Then, all of a sudden, you hear your song again, of all places, radiating from the ground beneath your feet. Can it be that just like Dorothy, you have had the power to go home all along. Maybe you needed to help the brainless, the heartless and the fraidy cats of the world find their way too. Its been a long strange trip but its time to go home.
You dig with all your worth. As you excavate all manner of precious substances are revealed. Gold and diamonds fly into the air with every blow. But it matters not because the song beneath it all is not yet revealed.
The song, your song, that song that brought you to this place, the song that you wondered if you would ever hear again, was here to take you further along your journey, maybe even to the place that you belong.
Beginning as a whisper, it gets stronger with each passing day, hour and minute. It radiates until the vibrations rattle the core of your very essence.
But how can it be that no one else hears. Surely they hear it too but simply do not understand or simply seek to deceive you into ignoring it.
You can identify group one by certain behavioral traits.
It is comprised of the people who smile brightly as they patiently hold the door for the elderly and infirm even when in a hurry. These people stealthily keep an eye on other people's children while careless parents ignore or are oblivious to potential danger. This group has been known to feign a lack of hunger when the catering seems to have been severely miscalculated or even better they frequently accidentally prepare more food than is needed and wonder if those in need would be so kind as to help them get rid of it. You can define group one through a million different traits that usually involve the well being of others.
Hey, don't worry, I've been lied to I've been here many times before Girl don't you worry, I know where I stand I don't need this love, I don't need your hand I know I could turn, blink, and you'd be gone Then I must be prepared any time to carry on, but
Life is like a day at Chuckie Cheese's You can score all the points you want
But at the end of the day all you can do is turn in your tickets for worthless crap that will be broken before you can get home with it
The one who really made The Spinners special, Philipe Wynne, left The Spinners and joined the US Funk Mob and became an associate of George Clinton. Seems he came up with Bootzilla and they stuck together when times got good.
So I can say that I did see Phillipe Wynne live, just not with The Spinners. He was truly one of the seven wonders of the Universe. And it is a shame that he was gone so soon.
I was fortunate enough to see The Godfather of Soul once or twice live while he was still in his prime, with the full power and majesty of the JBs on display and in effect including half nekkid dancing girls. It was truly a thing to behold, especially for an impressionable and musically oriented young fellow.
I can tell you, I witnessed live shows for 99% of everybody who was anybody in the 70's and truly, James Brown was in fact the hardest working man in show business. I won't sit here and tell I remember how long the show lasted. But I can tell you by the time he took is last bow, I was exhausted and ready to go home.
It was loud, sweaty and funky beyond comprehension. There was shit happening that I had never seen before. The horn players were twirling horns, doing choreographed dance routines and playing syncopated hit it and quit it licks on their instruments that simply defied the laws of physics. Don't let anybody fool you, Walmart and Toyota didn't have shit on JB when they thought they invented Just In Time delivery. You literally found yourself rooting for them to get the horn to their lips and make it to the mic in time to hit that one one note. I mean there was so much going on on stage that the spectacle of it all was enough to give you an epileptic fit.
And there wasn't a whole bunch of talking to the audience either, about bullshit nobody didn't want to hear. It was just a man and his band, putting in work.
And to think that by the 80's it was all gone. Not just JB but the whole music scene was one big gelatinous pile of highly produced, under talented, over hyped crap. I really do pity young people today who have never seen a real band perform music so funky you had to burn your clothes after the show.
What bothers me are the people who wield the alternate reality like a mighty sword. You know the people who piss down your back and start talking about the rainy weather we've been having lately.
You know its one thing to come home and catch someone who has been screwing your spouse and beating your dog but then having the decency to crawl through the bathroom window to try to escape the consequences of their actions.
Its quite yet something else to come home to catch someone who claims innocence because they never got an invitation to the wedding. And what dog? I don 't see no dog! I have never once heard that animal bark. For all I know it is a hippopotamus. Have you even contemplated the repercussions of trying to maintain a hippo in this environment. How dare you expose us to the risk of this hippopotamus. I think you owe the people of this burg an apology
When I was a kid we lived on the outskirts of a nascent industrial park/declining military base. Consequently, there was a freight train line that serviced the area. Since we were pretty much at the end of the line the train was moving at a snail's pace by the time it got to us.
That's right friends and neighbors, the railroad company was veritably begging the neighborhood rats to mount their bicycles and engage in a friendly game of train tag. And no, we didn't wear helmets.
Now this was in the days before high tech trains so there was still a brakeman riding in the caboose who's sole job was yelling at the game participants which was interpreted to be the railroad equivalent of "hey you kids, get off my lawn."
There really weren't a lot of rules to the game but I remember there were three very important rules. The first involved convincing the locomotive engineer to give us half a toot on his train horn. The second was throwing rocks at the brakeman. But the third rule was sacrosanct, inviolable and adhered to without exception to wit, when the train comes through get off the goddamn track!
While it appears that the Supreme Court decision to not require a court appointed attorney for non custodial parents facing incarceration for failure to pay child support is a blow to parental rights, nothing could be further from the truth.
If you read a little further into the decision you find that they determined that State courts must conduct such proceedings in a fundamentally fair manner. For those of you who labor under the delusion that this ruling is just a reiteration of rights parents were already entitled to as citizens living under the constitution of the United States please allow me to disabuse you of that notion.
Perhaps it might do each of you some good to spend an afternoon down at your local Family Court watching them dispatch these matters with all the delicacy and deliberate consideration of a professional dodge ball tournament.
And that, friends and neighbors, is so very hard to forget.
Shouldn't folk who get too far out on the limb have to hang there a while suffering for all to see lest everyone get too rambunctious during the next acorn harvest.
Isn't it basically the depression babies who fueled the greatest economic boom in the history of the world with a savvy mix of hard work, thrift and consumerist consumption for the benefit of their less industrious offspring.
These sombitches here have only seen the consumption side of that equation.
So the point is maybe it's more than just dogma and ignorance that is carrying the day.
When I was a kid your mother helped you make your own Easter eggs with those little vials of food coloring that only came in the primary colors. You soaked your boiled eggs one at a time in a coffee cup of the hot mixture for a few minutes and you got a colored egg. And in the process you learned useful shit like mixing yellow and blue together produced green eggs.
But the only things kids seem to be learning now is "that bitch betta have my money"