Sunday, June 25, 2017

The Showdown ... Didn't Show | Life, the Universe, and Everything

There was to be a showdown for wtfizzit today but, despite earnest efforts, it didn't happen so I still don't know wtfizzit.

The day began with misplacing the iPhone and that brought a glorious period of self-abuse in the thinking, "How could you be such a blithering and clumsy idiot to lose this thing the first time you take it out of the house?"

Due to the nature of the showdown, I couldn't go back to discover whether I had dropped the phone outside the car and going back would have made no difference because it was raining so hard the phone would have been nothing more than an aquarium ornament by the time I found it.

This wouldn't be much of a story if the iPhone had not subsequently been located but that made for a glorious secondary non-showdown.

Note:  I had searched the car several times but finally found it had wheedled its way into a particularly clever place beside the seat from where I could gingerly wheedle it back out again with two fingers.  That nasty bitch had found just the place in which even a flashlight didn't help in locating it.

The best part is the medicine has a high probability of arriving on Monday and that has nothing to do with a dumb ass code for cannabis since ganja I got; it's the medicine I don't got.  The medicine is not for pain and the next move on that will be to opiates and that's when things get to Life, the Universe, and Everything since opiates are just a flatline waiting to happen.

Note:  I don't take any analgesic except aspirin and that's been a Silas Rule for decades.  Some exceptions have been permitted for surgical extremes but not otherwise and nothing has been warranted due to any surgery in Texas despite the number of them.

Many freaks took that attitude and some number swore off any kind of illegal intoxicants but a good many more kept the ganja while throwing out any consideration of soulsucker drugs (i.e. heroin, cocaine, etc).

Cadillac Man and I were talking of imminent croakage a few days ago and there's no change to the perspective it's a relatively trivial thing since that moment is binary insofar as you are or you ain't.  The part leading up to that may suck but that's not dying; that's being sick which anyone will hate.

C.M. is more optimistic than I for anything beyond that point but I see that as largely irrelevant since whatever comes of that nature will come anyway ... you still have to get dead to get there, regardless of where it is, what it is, etc.  My purpose isn't to refute anything whatsoever; it's only that anything like that is also in the wtfizzit category.

My general thinking of Heaven is wtf will people do there when many can't think what to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon.  Many go to social networks and pretend they're happening but, you and I, we've been through that and we already know our fate.  We don't need any false illusions and the hour's getting late.

If we're going to simply fuck off, we will do it and shamelessly without any need to pretend it's socially-redeeming in any way.  Fucking off does appear to be the order of the day but it's deuced difficult to tell what day.  That does permit the perennially human illusion that anything a long way off is never going to happen.

There is, therefore, no death spiral and the biggest thought is about playing "I Love Rats" just because it's loud, deliberately mindless, and is an exceptional gas to play.  I know it will hurt and my fingers will be whining like CIA choirboys but they will get over it.  I want to play the Galaxy Guitar when she's so hot there will be feedback if I take my hand away from the strings for a moment.  The guitar will pick up the vibration through the air and then ride 'em, cowboy.

Cadillac Man also located a tape from 1972 in which he and I tried to jam.  The effort was abortive but highly cool to hear and, dayum, that was a long time back.  Even with my stoner arithmetic, that comes to forty-five years and ain't that a privilege to behold.  That any friendship holds up so long is a marvel and my checkered association with electric guitars goes back almost as long.

C.M. needs a chart to play and many people are taught that way which has been difficult for me to reach since I have always played the other way around in which I didn't want a chart.  There's no call on which works best although a combination is invariably better.  If you will live by the chart then possibly your future is as a concert pianist or something of that nature.  If you will live by pitch alone then there's no telling what will come since recent research has shown perfect pitch is much more common than previously realized.

Note:  that research was published in the last week or so but I didn't think it would spin out to an article so I didn't retain the link.

Tugboat Annie:  so the situation sounds difficult but marginally tolerable and we already knew it was difficult and marginally tolerable.

You're reading me five by five, Tugboat Annie.

Tugboat Annie:  what does that mean?

I still don't have any idea.  I heard it in "Aliens" just before Tugboat Annie was eaten by a space alien.  Do keep an eye on that rearview cam, darlin'.


Laughing Gecko said...

Hey, I still have your Gibson L-6S from about 1976. This was your period of having a new guitar every few days it seemed on Hosea.

Peas InOurThyme said...

I still remember that beautiful girl and it was a mistake to sell since I did go looking for another L-6S years later but not the right one. I'm glad she's there for you but would snap her up in a second if I could.

Laughing Gecko said...

I'll leave her to you in my will. But you gotta outlive me! haha

Peas InOurThyme said...

There may not seem much evidence of it but I am tryin'. Ha!