Some Other Sucker's Parade
Like any organically created environment in the diverse blogosphere, this far flung planet of mine was born of an honest desire to reveal and share a personal vision. I’ve been a singer/songwriter for years so my primary motivations in choosing to approach communicating through this particular medium were not exactly new found impulses.
It’s in my DNA to write and express myself musically in appreciations of so many spaces and places I’ve known in a lotta outta site worlds.
Initial prospects with this site encompassed a hope that my efforts might resonate in ways that would be entertaining at least and yes, perhaps enlightening on some level. For the most part, that creative challenge has continued to inspire sufficient to satisfying my muse.
The longer term picture was never as clearly determined in my mind. Things evolve and change and no one can predict where they'll be in projecting too far ahead with any ephemeral creative indulgences.
What other explorers may discover and ultimately gain from their own voyages and experiences here is completely unknowable to me as well, as I simply have no idea what reading me or listening to my songs and the great songs of many cool artists I post up frequently, holds in real value to most, if anything at all. I dig it all personally.
I've also discovered and learned many valuable things inhabiting this little corner of the universe, so I can only trust that it's a worthwhile experience at the very least for anyone surfing up past the shoreline for a deeper penetration and investigation of the misty atmosphere.
I started out a blank black page glaring fearfully into higher mystical effusions that the darkness below can never begin to comprehend.
I linked, blinked, thinked and cyber navigated innumerable galaxies of worldly knowledge...other worldly philosophical wisdoms...super nova pinnacle summits of false art and commerce...empires of dirt.
In the end, like the little neighbor boy of Frankie Lee, who carried him to his rest, I just walked along, alone, with my guilt so well concealed and muttered underneath my breath…nothing is revealed.
Eventually, the old man, FRANKtalk, arrived home from the forest, unwound his tales, and many gathered round to enjoy the stories and his songs and to wonder at a discourse rooted in the dust of ages.
All was well. All that remained were the faces and the names of the wives and the sons and the daughters that would soon be brought into the warmth of ye old fireside hearth conversations, to reminisce about this, to be amazed about that, and pretty soon the net worthy numbers would increase and a black hole star would be born where no such gravity had ever been perceived before. All humanity would be graced by the deep scribal wisdoms of the fabled elder tribesman.
Hmm…well, so much for pipe dreams and pallid reproductions.
Everything changes. Everything passes away. Old stories give way to intrusions of new reality encroaching on all photo static vistas of our longed for earthly paradise otherwise sensed as entropic declination.
Thus, it came to pass that the old man became new and discovered himself to be more truly alive in the shadowy black ink of his long dark night than he could ever have imagined himself to be in the old blinking lights of false new shining stars forever seeking to guide his eyes blindly to where it's at. Where it's at, is where it's always been at. Nowhere. No, what reverberated constantly within the new man's tremulous soul was his own deepening awareness that he had always been, and always would be, born anew only in the age old discovery that he was, and would forever be, In Touch With The Mystery.
What the mystery reveals is multi-faceted. What it speaks to in all dimensions is integrity. Integrity is everything in case you missed it.
So let the outer disorder dissolve yet again in its always fading echoes of dissonance and sonic cacophonies too brutal to subside.
We are gathered here today to revel in excellence and greatness in the idiom of artful pop/rock song craftsmanship that will never die.
Art that never follows the crowd...never seeks mainstream consensus …never needs another’s approval…it’s good to be Not Where It's At...
It’s in my DNA to write and express myself musically in appreciations of so many spaces and places I’ve known in a lotta outta site worlds.
Initial prospects with this site encompassed a hope that my efforts might resonate in ways that would be entertaining at least and yes, perhaps enlightening on some level. For the most part, that creative challenge has continued to inspire sufficient to satisfying my muse.
The longer term picture was never as clearly determined in my mind. Things evolve and change and no one can predict where they'll be in projecting too far ahead with any ephemeral creative indulgences.
What other explorers may discover and ultimately gain from their own voyages and experiences here is completely unknowable to me as well, as I simply have no idea what reading me or listening to my songs and the great songs of many cool artists I post up frequently, holds in real value to most, if anything at all. I dig it all personally.
I've also discovered and learned many valuable things inhabiting this little corner of the universe, so I can only trust that it's a worthwhile experience at the very least for anyone surfing up past the shoreline for a deeper penetration and investigation of the misty atmosphere.
I started out a blank black page glaring fearfully into higher mystical effusions that the darkness below can never begin to comprehend.
I linked, blinked, thinked and cyber navigated innumerable galaxies of worldly knowledge...other worldly philosophical wisdoms...super nova pinnacle summits of false art and commerce...empires of dirt.
In the end, like the little neighbor boy of Frankie Lee, who carried him to his rest, I just walked along, alone, with my guilt so well concealed and muttered underneath my breath…nothing is revealed.
Eventually, the old man, FRANKtalk, arrived home from the forest, unwound his tales, and many gathered round to enjoy the stories and his songs and to wonder at a discourse rooted in the dust of ages.
All was well. All that remained were the faces and the names of the wives and the sons and the daughters that would soon be brought into the warmth of ye old fireside hearth conversations, to reminisce about this, to be amazed about that, and pretty soon the net worthy numbers would increase and a black hole star would be born where no such gravity had ever been perceived before. All humanity would be graced by the deep scribal wisdoms of the fabled elder tribesman.
Hmm…well, so much for pipe dreams and pallid reproductions.
Everything changes. Everything passes away. Old stories give way to intrusions of new reality encroaching on all photo static vistas of our longed for earthly paradise otherwise sensed as entropic declination.
Thus, it came to pass that the old man became new and discovered himself to be more truly alive in the shadowy black ink of his long dark night than he could ever have imagined himself to be in the old blinking lights of false new shining stars forever seeking to guide his eyes blindly to where it's at. Where it's at, is where it's always been at. Nowhere. No, what reverberated constantly within the new man's tremulous soul was his own deepening awareness that he had always been, and always would be, born anew only in the age old discovery that he was, and would forever be, In Touch With The Mystery.
What the mystery reveals is multi-faceted. What it speaks to in all dimensions is integrity. Integrity is everything in case you missed it.
So let the outer disorder dissolve yet again in its always fading echoes of dissonance and sonic cacophonies too brutal to subside.
We are gathered here today to revel in excellence and greatness in the idiom of artful pop/rock song craftsmanship that will never die.
Art that never follows the crowd...never seeks mainstream consensus …never needs another’s approval…it’s good to be Not Where It's At...