|
|
Any other day painted in damp grey overcast is usually my internal signal to sloth out in a huge way... to be interrupted one hundred times by incessant telemarketer calls. I swear, they must do computer demographics with the variable for inclement weather to figure who's going to be bored shitless... and within targeting range. So, I just decided to get moving. There must be some kind of harmonic disturbance when the weather gets unsettled, and the moon is in the right position, or something... since everyone seems to be in the mood for hot sauce. And no peppers ripe, yet. So, today was about digging through the last remaining stash we'd put up, and tweaking the recipe. To have something firey in the arsenal. Imagine, motivation on a Thursday. It was past time, also, to get a look at how the next generation is coming along. HUGE... feral little lime-green babies, everywhere. It is good to be a salsa farmer. I've finally decided to use my savings to get this batch bottled by a professional. Sacrificing the dosh for getting a road built, at least temporarily. Again. It would be divorce for sure, otherwise. Or else I'd be married to the kitchen. The woods are impregnable, now, anyway. Little if any trace of hacking the bush of a few weeks ago. If you were to close your eyes, and reopen them, on the forest... you'd think you were in the Mekong Delta. That dense. Better to let nature take over at this point, at have at it when the chill returns. So, a gallon and a half of sauce later... oh, yes... Beer-Thirty. Grey afternoons make the stereo magnetic... and there was much to listen to. Antidote for having to miss Big Sandy and the Fly-Rite Boys in Richmond. I'm coming to the conclusion that many who call themselves friends are, in fact, merely close acquaintances. "Biggles," for instance. Two weeks ago, it was "come on with us," this week, it's "well, the car's a bit full... better get your tickets early." And I'm in a hundred miles away from them. Mmm-hmmm. And Slick Willie's giving mom the runaround on her final push to bail out of the fam'ly propitty. Trifling attitudes are becoming annoying. And not a good motivation for staying here, forever. Started to get organized for the show and upcoming DJ thang, and getting some recording done. The big musical revelation... Percy Sledge. Now, I love soul music, but this was something other. Like going to church... rumbling keys under the influence of Leslie cabinet, swirling call-and-response harmonies... and pure gospel on top. With secular lyrics. "True Love Travels On A Gravel Road." True-true. And the man sported a killer process, as well. TESTIFY!
Not a wasted day, grey or no. And more clouds predicted. But the beat's my umbrella. |
|
|
