I didn’t write yesterday. I was in one of my “blue periods” like Picasso. Just like. It was so bad I was unable to see the sick humor of my situation. “Situation” really is such a misnomer, isn’t it? A situation is only a piece of time. It’s long overdue that I start referring to my situation as my life. And get each other properly introduced. Hi How Are You?
Come now. Do I really think that those researchers are going to find a fix for me? (“Please Mr. Postman look and see…”) To use one of my mother-in-law’s favorite expressions, anyone who believes that, poke out your right eye. So blue, blue, my world is blue…What the fuck is it with these songs that have no relation to one another. Except they’re real sad. Aha! Caught you! Thought you’d sneak out on me, didn’t you? Well fuck you, I got it, and I got it.
I was reading the blurb that accompanies most albums on itunes or Amazon. Not important why, but I had to have, “Sing This All Together (See What Happens). It lives on Their Satanic Majesties Request. I don’t have the album. I don’t want it. Not my cup of tea. But the descriptive bit speaks very positively about how the Stones used that album to experiment with their music by leaving out the blues which, at least to my untrained ears, goes part and parcel with the band. I always thought Their Satanic…to be an overreach and especially stands out as such as it was released not long after the still fucking amazing, incredible Sgt. Pepper’s…Uh-Uh Mick and Keith. Stick with what you’re good at. And they did and I think that in doing so, released the greatest music of The Stones oeuvre. (Don’t you love that you can use oeuvre in the same sentence with The Rolling Stones?) Hell, they’re my favorite Stones albums. So sue me. Blues rules.
I find it interesting that it’s so easy and such a relief to write about music. I’ve kept Franny really close to the vest today. I know. I apologize. To give you all an idea of what we’re dealing with: I’ve been feeling like a completely useless lump of flesh. “Lump of flesh” is not my creation. It’s a twist on the “Angry Inch” from Hedwig and the Angry Inch. (Asshole that I was, it was being performed mere minutes from my home, and I had no clue how remarkable it was. So it closed before I figured out.) But the movie is beautiful, painful, and so very sad. For Hedwig, her one inch mound of flesh is what’s left from a botched sex change. For me, I’m the lump of flesh. Listening to the soundtrack makes me cry. The song with the animation accompanying it, The Origin of Love,” is genius and makes me cry even more. I need to cry.
I am welling up. Writing about Hedwig and listening to Sympathy for the Devil can do that. A strange fact of nature. And I still have to figure why life is worth living. I haven’t gotten there yet. And let those tears come hot and heavy.