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!