Vote early, vote often!

And another one's gone...

One of the great "Alternative Philosophers" of our time! You will be missed, George!

I saw his act twice when I was living in upstate NY. They were a few years apart, so the material was pretty fresh the second time around. But he seemed to be slipping further and further into the Dark Side every time I saw him. He went from being the goofy observation guy to doing a 30 minute monologue on how great Suicide and Death was. It wasn't terribly funny and I remember thinking that he was really starting to lose it.

A few months later, I remember seeing that he had gone into rehab to try to purge some demons. When he came back out, I was hopeful that he would continue to shine on, but it seems his number was up.

So long, George -- I can't tell you how many hours of entertainment you have given me over the years. I grew up listening to you (much to the chagrin of my parents), and I fell like an old friend has moved on. You were a pioneer, a cunning linguist and a red-blooded American shit-stirrer! Fare thee well!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chief Wiggam Says:

"Lookin good boys!"

Missing Years

High brow proof that WE ARE EVERYWHERE!

New Blog Alert

A few months ago, I sent an email to a bunch of friends initiating a "You Tube Party". I encouraged everyone to send their favorite You Tube links back and forth. 800 emails later, Brother Beeker decided to move it out of email and into Blogger. And, with that, I give you "YouTubin'".

http://youtubin.blogspot.com/

As of now, it's just Brother Beeker and I posting on it. The other members of the You Tube Party seem to have some kind of inexplicable phobia of blogging. Go figure.

I have a ton of great photos that I've been meaning to upload to this site, but haven't quite found the time. In the last couple of months, I've sailed from San Diego to LA on a rinky-dink sail-boat, driven Highway 1 along the coast of California from LA to San Francisco, hiked 10 miles into hotsprings in Big Sur, rafted the Colorado river (which claimed my damn wedding ring), read the "Snowjob Shuffle" to Mojo Nixon on the air at Sirius Radio (and got him to sing a few bars of it!), seen Phil Lesh in San Francisco twice in tiny little venues, seen Hank Williams III at the Roxy in LA and taken my kegerator on her maiden bender.

My my -- where does the time go?

Temporal Tapestries

As the Oracle of Delphi
is consumed by feathered snakes,
the Great Empire turns to Ares
who's dismantling the brakes.
You can see it in the faces
of the jugglers in the street.
You can hear it in the verses
of the merchants of deceit.

From the lonesome freight train whistle,
to the evil minor key,
apparitions of our senses
weave their temporal tapestries.
As we spiral towards the sunset
of our stellar jubilee,
the illusions of our senses
weave their temporal tapestries.

In the garden of our elders
where the roses are in bloom
lies a sacred tree of knowledge
bearing fruit of fertile womb.
When the heavens smile upon it
you can hear the angels sing
for the seedlings trying to take root
in the verile soil of Spring.

From the lonesome freight train whistle,
to the evil minor key,
apparitions of our senses
weave their temporal tapestries.
As we spiral towards the sunset
of our stellar jubilee,
the illusions of our senses
weave their temporal tapestries.

I was sheltered by the Bodhi
when the blackbird chanted "Om!"
as he dove into the river
made of taiko thunder drums.
When the wheel of time stopped spinning,
for a moment we were free
from the filtered imposed reason
that confines humanity.

From the lonesome freight train whistle,
to the evil minor key,
apparitions of our senses
weave their temporal tapestries.
As we spiral towards the sunset
of our stellar jubilee,
the illusions of our senses
weave their temporal tapestries.

The Breath of God

Sunshine soaks the morning trees
in simple, stale opacity
bathing breaking day in dew
as roses mark their brief debut.

Leaves of amber goldenrod,
absent of the breath of God,
bid farewell with silent leap
to join the frosted forest's sleep.

Darkened tombs of powder white,
breathless in the frozen night,
protect with poignant, quiet grace
of Mother's loving warm embrace.

Queen bees hum with sweet delight
as songbirds catch their red-eye flight
atop the technicolor dream
of rebirth shouting, "Love Supreme!"