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As You Lie There

 I am sick and tired of inaction. I am calling myself out. I have a well-tested talent for creating delicious food, and I stop short of the starting line. How many years will I allow this to slide by? I really cannot do it anymore. So I have questions, observations, and projections. 

I say, no more! Playing it safe does not pay the bills and is not fair to my desire to make something of this. Yeah, there are hoops to jump through. Anything worthwhile is like that. Insurance and permits, fees, and, of course, the biggest of them all, food safety. Yes, I am willing to do everything. 

The Boys of Dungeon Lane was released yesterday. It is Paul McCartney's 27th album release since the Beatles ended. This man has played the notes of my soul every decade of my life. Just like learning from a family of 8 hiking the Appalachian Trail, or a Mom with 15 bio kids doing the same, Paul's determination, knowing that he still has more to do, is incredibly inspiring. 

I am by no means Paul McCartney. No one is but him. But that was never his desire. People like Paul, his genius brothers John, George, and Ringo, all in their own right, had and have a deep desire to find everything inside and have loved seeing what others have within them, screaming to get out.

We all have something. This world programs us to dampen it, to control the flames. It does it in subtle ways. John Lennon touched on it in "Working Class Hero". I recall first hearing it. It was one of the biggest steps to finding out who I was. I started looking beneath the surface. I wrote The Concept of Me II. It was simple, revolutionary, and crude. I planted my flag in the middle of the town square and challenged everything around me. I was born an artist. I still had so much to learn, but at least I was on my way.

I have always loved Leonard Cohen's Dear Heather. I feel that the first track of the Boys of Dungeon Lane, As You Lie There, is the continuation of that story hours or maybe a day later. I love that. Incredible artists, picking up the narrative. Writers who occupied the same space in time, yet did they ever meet? The internet says, perhaps casually. Light mentions of respect for the other's work over the years, but no documented interviews to that effect. That is ok, because what I am talking about is so much bigger. Maybe I am the conduit, because when an artist speaks to so many, the narrative fires on different connections. 

While I love how these compositions make me feel, I am not missing the point. Yes, even you, Ben Crawford. I don't aspire to be any of you. I want to see what I've got. Instead of squelching everything, I want to tear it up and see what is there.

I am choosing to stop the propaganda. That little evil voice that whispers in our ears. You can't cook. You can't make your own laundry soap, and you can't make your own bread. You can't make your own yogurt. You can't make your own marinades and sauces, takeout, soda, beer, spices, furikake, cleaning supplies, bar soap, shampoo... We didn't start the fire!  The post-World War Two industrial disease made this mess. Guess what? Homey don't play that.

Over and Over. Over and Over. Right now is the hour. It is as if my whole life was drilling me without me understanding that I was putting the wax on, taking the wax off, painting the fence, jacket on, and jacket off. 

The narrative: As You Lie There, does ask the question; "As you lie across your bed, am I there inside your head?" Yes. A simple yes. It is something I always think about, but never do enough about, as I lie there. And you know what? I am tired of that.



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