Reply to Monique

This is the funniest and perhaps wisest line I've heard recently:

"Have drastically reduced my work load and stress levels this year since my house burned down."

I can relate to that in a way, without having had the fire. I am doing well, thank you! I'm only 80% retired at present (I still come in 2 days every other week) but it's good to operate at such a reduced level, after so many high intensity years, and have a lot of time for myself and other pursuits. The clock is ticking and we don't have forever to do what's personally meaningful. I'm not taking any more forensic cases and am leaning towards retiring from seeing patients in May. My license is renewed until July 2019, so I could still do some professional work if I choose to after that. It's difficult to let go of my practice entirely but it has to happen one of these days. I think I will be glad when I do it.

It's surprising there are so few books about PTSD happening to doctors. No one is immune. PTSD with therapists who deal with trauma is talked about in professional PTSD circles. I've been fortunate not to develop it with all the terrible things I've looked at and listened to. I believe I was protected from it because I have the will and desire to look at the world honestly without fearing my own thoughts and feelings and because I didn't take it on myself to be responsible for what happened or for somehow making it "ok." Humility is the beginning of wisdom, I like to say. Humans also do a lot of good and cool things and we can only screw the universe up so much.

What did happen to me was "compassion fatigue" where I couldn't feel for people as I'm used to. That's what told me I had to cut back, which resulted in me regaining that capacity again. I view the path to inner peace and reconciliation with self and world as a life task. I don't look for some final stage where one becomes the Buddha, I'm ok with staying on the path and seeing what happens. Of course, if I do wake up to enlightenment one day, I'm sure it will be interesting.

So keep working on it. I didn't get an attachment with your message. Could you send me the link again? It's good hearing from you and you're welcome to remain in touch if and when I do retire fully.

Yours truly,

Owen

Notes on Bob Dylan's "Chimes of Freedom"

A few days ago, something got me thinking about Dylan's well known 1964 composition. Friends of my sister, Scottie, who was known as Kay at the time, introduced me to early Bob Dylan around 1965 when I was 13 years old. I was a huge fan of the Byrds from the release of Mr. Tambourine Man and I may have heard the Byrds' 1965 cover of Chimes of Freedom first. In any case, I acquired and listened repeatedly to Bringing it all back home, Highway 61 Revisited and older LPs, as well. Ballad of Hollis Brown, The gates of Eden and The times they are a-changin' stick out in my memory as spare and riveting songs that made a lasting impression. I've often said, "Bob Dylan confirmed that things were as screwed up as I thought they were." Dylan's creative us of language to create poetic images delighted and amazed me. To this day, I know all the words of Mr. Tambourine Man, Stuck inside of Mobile (with the Memphis Blues again), I want you, Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat and most of the words to many others.

I don't recall what got me started the other day, but Chimes of Freedom stayed in my consciousness. Fifty-three years after its release, the song is current, timeless. I listened to the original, some outtakes, the Byrds' live and studio versions and I watched a video of Bruce Springsteen performing it in Sweden.  Although it's difficult to shake the 4/4 rock beat favored in most covers, I found myself playing around with the song going back to the 3/4 time signature of Dylan's 1964 recordings. I began developing a concept of how I could sing the entire song. Most covers omit some of the verses, particularly verse 4 ("Through the wild cathedral evening....") To fit the song onto Top 40 radio, the Byrds sang only verses 1, 5 and 6. I suppose I'm a purist but it feels wrong to omit any lyrics in a song of this magnitude. After two days of obsession, I began recording my version, adding a drum loop, a bass track and faint electric guitar chords to the hypnotic waltzing of my acoustical guitar. I managed a rendition I feel good about. I shared it with one of my favorite people in the world and she liked it.

I also wrote the following analytic notes:

In the first verse, Dylan presents the listener in three lines with the vignette of a group of friends caught outside at night during a thunderstorm in what I presume to be New York City. They "duck inside the doorway" for shelter as they wait out the storm. The narrative begins with Dylan's awe "as majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds." While appreciating the power and beauty, Dylan sees greater meaning. He is thinking about the invalidating oppression inflicted on the innocent as the price of civilized life, the overwhelming suffering that compassionate people feel helpless to address. The lightning and thunder appear to him as "the chimes of freedom flashing" to affirm the downtrodden of the world, the few who are widely known and the vast majority who are anonymous. Against the backdrop of nature's power Dylan begins a roll call of the marginalized, the oppressors appearing only indirectly, anonymous middlemen in the calling out of humanity's indifference to humanity. The verse flows seamlessly into images of war turned ironically into salutes to "the warriors whose strength is not to fight," to "the refugees" and, "to each and every underdog, soldier in the night." Seven lines have framed the narrative with the eighth setting up the repetitive, echoing theme, "An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing."

The song winds in waltz time slowly through six verses, each acknowledging and affirming a class of unappreciated heroes while celebrating the "wild cathedral evening" with its "mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail." Nature is revealing itself the greatest of artists: To the delight of the group of friends huddling inside a doorway, "the sky cracked it's poems" and "the rain unraveled tales."

As he reflects compassionately upon many embodiments of the unjust suffering, Dylan at the same time is uplifted by the grandeur of the storm, in comparison to which human artifice and superficial religion, "the clinging of the church bells" celebrating a wedding, are puny, blown away by the breeze while the lighting and thunder still reverberate through the skies.

Dream

I had a recent primary care visit where I discussed my dysthymia with Harold Brandt, my long time primary care physician, and Hillary Gelpi, NP. whom I've been seeing more often than Harold. But Harold considers himself to be as competent as a psychiatrist in treating mental disorders. Hillary suggested trying Welbutrin, which I thought was a good plan. Harold, however, wanted to increase the trazadone I've been taking for many years and see if it helps or just sedates me further. So I went up from 150mg to 200mg HS. I've definitely been sleeping more soundly and maybe feeling a little more energetic during the day. I'm also experiencing feeling loggerheaded in the morning as well as having more vivid dreams that I regularly remember. This morning I dreamed I was one of three or four leaders conducting an event for college athletes. The young men and women were filtering in and lining up at the back of a large classroom. One of the group leaders asked who was going to facilitate the event. I stepped forward confidently. My idea was to discuss parallels between athletics and war. I began by asking for a show of hands: How many of you run track? How many are football players. Before I could get very far, a white male student who stood out as older and less collegiately stylish than everyone else, began a loud and distracting conversation with another student, asking about something unrelated to the event. I was very annoyed and I asked him if he realized he was being rude. The man was hostile, showing no intention to comply. "OK," I said, you'll have to leave the room now. The man refused. "That's it," I said, announcing that the event was over and dismissing the students. As I walked away, I felt I had been impulsive and could have taken a lower key approach to the problem, possibly getting better results. I realize now as I record the dream, I didn't confer with the other leaders at the event but simply assumed control.

Is Roquan Smith the second greatest Dawg of the modern age?

I'm generally not fond of "who was the greatest?" arguments, since there are many greats and many ways to be great. However, some players (whether it be football or guitars) do stand out for their combination of superhuman performance and charismatic personalities. I had the opportunity to see Herschel in action close up only once but it was a memorable once: Oct 10, 1981 against Ole Miss at Oxford. I had been in grad school away from Athens but did my internship in Jackson, MS. A friend on internship from UGA suggested we get tickets and drive up to see the Dawgs. Herschel carried 41 times for 265 yards that day leaving the Rebel students chanting his name by the end of the game. It's a great accomplishment to have a seasoned writer like Bradley rank you just below number 34. Roquan Smith is an amazing linebacker and he certainly stands out on a top flight UGA defensive unit. It's a lot more difficult to do that at his position that at RB. I have no objection to Bradley's weighing in- all I will say is, I'm really glad we have Roquan Smith on our side going up against another tremendous player, Baker Mayfield (I'm watching a replay of the Big 12 championship game as I write), in the biggest game we've played since... well, last week.

One year after my fellow citizens elected Donald Trump

At the one year point in his term, Trump so far has not brought down disaster as I predicted in the essay I wrote just before the election. The stock market has done great during his first year (benefiting investors such as me) and the economy has continued the slow pace of recovery that marked Obama's two terms. Despite the GOP having majorities in both houses of Congress, Trump and the GOP leadership have so far failed in getting significant laws passed, for which I'm grateful given the bills they attempted. If the so-called "tax reform" bill passes, it will help the rich (including Trump himself) and harm many people on the bottom while vastly increasing the US budget deficit. We aren't in a major new war. Manufacturing and mining jobs lost to global economic forces have not so far been restored. Trump's behavior as POTUS has been ridiculous and divisive. The Mueller investigation has indicted 3 people affiliated with his presidential campaign with others (e.g., Flynn) sure to follow. Whether members of his administration and/or family will be indicted remains to be seen. Trump has attempted to undo everything Obama did administratively, putting people of dubious character and qualifications into top post and implementing policies on the environment, education, immigration, trade, and the internet (I'm probably leaving some important areas out) that I believe will produce very negative results over time for our country and the world at large. A moderate Republican senator characterized Trump as "a toxic clown." Having a President with his character defects is dangerous and destructive to our future. May we muddle through until wisdom prevails.

Re: Dr. Morpheus Rides Again (Owen's reply to Lilli)

Lilli,

I wanted you to be aware of my plans; and, as Tim and I develop a concept for this project, I would greatly appreciate hearing your thoughts. If you don't mind offering your ideas, what do you think would be a worthwhile and realistic video project? What do you think of my basic idea, to do a mini-movie for each night featuring some of the strongest performances and making each of the individual songs into a stand alone video. Also, do you have an opinion about the songs I picked out from Friday? I realize you have not listened to any recordings so you would be working from memory. I made comprehensive notes about every song from Tim's recordings and will be happy to share them (and the recordings) with you; but, I don't want to burden you with all of this as if you aren't busy with a lot of other things.

 Obviously, the next step is someone will have to do the production work on the audio element to move it beyond the raw audio recordings Tim and Dave Stammer made. I'm looking at different options for accomplishing the audio production efficiently and effectively. I'm sure you, Lilli, have the capability to do that work. If you would be interested in taking on that part of the project, we can discuss your availability and estimate of the time and cost for you to do it. (I also hope to do a video of Saturday, but one thing at a time.)

Also, as I think about it, I would need your permission (and the other musicians, as well) to use your images and musical performances in any dissemination of a video product, whether for profit or not. If you or others have any reservations about being in the proposed videos, we will need to address them. My primary motivation is to create an artistic record of what we did, addressed to whom it may concern. Making money from this is not one of my goals. I'm not opposed to the idea of making money, I'm in favor of it, but I have never even looked into how to monetize YouTube videos or other forms of putting music out there. The fact is, I'm fortunate not to need to make money from music. However, I realize everyone who played at the gig is an accomplished professional musician who deserves to be compensated for their contributions, just as Tim is. It's always important to me not to take advantage of, take for granted, or exploit in any way the work of my friends. I will also say, we have beautiful recordings of the two songs you sang and I would love to produce videos of them that could bring you to the attention of a wider audience. You and I can discuss all of this further as needed.

 That's it in a nutshell. Despite my vocal impairment, there's a lot of terrific music in the recordings of Dr. Morpheus Rides Again. They are a personally meaningful part of my musical legacy, such as it is and for whatever it's worth. I don't know if I'll ever again manage to get another group of outstanding musicians to perform my songs and arrangements. Maybe it will happen but who knows? Having done all the work to get to this point, I just hope to take what we have and put it into a form that presents it as well as possible, within the limits of my resources.

 Owen

Re: Dr. Morpheus Rides Again (Lilli's reply)

​Tim, that software sounds super cool. Owen, help me understand what input you're looking for from me....​  ​

Lilli Lewis
General Manager/Head of A&R
Louisiana Red Hot Records

Re: Dr. Morpheus Rides Again (Tim's reply)

That sounds like a great idea. Once I make the long one I can just replicate it and delete the extra songs to make the short ones. With the multiple cameras it would be easiest for me to have the tweaked audio. The software synchs the camera angles to the audio and makes one multi camera video out of it. That is the one I’ll work on so I can switch between video feeds. I’ll send you a sample I was playing with.

Tim
Tim Rogan Design, Inc.

Regarding Dr. Morpheus Rides Again (to Tim Rogan and Lilli Lewis)

Note: My two evening event, Dr. Morpheus Rides Again, took place Friday and Saturday, October 20 and 21, 2017, at the Office Lounge in Athens, Georgia. Many of my friends attended and I had Tim Rogan take video of both evenings performances. The other musicians besides me were Rick Burgess (guitar and vocals), Lilli Lewis (keyboards and vocals). Dave Stammer (bass) and John Lewis (drums). Larry Freeman sat in on congas and percussion on Friday, making a fine contribution that enhanced a number of songs noticeably.

Tim,

I've come up with an idea I want to pitch to you for your thoughts and criticisms. What about making a concert mini-documentary for each night, starting with Friday? You could produce one continuous video with a selection of the best songs and also a separate short video for each of the same individual songs. The ones I would choose for this from Friday are: Pete Love's Strut Time has come today/Are you experienced Day Tripper/Satisfaction In memory of Elizabeth Reed Sitting on top of the world Stone Free If we agree this is a workable concept, you could start to put together the video without having to have a final audio track with the music. I'm working on lining up an audio person (or people) to come up the musical soundtrack using the two separate recordings we've got, yours and Dave Stammer's. When it is ready, you could integrate it into the video footage. What do you think? I'm going to copy Lilli on this message and ask for her input, too.

At last, a Porsche

After much procrastination, I signed a purchase agreement for a 2017 Porsche Macan, their small, highly rated, sporty SUV. In development, the Macan was code-named "Cajun" which stood for Cayenne Junior. Macan, I find by looking it up, is the Javanese word for tiger. The car is beautiful, a dark metallic blue exterior with a tan and black interior scheme. I recall how strange I felt when I bought a small, pretty, factory certified used Lexus ES 300 sedan those many years ago.  I was suffering from imposter syndrome at the time, not quite able to believe I had achieved a level of success to warrant owning that sweet little vehicle. How different I feel now. So many things have fallen into place to put me in a position to buy a bottom-of-the-line Porsche SUV at age 65 but I don't question the kindness of Fate any more. I just want to make my life count from here on out. I'm aware of my mortality every day and am in pretty good acceptance. My mission is to engage passionately with life, take care of myself, help others as much as possible whether in small ways or large ones, and see what happens.

Creative dream image

Just before awakening this morning I was dreaming Mary Lou and I were at a car dealership to sign papers. A young man was sitting with a salesman as we came in. The customer was having second thoughts and was reluctant to sign his papers. As we were waiting another young man came in carrying a very unusual guitar case. It was made of brown leather in the humorous (not realistic) form of an alligator. I was amused and intrigued. The youth with the case manipulated something and the alligator appeared to be expelling something as if it were coughing it up. Surprisingly, a large model railroad car emerged followed by a second one. Someone tossed one of the toy cars to me causing me to make an awkward catch.

Several connections occur to me. I had a Lionel train set as a boy. Pieces of it remained in the attic when I was disposing of Mom's possessions. I think the train set was sold by Susan Henderson. A second connection: I have a guitar case made by Gator. I took my Fender Stratocaster in it to Georgia last week. Obviously, I'm buying a new car, a 2017 Porsche Macan, that I was hesitant to purchase because of the expense. Is this just my brain combining several images randomly or is there meaning it the dream?

About me (for Owen's Geopolitical Analysis Page)

I was born in Athens, GA 65 years ago. I came of age during the 1960s, the era of the Space Race, the Cold War, the Beatles, Vietnam, the major Civil Rights milestones psychedelic drugs and music, hippies and so on. I played electric guitar and hung out with older art students at the University of Georgia where my Dad was a statistics and research design prof in the School of Education. Along with Jon Brayton's older brother, Danny, who moved to Athens from Miami my junior year, I was the first guy at Athens High to grow long hair. From early childhood I attended the major sporting events (football, basketball and even baseball games) at UGA which got it into my blood. I know it's only a game but anyway...

Both sides of my family have roots in Alabama. My mother was born on a little farm, went to college and became a high school Home Economics teacher where she met my Dad who was the new math teacher. Six months after they married in June 1941, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. Dad got drafted and served in WW2. Through very good luck, he ended up in the Army Air Corp (now the US Air Force) as a supply officer and got sent to a safe overseas assignment in India. The trip over in a ship was the most dangerous thing he experienced and, more good luck, his convoy didn't get attacked by Japanese submarines.  Growing up in Montgomery, Alabama in an old aristocratic Southern family fallen on hard economic times, my Dad was steeped in that idealized view of the Confederacy prevalent among white Southerners. I've mentioned elsewhere Dad became fascinated with the Civil War at an early age when an elderly janitor at the YMCA told him about being a Rebel drummer boy at the Battle of Shiloh and getting wounded in the leg by a musket ball which he wore around his neck on a chain. Dad went on to be extremely well read on the Civil War with particular interest in the generals and major leaders. Dad had a realistically respectful view of the ones on both sides who were competent and who demonstrated authentic moral character. However, he didn't buy into the racist views of the Jim Crow era he grew up in. He and my Mom both supported full civil rights for African-Americans and taught us not to be prejudiced. They were both modest, kind and compassionate people for which I'm forever grateful.

 I wanted to be in a rock & roll band and didn't take high school or my first few years of college very seriously. I dropped out of college for about 2 years to become a famous rock star which didn't work out very well. (Some very close friends did better- they got together to play music at my house one night and went on to become the B-52s). Forced to develop a Plan B, I hit upon becoming a psychologist. I went back to college highly motivated not to end up as a career convenience store clerk, worked hard at it, and finally completed a Ph.D. in Clinical Psychology from West Virginia University in 1982. My wife, Mary Lou Kelley, and I met in grad school and have been married since 1980. She got hired at LSU in 1982 and we've lived in Baton Rouge ever since. Mary Lou remained in academia and I developed a busy private practice as a therapist. She still works full-time, while I've recently cut back to a minimal work schedule and resumed pursuing my rock & roll career. We have three adult daughters who are all single, college graduates with good jobs of various sorts. To sum up, the USA has been very good to us and we have no legitimate grounds for complaining.

Dr. Morpheus Rides Again

Perhaps the absence of recent posts is because I'm psychologically in a good place, highly motivated, and absorbed in preparing a two-night gig at the Office Lounge in Athens, GA Oct 20-21 performing my own original songs and arrangements. Dave Stammer will be playing bass along with Rick Burgess on guitar and vocals and a friend of Rick's from Atlanta whom I've only spoke to on the phone, John Lewis, playing drums. My studio is now equipped with a Yamaha Passport portable PA and a used bass amp I just bought from Kenny Kazimir. Kenny put a new speaker in my Fender Hot Rod Deluxe amp and I sent my Gibson SG to the shop under warranty for a new bridge pickup. A Boss VE-5 voice enhancer is on the way and I'm going to Atlanta the last weekend of August to rehearse with John and Rick.


It's going to be grand.

Dreams

First morning: The rich white Florida proto-Nazi student who drives me to his family mansion and won't help me get back to my party so I can return home.

I was attending a basketball game LSU or Georgia at Florida. We were sitting in the stands and I decided to go for a cold drink. I went down to floor level and managed to get lost trying to get back to my party. Eventually, I encounter a group of young students, two couples. I end up in a red convertible driven by a male Florida student. I am in the back with a couple wearing University of Georgia gear. I lean my head back and breathe, while thinking 'I hope this guy doesn't get me killed with his driving." The Florida guy makes disparaging statements about UGA sports. Instead of talking back, I say, "Florida has had success in just about every major sport and you can't argue with that." Then, the Florida guy says Donald Trump "came within one appointment being approved of taking over like Hitler." It seems this kid is involved with the alt right movement. He drives us to his family home which is a mansion near the ocean. I encounter his father and notice a group of burly black men who look like security congregating outside. Someone mentions the staff of the mansion has a hierarchy system and the people at different levels eat in different places. The black men eat at a picnic table outside. I am ready to leave this place and return to the arena to meet my party and drive home. However, the son is amusing himself by dodging my requests to drive me back to the site of the game. I become exasperated and announce that if he won't drive me, I'm going to start walking (even though it's quite a distance away). I walk out onto the street and begin walking.

Next morning: A medical student at EKL throws something because research has been deprioritized.

Reading Walker Percy

Love in the ruins, besides being highly entertaining and brilliantly written, is like a crash course in basic human anatomy and medicine.

Clouds

When I look at clouds and consider how my highly evolved brain, a tiny web of densely packed neurons on a speck in the vast ocean of the universe, responds to complex waves of light, emanating from the sun's nuclear furnace before bouncing off moisture in the atmosphere and objects on the ground, and transforms them into magnificent perceptions, I find it impossible to believe all of this created itself out of nothing.

From Owen's Geopolitical Analysis Page

I'm a big fan of Fyodor Dostoevsky. I love Russian classical music. I'd like to visit Russia some day. I have nothing against Russia as a country and would be pleased to see them overcome their many internal problems; but, I think it's important to keep in mind a few facts relevant to the current geopolitical context.

Vladimir Putin, who is a very astute, effective, and formidable individual, was a high level KGB official during the period when Russia lost it's empire, that is, the Iron Curtain satellite countries and the"Soviet Socialist Republics" that became independent states when the USSR broke apart. The losses included Poland, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Romania, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, East Germany, Ukraine, Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, Armenia, Republic of Georgia, Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Moldavia, and Byelorussia, all of which became independent countries. That's a serious loss of territory, people and resources. Overnight, Russia went from being the world's other superpower (besides the USA) to being just one of a number of powerful countries (such as the UK, France, and Germany) of considerably lesser economic and military stature. This was deeply humiliating to Putin and many patriotic Russians. So, besides the internal goals of ruthlessly keeping power and making himself rich and making the majority of Russian citizens proud while brutally suppressing any serious opposition, Putin's biggest external agenda item is to diminish the power and stature of the USA. This is why he wanted Donald Trump to win the election and thus put his massive espionage machine into action toward that end. The election was in fact tainted by Russian interference, one of several big factors in Clinton's defeat. No rational analyst who looks at what Russia did leading up to the vote will dispute this. And Putin's been doing an effective job of diminishing American stature and influence.

In short, Vladimir Putin hates the USA. That makes Russia our enemy as long as Putin or someone with his agenda is running the country. His motives and initiatives must be understood in this context; and, anyone working with Russia to further their agenda is working against the interests of the good old red, white and blue. As a patriotic American citizen, I am not going to stand idly by and act as if this is all ok.

The current recurring dream.

I had a dream about being with Grandpapa Scott who was very elderly. At first he seemed to be cogent but then he shifted and appeared to be out of it. I awoke, then went back to sleep and had a similar dream about my mother. In that one, we were in a clinical room (hospital or rehab?) with two beds.  We both seemed to have just awakened in the morning. I waved at her across the room and said, "Hi, Mom!" with a big smile. I asked her if she went down to eat with in the dining hall (as at Iris Place) and she said she didn't do that.

There must be some meaning to my having variations on this dream periodically.

Broken bones

I decided to get me foot checked out as it still hurts from when I kicked the fountain on our back patio in full stride when I was taking photos of the full moon in the dark wearing J Crew slippers and not paying attention to where I was walking on June 10.  I made an appointment with Dr. Shroeder at Bone and Joint Clinic to check the shoulder he repaired 4 summers ago and to examine my foot.  I'm pleased to report the shoulder bones have grown together nicely and should not give me problems in the future. I was not surprised to learn I broke a bone in my middle toe. No treatment is required and it should also heal completely.

Postscript to this morning's post

Undeveloped instrumental songs awaiting lyrics could be modified to undeveloped songs urgently awaiting lyrics or USUAL. Another band name.

Playing on words or My body is a spaceship or Hiding in plain sight, Part X

It's 2:09am and, if I figured out the clock next to the hotel bed, I have an alarm set for 7am to make a 10am flight. I'm at the Holiday Inn and Suites in Council Bluffs, Iowa, next door to Ameristar Casino, having arrived on Tuesday to see LSU play Florida in the College World Series. Maureen was supposed to join me but her flight from Dallas was cancelled due to the weather. LSU lost Game 2 ending the series and all the flights to New Orleans on Wednesday were sold out, filled with disappointed fans and their entourages; so, here I am by myself in a Holiday Inn awakening with a burst of creative ideas in my head.

I'm thinking about band names and how I might start another Will Siegfried novel:

"The other day in a therapy session I had a disconcerting thought: How do I know that anything anyone tells me is true? How do I know that anything is true? Of course, this isn't a novel disconcerting thought, it was an ancient one when Rene Descartes made himself famous by taking it on analytically. But the fact that I'm hardly the first person to have it makes it no less disconcerting. For most people, the thought is a passing whimsey of the 'Hmm, that's interesting' variety. Humans live in a world we see as concrete when in fact reality is probabilistic, a house of cards constructed from questionable assumptions just waiting to be blown away by the winds of the transcendent reality whose existence we can only infer..."  etc

My completed novel, Double-Take: A post 60s adventure, is built around the theme of words vs reality. Band names are one manifestation of the theme:  Here are two-

The UNDRS (pronounced The Un-Doctors)

Plays On

I came up with The Un-Doctors some while back. UNDRS actually stands for undiscovered rock stars, a favorite concept of mine, but also could be interpreted as an abbreviation for un-doctors.  There you have that.

Plays On is a play on words, a pun on the French word pleasant (pronounced plays aun with a silent n). I could have a pair of competing bands named Plays On, i.e.,  two Plays Ons.

Oh, and there's a third band name I temporarily forgot about when I started writing just now but recalled a moment ago. It is:

2uo (pronounced two oh), short for UUO which stands for uttering utterly other.  An alternative name for this band would be The Aliens. The idea here is We are in this world but not of this world, Stranger in a strange land, The brother from outer space, and hiding in plain sight.

My body is a spaceship is a phrase that popped into my head while I was thinking about the above theme in my own life. Right away I thought it would make a good song title, possible matched with one of my undeveloped instrumental songs awaiting lyrics.

I think that covers everything I wanted to write down before I went back to sleep and forgot it all.

Good night and sweet dreams, dear reader, namely myself (well, at least when I finish the burst with some feverish editing of this post, taking me almost up to the one hour mark at 3:08am).

The death of Daesh

Shall I detonate a bomb in your market

To show you the true path of surrender to God?

Shall I then come into your house with a gun

And tell you, “God has sent me to do his work!”

“I am your King! Trust me and swear loyalty.”

And shall I now take what is yours

And tell you, “It’s mine.”

“God gave it to me.”

Yes, God has given me this power:

Now, you will give me your wealth,

Your money, your jewelry,

And your food.

And your water.

And your sisters.
And your husband and your father.

And your children.

See, I’ve killed the captive soldiers

And the takfiri Shiites

And the Yazidis

Except their young women

Who will be our slaves.

I will exile the Christians

And turn their churches into barracks

For men from distant lands

Who don’t speak your language

Or care about your culture,

Or know what is written in the Book,

My elite soldiers of God.

I will establish justice for the Sunnis

And it will be a hard justice.

And I will teach your children about God

And guns

And beheading our enemies

For God has given me this power.

But you have a choice:

Swear loyalty to me

Or die.

I am your King.

And, yet, people are coming to remove me-

Yes, the Iraqi Army of takfiri Shiites is coming

And misguided Sunni Kurds who call themselves “Those who face death”

And arrogant Americans, British, French, Australians
Infidels with their airplanes, cannons and missiles

Christians and Yazidis

And, yes, Iraqi Sunnis, too,

They’re coming

And, I call on God to destroy them all.

But, as God wills it, they’re coming

They’re coming armed

With courage and determination

And willingness to sacrifice themselves

To oppose the true path of surrender.

They’re all coming now

To overturn the righteous rule of your King

To reverse everything I’ve done

To take back all I’ve taken

At least, the things that may be taken back:

On behalf of God

I destroyed many things

And many people

And those will never be recovered.

For God sent me to do His work

And if they take all of this back from me

I swear to you: We-

Those who trusted and swore loyalty to me,

Those we recruited from distant lands

With promises of guns and money and women

And even more in Paradise-

We will destroy you and your people

And everything we can destroy

Before we are destroyed in turn.

We will blow ourselves up in your face

And bring down your mosque

And your Hunchback Tower!

Of course, as King I found it necessary

To leave before the final battle

So that I may lead the next battle

And show the faithful
The true path of surrender to God

For God has given me this power.

And now I ask you,

Who will defend me?

Which of you is a scholar of the law

Who will stand and speak for me?

Do not say to me,

Wait, you are just a man,

And a very confused man!

No, I won’t hear that talk.

How dare you say to me,

The worst form of confusion

Is to confuse oneself with God.

Do not confuse yourself 
with the God of compassion and mercy!

Do not confuse yourself 
with the God of truth and justice!

Do not confuse yourself with the God of love!

A man may confuse himself with God,

Such a man may destroy people and things.

But no mere man can destroy justice.

No mere man can destroy the truth itself.

No mere man can destroy love.

Stop, I won’t hear it.

So, who will defend me now?

Speak up for me!

Or am I to conclude

That in the end

I've only destroyed myself?

(Original poetry by Owen Scott, III, written on the destruction of the al-Nuri Mosque and the al-Hadba Tower, June 21, 2017)

A visitor from the past

I woke up after a very real-seeming dream where I was somehow alone with my long ago girlfriend from high school, G, lying in my first basement bedroom at the corner of the house across from the Massey's. This was the room with light blue walls I was given after my parents had the basement finished, adding three bedrooms, the laundry room and the long playroom. When Anne moved out and got married, I took over her room on the opposite side of the house and made it into my adolescent HQ. So, during the time we went together c. 1969-71, G had no connection with this, my little boy room. It later became my Dad's home office, the last room I cleared out before selling the house to Roy Bell.

In the dream, G was youthful and beautiful, like she was when I knew her as a young woman. I was more like my today self, an old guy with a different life, although I didn't have an awareness of being married during the dream, more the sense that G didn't belong in my current life as an intimate. In any case, it was clear this was just a visit and that she and I would have to return to our regular lives when she left.

It was night time and being together felt very safe and comfortable. I was thrilled to be close, gratified to be accepted by her and to be permitted to touch her again after such a long separation. I was my affectionate self, physically and verbally. I wanted to say and perhaps did or started to say, "Thank you for this visit, thank you so much for being with me again."

I was struck with wonder, too, how she had somehow regained the luster of youth. After a little while, I commented to her very frankly, "You're so beautiful and vibrant. For the past few years in photos your appearance has been tired and plain," that is, since we became Facebook friends. Because I don't see in Facebook images of her that fierce, playful, defiant spark of life that I knew long ago. She takes beautiful still life photos, writes with intelligence and sensitivity, and, like me, is dedicated to affirming people at every opportunity; but, the intensity of passion is missing and there's a wistful quality, a hint of sadness.

When was that I sent G a friend request and she accepted it? I'll check as I write this... it was October 2009, almost 8 years ago. Thinking about this, it seems to me from Facebook photos over those years, she hasn't made and doesn't make an effort to look youthful and beautiful in her current life- she could if she wanted to but doesn't. Why not? It doesn't matter to her? She wants to present her natural self rather than someone in costume wearing a mask? She's resigned to her fate? Or I'm reading something into the photos that isn't there? She told me in a message she is happy; and, her life is full of obvious good things, the things people hope for, a long, stable marriage, a meaningful career, material comfort, a successful child. But I'm pretty good at reading people's appearances and how they present themselves and I know all of that doesn't automatically add up to true contentment.

I reread all of our Facebook correspondence just now. I'm going to read it again in a moment. About a year ago (August 2016) she and I had a very meaningful conversation about being friends after having been in a romantic relationship as kids. Our conversations have at times been very open and emotionally intimate. She brought up making amends for any pain she caused me; and, I told her I felt she did what she needed to do and it was best for both of us, that pain is a necessary part of growth and no amends were needed. She's a profoundly good and caring person.

In the dream, my parents were alive and living in the house. They came downstairs to say something, creating some anxiety about them seeing I was with G. But I told her they would go upstairs and wouldn't bother us any more. Then, some other people, kids who seemed like they belonged to one of ML's sister except they were boys, were outside the room. One kid opened the door and flipped the light switch on. Standing at the door blocking him, I turned it back off and told him sharply not to do that. I reassured her again, wanting to spend more time together, keep her there secretly all night, knowing this opportunity might never happen again. (Actually, there was never any indication from G that she was concerned about someone discovering her. The anxiety and feeling I was doing something wrong that needed to be hidden belonged to me.) There was an erotic vibe echoing from beautiful times past in touching her freely but I really just wanted to be close.

Certain points of significance were evident to me immediately when I woke up and recalled the dream. The story cut across different times in my life, childhood, adolescence, today, tying them all together. I think the dream G is a symbolic being, the manifestation the Jungian anima (a concept I haven't thought about in a long time and don't use in my contemporary analytic thinking). I wondered if the concepts of anima and animus have validity, should I revisit them? The anima represents the man's inner self, his spiritual essence.

On awakening, I felt the familiar feeling of warm connection when G shows up in my dreams. I wanted to tell her I dreamed about her but it seemed like it would be crossing a boundary, like trying to get closer than we need to be at this point in our lives. Of course, I would do it in a heartbeat if I thought she'd like knowing. I've told her about my blog that hides in plain sight- maybe she'll read this post one day (smile).

My intuition says the dream is about reconciliation with myself and life. I've worked hard at that, to accept myself as I am, to overcome fear and anxiety about living, to recognize that what happens in this life is transient and we can't grasp and hold onto it, that whatever happens is ultimately OK. I still want to embrace life while I can. I love you GA, you'll always have a very special place in this boy's heart. It doesn't matter that we can't be physically close, it matters that you bring out my capacity to give myself in love to another person and to experience myself as a loving being. Thanks for the visit!

Poe's A dream within a dream comes to mind.

And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?

But today I accept this without tears of grief.

My email begging Rick Burgess to agree to play at my blockbuster event in Athens this Fall

Hi, Rick, I finally got my 2016 tax data to our accountant and am turning my attention to other matters. Dave Stammer is coming to visit in Baton Rouge the week after Father's Day or thereabouts and I decided I needed to take some concrete steps to set up the musical event I wrote you about earlier. I contacted the owner of the Office Lounge in Athens, Brigitte DeSimone and got approval to select any weekend this Fall to play there. She's open to a two-nighter, Thursday and Friday or Friday and Saturday, which would be my preference, given the amount of effort it's going to take to do one night. I decided on the Office Lounge to keep it more informal, to keep overhead down, and because the Office Lounge has been a real gift to old Athens guys like me since Conner Tribble started playing there. I intend to underwrite all the costs, so I offered to play without being paid by the venue and without having a cover charge, either. This is my way to give something back and to be able to do it with complete creative freedom. Like last time, I'm going to pay all the musicians. Maybe I'll put a tip jar out and see what happens but this is something very close to my heart and I have no reservations about paying to make it happen. I messaged Brenda earlier today and told her about the above developments. I very much hope you will want to sign on for the gig. The one we did 2 years ago at Hendershot's was very successful but I think this one can be better, yet. Last time, I erred in the direction of inviting too many performers as I was fearful of being turned down. As it happened, everyone said “Yes” so we had plenty of talent on hand. That also complicated the preparations quite a bit as I felt the need to make everyone a star and to accommodate all their musical tastes, too. That was fine but this time I want to limit the stars to a core of 4 band members and keep it simpler in that regard. If you decide to do it, I would like to work out the program of music together to make sure you're happy with it. In particular, I'd like to feature your singing and playing as prominently as you're open to and to only include songs you want to perform. I think I have a good idea of your range of musical interests but I won't assume anything without us discussing it. That's as far as planning has proceeded as of this moment. I reached out to a drummer named Wade Hymel who lives in the Baton Rouge area and am awaiting his reply. Wade is a young, talented and accomplished guy I got to know a few years ago during a 6-month period when I had the opportunity to play and record in a studio with a cool Indy band named the Shiz. I can't recall if you came and heard us when we played in Athens once back then. I think Wade would be a great fit with you, Dave and myself and it would make it possible to practice here with at least Dave and Wade, and you, if I can talk you and Brenda into coming and staying with us for a few days. Besides spare bedrooms, I have a dedicated practice studio in a separate garage building behind our house that is a great place to work on songs. This is very tentative, but if Wade says “Yes” and you aren't able to come here to rehearse for a few days, we can pull things together shortly ahead of the gig in Georgia. People in Athens can accommodate us or we could practice in Atlanta if you that's better for you. If Wade says “No”, I haven't decided who else to ask. My second choice would be Deane Quinter which would mean practicing in Athens or maybe Atlanta. After Deane, the drummer in the cover band I recently quit would be a solid drummer or I could ask Cal Hale again. Cal seemed to be struggling physically two years ago, so I'm reluctant to approach him unless other options don't work out. But all of this can be worked out. Brenda informs me y'all are vacationing in Boston shortly. I'm sure you'll have a great time. Brenda is obviously very happy things have brought the two of you together, and so am I, of course. Sometimes life works out surprisingly well if one doesn't give up on it. You are two very deserving people in my book. So, let me know what it will take to get you to say "Yes" to my scheme. Working with you and Dave would be marvelous for me and, no matter what, I intend to make this event the one all my previous events have been leading up to. The clock is ticking and it all counts. Owen

Sullivan's letter (posted last March on Facebook by Milton Leathers)

Watching a PBS special on Ken Burns tonight, Kammy and I heard part of the below letter. It was read aloud in Burns's "The Civil War" series. It had been written from Virginia by Union Army officer Sullivan Ballou to his wife back in Rhode Island.

Here it is.

July the 14th, 1861 Washington D.C.

My very dear Sarah: The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more. Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure—and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing—perfectly willing—to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.

But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows—when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children—is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar—that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more. But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the brightest day and in the darkest night—amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours—always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for me, for we shall meet again.

As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters. Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God's blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.

Sullivan

My comment:

A letter we all need to read and remember. Sullivan speaks for uncounted and mostly forgotten warriors from all of human history right through this very moment in time when men, and women, too, are willingly making that sacrifice in the name of country and cause. What's remarkable is he had the wherewithal to record his sentiments in beautifully written words.

Maybe I needed to read this first thing today

He who can be detached enough to keep his eyes open to all those whom circumstances have placed about him, and see in what way he can be of help to them, he it is who becomes rich - he inherits the kingdom of God. Bowl of Saki, June 12, by Hazrat Inayat Khan

"All the violence and suffering of mankind..."

"... Nature doesn't even notice it."  Bob Dylan in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech.

Dylan pays tribute to three literary works, Moby Dick, All quiet on the western front, and the Odyssey, disclosing that these classics gave him a sophisticated view of life.

What happened to all that ancient wisdom, "it should have prevented this," the insane debacle of the Great War.

"I put this book down, closed it up, I never wanted to read another war novel again and I never did."

Prior to that segment, Dylan acknowledged the influence of Buddy Holly, claiming to have driven 100 miles to see Holly in performance only a few days before the plane went down. The next influence was Leadbelly, then the folk artists whose recordings were listed on the jacket of the Leadbelly LP.

Dylan ends with this: "I'll return to Homer who says, "Sing in me, O Muse, and through me tell the story."

Left ring finger tendinitis

I don't believe I have commented in this blog about the problem of tendinitis in my left ring finger I developed about two years ago. It seemed to start when I was in Dallas visiting Maureen and I stayed in a hotel room practicing guitar for hours and hours. Sometime afterwards I suffered significant pain and swelling in the joints of my left ring finger.  This adversely affected my guitar playing and naturally was a source of concern. The pain  when I played caused me to start utilizing my little finger instead of my ring finger for fretting. There was actually benefit in utilizing my little finger more heavily; but, I was alarmed over the lack of improvement in my ring finger. I consulted a hand specialist who diagnosed tendinitis. The good news was he saw no deterioration in the joints. He administered a steroid shot in my joint on two visits. This hurt like crazy but only afforded temporary relief from joint pain and swelling. I was beginning to think that the condition would be permanent. Then I began treating the inflammation with ice. Initially I had used hot water to relax the muscles, which helped somewhat. When I begin to use ice treatment I noticed fairly immediate improvement. With continued use of ice plus resting in the ring finger and utilizing the little finger on the left hand, I experienced about 95% improvement in the tendinitis. One of my favorite techniques is to put ice into a heavy, black, rubber glove and allow the ice to melt. I've now had several months of being largely asymptomatic and I am currently able to play without any difficulty using all the fingers on my left-hand. Woo hoo!

Resonating dream

I awoke this morning with a dream that would not have particular significance except for it's connection with a much earlier one. The previous dream, which I called something like "Chained to the psychotic policeman," made powerful impression on me when I dreamt it sometime in the early 1970's during the time I was reading Jung and recording all my dreams in a notebook (which I believe I still have here).

In this morning's dream, I was going to a much anticipated movie with Mary Lou and some others. I think there was a prelude but I don't remember it. I arrived at the theater and encountered a ticket taker/gatekeeper at a booth or desk in front of the doors to the auditorium. I thought perhaps the movie was sold out but this guy indicated there were still a few seats available. However, he wasn't allowing more people in because they would disturb the seated patrons by opening the doors. He told me that I could go up to an upstairs room "next to the clock" where I could look down into the theater and spot the empty seats. Instead of doing that, I started watching the movie on some kind of external screen while sitting with the gatekeeper while having a casual conversation with him. Mary Lou arrived a little while later and joined me. The gatekeeper disappeared and now Mary Lou and I were sitting in the person's car (?). I'm in the driver's seat. Another vehicle approaches from the front threatening to crash into us. I manage to move the car out of the way but I end up unable to stop it from running into a wall at low speed, probably causing minimal damage, if any. I'm a bit worried that the gatekeeper will be angry.

That's all I remember. The significance of the dream is the gatekeeper represents my sense of guilt and extreme tendency to be considerate of other people, to the extent that it impairs me as times. It also has been a key factor in my developing the ability to feel and express empathy.

The gatekeeper strikes me as a much milder version of the "psychotic policeman," the element of my psyche I used to call my "Catholic unconscious." It's the part that sees me as bad and selfish, an internalized black-and-white Christian shame image.

Memory exercise

Over the past few days, I've been mildly obsessed with a Yard Barker quiz that gives you 10 minutes to type the last names of all 148 NFL players whose numbers have been retired by a team they played for. This morning, I finally got them all in the within the allotted times. Woo hoo!

Want me to list them below? All right, then:

Armstrong
Atkins
Andrews
Alworth (Lance)
Baugh (Sammy)
Bartkowski (Steve)
Bethea (Elvin)
Berry (Eric)
Bednarik
Bell
Blozis (my favorite name in the group)
Brown (x 2) (Jim)
Bruce
Brodie (John)
Brooks
Brookshier
Butkus (Dick)
Buchanan (Willie)
Byrd
Cain
Campbell (Earl)
Canadeo
Cappelletti (Gino)
Carter (Cris)
Clark (x2)
Conerly (Charlie)
Csonka (Larry)
Cuff
Davis (Ernie)
Dawson (Len)
Dawkins
Dee
Dickerson (Eric)
Ditka (Mike)
Donovan
Elway (Jon)
Favre (Brett)
Faulk (Marshall)
Fouts (Dan)
Fleming
Flaherty
George
Gifford (Frank)
Galimore
Goldberg
Grange (Red)
Groza (Lou)
Graham (Otto)
Griese (Bob)
Greene
Haynes ( 2)
Hewitt
Halas (George)
Hannah
Hill
Hein
Hunt
Hutson
Hughes
Jones
Johnson (x3)
Klecko
Kelly (Jim)
Kennedy
Krueger
Lanier
Layne (Bobby)
Largent (Steve)
Leemans
Little (Floyd)
Lott (Ron)
Luckman
Marchetti (Gino)
Manning (Peyton)
Marino (Dan)
Martin
Mauldin
Maynard (Don)
Marshall
Matthews
McAfee
McElhenny
McNabb (Donovan)
Mills (Sam)
Moon (Warren)
Moore
Montana (Joe)
Morrison
Munchak
Nagurski
Namath (Joe)
Nelson
Nitschke (Ray)
Nobis (Tommy)
Nomellini
Norton
Olsen (Merlin)
Page
Parker
Payton (Walter)
Perry
Piccolo (Brian)
Rice
Retzlaff (Pete)
Sanders (Barry)
Sayers (Gale)
Sapp (Warren)
Schmidt
Selmon (Leroy)
Seau (Junior)
Simms (Phil)
Smith (Bruce)
St. Clair
Starr (Bart)
Stenerud (Jan)
Strong
Slater
Stringer
Stautner
Taylor (x2) (Jim)
Tarkenton (Fran)
Thomas (x 2)
Tillman
Tingelhoff
Tittle (Y.A.)
Tomlinson
Tripucka
Turner
Unitas (Johnny)
Van Buren
Van Note (Jeff)
Walker
White
Wistert
Waterfield
Wilson
Young
Youngblood

In recent times I've felt

my major life work is over and what's left is a postscript. It reminds me of my mother, at a much later time in her life, saying of the people living at Iris Place, "We're all just here waiting to die."

A person may put any number of interpretations on his or her life. For my mother, she was being frank about the end phase of her life. For me, that's not a healthy way to think at this point in time- it's better to say "it is what it is" than to put a morbid spin on things.

Open mike at ONO (Old New Orleans Bar and Grill)

Mary Lou and I made a spur of the moment decision to go to Billy Calloway's open mike event after dinner on Mother's Day. Billy hosted and opened with some very fine original songs. I went third and played these songs:

Making a stand
Dynaflow Club
Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat (with Louie from the Blues Festival playing harp)
The road only passes one way; and,
The Outsider.

Next time, I'm thinking in terms of:

Dust my flying saucer,
Teeth of the Wind
You don't know my heart,
Don't mess with Jesus; and,
Ain't that a man?

But that's just hat I'm thinking right now.

Other possibilities now come to mind:

The Tale of the Scroungy Cat
Cold Dead Hands
Successful professional white guy

Free to be creative

In a rapid series of events, on Wednesday evening I found myself leaving Rockin' Rouge, the cover band I've played with in various incarnations for the past 6 years. Back then, I was recruited by Rudy Hirschheim and a drummer named Tom to play in a band they were putting together. The band worked hard and started coming together; but the keyboard player quit and Tom left because he was finding it too much trouble to haul equipment to our practices. These initially took place in a big room at the LSU Music School and later at the keyboard player's home in Pontchatoula. Rudy and I then reached out to Steve Bordelon, a good friend, fine drummer and social worker, who in turn brought his brother, Phil, a talented keyboard player, and his nephew and niece who sang, and we again had a strong lineup. The niece came up with the name "Rockin' Rouge" and once more we worked up a good repertoire until we were ready to go out and perform.  About the time we had our first gig, Phil went off on me for making a critical comment about his tending to play too many notes after already refusing to play songs by Madonna or Lady Gaga on religious grounds.  The Bordelon family members all left the group when Phil pushed Rudy and myself one too many times but the name Rockin' Rouge remained with us.  In what turned out to be a bad idea, we brought Tom back and found new singers, including Holly Hutchinson, Lilli Lewis and Tyler Dickerson, as well as a keyboard player, Susan Duncan, who lacked Phil's musical accomplishment but was sweet, fun and eccentric, my kind of person. After a significant amount of practice, Tom's overbearing personality and intimidation of the singers led to a confrontation with me and his leaving the band. In a major upgrade, we brought in Sam Robique, another excellent drummer and a very pleasant person. More months of practice ensued and we began to find some opportunities to play. Then all the singers left one at a time. At some point, we invited Jerry Hotard to join. Things were going well and then his significant other gave him an ultimatum to quit the group.  We got Tyler to come back, then he quit again and Susan left with him to move to Nashville.  I suggested getting Rusty Weaver to come in as rhythm guitarist. We recruited Katie Sills to sing and Holly came back, as did Jerry. Then someone found a saxophonist, Bruce Williams, who was about 70 years old when he joined the band a year ago. This was probably the beginning of the end for me. Holly and Sam started seeing one another which was an upbeat development but Holly decided to quit again, apparently because she didn't like sharing singing with Katie, whose voice has Robert Plant-like power. Although the band, kept going and made progress in playing well as a unit, I began to become subtly marginalized.  This was compounded by the addition Steve, of a substitute guitarist who filled in for Rusty, who underwent gastric reduction surgery and was unable to play for several months. The more I saw of Steve, the less I liked him, both as a musician and a person. (Clarksdale 2 incident).

Steve's offensive attitude toward me was the tipping point; but, I realize now I don't enjoy some 80% of the songs Rockin' Rouge plays. To learn a song and play it well takes a lot of work. I typically review the songs in our set list before each gig and refresh my memory by playing along with the originals. After I decided to quit, I felt relief and began to realize the band forced me to make too many compromises and made it very difficult for me to pursue creative projects.

People who stomp around in minefields are likely to get blown up.

Steve,

On further consideration, it’s clear I can’t work with you in a musical or personal context. Therefore, I will not have any future involvement with you of any sort. My decision is final and I will have nothing further to say about it.

 OS

Yet another dream about my mother

I've been ill with upper respiratory symptoms since last Monday. I went to the doctor (actually, Hilary, the NP) on Thursday and was given a steroid shot that reduced the symptoms temporarily. This allowed me to feel well enough to play at Phil Brady's until late on Friday and then perform with the band at the Lakes at Highland annual neighborhood party. I woke up with significantly worsened symptoms today (Sunday). I've been resting in bed all day. I went back to sleep this afternoon around 3pm and had another in the series of dreams about taking care of an elderly parent or grandparent. I was in Athens going with Scottie to visit Mom in a nursing home. Scottie backed her car into the downstairs wall at our old house. We then were driving down Alps Road and the car seemed to be having mechanical problems. Mom appeared to be OK but it seems there were some kind of restrictions on our visit.

In response to Tom Hodgson classifying me as an academic

I suppose I'm somewhat of an academic or least I have scholarly leanings; but, if there's one thing I'm good at, it's seeing the complexity of human reality and understanding how we oversimplify everything to create a little order amidst the pandemonium.

We don't believe we matter

Believing I am valuable, I'm as good as others and I matter is difficult for human beings. There is no objective proof that anyone is valuable and the world bombards virtually everyone with shaming experiences that produced irresistible feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy. Yet, the belief that each life is intrinsically valuable and each is just as valuable as any other is at the heart of every respectable spiritual tradition.

About Owen's Geopolitical Analysis Page on Facebook

One of the reasons I do Owen's Geopolitical Analysis Page is to develop my own thinking about the world and to consider what's the best way for me to channel my energies. Having almost reached age 65 and having a little bit of freedom because I'm still alive and I don't need to work for a living and be responsible for family members anymore (for the first time in my adult life), I have the luxury to reflect on life a little. Having a place to do that where I can insist upon people being civil is helpful to me. I also hope the conversations will be helpful to people who choose to participate.

If I come to any big conclusions about what to do about any of this, I'll let everyone know.

The Zambo Flirts' Krispy Kreme adventure (Facebook status post)

This post from Mashable brings to mind a "Don't Try This at Home" incident in Savannah, Georgia when the Zambo Flirts played down there on one of our first road gigs.

Since of course you're dying to hear the story, it involved me driving Conner Tribble's cool hunter green Monte Carlo with Conner and Dave Stammer out to get Krispy Kreme donuts around 1am after the Zambo Flirts played at a club c. 1972. I had consumed a significant amount of alcohol and had no business driving, although I used to pride myself on how well I concentrated while DUI (remember, this is 45 years ago). I will note we looked rather disreputable by contemporary standards as our band promo photo documents (below) and the car was probably full of smoke, to boot. Wouldn't you know it, a patrol car got behind us on this long avenue we had to take to get back to our cheap motel. Despite my BAL I recall feeling extremely nervous as I utilized those powers of concentration to hold the vehicle steady while monitoring the lawmen in my rearview mirror. This seemed to go on forever as my sense of impending doom became increasingly powerful. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer and I took a right turn into what looked like an upscale neighborhood we happened to be passing. I fully expected the patrol car to follow and pull us over, leading to a very unpleasant series of repercussions. But to my great relief, the cops kept going straight and I could finally relax, turn around, and drive us to our destination. WHEW!!!

How I challenged a distorted news item on Twitter in a series of ReTweets

(1) Numerous civilians killed by an airstrike in Mosul aimed at ISIS fighters. (2) This story is getting extensive coverage on Twitter and in international news sources. (3) Many of the initial reports (such as @RT) emphasized that it was a "US airstrike" or "US-coalition airstrike." (4) Many tweets also described it as a "massacre," which, tragic though it is no matter how it happened, is not an accurate description. (5) Now, Rudaw reports that ISIS may have planted explosives in a building (6) where they A) set up positions visible to Iraqi army (7) and B) held the civilians hostage in order to create large loss of civilians lives during an airstrike (8) in order to make it look like Iraq and the US-led coalition were callously bombing civilians (9) just like the Syrians government and Russia have done in Aleppo and elsewhere in Syria. (10)  Clever.

Personally, I believe the US system of constitutional government is a pretty good system, one that is ultimately controlled by voters. We've achieved a great deal and overcome many terrible problems in our brief history. My wish is for the USA to be a country of healthy, educated citizens who have opportunities for success in business, science, professions, service and the arts where justice generally prevails. I can safely assume that is what all of us want. I see the major problems we in the USA have as a result of news propaganda systems manipulating the negative emotions of fear and hate to lead average citizens to vote against their own interests. The machinery of propaganda gave us the well-meaning but inept George W. Bush and unwittingly brought us Trump, a blight upon our history and a danger to world peace and justice. My bottom line belief is that the propaganda machinery serves the greatest priority of the GOP but many Dems, too- to protect the financial interests of extremely powerful and wealthy corporations and individuals. I believe that a moderate level of wealth redistribution could correct the wealth imbalance that has been created as sketched above. Money from taxing the superwealthy people and corporations could be devoted to infrastructure, health care and education that would ultimately benefit all Americans and the rest of the world, too. I would want this to be done in a way that appeals to our "better angels", supports human rights, and empowers capable and motivated people to succeed and make plenty of money. Any system that stifles individual initiative and creativity is a bad system. It could be done under our system of government. Presuming a progressive majority in Congress (which may never happen, of course), wise use of tax revenue would be the key to success. I'm fully aware of how iffy all of the above is but that's my view of how we could achieve a more prosperous, healthy, and creative US society. After tossing out this sketch of my thoughts, I'm not going to have time to discuss it until this evening. Every other Wednesday and Friday, I schedule appointments at my office and this is my busy Wednesday. Looking forward to your comments.

Scrambled recurrent dream themes

I set an alarm for 615am so Mary Lou could get up and go to her Tread class. I woke up around 5am, got up, checked the news and ate a bowl of cereal. The Iraqi ISF reportedly has capture the second of 5 bridges across the Tigris. Malaysia expelled the North Korean ambassador because of the controversy over the murder of Kim Jong Un's half-brother. Meanwhile, the North Koreans launched more missiles several falling into Japanese waters. Donald Trump has "gone ballistic" over the Russia scandal dominating US news media and one wonders if he'll go literally ballistic against North Korea to ventilate.  After getting back in bed around 545am and waiting for the alarm, I decided I'd best make an effort to go back to sleep after Mary Lou leaves using my meditation and eye focusing method. I did and had this dream just before awakening at 730am:

I'm standing in a parking garage. I left my briefcase at home and I need it for work. A person walks up from behind on my left. I think it's David Stammer with the long way hair he used to have in the 1970s. I speak but then realize it's a woman I don't know. "I'm sorry, I mistook you for someone," I tell her. Then, the actual David Stammer appears from the same direction. We're happy to see one another and I ask him how things are going.

David and I drive to my parents' old house to get my briefcase. My mother is sitting in a chair looking out the living room window. She's happy to see me. She looks somewhat disoriented and her mouth has the look of someone taking neuroleptics. "This is David," I tell her as we come in the door. "He used to play in a band with me an Conner." My Mom seems to have some recollection of this. "That would have been back around 2000," she says and I don't bother to correct her that it was actually 28 years or so prior to that.

The scene transitions to riding in a big pickup truck driven by my Dad who seems to be taking me back to my office. As we go through a long curve to the right, I'm concerned about him being able to hold the road. We're passing through the UGA campus near Stegeman Coliseum and Aderhold Hall where he had his office at the end of his career. "You're taking the long way around," I remark and he replies, "This is the way I usually go." I think this would be the way to the UGA golf course where he played prior to falling in the bathroom and suffering a subdural hematoma. Dad begins a sort of speech during which he is on the verge of tears. He has something he needs to tell me which I presume is that he is suffering from a terminal illness. He seems to be worried about how Mom will cope with his death. I reassure him that Mom will be taken care of and I go on to express gratitude for myself and my sisters for everything he did for us, enabling us to have good lives. The dream ends at this point.

My reactions to David, Mom and Dad are all authentic. They are the reactions I would have if those circumstances occurred. Obviously, the issues are all resolved- there is no problem with my work except I need to finish reviewing files for Don Cazayoux, which I intend to do today and tomorrow (finally). Both my parents are deceased. David Stammer and I are friends again and we stay in touch periodically. Somehow my mind needs to revisit scenarios of my parents being old and in failing health and my concerns that they are cared for well. There is underlying anxiety that I will fail to take care of important responsibilities. But that didn't happen and it won't happen because I care enough to do what needs to be done.

Tolerating uncertainty in the pursuit of wisdom

Confidential sources are not going to be revealed, so we do have to do as Gordon Rabelais suggests and make determinations as to what is credible. Human beings deal in probability but we want certainty; and, the only things that are certain are what's happening right now in front of our faces or behind them, in the case of thought. Creating and using uncertainty to manipulate is a prime tool of propaganda. But is everything so uncertain that we can't know anything? If that were true, there wouldn't be a Warren Buffet.

About my recent silence on this blog

I've been preoccupied with the geopolitical news centering around the new POTUS whose name I avoid stating. My other main focus is the campaign to liberate Mosul and the importance of reconciliation among the competing factions in Iraq. I've turned to Twitter (with automatic cross posting to my Facebook page) to promote important articles.

Oversimplified ideas of Islam

Making bold, general statements about Islam is like making bold general statements about Christianity or Jews or Russians or Americans. What all members of these groups have in common is they breathe air. Islam is not a football team, it's between 1.6 and 2 billion people spread across the globe with a huge range of beliefs and practices. Since shortly after the time of Muhammad, there has never been a unified Islam.

Alternative facts world

I went back to sleep at 6am and just work up at 8am from an elaborate dream where a series of things were going wrong. It was a variation on the classic anxiety dream- in this instance, I was trying to get to a musical performance at a school (Athens High?) where I was accompanying a group of three or four singers on acoustical guitar. I'm not sure who these people were but some were girls I knew from high school. The event was scheduled for 530pm and I had told them we should get there early to go over the songs, which apparently we hadn't practiced without a full band. Then, I found myself at a different place, possibly a music store, where people were studying at tables like a school cafeteria. I looked over and saw Conner Tribble reading something.He smiled at me mischievously, as if we were both in on something. Someone to our left started playing blues chords on an electric guitar with wah-wah. It sounded good and I listened as the music became more complex. Then I saw Lili Lewis on a stage to the left playing keyboard and singing with some other musicians. I suddenly realized it was almost time for the performance and I needed to leave. I went outside and began to walk back to the place the story began where I'd previously been, perhaps to get my car. I turned down a street with several large hotels and realized this wasn't the right one. I continued circling to my left behind a large building thinking I was one street over from the correct street. Somehow I found myself standing in the lawn of a commercial building with a man who was demonstrating and trying to sell me a device that was attached to the end of what looked like a large steam pipe. I don't have any idea what the device did except it was supposed to have something to do with music. During this interaction, a group of white men in casual conservative clothing showed up to film a commercial or industrial documentary. The leader approached me very politely and asked if we could move a short distance to get out of their way. I said yes because I needed to leave anyway. The man selling the device, however, became agitated and started making angry statements to the group leader. It seemed the agitated man no longer worked for the company where the demonstration was taking place and his use of this facility was illicit. I walked away still looking for the place I'd previously been. I had several telephone sets, one of which seems to have been an intercom phone from somewhere (maybe a hotel) and another one a cell phone. I was trying to dial Mary Lou's cell but the keys on the keypads were strangely irregular and in some cases missing. A call came in on my cell from someone wanting to speak to my office about a professional matter. I told them I was in the midst of "a crisis" and couldn't talk now. I managed to dial all Mary Lou's number except the final digit which I hit as 4 instead of 0. Maureen answered and told me with distress that Cody "told me he didn't want to be with me anymore." I was concerned but preoccupied with being late. It was now a few minutes past 5:30 and I somehow had heard (or imagined?) the singers talking about me being late. One girl (Jan Carter?) was quite upset and angry and the audience was restless. Just before I woke up I was trying to figure out how late it would be when I got to the event and whether we would still be able to perform.

New Year’s Day 2017 (Greetings from tropical paradise)

Here we are in an upscale rental house overlooking the idyllic Bahia Redonda on the Pacific coast of Nicaragua on vacation, myself, Mary Lou, Maureen, and Cody, Maureen’s exceptional boyfriend. We were scheduled to leave the day after Christmas flying to Managua. Cody and Maureen left on schedule from New Orleans via Miami; however, Mary Lou and I were delayed taking off from Baton Rouge to Atlanta and consequently had to wait until Tuesday as there is only one flight daily to Managua on Delta via ATL. We were both out of sorts at Christmas due to a variety of factors starting with the horrific election of Donald Trump as POTUS and ending with no communication from our two estranged daughters who spent Christmas together in New York City. I emailed our travel plans to them and received no response. Mary Lou is quite disheartened by their failure to so much as text us a Christmas greeting. Now, as of 1:46pm CST on January 1, we have no New Year’s wishes from them, as well. One wonders what is going on in their minds; but, whatever it is isn’t in all likelihood an excuse.

In spite of all that, our ongoing Nicaraguan experience is delightful. We caught up with Maureen and Cody in the old colonial city of Granada on Lake Nicaragua, a veritable inland sea created long ago by volcanic activity. Volcanos, some extinct, some still quite active, surround the lake which lies along the Western hemisphere’s notorious Ring of Fire.

Nicaragua is largely an undiscovered tourist destination, reportedly a lingering result of the civil war between the Sandinistas and the Contras, though it was resolved many years ago. Daniel Ortega, the 71-year old NSLF leader, was out of power for several terms but now has been reelected for the third consecutive time with a healthy majority of the vote. Nicaragua is economically poor but physically and culturally rich. Tourism is on the upswing and the future of Nicaragua looks promising.

The rental house is owned by some undoubtedly wealthy physicians in Portland, Oregon who discovered this area on a surfing vacation in 200?.  Their story is sketched in two self-published books documenting planning and construction. The reader sees the young boys and girls growing up during the process and imagines them now as college students headed for successful careers. Me, I'm heading down the mountain to the cafe on the beach at Aqua Health Resort, just next door.