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This must be part of the pendulum swing. Instead of looking for an excuse to dwell in black depression, it's like someone built a fire under my ass. This whole day. Tracking down information on how to exorcise this transmission demon. Clearing the remnants of the gardens. Scraping, jacking, prodding, inspecting the ailing fleet. Grinding up the last fourteen pounds of peppers. Limping (in third gear) around the countryside with a camera in my lap. How unlike most Thursdays. Usually, it's recovery day... a little respite after 3 days-36 hours. Change is good. More change... I'm considering taking a little hiatus from the radio show. Call it a crisis of faith. Boredom and disillusionment from ten years of office politics and broken equipment... and some doubt with what reggae has turned into. And the need to jump out of the rut/routine, and find a new way and inspiration. To come back stronger. Later this evening, a call came in from a long-lost acquaintance... former drinking-smoking buddy, whose wife and I had a most torrid affair. To date, the most intense sexual experience in my life, which had to stop. Italian versus creole blood makes fireworks. His drug involvement in those days turned him into King Prick. I guess that made me one, as well. Hey, I might actually get my sunglasses collection back... and my cigarette case. I should have known that I'd hear from them... we used to blow out at the Races, that I attended last week for the first time in ages. Must've invoked some demons.
Plush Depressive
Natural Psychedelia |
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