Outside of Rock n' Roll

This was the eve of Halloween, starting here and and as my full blown mania played out across the evening. Nesta is a family/dive bar run by cool people who are happy to help me out and did more than they know; but still a bunch of knuckleheads at last. Smart enough to keep the peace, and I always applaud that.

Those cats above are the shows touring act but in the blur of the nite I cannot name any of the bands right now. At this state my focus is fractured and my attention catches what many call 'auras' around the room, and see I see them flare up all around the room.

The visceral ’in your face’ attitude in rebellion of youth has always been my salvation.  My first concert was some neighbor kids jamming at the shelter house in the park. The very first time I remember hearing a guitar and amp being played alive in front on me.  Maybe I was seven or so, 1966. By staying to the arts’ path and staving off all romantic comers I have seen the generations and guitar heroes rise before my eyes  and also watched crops of chicks appear and flower and in time: pair off to bliss city; or wherever they disappear to, I betcha.

 

 

 Screaming feedback from many guitars moves me to a warm place of intensity of moment. It seems odd looking back now, that I never seriously pursued making music myself. I failed in music classes all through elementary school. The notational system of music was completely impenetrable to my mind then, an it has always been my practice to study a subject; but if it is not immediately easy, I take up something else easier to learn.

  As I meet a surprising number of persons in the course of my life, from big-time rock stars, to street people with rocks in his head. These days I only take in their face and what I glean if her intent at first. Their perceptions enter the soup on the back burner of my Id and only as they pop into memory at some later day do they come into focus.