...
I finally mined my mind well enough to dredge up the artist and the song title of a piece I've loved for more'n those fifty years about which I was earlier griping. It sounded a lot better on my car stereo driving south through the Avenue of the Giants to get to Billy's last stand more than a year ago now.
It hit after so many decades like a present for pain from the buddhas.
On the same drive and at about the same moment I saw that gorgeous Porsche driving north across from me.
You maybe think I'm nuts to drink this blue shit every day to clean out my mangled and mucked mitochondria, but, well, it may be beginning to work. See, just like with Pink Floyd, I knew all the music, but not the artists or the song names for most of my life. I never paid any attention to that stuff, because we had reliable radio stations and I had friends with reliable record collections.
How was I supposed to guess I'd need that information later in life? I'd even waited for the DJ to come back on and tell me who and what it was so I could find it again after the rosters of emergencies were behind me. Billy's demise, after already being almost beyond functionality, cooked those bits of intel. I just dug them back out of the old garbled banks.
Better late than never.
pipe up any time....
