Neither Here Nor There W. S. Merwin An airport is nowhere which is not something generally noticed yet some unnamed person in the past deliberately planned it and you have spent time there again for something you have done which you do not entirely remember like the souls in Purgatory you sit there in the smell of what passes for food breathing what is called air while the timepieces measure their agreement you believe in it while you are there because you are there sometimes you may even feel happy to be that far on your way to somewhere ******************************************************************

Jonas Mekas-"I live therefore I make films; I make films therefore I live."
Positive thinker.

http://hyperallergic.com/285397/jonas-mekas-on-the-poetry-of-filmmaking-and-living/?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Why%20Cant%20Artists%20Deduct%20Donated%20Artworks%20from%20Their%20Taxes&utm_content=Why%20Cant%20Artists%20Deduct%20Donated%20Artworks%20from%20Their%20Taxes+CID_5b2cbcdb0bafcce15d4f058880ea5d78&utm_source=HyperallergicNewsletter&utm_term=Jonas%20Mekas%20on%20the%20Poetry%20of%20Filmmaking%20and%20Living


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Eerie photos.

http://www.oxfordamerican.org/item/806-brutal-south?utm_source=newsletter&utm_medium=email&utm_content=Eyes%20on%20the%20South&utm_campaign=Newsletter%3A%2003/28/2016

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Learned this song last weekend. Fell in love with it.

Watch The North Wind Rise
Jorma Kaukonen

Up in the morning watch the north wind rise
Bringin' fire down from the skies
Hey, we got a long way to go
So keep on lovin' and make it slow

We're goin' home
Won't be long, hearin' my song
That lovin' you ain't
Never done no wrong

Well, night time falls like the crack of doom
Fills the sky with a shinin' moon
Silver siren just got to please
Well, fuel me with lovin' down in my knees

We're goin' home
Won't be long, hearin' my song
That lovin' you ain't
Never done no wrong

Well, babe be mine one more time
Run your hand down my spine
If you say we've got to go
Take some time for just one more

Well, up in the mornin' watch the north wind rise
Bringin' fire down from the skies
Hey, we got a long way to go
So keep on lovin' and make it slow

We're goin' home
Won't be long, hearin' my song
That lovin' you ain't
Never done no wrong

Well, babe be mine one more time
Run your hand down my spine
And baby, well, if you say we've got to go
Take some time for just one more

Well, babe be mine one more time
Run your hand down my spine
And mama, well, if you say we've got to go
Take some time for just one more

https://youtu.be/cVs_rJdXxX0

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How best to describe a weekend at Fur Peace Ranch?

1000 words!

Spent a thrilling 4 days at Fur Peace Ranch. Took a bass course from Jack Cassidy. My son was brave enough to join me. It is amazing how four days can be crystal clear and foggy at the same time. The overwhelming overload of information swims downstream faster than Mohammad Ali jab. Your drowning, unable to take a shallow breath, crashing into bruising obstacles along the way, grasping wildly to reach any resting point or refuge, confused and scared. Then, like 10,000 piece jigsaw puzzle exploding in your head, one by one things float down and fall in place and start to fit together. Even though you are light years away from completing, you can see the basic outline of the foundation.

Big strong foundations are the key to building skyscrapers. And for playing music. Jack taught us three songs and Jorma taught his class the same three songs. The last day we paired up and played together, a guitar student with a bass student. I might add that my son's guitar player was Jorma! All of the songs were simple 1/4/5 progressions. I played a simple 1/5 bass line with a few walk downs and walk ups. I was invisible because I did not make a mistake and played within my neophyte ability. Sounded OK. As I grow as a bass player, I will spice up the gumbo when it serves the song. My strong foundation will allow many floors to be built.

The beauty of the process is this. The song sounds just fine if you play basic stuff. Jack would play the song using only root notes. Then he would play it with a tiny bit more spice. And so on. And so on. Till a version was played that was mind and finger scrambling. So you would walk out of a session with a mind numbing number of ways to play the song. Arrangements that have come from 60 years of playing bass. Thanks Jack!

Dazed and confused. Then the clouds slowly clear and you start to digest the song organically. The fertilizer kicks in on your way home and the comprehension of the lessons sprouts and branches.

Fur Peace Ranch is a magical place.

Your soul gets a full recharge.

Yep.

I am two days late on my journal entry.

Birthdays, food shows, rehearsals and performances.

I am amazed at how busy a 3/4 retired guy can get.

I stumbled across a few interesting articles:

Death Cab For Cutie is one of my favorite new bands. Check them out.

https://medium.com/cuepoint/death-cab-for-cutie-s-ben-gibbard-deconstructs-
the-science-of-songwriting-bbd085a06a2a#.jvaqkqe4w

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Beatles Songwriting Academy

http://beatlessongwriting.blogspot.com/

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Sinatra's Strangers In The Night was originally Broken Guitar.

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/12/28/nyregion/a-manhattan-theft-rooted-in-a-tale-of-songwriting-sinatra-and-cigars.html?_r=1

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I am certain all of my journal visitors read Psychology Today.

Just in case you missed this.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/brick-brick/201510/the-brutal-honesty-hard-rock-songwriting

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Wednesdays are working better than Mondays for me.

Next Wednesday new post.

Save your notebooks!

A cool look at Bob Dylan's early nates.

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/06/arts/music/bob-dylans-secret-archive.html?_r=0

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Austin Kleon offers great advice.

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I am reading my second book of The Rivers West series-The Rio Grande by Jory Sherman. I am astounded by the fresh artful metaphors Jory uses to paint scenes.
Every page has a sweet piece of word candy I have never tasted. If you like exciting  historical stories about the migration west pick 'em up.

Here is an example, the beginning of chapter eight:

     Before Matt went to sleep, the sky became a magician’s cape, rent like a shotgunned drape, starsilver leaking through the eternal fabric in tiny pinpoints of light. As always, he was absorbed in the deep mystery of the sky, the smallness of the earth in that immensity, the smallness of himself so far from heaven, the place where the spirits of the dead journeyed along the path the white men called the Milky Way. He closed his eyes and for a long time could see the afterimages on his retina, dancing like silent fireworks, silvery fountains.

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X rays of flowers.

http://hyperallergic.com/269028/a-radiologists-x-ray-photographs-of-flowers-from-the-1930s/?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Witch%20Marks%20Curses%20and%20Magic%20in%20the%20Neglected%20History%20of%20Medieval%20Graffiti&utm_content=Witch%20Marks%20Curses%20and%20Magic%20in%20the%20Neglected%20History%20of%20Medieval%20Graffiti+CID_84ecad59815bfe70aa65411b3e26ffa1&utm_source=HyperallergicNewsletter&utm_term=A%20Radiologists%20X-Ray%20Photographs%20of%20Flowers%20from%20the%201930s