InMotion

Well, this computer is busting my balls right now, in Word, it keeps going back to “File” when I want it to stay at Home (hello!).  Drat, I hate that, computer doing stuff against my will.  My failure to wrest control just stokes my feelings of inadequacy, which I wasn’t going to mention.  I’ll press on: a couple days ago, I stumbled upon a new (released September, 2019) Van Morrison record, Three Chords and the Truth .  It wasn’t long into the first song that I perked up, enjoying the rest of the song and in anticipation of the next (this is really good stuff!) And as it turns out, the entire record is stunning.  The Belfast Cowboy, Van the Man, is very much still at work.  From Jason P. Woodbury’s Pitchfork review : “Though he sticks closely to the conservative R&B, blues, and jazz modes that have defined his ’00s discography, the LP’s 14 songs showcase his determination to wring profundity out of even the most common language. Songwriter Harlan Howard coined the phrase “

Discussed in this post: Dancing with at least one person, Polish American gumbo, roots music. As I get older I am into getting more sleep.   I know there are articles and books that would no doubt convince me of the value of more sleep, but I haven’t read them.   I usually go to bed too early to get that much reading done.   Some nights, however, I feel as if I still have some energy, and it’s time to set the book aside and have a Solo Dance Party!    I administer a small to moderate dose of cannabis, usually via a small hand-held pipe using dry herb.   A bit of disquiet arises: will this harm my lungs and my health?   Does drug use like this contribute to or break down my sense of well- being and emotional health?   And of course, our cultural scold: “am I too old for this?”   Once the music starts, all that disappears.    My senses are more attuned to entering the musical space, and dancing feels like the only thing one can do!    I devote my full attention to this art, feeling jo

I’m at the Nora Navra library here in New Orleans on the corner of St. Bernard and Prieur.   I’m not sure this will work, but my idea is to be in a place with low levels of adverse distraction such that writing can occur.   A couple hours ago, I returned from a visit to the New Orleans Jazz Museum at the Old US Mint.   I’ve been to the third floor of the museum many times, to attend lectures, interviews, and concerts. I’ve never previously bought a ticket and toured the museum.   Today I did.     Now here’s the thing: my style of blog posting has been to sit down and write, and think, and google and search.   All the while dealing with a fairly heavy cloud of fear and anxiety coming from that place within, that feeling generator, the one that says “you’re no good, you don’t really produce quality in any sphere, including writing.” Now I regret writing that, because I feel in so doing I am rendering a piece of writing un-publishable, since to admit such self-loathing I regard as b