is this how it starts?

 

So in my mind it was a freak of nature. My best friend for over 30 years dies. Along with his passing the music died, the massive exchange of information on a daily basis died, but moreover and most importantly the humor died, which may have been a blessing because he made me laugh so hard I couldn't function. I just lay down on the ground, in pain and begging him to stop.

January 10 this year. Jeff Beck dies. Sure it's rock n roll he played but the tremolo bends, the pinched harmonics with tremolo bends and his use of slide - techniques to name a few certainly changed the face of music. Certainly changed the face of my music.

That night I watched him play Where Were You - Live at Ronnie Scott's. Sure, majestic and beautiful, but there is one moment around 1:40 when he unleashes the power. Now every time I see this I stomp my feet as a form of joyous celebration - then I start to cry.

So is this how it happens from now on? I am at the age where my heroes start dying? There is a paradox in the age of now we are living in.  I have some issue with the new Ricky Gervais series After Life. He had a computer filled with videos of the time with his former partner. The paradox is I would give anything that similar files existed in relation to my best friend. At the same time I would give anything that similar files never existed in relation to my best friend

Putting it mildly (and personally), a case of information overload. Messages sent, messages delivered and Youtube videos to say the least. The temptation to become a glutton of grief.

But let's just come out and say it. Fuck it, I'd rather have them both back alive and no more information about my heroes dying from now on please.

the tenants

So these three people moved out some time ago and they were replaced by a family getting their house renovated but, needless to say, I  don't really miss them.

Here's the schedule. From midday until about five the friends of tenant#1 came to visit, tenant#2 between seven and ten and tenant#3 nine until all hours. On the weekends all bets were off with overlap occuring between all three groups of guests from the early hours of the morning until late.

Now here's the thing. All three tenants and their respective associates domain was the back yard and their tool of choice for relaxation was the bong. As the next door neighbor in this scenario, I had no issue with this form of herbal relaxation; the constant playing of Pink Floyd and music of the like wasn't loud but got a bit repetitve after some time. My main concern was the wind direction and the subsequent smell.

It was something I could tolerate until one event in history until one event changed everything - the pandemic. Due to circumstaces beyond me they must have changed dealers; as a side note I never thought that the pandemic would cause drug dealers to deliver. On a semi-regular basis, the groups of tenants would stand outside the local Centrelink in pairs, with one of them getting into a car that pulled up for a couple of minutes. Call me a bigot as far as evidence goes, but I observed this going on for a few months as I passed them when walking down tht street to do some shopping.

The smell had changed from the tolerable to the repugnant. This was totally different as this shit was strong and stunk like crazy. Wind direction made no difference and I was confronted with this stench for at least twelve hours a day,  seven days a week..

I had no desire to get anyone in trouble but this was becoming intolerable. Out of curiosity, I went to the local police station - to get a drug test. Twelve hours a day,  seven days a week of this pungent smell I thought surely this must have had some effect on me. I told the police that I don't smoke, I don't drive and I have none of the material in my possession, either in my house or on my person. Well it was a good thing I didn't drive because the test came back positive. I explained the situation to the constable and now a number of other officers after such a strange request; without giving any addresses, be it mine or theirs, they said there was little they could do in relation to what people get up to in the privacy of their own home. I had no evidence that they were dealing, but I sure  had plenty of evidence they were smoking.

A couple of weeks later there was a strange amount of activity going on next door. I walked to the shops and two of the tenants were standing in the front yard. I asked what was happening.

"We're moving out."

Curiosity got the better of me and thus came the immediate response-

"All of you?"

"Yes."

Then it hit me. At last I was free.

dream #1

                                                                                                                                                                                          

                                             

So the other night I as I slept I remembered Wayne was gone. I thought all of this deep trauma had disappeared; he had passed away in October of last year - I had stopped crying most nights in March. Sure, I still miss him, but now in May I thought at least I was coping.

Then - it started.

It was like he was still here. I could not remember the specific environment, but he said something funny and we both let out a slight but collective giggle. Then we couldn't let it go.

The enormity of what he said started to build and we both started laughing harder. Then it developed into him laughing at me - and me laughing at him.

Maybe he had a little more self control than I did, as I fell to the ground. I was laughing so hard I couldn't form the sound of laughter. I just lie on the ground and fill my lungs with air every minute or so, gasping to feed the pain of my stomach and lungs pulsating. How can I describe it? The agony of intense humour. The occasional begging of "please stop", coupled with the phenomenon of us collectively wiping way our tears.

Then I woke up. 

Tears of joy rapidly turned into tears of pain and remorse. I was sweating like something that sweats profusely then I sat up, my head in my hands.

As selfish as this may seem, I couldn't give a fat rats ass about any other ability, and it is not lost me that his talent on guitar was more than substantial.

He was a genius of joy and fuck it, I want him back.

right now

 

well, it's official. I am one of the worst people on the world. I'm not anti - vaccine, nor pro - vaccine. I just want more information. To be so arrogant to be informed. The saddest thing is the amount of information I have been sent about so many points of view. Some saying get vaccinated but be careful because that is no guarantee. The amount of cases fully vaccinated but still getting the virus

20 years of Afghanistan. What was that all about? I don't want death to America, they are doing a good enough job of that on their own.

The climate crisis is real. So what are we collectively going to do about it? Keep the same mindset? Scotty from marketing is so useless and exhausting. He really loves statements about confidentiality to give him the chance to say and do nothing.

Businesses locally have closed up even before lock down. Sydney Road has felt like a Sunday for months. Today was interesting catching the tram to Coburg. So many people not wearing a mask. It makes me wonder why I bother.

who I miss

 

so let's make a list of those who I miss

Ian Dury - a wholesale celebration of funk

George Harrison - Photograph. I know it was sung by Ringo but what an amazing song 

Christopher Hitchens  - obsessed with what he would say now

George Orwell - what would he write about now?

Charlie Murphy - beyond funny just telling stories

Jon Hassell - part of me thought he would live forever

George Michael -love the solo record but look him up on Youtube - hilarious.

Bill Withers - just look up live on the BBC

Marvin Gaye - got to give it up (both parts) and sexual healing

I am sure there are more but that is enough so far

the ultimate dilemma

 

so here is the problem. I have been attending a psychologist. the one main problem is this. they ask the question how are you at the start of the session. how am I? I am having a bloody session with a psychologist! how the hell do you think I am?

but then there is the paradox. part of me thinks if there was a moment where there was a truly confronting question and I replied both candidly and honestly, then the response was wow, that is beyond mental. I would find some solace in that. It comes across as having some inherent honesty and actually addresses whatever the issue at hand.

another thing that they would never say that I would dearly love to hear is the words I guess you're screwed then. or words to that effect.

the dilemma

 today I was faced with the worst dilemma. Between hoping for luck to come any way to anyone and bureaucratic nonsense .It happened with my sister and a visit to the supermarket. Four days ago, where she was identified in a virus hot zone and a supermarket. That she took so long to get tested and subjected to federal nonsense just added insult to injury. The worst injury is all we can hope for is luck that this thing will cease. This is exhausting and makes no sense, without going into details but especially after parliament question time. Just get a perspective on this damn thing. There was a place I visited once and there was one infectious place in it. The Fairfield Infectious Diseases Hospital. Wasn't it once purpose built? Isn't it still upstanding? Can it still function in some way? Give us a break.