Jeremiah's School of Levitation
Upsy-Daisy!
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Uh Oh, Looks Like A Meteor Hit Jeremiah On His Head
Retuning, rejuicing, and re-creation. That's what I was doing for the last two weeks of non-blogging. Sometimes, the day to day is draining and looking for something to say gets to me sometimes because I always only want to open my mouth, or drain my pen, or punch the letters on my keyboard, if I have something to put forth. Otherwise, I'm just tossing sand into your eyes, just so that you know I'm here.
Blogging is an interesting thing. A way to create significance. Or, as I want to do, illuminate irrelevance, raise it to the level of relevance, as if what I have to say, or write, can change your mind, enlighten your mind, or make you think in unison with me for a moment, even though, in the scheme of things, all I was saying was that the earth spit another plant out of the ground today. Is that a great thing or is it a mundane thing?
Anyway, if I play my guitar long enough, I get introspective and I get into the sound of things and I think that all that matters is how something sounds. If I can scream in agony in a dulcet, comely way, then what I say makes no difference. It's how what I say sounds to you that makes the difference.
I was camping a few days ago and, on one night, a very large gathering of families near our site began singing some Hebrew hymn that involved both children and adults, and it was a beautiful sound that rose into the stars like butterflies of all different sizes and stages of illumination. A couple of hours later, the park ranger came to my site, brandishing his flashlight, speaking in a controlled drawl, and he told us that he runs a tight camp and that if all that singing bothers us, to not hesitate to come tell him and that he would put a stop to it. I took a shot of my beer (which is against the rules) and I got up an walked past him without a word. I went over to the neighboring campsite and asked one of the campers if they were the ones singing. They said they were. I told them what the ranger said and I told them that I wanted to let them know that I don't mind their singing, and that I would never complain, and that, in fact, I love the sound of joy. I told them to sing without any thought of me, and, if they wanted some bad guitar accompaniment, then come and get me, and we'll do a show. The guy grinned and shook my hand, but he had a look on his face that said, "You know, we don't give a shit anyway. We're just gonna sing."
Dang. I can really honestly call myself a writer if I can make sure that everything I write, relevant or not, is just verses of gratitude, however ribald, ridiculous, or righteous, to the fact that we have managed to exist, despite about a trillion failed attempts at life that the universe tried. And, we only have to notice that the moon, only 239,000 miles away, is a big dead rock. We're damn lucky, huh? And, as profound as that is, it is also pretty funny. On earth, we got rock stars to worship. On the moon, you just get rocks worshipping the stars.
Oh well. Summertime makes me buzzed. Must be the allergies. Here's to getting high on the seasons. Shoo bee doo bee doo.
Blogging is an interesting thing. A way to create significance. Or, as I want to do, illuminate irrelevance, raise it to the level of relevance, as if what I have to say, or write, can change your mind, enlighten your mind, or make you think in unison with me for a moment, even though, in the scheme of things, all I was saying was that the earth spit another plant out of the ground today. Is that a great thing or is it a mundane thing?
Anyway, if I play my guitar long enough, I get introspective and I get into the sound of things and I think that all that matters is how something sounds. If I can scream in agony in a dulcet, comely way, then what I say makes no difference. It's how what I say sounds to you that makes the difference.
I was camping a few days ago and, on one night, a very large gathering of families near our site began singing some Hebrew hymn that involved both children and adults, and it was a beautiful sound that rose into the stars like butterflies of all different sizes and stages of illumination. A couple of hours later, the park ranger came to my site, brandishing his flashlight, speaking in a controlled drawl, and he told us that he runs a tight camp and that if all that singing bothers us, to not hesitate to come tell him and that he would put a stop to it. I took a shot of my beer (which is against the rules) and I got up an walked past him without a word. I went over to the neighboring campsite and asked one of the campers if they were the ones singing. They said they were. I told them what the ranger said and I told them that I wanted to let them know that I don't mind their singing, and that I would never complain, and that, in fact, I love the sound of joy. I told them to sing without any thought of me, and, if they wanted some bad guitar accompaniment, then come and get me, and we'll do a show. The guy grinned and shook my hand, but he had a look on his face that said, "You know, we don't give a shit anyway. We're just gonna sing."
Dang. I can really honestly call myself a writer if I can make sure that everything I write, relevant or not, is just verses of gratitude, however ribald, ridiculous, or righteous, to the fact that we have managed to exist, despite about a trillion failed attempts at life that the universe tried. And, we only have to notice that the moon, only 239,000 miles away, is a big dead rock. We're damn lucky, huh? And, as profound as that is, it is also pretty funny. On earth, we got rock stars to worship. On the moon, you just get rocks worshipping the stars.
Oh well. Summertime makes me buzzed. Must be the allergies. Here's to getting high on the seasons. Shoo bee doo bee doo.
Elliot, 2:15 AM
5 Back at me:
*sigh* sorry I haven't been around to comment much if at all lately. Just wanted you to know you're still in the radar! Love your words, always, my friend! Um... still waiting on your addy for Turtle Tunes...
Stay in or out of trouble - which ever you prefer!
Stay in or out of trouble - which ever you prefer!
I like summertime too!!!
but not allergies. thank goodness for antihistimines...
but not allergies. thank goodness for antihistimines...
TG: I prefer to have a weekly "catch-up" drink with Trouble, just so I know the latest dirt. And, I did send you my address! Possibly, I fell in your spam pit. I'll send again..
ipod: summertime, summertime, sum, sum, summertime! Ah-choo!
ipod: summertime, summertime, sum, sum, summertime! Ah-choo!
Damn I've missed you! I just read something about "Christians" driving out Jews in Delaware's Indian River schools (y'know, the folks who don't believe in evolution and torture everyone 'not like them'). Hearing what you did at the campground really helped heal that little heartbreak.
And bonus points for using the word 'dulcet'. I love that!
And bonus points for using the word 'dulcet'. I love that!
Mona: "Dulcet" is one of those words that's perched patiently on the tip of my synapses, waiting to be born. Thanks for noticing.
