everyone does and everyone more or less acknowledges goes on, but if you get to the nitty-gritty, most people (with the notable exception of many artists) shy away. Where we come from, death is tragic, death is bad, and death is always too soon. Awhile back, I told the aforementioned girl about a premonition of mine-that I would die relatively young. While that premonition is no longer with me (in an odd symbolic sense I already did a couple weeks back- going back to that transformative thing), what remains with me is the reaction. The look on her face- one of deep pain and fear. The notion that "too many people had died with their potential unfulfilled" and the fervent denial of her own mortality. In fact, that is the only subject I ever remember her refusing to discuss. But death is more illusory than not- and its tragedy is found primarily in a clinging to set form, rejecting all else that might exist beyond the veil. The obsession with "what was is gone and can never be again".
I think i told you, a couple wordy paragraphs ago, that I wrote a poem. Without further ado, here's my take on the whole death thing:
Soul’s Return
-Joseph Carlisle
Do not fear or choose to dwell
On that which time must always sell
On things once bright, whose time is served
And now to darkness must return
For when the hourglass has spun
All things which flew must now come home
And even you, with face upturned
May someday join the bitter earth
But do not fear or choose to dwell
On that which time must always sell
For -evening's light and dawn's red glow-
A line defined by pebble's throw
With tragic eyes and head turned down
See now, upon that burying ground
The rose's bloom, and dare to smile
At Beauty borne, Decaying’s child
See now, with every vow that’s broken
Chance that truer words be spoken
See with every building burned
The ash’s nourishment to earth
And do not fear or choose to dwell
On that which time must always sell
See even tears, which seem to burn
As blessed jewels of soul’s return
That's about it for now... as far as my own death, whenever that may be- I don't care so much what you do with me, as long as you don't embalm me or any of that sick shit. And if you have a funeral, play this:
Bye for now!
-Mojoe
P.S. I promise I'll make one of my posts a little more sunshine-and-daisies one of these days...
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Poetry
A friend of mine posted this on her blog ( http://bringmebackakangaroo.blogspot.com ). I thought it was quite wonderful, so I am reposting it here. Somehow the rhythm is easier for me to hear in this- kinda like beat poetry. I don't know of the poet, so it might be, for all I know.
What I Know
by Lee Robinson
What I know for sure is less and less:
that a hot bath won't cure loneliness.
That bacon is the best bad thing to chew
and what you love may kill you.
The odd connection between perfection
and foolishness, like the pelican
diving for his fish.
How silly sex is.
How, having it, we glimpse
our holiness.
What I know is less and less.
What I want is more and more:
you against me—
your ferocious tenderness—
love like a star,
once small and far,
now huge, now near.
There's a lot of truth and beauty to be found in something so honest and unassuming, I think.
... and recently I decided to try my hand at actual poetry- like... without music or anything. This is my first attempt- somewhere between poetry and straight up advice. It might not be the greatest, but... fuck it. I had something to say. Sharing and all that. Ahem:
When you are cut
You will heal
If you allow
Do not tear at your cuts
Hoping someone will see
That you are lame
And love you for it
Their blood will run with yours
Do not hide your cuts
Under dirt and coarse cloth, afraid
To be seen and painted weak
Your infection will spread
And you will be weak indeed
Let wounds heal
Carry your scars
Proudly
All will see
And love you for it
For while wounds seem to speak
Of pain
Of weakness
Of failure
Scars only care to say
I was here
I lived
I am strong
-Me
That's it for now...
-Mojoe, out!
Oops... I almost forgot to leave you a song. This chick is now one of my favorite vocalists... Smooth as silk, baby... but soulful too. She's helping get me through the blues I've had for a few days.
Gaby Moreno- Little Sorrow
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i6pQkmkeVCY
What I Know
by Lee Robinson
What I know for sure is less and less:
that a hot bath won't cure loneliness.
That bacon is the best bad thing to chew
and what you love may kill you.
The odd connection between perfection
and foolishness, like the pelican
diving for his fish.
How silly sex is.
How, having it, we glimpse
our holiness.
What I know is less and less.
What I want is more and more:
you against me—
your ferocious tenderness—
love like a star,
once small and far,
now huge, now near.
There's a lot of truth and beauty to be found in something so honest and unassuming, I think.
... and recently I decided to try my hand at actual poetry- like... without music or anything. This is my first attempt- somewhere between poetry and straight up advice. It might not be the greatest, but... fuck it. I had something to say. Sharing and all that. Ahem:
When you are cut
You will heal
If you allow
Do not tear at your cuts
Hoping someone will see
That you are lame
And love you for it
Their blood will run with yours
Do not hide your cuts
Under dirt and coarse cloth, afraid
To be seen and painted weak
Your infection will spread
And you will be weak indeed
Let wounds heal
Carry your scars
Proudly
All will see
And love you for it
For while wounds seem to speak
Of pain
Of weakness
Of failure
Scars only care to say
I was here
I lived
I am strong
-Me
That's it for now...
-Mojoe, out!
Oops... I almost forgot to leave you a song. This chick is now one of my favorite vocalists... Smooth as silk, baby... but soulful too. She's helping get me through the blues I've had for a few days.
Gaby Moreno- Little Sorrow
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i6pQkmkeVCY
Monday, April 4, 2011
The Blues 1 (Grit, Grime, and Hard Times)
Hello, all!
Well, here it is-my first real blog post.
The intro was a gimme, so I'm not counting it. Excepting a somewhat delirious 4 a.m. attempt about a week ago (which was rapidly deleted upon waking the next morning) I have not written since. I'll try to be more coherent this time, and actually leave it up.
I've had a number of ideas of what to write on rattling around in my head. Most either begin to seem inconsequential by the time I get a chance to write, too grandiose for public consumption (everything's far more epic in my head, as anyone I've ever dated will no doubt tell you), or just too large for me to know where to start. I've decided to tackle the big subjects one piece at a time, while I figure out how to make the little ones more interesting and the grandiose ones more down-to-earth.
So here we are. The subject of my first blog will be one of the biggest through-lines of my life these days- the blues. This will probably come up several times, hence the number in the title. At first I had anticipated just giving you a summary of my views on the subject, and maybe throwing a couple random samples at you. But I'm too excited and my day's been too weird, so I'm going to do the expected introductory bit, and then jump with both feet into our first bluesy subject. It might be a long one, people.
Blues Defined
Well... it's music, obviously. After that, it gets a little trickier to define than you might think. I remember my music history instructor telling us that blues is a form of music that operates within the blues scale (minor pentatonic + flatted 5th), that it always has a 12 bar format, harmonized with 7th chords. This is, of course, utter bullshit. It doesn't take much listening to blues to realize that there are no real rules.
Yes, the blues scale is fairly constant (or more accurately the presence of the "blue note" and "bent notes" are pervasive), but folks like Lonnie Johnson and Robert Johnson (no relation) threw in all kinds of stuff that can't be strictly defined as a blues scale. 7th chords, while common, are by no means a given, and the 12 bar format bit is complete nonsense. There are many blues songs in 8 and 16 bar formats, not to mention the fact that most of those guys didn't stick to ANY format besides what sounded good. They were not classically trained and some had probably never even heard the term. Lightnin' Hopkins was pretty famous for throwing extra bars in wherever he took a notion, for instance.
But that's really not the point. Even if these things were true, it would simply serve to prove academia's unfailing ability to completely miss the point of any given subject through over-intellectualization. Henceforth music theory shall not be spoken of in our study of the blues. Take that, mathematics! Fuck you, Academia! But I digress...
Wikipedia has this to say about the origin of the term;
"the term "the blues" refers to the "blue devils", meaning melancholy and sadness; an early use of the term in this sense is found in George Colman's one-act farce Blue Devils (1798). Though the use of the phrase in African-American music may be older, it has been attested to since 1912, when Hart Wand's "Dallas Blues" became the first copyrighted blues composition. In lyrics the phrase is often used to describe a depressed mood."
Interesting theory. I can dig it... but, once again it falls a little short. While the subject of the blues is frequently sad, there is plenty of happy, lovey-dovey blues out there too. So it goes a ways further than the theory bit, but we're not quite there yet. The format, execution, and subject matter is as difficult to nail down as the exact history of the blues. Slaves were brought from Africa to the states, then... They heard whatever of Whitey's music they would have heard at the time, got their hands on some instruments, and somewhere between African folk music and instruments, and Anglo music and instruments, blues was spawned. That's what I love about this stuff- you can know all the pertinent facts about it, and still be no closer to understanding it. So much like life itself...
Enough teasing. Here's what I, a self-proclaimed bluesman, have to say about it:
There's one of those grandiose sounding bits, but I think if anything can stand up to the claim, this is it. Hopefully after I've shown you how pervasive and articulate this stuff is, you might see your way clear to agreeing.
-Blind Willie Johnson
Well, here it is-my first real blog post.
The intro was a gimme, so I'm not counting it. Excepting a somewhat delirious 4 a.m. attempt about a week ago (which was rapidly deleted upon waking the next morning) I have not written since. I'll try to be more coherent this time, and actually leave it up.
I've had a number of ideas of what to write on rattling around in my head. Most either begin to seem inconsequential by the time I get a chance to write, too grandiose for public consumption (everything's far more epic in my head, as anyone I've ever dated will no doubt tell you), or just too large for me to know where to start. I've decided to tackle the big subjects one piece at a time, while I figure out how to make the little ones more interesting and the grandiose ones more down-to-earth.
So here we are. The subject of my first blog will be one of the biggest through-lines of my life these days- the blues. This will probably come up several times, hence the number in the title. At first I had anticipated just giving you a summary of my views on the subject, and maybe throwing a couple random samples at you. But I'm too excited and my day's been too weird, so I'm going to do the expected introductory bit, and then jump with both feet into our first bluesy subject. It might be a long one, people.
Blues Defined
Well... it's music, obviously. After that, it gets a little trickier to define than you might think. I remember my music history instructor telling us that blues is a form of music that operates within the blues scale (minor pentatonic + flatted 5th), that it always has a 12 bar format, harmonized with 7th chords. This is, of course, utter bullshit. It doesn't take much listening to blues to realize that there are no real rules.
Yes, the blues scale is fairly constant (or more accurately the presence of the "blue note" and "bent notes" are pervasive), but folks like Lonnie Johnson and Robert Johnson (no relation) threw in all kinds of stuff that can't be strictly defined as a blues scale. 7th chords, while common, are by no means a given, and the 12 bar format bit is complete nonsense. There are many blues songs in 8 and 16 bar formats, not to mention the fact that most of those guys didn't stick to ANY format besides what sounded good. They were not classically trained and some had probably never even heard the term. Lightnin' Hopkins was pretty famous for throwing extra bars in wherever he took a notion, for instance.
But that's really not the point. Even if these things were true, it would simply serve to prove academia's unfailing ability to completely miss the point of any given subject through over-intellectualization. Henceforth music theory shall not be spoken of in our study of the blues. Take that, mathematics! Fuck you, Academia! But I digress...
Wikipedia has this to say about the origin of the term;
"the term "the blues" refers to the "blue devils", meaning melancholy and sadness; an early use of the term in this sense is found in George Colman's one-act farce Blue Devils (1798). Though the use of the phrase in African-American music may be older, it has been attested to since 1912, when Hart Wand's "Dallas Blues" became the first copyrighted blues composition. In lyrics the phrase is often used to describe a depressed mood."
Interesting theory. I can dig it... but, once again it falls a little short. While the subject of the blues is frequently sad, there is plenty of happy, lovey-dovey blues out there too. So it goes a ways further than the theory bit, but we're not quite there yet. The format, execution, and subject matter is as difficult to nail down as the exact history of the blues. Slaves were brought from Africa to the states, then... They heard whatever of Whitey's music they would have heard at the time, got their hands on some instruments, and somewhere between African folk music and instruments, and Anglo music and instruments, blues was spawned. That's what I love about this stuff- you can know all the pertinent facts about it, and still be no closer to understanding it. So much like life itself...
Enough teasing. Here's what I, a self-proclaimed bluesman, have to say about it:
The blues is about being alive. Through rhythmic and melodic roots that doubtless go back all the way to the beginning of music itself, the blues articulates, clearly and simply, the highs and lows of life. From the depths of our pain and suffering to the heights of joy and love, it shows our common ground and helps us understand what it means, as a dear friend of mine would no doubt put it, to be A Human.
There's one of those grandiose sounding bits, but I think if anything can stand up to the claim, this is it. Hopefully after I've shown you how pervasive and articulate this stuff is, you might see your way clear to agreeing.
So that's it-blues expresses the human condition. Many great bluesmen have expressed different views on it (someday I'll find a clip for you of Son House and Howlin' Wolf, shitfaced and arguing about that very thing-it's priceless). But that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Now, let's jump into our first subcategory.
Grit, Grime, and Hard Times
If blues expresses the entirety of the human condition, obviously it must run a pretty long gamut of subject matter. I intend to tackle those one at a time. There are probably more friendly ways to start our discussion, but this is the one I'm feelin' today. I suppose a word of explanation is in order.
I got up this morning, tired as fuck, and went to work.
As I was opening the little sandwich shop that I have the dubious pleasure of calling home on weekends, my boss (the shop owner) showed up. Apparently she had sent me a message the day before informing me that my services would not be needed today. Despite my failure to respond, she assumed that I had gotten the message. I had not. My $30 phone service acts as a bermuda triangle for calls and texts with some regularity, much to the detriment of my personal and social life. This was not the first incident since the café took on new ownership.
As I was opening the little sandwich shop that I have the dubious pleasure of calling home on weekends, my boss (the shop owner) showed up. Apparently she had sent me a message the day before informing me that my services would not be needed today. Despite my failure to respond, she assumed that I had gotten the message. I had not. My $30 phone service acts as a bermuda triangle for calls and texts with some regularity, much to the detriment of my personal and social life. This was not the first incident since the café took on new ownership.
This may seem fairly inconsequential to an outside observer, but... straws and camels, ya know? The increasing stream of frustrating incidents coupled with the knowledge that it is not an issue of whether, but when my place of work will die, not with a bang but with a whimper (brought home by the spontaneous firing of one of my -admittedly less discreet- co-peons the week previous). These joined with my increasing desire to strangle my employer for her latest bit of flakiness. Those joined forces with my near-total lack of sleep. That of course reinforced the ever-present low-level despondency in the back of my mind over once again waking up alone, to send me sailing home with the blues on my mind, contemplating lost jobs, poverty, failure, and spirit-crushing job options (everything's more epic in my head, remember?). Basically the shit that may well be close in my future if I don't find a way to get a career soon.
Needless to say, I went back to sleep. Later on in the day I was afforded the opportunity of visiting the home of one of my father's old friends, who had recently committed suicide. The man in question was an odd duck, with his share of problems (clearly), who led an increasingly fringe-y life previous to his demise. His widow (who I met today) was nice , but another odd duck, with no shortage of funk and physical maladies to her claim. This being a social occasion, I was refreshed on of some of my dad's choice stories about the old days (like the one about one friend waving a shotgun in another's face for a practical joke). I get the impression that my dad hung with some pretty grungy people back in the day. In the funk-tastic and tragedy laced air of the deceased's estate, my mind turned farther toward damaged people, death and loss. This was not helped by the subject of my mandatory in-car dosage of NPR- a feature on homelessness.
So, it's been a bluesy day- spent mostly in contemplation of humanity's lows. But when I have the blues, nothing makes me feel better quite like... The Blues. I Figure to show you a couple songs on the subject of the gritty, dirty, evil and poverty-stricken side of the blues. I really only have patience to set up about three tracks, and you are no doubt getting weary of reading, but feel free to contact me for further recommendations.
The first song I want to show you now is obvious. One of the most recorded blues/folk songs in history. It speaks of ambiguous experiences in the nastier places in the world, of the fall from grace of the narrator's already tenuous life, ending in "Goin' down to New Orleans, to wear a ball and chain".
I had hoped to show you my own version of this song, but my computer is decreasingly capable of processing audio/video simultaneously (I fear its days, too, are numbered- more expensive shit I can't afford). All you faithful fans out there are gonna have to wait awhile for the appearance of my youtube channel, it seems.
I had hoped to show you my own version of this song, but my computer is decreasingly capable of processing audio/video simultaneously (I fear its days, too, are numbered- more expensive shit I can't afford). All you faithful fans out there are gonna have to wait awhile for the appearance of my youtube channel, it seems.
I can't bring myself to do the Animals version. It's too cliche. The earliest version I can find is Leadbelly, but I'm not such a fan of his. So we'll compromise and do Nina Simone instead. I'll get you a straight-bluesier version later.
-Blind Willie Johnson
Blind Willie Johnson was a brilliant guitar player. He played slide in a style that, even today, nobody seems to have the guts to imitate. His astounding slide was trumped only by a painfully individual voice, that somehow changes between smooth-as-silk and gargling-thumbtacks gravelly.
The story goes that when little Willie was about 8 years old, his father caught little Willie's stepmother cheating. Little Willie's stepmother received either a beating or a figurative boot out the door, I forget which (possibly both). Out of spite and vengeance, she took a handful of lye, and threw it in Willie's eyes, blinding him for life.
Blind Willie spent most of his life playing and preaching on street corners.
In 1945, his house burned down. With nowhere else to go, Willie took to sleeping in the ashes of his own house. He died the same year at the age of 48, of some combination of exposure, malaria, and syphilis. Clearly, Blind Willie Johnson knew a little about hard times.
I'll probably share more sometime later, but for now I want to show you his most famous track. It's an old gospel song (he pretty much only did gospel tunes). The song was well known, but Willie's rendition is more or less devoid of lyrics- voicing a pain and loss so strong that it seems to brim over any words.
In 1945, his house burned down. With nowhere else to go, Willie took to sleeping in the ashes of his own house. He died the same year at the age of 48, of some combination of exposure, malaria, and syphilis. Clearly, Blind Willie Johnson knew a little about hard times.
I'll probably share more sometime later, but for now I want to show you his most famous track. It's an old gospel song (he pretty much only did gospel tunes). The song was well known, but Willie's rendition is more or less devoid of lyrics- voicing a pain and loss so strong that it seems to brim over any words.
Blind Willie Johnson- Dark Was The Night, Cold Was The Ground
I'll leave you with one more song- this time a little more contemporary, and a little more danceable. I found this song last week. I discovered a great bluesman by the name of Ben Prestage, referenced in an article on the musician's curse of 27 (more on that another time). This was one of the tracks on the album I bought. Turns out the song's by Tom Waits. This one is less of a lamentive number, and more an exposition on nasty and gritty. Tom does those rather well. I'll give you both versions because they are equally awesome. Enjoy!
Ben Prestage-Mexican Whorehouse
"Lost all my money
In a mexican whorehouse
'Cross the street from a catholic church
I wiped off my revolver
And buttoned up my burgundy shirt.
I shot the mornin' in the back
With my Red Wings on
Told the sun he better go back down
If I can find a book of matches
I'm gonna burn this hotel down.
Why don't you tell me
Brave captain
Why are the wicked
So strong?
Why do the angels get to sleep
When the devil keeps his porchlight on?"
Fuck, that's badass, man.
Anyway, that's it for now. Hope it wasn't too dark- I promise I'll try to post something lighter next time.
Peace, Y'all!
-Mojoe
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