Presently pictures of past

A years gone by. Bye-bye, bygones. A good time to reflect on twelve lunar cycles, runnin' around the sun. Hard to focus, fuzzy ideas, mental diarrea. Must've been the eclipse or a meteor shower, I feel the power in this final hour. Or maybe the cosmic events within. This year's song began on such a high note, hit parade, number one without no bullets. So inspired, all things are possible when good will outweighs bad deeds. To be sure, the skies were darkening with clouds of uncertainty, but it was going to be alright. We'd all weathered storms before. The band played on, even as bad deals were going down. I was caught in a tidal wave of good tidings, never thought that the shoreline would be so fraught with who knows what.

The muse of blues was once again flowing from my fingertips. I went down to the crossroads and was lifted off my knees into a breeze of free-flowing musicality that ran through me like the spirit of an old friend long gone. Felt like a deep freeze had unfroze with a thaw that inspired awe. Memories of days wrapped in reverie of joyful noise, my fingers flitted across and flirted with those strings. Good vibrations indeed.

It was then that I felt the shift, turned inward, re-direction, tugging at my heartstrings. Damn you, Philo Farnsworth! Talk about the genie and the bottle. More like the GE and the throttle. Turn it off, screamed Howard Beale, he was the real deal, all the rest were mad, not he. That tube is as addictive as any substance, unsubstantial, a box of bad moody blood, flowing out into my living room, up to my knees,now it's at my throat, too late, like the blob it's got me in it's gob.

I ain't no saint, fed on the boob as surely as mother's milk, I sat transfixed, eyes wide,Howdy Doody, Buffalo Bob, The Merry Mailman. Who were these people, smiling at me like I was their long-lost loved one, showing me pictures of fantastical places and smiling faces? Rare Earth got it right,too late to stop now. I believe I was falling in love with phantoms, but they liked me, they really liked me.The pitch was caught and the runner was out. As this embryo evolved from boy to man, from band to band, brother in hand, the waters were choppy but we learned to navigate the negative undertow. Now, washed up on the sands of time, the weight of years and tears and slings and arrows of outrageous fortune bending my back and bowing my head, where was the refuge, the salvation for a soul unstrung from the body and the bridge to a tuneless tomb of timidity and terror that buries me in that lone prairie without my saddle pal oh,wherefore Art though Wes? Led through uncharted territory without any ideas as my maps. We'll meet on Jagged Edges, soon. A reunion, a community of souls, but are we still united? State your case for the human race, we're in it to win it, , somethings won but somethings lost. At such a cost. My loss is your gain. Mark Twain turnin' in his tomb, weary of the irony, seems like an eternity.

twelve months at a time.