www.biafraland.com

Lucy! I'm so glad you're reading my blog! I read yours as well but haven't signed up to comment yet. Rest assured however I'm there keeping up-to-date on your latest happenings. Cindy, don't worry about checking in with me--Spring Break in LA! Woo-hoo! Just say hi when you get back. :)
* * *
A long time ago, on the august continent of Africa, the great Kingdom of Biafra reigned. Covering a vast amount of fertile land, this Kingdom controled much of the ancient world, surpassing all other kingdoms in many fields. The Biafrans were a gentle people, intelligent with a love of education and the arts. They were athletes but artists first: musicians, sculptors, painters, poets. They were practical as well as creative, their technology generations ahead of their neighbors. For centuries the Biafrans thrived peacefully, becoming a grand empire and expanding throughtout Africa. There has never been another kingdom quite like it.
You've never heard of Biafra because let's face it, the Western world has become "the important one" and the only one featured in our textbooks. But imagine a giant kingdom of musicians and artists, farmers and merchants, and you'll have witnessed Biafra.
Like all earthly kingdoms, Biafra faded away, leaving only pieces of its epic history behind. Then, within the past couple centuries, Biafra again became a reality.
The Igbos and others living in the Delta region of Africa knew they were descendants of the ancient Biafrans, but they didn't know if they could ever regain their royal status. By this time, anyone of Biafran descent was being persecuted, oppressed, brutally murdered for their race within the new nations they found themselves living exiled in. The Biafrans, artful and crafty as ever, had been more successful than any other African people and were living educated and wealthy in lovely areas they themselves had established. Others became jealous. The Hausa tribe to the north waged genocide against the Biafrans and the Nigerian government joined in. After a struggle, the Biafrans drew the admiration of the entire globe as they reestablished Biafraland, quickly creating the most advanced society within Africa. Within three short years, the Biafrans organized their own government, schools, towns and industry. Musicians played their native songs and recorded them in top-notch recording studios. Artists were again free to display their talents. The world looked on in awe as the humble but noble people rose up from the muck and mire of oppression, dusted themselves off, and once again revealed themselves to be a notable nation--a people worthy of praise and imitation. Somewhere in the middle of war-torn Africa, a serene oasis was formed.
Then, after three years of victory, the Biafrans were finally unable to repel their foes any longer. Genocide was waged on them in a form more massive than ever before. Though the Biafrans fought bravely, almost all of them were quickly exterminated as the rest of the world looked on in horror. It wasn't long before the enemies of Biafra were bragging that the race had been elimanated altogether. But even as the widows and orphans were grieving their losses, a spark of light remained on the horizon: Biafra was not dead. If even one Biafran remained, the kingdom could become a reality again. And more than one had survived: at least a million had.
The struggle for independence of Biafraland came to a head in the 1960s. More recently, Biafrans have been staging strikes and other peaceful protests to reclaim their independence without blood. They need the support of the entire world, from the East to the West, the North and South, Africans and non-Africans alike. Biafraland would change the entire configuration of the world. Go back to the image of the Kingdom of Biafra you held in your mind. Then remember how much the Biafrans accomplished within just three years of independence in the 1960s. Now dare to think what a society like that would mean for the earth today.

Live from Death Row!

If anyone is interested in reading the day-to-day musings from an innocent death row prisoner up in PA, my good friend Osiris, check out his blog at:
www.livejournal.com/users/osirisabuameer/
Thanks and God bless. I update it for him so I'm the one getting the comments and all. I forward them to Osiris since prisoners of course aren't allowed computer access.
Pax et Bonum.

Two Daffodils

I'm coming back to earth for this post, y'all.
Where did everyone go? We all took a hiatus I think! As for me, I've just been running around everywhere over the past week getting caught up on everything from hanging out with people to death penalty work to music and writing to, etc. Next week will almost be worse in terms of things like that so I might not update as much but at least my fingers are getting better and I could post if I wanted to. Well, it's rainy and cold and I need to run--muah muah--Keshie why are you not commenting on my blog!? :-P

Various and Sundry

"I don't taste the chocolate--I FEEL the chocolate!" -Fat Food Judge

Out of all the various and sundry interests and likes I have, I must say that listening to Mickey Dolenz at 8am while getting ready to embark out into the day, after having gotten up at 6am and reading a book about the Monkees, is high on my Top 25 list. It's all made better by the promise of various and sundry (thanks MD) activities waiting ahead of me and backed by a prior evening of comraderie and friendship (or fellowship depending on who you ask.) Sorry about my Thick as Thieves post y'all--I shouldn't have worried you like that: I touched on that surreal point between fiction and reality and lost my audience somewhere along the way.

The best part is the reptile cage behind him...

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v98/Bacta/lol.jpg

Thick as Thieves

"I wanted it to be telepathy. It was television."-TLSHONZ

That sums up a great deal of my life, actually.
On a parallel plane, let me explain that things with Nez's book started off creepy:
I was concurrently reading the Micky Dolenz book and noticed that various phrases I rarely hear appeared in BOTH books (okay, you spend 40 years in a partnership with someone, you're bound to think alike. Be careful who you team up with.) But then it was 4am and weird things in general were happening in my mind. Think it's fun having TLE? Well, try having TLE, not sleeping or eating in a while, then reading a pychological mind-twister written by some old rock star you've been having creepy dreams about lately. (By the way, Davy Jones finally did get his recognition as I finally dreamed of him the other night briefly.) Oh yeah, as I was saying, try having TLE, not eating, sleeping, etc. but also being really stressed out about a zillion things AND you're on heavy drugs to boot that have their own plethora of zany side-effects. You really have to walk a mile in those shoes to fully appreciate the ken of what I went through. LG understands. Jess might have understood too. Brian Wilson definitely knows what's up. So anyway in the beginning I was reading the book and seeing all these nutty coincidences that were blowing my mind. Stuff too weird to go into here (and remember, I was socked in the head by TLE, mind-numbing drugs, stress, not sleeping, eating, etc.) No, I won't do this to you. Let me skip to the part that makes more sense. Depending on how you look at it anyway. Okay so then the novel got incredibly boring the past 2 nights--it got NORMAL and things were explained away. I was fed up but then last night it got good again. I had been on the phone all night and had for no apparent reason written down a very obscure word I rarely use (you don't use it much either), even asked my friend on the phone if it was a real word or not. I boxed the word and drew around it, I was really into this word. Then the novel got good again and what do you know but that word turns up in the pages. Coincidence? Of course not you dummy, aren't you paying attention? LSD was fashioned on TLE! If you have TLE and you take LSD, you think, "What a lame piece of---" No, I won't do this to you. You've been a good friend, very understanding and patient. What I wanted to say was that my own latest novel is getting really good right about now. I'm at the part where Cletus meets this hanger-on dilettante Mickey Downs who, a la Dr. Landy, starts trying to move in on the band. It's great because he's going to set Cletus up with all these self-help pseudo-spiritual exercises that are just...stupid. He'll have to be on the tour bus repeating phrases like "I have friends in the world. They depend on me" and "Outside isn't scary, it's a place I can call my home." No, I won't do this to you. You've been a very dependable friend over the years and...oops, I did it to you and now you're either mad or concerned. Time for me to step aside! Remember, I only work here, if you have complaints you must speak to the manager who's upstairs! In other news, hello Lucy! I love you! Please won't you kidnap me and take me to NZ with you and Z?!

Monkees on Drugs

"Great, I thought. Drugs. Just what I need, some little bit of mushroom or powder so I can see worms crawling in the carpet while I laugh uncontrollably at a knock-knock joke, or drive around a traffic circle for five hours because I can't get up the courage to merge. Drugs are good for convincing me my mind is utterly subject to the disposition of my body. I hated this idea as much as I doubted it."-Nez

"A word about drugs. . . . I'm not going to preach to anyone about the dangers of drug abuse, they should be self-evident. All I can tell you is that, in my experience, it simply wasn't worth it. . . . And, in the end, it also got so boring. My last experience with LSD was at a Malibu beach house in the company of Harry Nilsson, Brian Wilson, John Lennon, et al. With those participants, you'd think it would have been a stimulating, inspiring occasion. Unfortunately, it was not. Harry went off into his own world; Brian, who was already long-gone even at that time, played just one note on a piano, over and over again; and John stood and stared into a swimming pool for four hours. What fun! I ended up sitting in the living room, watching the walls breathe and my hand turn into a snake, impatiently looking at my watch thinking, 'Here goes the old hand-into-a-snake routine. I wonder when I can get out of here and go home to work on my gyrocopter?'"-Micky Dolenz

Ode to the Limey

Sorry 'bout that last one, it was a salute to Neffie. Anyway, really quick I just gotta say THE LIMEY ROCKS! Once again while we were on webcam (double-time) I hit a button and accidentally enlarged his screen so big I couldn't get out. Last time I hadda shut off the PC. This time, I started scribbling messages to him on paper so he could see in the cam. He kicked right into the swing and started drawing pictures and writing back! Hah! He truly earns the title "Most patient guy on earth." For not only this but a million other things (Thank you, Liam.)
Countdown to British Invasion 2005...9 days!
PS: How was it after Fred rang you on your mobile and told you to walk on the footpath by the seaside?

Flashback a la Nez

i cant go out because i know theyre going to swamp me...i want so badly to just go to the bookstore, the cafe...we go and get into a fight, its over i want to tell him, he balks but already knows--he calls my mom 'mom' and its over...we go and its hilarious, i pretend im deaf and we learn some of the signs--she pretends to be my interpretor; everyone stares but dismisses us. theres a guy at the counter claiming he saw cheap trick in concert, then he pauses and goes, no wait, or was it trix? we snicker and cant stop...i told him we had to buy the georgian book so we could have our own language and talk in class so no one will know...the substitute teacher is livid, she says we touch too much, dont we have any decency?...we do a presentation on screech owls and the whole night before it was so funny i couldnt breathe...berger tells me first that john and the gang are taking baseball bats into the park to set him up, he wasnt supposed to tell--i call john and make him call it off, its too brutal. i shouldnt have said anything at the birthday party by the pool, but i didnt know he still loved me. in the car after she died we went out to the diner late one night and he turned to me in the car and said he loved me...i cant go outside, theyre going to swamp me, theyre already calling me, finding me online, coming to my door, i make my mom lie all the time "shes in the shower" "shes not here" why do they all want to be down with me? its such a stupid thing...summer school and i have to avoid him, but along comes the monster and its growling, a big white car, maybe it had another name. he almost runs me over when im hiding by the tree. "do you want some coffee?" eventually i go down to Ithica with him to stay the weekend and my boyfriend is upset. "i dont want you to go." but i dont care...shes closed herself off to me and cutting out of the dream, so i have to find someone else and i lean on him instead...the music means so much, im willing to follow it anywhere...im a kid and listening to him speaking on the phone, low in the other room, what sadness in my heart, fear and sadness and i dont want her to know; i start keeping secrets...i cant sleep at night, everything is scary and lurking in the shadows, i cant sleep at night most anywhere, especially not there or there...i make my mom sleep in the room with me and one night across the street we all go to watch a movie...he and i are getting along just fine and he walks me home. i know when he does it that its special; i lay down in bed and hear his leather shoes scraping the road outside as he walks back and my heart is different--it means something..."hi" i say to him, hes looking at my mom, "hi"--I cant recall if he called her mom. if he did it was from habit...we're sitting peering down into the green river while guys pee into it further down; we're talking about everything thats important. people are dancing but i left to talk with him. he came all this way, a couple thousand miles, hes worth it. on the way back to the car we're laughing and dave gets behind the wheel. b is in the back her head lolling against the seat and repeating how deep the beer was in the bar "up to my ankles," "up to my knees," we laugh and ask her how high the beer was...her boyfriend was hitting on me but i couldnt say anything--hed have come to me first but i rejected him; when she dumped me for him i still never told. when i told her he cheated another time, 2 years later, her reaction was bad enough...the lights and music and people dancing, we're all pogoing as high as we can and i lose my balance and rocket back onto paul's lap, im terribly embarrassed; i brought her along because she has no friends and shes talking to g in the back about his metal posters...he goes out into the back with me and asks me how old i am. he really likes my miniskirt. it belonged to her but shes dead now and here some rec label guy is hitting on me. shed have laughed. b warns me to keep away but im interested. the 3 of us walk out to the tracks and i tell him when hes having troubles to hear the train roll by his house and put his problems on the train. he stares at me and says its helping. later we park up by those tracks and watch the train. hes jealous of "my boyfriend" and we sing "Everyday" by buddy holly all evening...the lights are blaring down and people are throwing coins; one hits my cymbal and i smile. later i find out who threw it. the boys are all gawking and offering to carry my equipment. we take some time out for autographs and i sign everything "Buzz the man with the plan". im signing old drumsticks, paper, hands, anything people have; we divide up the money and we get 30$ a piece...im signing more autographs after school, the kids, it seems like hundreds, have newspapers laid out on the sidewalk and we're down on our knees signing near our pictures, theyre too many and im too busy to relish the attention...he and i walk out on the 4th of july down his block and see the fireworks--we were on a break but the feeling was still there...shes putting medicine on her toes and im making fun of her...i tell her if she goes to China to sing for the dignitaries I'll disown her, or something like that; i was always saying something like that...we're laughing too hard to present so the teacher says we can record it at home, nothing funny is even happening but we're called the 'giggle sisters', the '3 muskateers'...she lives in a trailer and when i call her shes crying because her dads beating her; i stay on the phone, i dont know what to do--shes got a poster of Axl in her bedroom and lives by a lake..."we're already big with the high school kids" he brags to me in tech class. i say ill give it a try but im not so big on berger and hes not so big on me...its scotland im in the train station and i call him up to tell him that word has gotten out about who im seeing and im crying because no one believes me and i want everyone to get it off their minds, its none of their business and i never wanted it to be a big deal; then she calls me into her room and says "we want you to do this" but she doesnt understand that i would never use him that way, that i could never...im supposed to be meeting the Bs but i get sidetracked by him instead; hes jealous i got Ks autograph and asks to see it; i cant believe it, but in a way i knew it would happen this way...

V-day Q form (for Cindy and all my beloveds! heehee)

1. When I break up with someone, usually... 2. My first kiss was... 3. I'm picky about who I date or I'll date anyone? 4. The weirdest thing I ever did in a relationship was... 5. I'd never date anyone who... 6. When I'm dating someone we're inseperable, irritating all our friends, or it's pretty normal... 7. Honestly, people shouldn't date me if they want... 8. My biggest flaw in relationships is that... 9. I tend to dress up when going on a date, or I just wing it... 10. If I could do one thing differently in one of my relationships, I'd...

"Gentle happening" v. Nez

I'm not allowed to write anything serious on this blog so I can't say that--whoa, I can't say that. Isn't that irritating that I'm saying that?
This weekend was too odd for me to even explain, so I won't try. Suffice it to say I hope next week everything returns to the place I know and understand.
By the way, Truman Capote totally got his place as "my favorite author" usurped by...Nez. Never thought you'd read that sentence, did you? Yep. A MONKEE is writing stuff that's blowing my mind, and I try to say that without a bias.
Which reminds me. The other day I went off about fake literature and what a waste it is. The limey knows what I'm talking about. I ranted for a bit and had to finally stop because I was coming off as more pretentious than I have any right to be. But honestly, I've sat in English classes where the people (including myself) get more divided and riled up than folks at a political rally. Ask a writer what qualifies as "literature" and then sit back and prepare for a lecture. I myself have VERY opinionated views on all this of course but I'll refrain from a diatribe because I already did that with the topic of "the music biz" earlier. (See the Paul Williams post.) Oh, but I wanted to say that in Nez's novel, he quotes Ezra Pound (one of my favorite poets): "Poetry is language charged with meaning." It made me rethink some things, vague as it is.

Who in this green world is Ruth?

"Is that a Picasso?"
"No, that's a mirror, dear. I think it's time to call a cab."
-Cosby show

My Nature Hike with Paul

Thanks to everyone for filling out the Tiger Beat form, that was hilarious! I still want to hear from Edison and Rakesh, however--so get on it, boys! :) It's the post before this one.

So anyways, last night I was hanging out with Paul McCartney and I really wanted to tell him that he's my favorite Beatle but I kept chickening out. I mean, it's not even entirely true. It's just that while watching some documentary stuff I found him to be the least ugly, the funniest, and the best dressed.
He joined up with me on this nature hike. It was more like an outdoor course. You start out white water rafting, then hike for a while, climb mountains, etc. Tough stuff. I was thinking about how Dr. Landy forced Brian Wilson to do one of those for a week, to show him he was capable of anything. In my case, it was exhilirating. Especially the rafting since I can hardly swim. There was a waterfall involved somewhere.
Then Paul came along and I talked to him about Let It Be. I'm not a Beatles fan, but once every few years I get obsessed with one of their songs. Rocky Raccoon; Imagine (OK, that's Lennon's solo, but close enough); Hey Jude; now it's Let It Be. A few days ago I was writing a song on the piano and was satisfied with it until I thought, "Wait. Something's familiar." I'd inadvertantly taken the chords from Let It Be. I had to revamp the tune because I started humming Let It Be instead of my own stuff. It worked out. So, since it's been on my mind, I brought it up to Paul. I told him I dug it and asked him about the lyrics.
"You know, I never heard the lyrics until a week ago," I told him. Then I think I asked about the drug references or whatever. He was laid back about the whole thing, even when I started saying "Beatles" with a glottal stop, Cockney-style.
"How do you say it?" I wanted to know. I was sort of poking fun, but he was cool. Nice guy. Too bad it was all a dream.

Tiger Beat March 1967 Q Form

Please everyone, fill this one out--last one I promise. It's cool because after you've finished and posted your answers in the comments section, click on the link in the previous post below. :)

1.How would your mother describe you in one word?
2. What is your favorite flower?
3. What is the most insane questions you've ever been asked?
4. If you could change your name, what would you change it to?
5. What word in the English Language do you wish you had invented?
6. What is the first quote that comes to your mind?
7. What animal best describes the kind of girl/boy you'd be interested in?
8. What do you miss about your childhood?
9. In what hour of the day do you function best?
10. What is the main fault in your character?
11. If you met the right girl/boy today, would you propose tomorrow?
12. What was your favorite subject in school?
13. Where would you like to live?
14. Descrive how you kiss in one word
15. What in the world do you least desire?
16. Why do you think most girls date you?
17. Who is your favorite historial figure?
18. How many times have you fallen in love?
19. What are your favorite names?
20. Finish this sentence. "Happiness is a thing called......

I Make Monkees Outta Y'all

Click on this AFTER you've filled out the questionnaire, folks.
http://www.psycho-jello.com/monkees/questions.html

Thanks to Edison I Am Posting All Day

More names:
McKenna (2)
Tiara (2?)
Leshawn
J'shawn
Conner
Fat
Marcel
Yamir
Dylan
Gurdeep
Amin
Rakesh
Sunbo
Ellis
Jorge

Crawdaddy!

Back in the 60s, a teenager from NY named Paul Williams founded the nation's first rock and roll magazine, Crawdaddy! Last night, while perusing a book he wrote a few years ago on the Beach Boys, I came across an article he had written back in 1967. It was 3am and it blew my mind. That long ago, he predicted what has now become the case in rock music, a sad state that I have been trying to get straight in my head for a while. I couldn't say it any better than him, so for your edification, I've typed up the significant parts of the article and posted them.
I can't believe he wrote this in 1967. Now, in the 21 century, with the dawn of the internet, online music trading, CD burning and home studios galore, the problem he foresaw has hit its crescendo. Bands can't sell records, they have to attempt to break even on tours, and no more rock bigwigs sit on plush thrones laughing down at us, causing teenagers to cry and record companies to tremble. Concurrently, reality TV has made everyone and his grandma a TV star. Now, in the music world, everyone and his neighbor is a rock star.
Let me take that back. Now, the playing field has been leveled: there ARE no more stars, TV, movie or rock, period.
As a kid, I knew DIY was the rage. I still agree with that philosophy. But I think we all miss the times of yesterdecade when stars were in the sky and we loved to hate them, hated to envy them, but still had the thought that maybe one day we could aspire to those heights. Those were the days when every kid had a rocker to look up to and though the chance was distant, we knew what we were after. Now, the thrones have smashed into earthly dust and we've trampled on the splinters, happy to "kill our idols." It's bittersweet. I'd be the first to admit that the whole glamor of the entertainment industry is hogwash, "have it cleaned and burned." But I am nostalgic for the times when a fortunate few stood at the top of the heap, controlling teenagers' minds with music and attitude.
Over to you, Paul:

Outlaw Blues

"But already in December 1967 the difficulties are becoming apparent. For one thing, there are quite a number of good groups making records, and they all expect a slice of the pie. Can the same audience that--phenomenally--put the Beatles, the Doors, the Stones, and Jefferson Airplane in the top five on the LP charts at the same time, can they purchase enough records now to put Donovan, Love, Country Joe, Judy Collins, the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, the Beach Boys, Van Dyke Parks, the Hollies, Paul Butterfield, Jefferson Airplane, the Incredible String Band and Buffalo Springfield in the top five at the same time? All of the above have released new albums in the last month, as I write this, and the Who, the Kinks, Moby Grape, the Byrds, Jimi Hendrix, Randy Newman, the Grateful Dead, the Mothers and the Velvet Underground have stuff scheduled for the immediate future. Elbow room! cried Dan'l Boone. Every one of these groups expects to be able to spend $50,000 or more recording an album, and if this much good stuff is going to be released every two months, who's going to pay for it?
The immediate answer is clear: expand the audience. But since we've already moved in on most of the existing music audience, this means a very heavy undertaking: we have to increase the number of people who are actually listening to and buying any music at all. We have to not only show why rock music is good music, but why Music Itself Is Good For You and so on and on. And maybe even the quantity of really good stuff being released nowadays will help us do it. . . .
But . . . what if good creative art is not always appreciated by huge numbers of people the instant it's available? . . .
But what I'm really talking about . . . [is] the performer who expects to spend as much money on recording time and engineers and instruments and whatever as is needed to do what he wants to do. No matter how you divide up the wealth of the world, there is not at the present time sufficient time-money-energy on Earth to give every person alive an engineer, a set of musicians, all the instruments he or she wants and five weeks of time in a well-equipped studio. So anyone who wants all those privileges had better either be a fascist, or a person who is creating for more than a half dozen people. Because if people will pay for these records that cost of much to make, fine. If you want to spend all that money making the music, and they're willing to spend all that money to listen to it, nothing could be fairer. . . .
But . . . some of the artists who made these [hit] records are beginning to think they have a God-given right to take up as many people's time as they want in order to do they thing. Jabberwocky!
Beware the baldersnatch, my son. Beware the confusion that comes at the top, that comes from thousands of people waiting for your new album, that comes from record companies standing in line for the right to spend money on you, that comes from fourteen-page magazine articles about how great you are. Remember you are only you, remember that your prime concern should be doing what is most important to you, but that you have a responsibility, a very real responsibility, to every person other than yourself who gets involved in the achieving of your personal goals.
That doesn't mean hey sing "White Rabbit" for us, Grace. No, the point is not to think that you have any responsibility to anybody because they've bought your records or whatever they did in the past. The point is to think about the present, think about whether what you're doing is worth whatever is going into it. Because, forgetting the morality of the thing, what happens to our creative artists if nobody buys their new albums and they have to go back to recording in a garage?
Rock music is the first good music in quite a while to achieve a mass acceptance. It is also one of the few really worthy side-effects of the current state of mass media in the Western world. Because many rock musicians, rock producers, rock etcetera do not appreciate the significance of this, we are in serious danger right now of blowing the whole bit. With the best intentions in the world, the ideal of serving pure art and pure individual creative instinct, we may drive ourselves out of the recording studio and the mass media and back into our garages and audiences of half a dozen friends. If we don't try our damnedest to make music that is both of high quality AND accessible to a fairly widespread audience, we may look pretty silly a year from now complaining that no one pays us any attention."
December 1967, Paul Williams, Crawdaddy!

A Thief, A King and A Horse

Sorry I haven't been blogging in a bit, but I haven't been able to get online for various reasons. However, I wanted to share this tale with you. A death row prisoner wrote it and sent it via me to a mutual friend. His name deserves credit: Gabriel Gonzalez, innocent in Texas.

A long time ago, an accused thief was brought before the king for trial and sentencing. The king declared the thief's guilt and pronounced a sentence of death by something truly nasty. The thief asked for permission to speak and when granted it, told the king that, if given a year, that he could and would teach the king's favorite horse to talk. Obviously he was persuasive, because the king postponed the sentence for a year to give him a chance. One of the guards took the thief down to the stables where the thief immediately proceeded to spend all of his time talking to the horse, grooming him, etc. After a few days of laughing at him, a couple of the stable hands came over and asked him why he was bothering to spend so much time on something impossible. Basically they said he was crazy.
"That may be," the thief said, "But I have a year, and who knows what will happen in that time? The king might die. The horse might die. I might die. And who knows, maybe the horse will learn to talk."

What's in a name?

Totally random....
I have known many folks with what I consider interesting names. Here's a list:
Edison
Emerson (2 of 'em!)
Emmitt
Eugene (not that bad, but not too many of 'em running about these days)
Liam (it's new for Yanks!)
Saskatchewan (a friend accused me of making this up until I got him on the phone to talk to her, then she blushed and apologized)
Neftali
Ugochukwu
Ikenna
Anu
Crispin
Bethsheba (and all of her siblings who have Hebrew names)
Silence
Dane (3 of 'em in town)
Obinna
Osiris
Taurus
Kenyatta
Kenyetta (no relation)
Fatima
Exzavious
Jacouri (a friend's son)
Obie
Shanta and Keisha
Van (2 of 'em)
Amana
Samer (Arabic for 'something two lovers whisper to each other at night')
Salima

OK I gotta stop, there are far too many, I could go on all night. Feel free to add your list of strange but beautiful names....

Nine is Brown

All of you had the coolest answers to my silly questions, you make me want to write another one out. Can you dig it? :-D I'll post it up on here tomorrow most likely.
Last 2 days have been rockin'. I'm sure everyone but the neighbors loved it.

"Nine is brown"-Nesmith's first words to his future wife, Phyllis, who responded, "Three is blue."
E and I both understood at once that both of them are wrong. Nine is obviously yellow.
Does anyone else out there do that? Either you get it or you don't, there's no in between.
Wait, maybe three is yellow and nine is blue. Actually, . . . wait, that can't be right. Hmmm.

"I discovered George Benson and took him into the studio to cut his first single. He was just a kid on the corner, playing a ukulele. Now you need a team of lawyers, agents, managers, accountants, psychics, nutritionists, and a dozen other people just to sneeze in a studio."
- Dr. Landy to Brian Wilson

The Old Man Who Stole My Bed...

...and NO sickos, not THAT old man! Different story entirely. :- D

So Cinders and I were in smelly Scotland. We arrived late and almost slept in the train station. An Aussie girl called us "HAHD ASSES," quite the compliment, considering those Aussies. In any case, Cindy and I finally did find a place to spend the night and then the next day we had to find another hostel. We called a bunch and for some reason the city was jam-packed. Ugh. Finally, we walked clear across town to the only available one and stood in line at the desk. We were given our dorm room keys and bed numbers and we hauled our bags up the stairs to the room. We looked in. It was afternoon so not many people were there of course. The beds all had these bright numbers painted on them and most of them were already claimed. People were hanging jackets, bags, clothes on them so you'd know they were taken. Cindy found hers after a minute, but I was confused. I couldn't find my bed.
Well, I'd found the number, but it didn't make sense. That bed was taken. Really taken. There was a fat, naked old man sleeping soundly between the sheets.
After another search, I showed Cindy and we freaked. It couldn't be, it just couldn't. It was too awful. We turned away and went back downstairs.
The girl at the desk was busy but I had to tell her the problem. Before I could even get all the words out of my mouth, her face soured and she interrupted.
"FUCKIN' OLD MAN!"
So she knew him. He was quite a pain in their necks.
The girl understood. Even if he'd cleared out, there was no way I was going to sleep in that bed that night. She didn't even ask me to. It'd have been like asking me to jump off one of the castle's towers. No way. There was only one dirty old man on my mind at that time anyway.
The girl traded in our keys and sent us to a more private room with no one else in it.
We stayed up all night chatting and the next morning I woke up feeling like vomit. The city smelled like rotten eggs. Worse. It smelled like the old man! I couldn't wait to get on the next train back to England.
...tune in next time for more ADVENTURES ACROSS THE ATLANTIC!

Wouldn't It Be Gross/Wednesday's Child

OK y'all did such a star-studded job on the last one, I had to make another. PLEASE fill it out though you're busy. I couldn't stop laughing at your last ones and I actually learned a lot. I'll fill out this one myself as well in the comment section.
Cinders, I just wrote a song with the lyrics: "Wednesday's son, he's all mine."

PART II

1. A song that I think's hip is...
2. If you want to aggravate me, do this...
3. Mike Nesmith/Peter Tork, who'd win the battle of coolness?
4. When I'm alone I'm usually...just alone and lovin' it/lonely and miserable
5. A turning point in my life was when...
6. I'd never be the same if...
7. A flag that I think looks neat is...
8. If I had a country, my flag would look like this...
9. Mountain view, ocean view, forest view, desert view?
10. Train, ship, car, plane, bike, walk, horse?
11. I'd eat . . . for a million dollars
12. Bigfoot, friend or foe?
13. Favorite children's tale...
14. If I were going to be a hero, I'd be like...
15. The most nonsensical thing I've done that I can recall is...
16. If I won the lottery, I'd spend the $ on...
17. A safari in Africa, a hike through the Swiss Alps, a day on a Greek beach, or a trip to the moon?
18. If I'd had a say in my physical appearance before birth, I'd have asked God to make me look...
19. A really cool hairstyle is...
20. This celebrity is all right...
21. Five dead people I'd invite to dinner...

Here I Am, Lord

Imagine every time you consider going outside you become terrified. You need to get groceries but you wait till the last possible hour because you know something awful is going to happen at Kroger. You'll wreck the car. You'll pass out and hit your head. Everyone will know you're strange. Going to Kroger becomes an obsession. You dream about it. In the dream you buy every item you need and can't believe it's all so easy. Then you wake up. You haven't left your house yet. You're me.
Yesterday was another one of those days. Thankfully, my errand buddy popped up and motivated me to go. I hadn't even showered or brushed my teeth. But I'd been hyping myself up about it for several days. I'm reading Brian Wilson's autobio where he talks about overcoming insanity and drug abuse. He had a Dr. Landy to help him 24 hours a day. I don't have a Dr. Landy but then again I'm not battling insanity or drugs. So, I got excited. I was going to walk into Kroger and not freak out. If I freaked out, I'd let it happen. Let the Kroger shoppers have something to talk about.
We went and I didn't die. It was fine. At the checkout the lady saw my Pope keychain and we started talking. We lamented how ill he's been and told each other to pray for him. She's from some country near Croatia.
Then we left and ran other errands. I was still alive. On Prince Ave. CJ pulled up next to us in his car. I hadn't seen him in forever.
"Where are you going? Let me follow," he said. We pulled into a parking lot and got out. CJ was working with J that day, a blind girl he helps out once a week. He'd suggested I work with her too but I can't even leave my house.
J was awesome. About my age and wearing a fuzzy black overcoat, we started chatting as if we'd always known one another. I'm always at ease around people with disabilities these days. I figure, they can't get weirded out by me! J said CJ had been talking about me a lot.
"I want to work for you, too," I said, and then I launched into a brief description of why I can't. I told her stuff I rarely tell my closest family members. I was just so comfortable, and CJ already knew some of it. J understood. Every day is rough for her.
"What are y'all doing now?" I asked.
"We have choir practice then church," J said. Then I remembered that she sings. CJ sings also. I sing.
"Perform something," I suggested. It was cold out and the traffic whizzing by was loud. J made a hesitant expression but CJ, always the entertainer, prodded her on. They began singing a hymn from church.
"I the Lord of sea and sky, I have heard My people cry..."
I couldn't believe it! My favorite hymn! I joined in daringly.
So there we were: a blind girl, a rocker and me looking like I hadn't seen daylight in days, which was true. We were belting it out in the most secular of environments and I knew almost every word. Had it been any other tune, I wouldn't have known. I don't listen to lyrics. But Here I Am, Lord, I know downpat.
I told CJ to pray for the Pope and J and I discussed all getting together for dinner just for fun. What a great day. I should leave the house more often.

I'm Gonna Buy Me A Dog Cuz I Need A Friend Now

Wow, I just recovered in record time from one of my biggest freak-out episodes. I'm really quite amazed.
Anyway, here's a list of things y'all could fill out the answers to about yourself and either post it here on my blog in the comments section or email it to me (copy and paste)....

1. The last time I freaked out about something was....
2. I believe in aliens yes/no....
3. When I was a kid I couldn't sleep when I thougt about....
4. When I was in high school my biggest ambition was....
5. Not everyone knows this but....
6. I'd disown somebody if they....
7. If my dad committed a big crime, I'd turn him in/hide him....
8. My autobiography at this point would be called....but I'd hope one day it could be worthy of the title....
9. My earliest memory is....
10. If I had a pet I'd name it....
11. If I had to live in a different era and different place, I'd choose....
12. The Civil War was mainly about slavery? yes/no....
13. My favorite subject in school was....
14. Something that makes me crazy with passion is....
15. I lose my head when I think about....
16. I spent most of my time as a teenager....
17. My favorite band as a kid was....
18. I used to or still do love this article of clothing....
19. My parents used to yell at me the most about....
20. My dream job would be....
21. People don't understand that I'm really....
22. I don't trust anyone who....
23. If someone says....to me, I'll cry.
24. It downright enrages me when I hear about....
25. All I really need in this world is....

Copy-catting Cindy (again)

1. I have pale blue eyes.
2. The 'teacher' who made the most impression on me was my gov't professor in my first college course ever. He was a staunch Rep. and I'd stay after class discussing politics, media, religion and society with him. He affected me so much I registered originally as a Rep. and didn't change it for two years.
3. Religion: Ukrianian Catholic
4. Pet peeve: Biases, especially racial but often political too. I'll be friends with a racist or a bigot but mainly to study them with fascination as if they were a rare disease under a microscope.
5. I cried when...I lost my best friend. Twice.
6. I laughed hysterically when...Beth and I told our middle school principle a poltergeist had messed with the entertainment center during lunch.
7. I'd forgotten...that Beth and I accidentally shared a flight from Charlotte to Syr a few years ago, sat next to each other and annoyed an old man and the flight attendants.
8. I can't stand it when...a guy doesn't get the hint that I'm not going to date him.
9. My favorite book: the Bible. Close second: the Imitation of Christ.
10. Right now I'm...writing a rocker novel a la Rushdie and preparing a demo.
11. People probably wouldn't guess that...I've watched and listened to Rush Limbaugh since the early 90s and like him as much as I dislike him (almost.)
12. Others wouldn't guess that...to me, sex is a million times more upsetting than any illegal drug.
13. My favorite color as a kid was white, then purple. Now I don't have one.
14. In my lifetime I have obsessed over: a boy named Casey, horses, the Middle East, Quantum Leap, rock music, Athens, Southern Literature, academics, criminal justice, socialism, the Monkees, to name a few. I've only ever followed up drastically to one or two.
15. Something that still bothers me: the massacre in Waco, Texas.