MY GOD

O.K., so: "Somebody's God." Ian Anderson's, perhaps. Although one would not arrive at that conclusion from lyrics. Nor Jeffery Hammond-Hammond's body language. You had to "be there" I would suggest. I was. Not for: "My God." More like "This Was," "Stand Up" and "Bouree." Saw them blow Led Zeppelin off the stage in '72 or so. They were "fired" after that outing. You know the rest of the story. Zep went on to ripoff all the dead Delta Bluesmen they could dig up and Tull became the Heavy Duty Judy version on Renaissance or something like that. Still like the band. "Cross Eyed Mary" is good stuff. There're a couple dozen more.

Hammond-Hammond, who definitely gave David Lindley a run for his money regarding his penchant for really weird double knit fabrics, was a great bass player and an all-around crowd pleaser with his improvised 1.5 step spastic soft shoe moves. Did I mention that he was a great bass player? Not John Entwistle "good" or Stan Clark, Jaco Pastorius or whomever, "good" but...

Things change. Times change. People change. Worms become butterflies. O.K., so they're not "worms." Words change. Unfortunately, I can't draw like Ralph Steadman. There would be lots of worms. On EVERYTHING.

"I didn't mind, if they groomed me for 'success', Bleatch."

"He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sunday."

The house smells like chicken soup, notes of onions, mixed Italian type spices and celery in there, somewhere.

The World smells different. It looks O.K. but there's decay in the wind. Except for the Redwoods doing their usual Jig or River Dance Whatchamacallit.

"I ain't no Porcupine. Take off your Kidd gloves." -John Hiatt

Don't expect continuity, an even flow of words or meaning around here. It's Hide-And-Seek, not running out steam or anything else that shows a certain portion of pluck.

Good luck, Paisano. It's just some Porcupine, taking the gloves off and challenging The All to a knock-down, drag-out, to-the-death, duel. I bleed an interesting shade of Crimson. It would make nice paint.

I sent my Brother a graphic of Beavis, picking his nose, earlier today. Right about the same time I was shaking off the 16 ounce Everlasts.

Speaking of lyrics and John Hiatt, or Beavis' Boogers, not in that order...These are some of my favorite lyrics. It's like witnessing Rembrandt, soiling himself, on shaking knees. For me, anyway. You can just shit can it if you want to. Sad songs about girls just grab my nuts and won't let go. Well, not until I soil myself, anyway.

"Just ask The Axis. He knows EVERYTHING." -Jimi Hendrix

-Doc