Semi Autobiographical Notes and Observations by an
American Poet and Singer Songwriter
1. GEOMETRY continuous circling flat curve:
1. majority: a large number
2. dominance or superiority:.
I have been and still am many things.
Perhaps herein lies my dilemma one of many spirals; leading to an endless diversion of the grass is always greener. What lies beyond that field there or that river over yonder? Be right back, I’m just gonna peek over the top of that fence around the corner. Meanwhile in another part of town, life goes on and year’s rifle by some set goals hit milestones and move on.
To this very day I keep peeking over fences, walking into scenes and searching in the shadows for something I’m sure I’ll recognize.
I was born back in 1961, I’ve caught some glimpses, but I haven’t quite seen it yet in a clear crisp focus. It’s smoky in here. (Someone please open that window)
Husband, father, lover, friend, writer of songs, words and snatches of wind, marketer, businessman, ice cubes to Eskimos wasn’t it?
Loser and keeper of faiths gone by, who am I he asks. Who am I?
There lies that eternal question right…?
Don’t we all want to know?
What’s my purpose and what is my place?
I’ve kept notes the last 26 or so years, lost more then I’ve kept, but for lack of a road map or something like it, I thought I would sketch out my past years by going back and going though my writings, ramblings songs and poems. Even some cassettes I’ve made that hold words and laughter of many a highway friend and nightrider along the way. The journey has logged many a mile and still we ride onward.
“It’s a road of reflection that tells me my name and what is my name?
I haven’t yet found, I know it no better then where I am bound”
Some songs took 3 minutes others 20 years, sewn together with a word found in a timeless forgotten place that peeks out and fits like a glove.
I’ve had periods of prolific abundance, words poring out of me and periods of complete desert dryness, cackling dry throated worthless garbage unfit to be shared with my muse, in fact I’m sure I caught her laughing. From the green pastures of inspiration, to the old ghost town of dry gulch county.
The road is long full of detours with the end nowhere in sight. (And that’s fine)
All the pieces are here. e.e.cummings began as an excuse for me to not use proper punctuation but, the meaning found its way to me and the attitude prevailed, I got “it” and I kept and used “it”. Ferlingetti, Jazz, Jacky Jack, Hemmingway, Zimmerman, Steinbach, Kerouac, Asimov, Van Ronk, Ali, Steel Bottleneck, Cottages, late night TV, Gilligans Island, John Wayne Young Tony Curtis, California, Texas, Jersey, boots, boats, planes, rivers and wheat fields, streams and railroad steam, comics and hero’s, the obvious and not so obvious, after dark and guitar strings, boardwalks, fine wine, Jon Daniel’s and wild things that all are a part of this parade. I’m taking a walk back though and grabbing parts to secure a new foundation. It’s the halfway mark, mile marker 50.
That’s what this effort, this story is to be. A stroll back through where I been, but in no order, I may write a new part and place it in. I’ll place dates where I find them and copy verbatim the words, to see if they catch the time and place I first caught them as they danced by. It’s a performance art book of words along a time line seeking a place to call home.
Good luck, please follow the bouncing ball.
All men suffer of loneliness
At one time or another
All men feel so alone
At one time or another
At one time or another
A man must be loved.
By one - or another.
The Sum of..
I wonder as I am here of things seen and done, of things taken and given, mended and broke up, twisted and straightened, strength and weakness,
Strength given and taken and mended and broke up
What equals the sums that haven’t been yet?
The ones no one sees?
What are these things no one wants to count?
Riding the twister 9/7/1983
There’s no safety net, no rubber walls to bounce on,
haywire jubilation sinks downward, stops stalwart riding the twister.
Leaving behind traces of dusty floors on floors of dust
Space has landed complete.
A proud but dark moment, history progresses, while progress is history
Shouts are in the wind as echoes are erased permanently on film to show our children how we did not listen.
How we silently preach what we sometimes practice in the beds and living rooms of America.
All hail the box of many lands, enjoy your success as it lasts
Until the explosions you show reach Americas living rooms.
Until they are seen in the bedroom window
Until we fall safely to a net balanced carefully on a rubber wall.
People wait for succeeding kings
And people wait for what tomorrow brings, and diamond rings
Do you know what this means?
An all those dreams and all them strings
Got no top or no bottom
Then when all seems forgotten
Them strings are pulled tight
And then you try with all your might………………………………
Shipwrecked in solitude
Well I been shipwrecked in solitude for too long now
My sails been ripped by the wind
Blowin straight from the north
Like a hurricane
Like a whirlwind
Like a whippin chain
Like a bowling pin
I been worn by the sand too long
Blown me down
I been raised like a flag
Then sunk like a ship
Frowned like a clown and up again.
Like a sleeping horse, like a bird with bad wings
Like a red explosion of many things
I’m still standin
I been shipwrecked in solitude
Had my sails blown in
My stowaways discovered
Been dropped by the wind, been picked up again
Rough seas ahead with a wind behind
I can make it to the next shore, without even tryin
Walkin like a ghost wind
Like army jackets and the smell of salt air
Like I don’t know when, but I know when its there
And voices don’t stop, all different tongues
And the night…oh the night
Just open space waiting to be filled
And silence hangin ‘round always bein killed
By voices, and those kids always runnin around
Like tomorrows got no end
‘cause it doesn’t y’know
Tomorrow always begins and nothin else means nothin
No, not to them, not to them
So let yourself go tonight
Today may explode, when the time is right, just let it go..
What rain is there to come?
Oh tell me so I’ll know.. Oh tell me so I’ll know…
Windows got filled by your flowerpots and the sidewalk you stare at all
Day long, all day long. Rain? What rain?
Here she comes that girl again,
Lets not ignore her tonight. let her smile around
This rubber band town
Snappin and whippin like a slingshot, but we’ll go higher
Then any other shot ‘till I fly right over the wall out of this town
No not around, no more, no more.
Dining with tails & models
“Countless times and time s again” and what is the specialty of the house tonight Madame?
“Well sir, steak and lobster tail caught right here in Wakiki, the lobster is from a preserve, you only get the tail the rest is set free, and would you like a shoebox with your meal?”
“No maem, I’ll finish it here, can I have the bean soup please? Thank you”.
And we’re off and running, and what were the circumstances surrounding the models death anyway?, Did she like to read late at night?
Miles to Go 1996 (From the Album “Rudy’s Thread 1997 by Ronnie Brandt)
I’m Free to Ramble well I’m free to roam I’m miles out here far from my home
Got a restless heart, and a troubled soul
I got miles behind me miles to go
I Know a good man, he can’t find a job,
His families prayin’ its getting mighty tough
Hard road to travel tough roe to hoe
He got miles behind him miles to go
We grow enough food here to feed the whole world,
Why’s there a hungry child anywhere That still can’t fond a meal?
Something’s wrong here, hey don’t ya know ?
We got miles behind us, miles to go
Got to get on back to our same old used to be
Before we move to far ahead and just can’t see
It ain’t no big deal really ain’t no kinda mystery
Its al right there for us to find..
We all search for love, pray for peace,
Look for purpose, it hangs just out of reach,
We all gonna reap exactly what we sow
We got miles behind us Miles to go, We got miles behind us Miles to go
And the score is set
The tables are cleared
And the dancers come in and begin the show
And the curtain is raised the music begins
Fir the first time in years he see and he knows
Knows how quick ya gotta admit
How quick ya gotta see
What returns doesn’t
Will go free
And at the end of the show
When the lights are turned off from high up above
They say goodnight and walk out of the club
The night is done..or just begun
Whatever it is, its never the same
Whatever it is, its callin my name.
July 7, 2000 from the street s of Washington D.C.
Roads still traveled ,sketchy visions of the nations capitol – clean and brilliant, trees thick, the road closed, steps almost drunken and stumbled – over through the sea – Iwo Jima and Lincoln resting majestically in the eternal seat, a flame flickers.
Memory and description, still stumblin’ etched in stone are the names along the mall are echos
The city breathes and shadows are everywhere – 2 million feet marched – a dream becomes real, yet still. Just an echo.
Cheering crowds and songs of freedom cling to these walls- The reflection screams back at us as we glide through the streets – the still July night breathes steady,
We have not left you
For we never really arrived
Our voices still cut through the still air, our eyes still see
Our ears still hear the cries
Let freedom ring
The bell tomes as though padded like a piano key, lying before the great dome the American dream still sings, while the voices of our fathers,
Still echo –
Out of the tunnels of commerce into the fields of green marshes. Of what value do they place upon me?
Of what consequence should it matter?
When will I learn?
Have I bitten off more than I can chew?
Must find a steady bead and draw upon it and yield at no time.
A moment to thank a selfish muse.
Consider myself insanely lucky, certainly have deep lows like everyone, regrets more than a few. Music has saved my life, figuratively, actually, completely. That statement is not made lightly. If not for a gypsy song and the neon lights, nowhere is where my boots would stand.
I meet & know people of all walks of life, the only happy ones I know in their heart of hearts are those that follow their passion and don’t get lost in the web of others approvals and dissent.
There’s road maps of empty treasure at every turn. There are boundless riches in the out of tune songs , broken words, after hours shot glasses and back room secrets & jokes. An empty room, stairs and a table of friends sharing laughter and adventure. That is where the true treasure lies. In the songs and tales old souls gathered at a table and exposed under floodlights between each shadow. That’s where I live these days.
Years lost in the rat race choir where there was no voice, no sound, no vision to pull or sing for, dreams abandoned, so it was. Then the old grey cat creeping down the hall, where the hells that ticking noise coming from? Then she appears and calls me in, that selfish muse, That bitch doesn’t want me anymore than I do her, I coulda walked away.. ( yeah right)
Then you make a deal, you know the cost, take a shot, put down the glass .. keep to the trail and watch the sun rise more times than watch it set. all I can do is continue on.. and pick up that God damn guitar. Yep, I’m lucky.