July 10, 2022

Step On A Crack…..Mother’s deserve better.


Step on a Crack, Break Your Mother’s Back

For some, stepping on a crack also means freeing a spiritual entity that could break apart one's family. Conversely, some believe stepping on a crack will break a witch's back or the devil's back. A more light-hearted take on this superstition holds fast to the notion that stepping on a crack will cause rain.

Listen up. Who’s been stepping on all the cracks? So much rain. So many broken backs. Not to discount the broken spines. I was very superstitious as a child. Very. I was terrified of anything that might cause harm to my Mother. A real Momma’s boy was I. I would feel such intense guilt if I didn’t eat all the sandwiches she made me. I would see her up at the crack of dawn making sandwiches for everyone. There were seven kids and my Dad. That’s practically a loaf of bread every morning.

Years later, when my dear mother was sitting in her nursing home, saying, “ You know why I am here? Because I can’t remember shit.” They call it dementia, but I blame the sandwiches. And some blame has to go to the many cracks on the sidewalks, that I so carefully tried to avoid.

I still try to avoid them, and my poor Mother has been gone for 5 years. Actually closer to 15, as those last years, she was a shadow of her former self. Still, somewhere inside her plaqued out brain, was still my sweet Mother’s smile and laugh.

And her not so sweet imperious judgement, often rendered with an acidic aside. Hmmph, ughh, and other non-language verbal utterances. Where did she get that from? And me, her fifth son? I have that rush to rash judgieness, that turning up of the nose at the same time as the left eyebrow raises, and the lips curl. Why, sometimes, even my toes curl!

I have traced her lineage back to around 1630, when our ancestor was bandying about with Oliver Cromwell. Taking the piss out of the royals, perhaps in on the plot to kill King Charles 1. Brave Huegenot stock who fled France and the Catholics, hoisting their banner in Royston.

From inside the Royston Caves, drawn by my Great Great Great Grandfather,  the renderings, not the original cave drawings.  Perhaps attributed to the Knights Templar.

So no wonder I get upset, bored, scandalized by this cheap modern simulation that we call life. My mother would concur. “You come by it naturally”, she would often say. That and “Close the door! We aren’t heating all______(whatever town we were in at the point of comment.”

I posted some AI generated photos including some generated from the phrase “Every Mother’s KGB”. It’s a line from my song Something in the Air.

What does it mean? You’re barking up the wrong tree, speaking to the wrong hand. In my Mother’s words,” I don’t have a clue!”

Blame it on Bowie, Burroughs, Brian Gysin. A cut-up.

A friend commented, “ Sure, the mother is the villain, always.”

And who am I to argue? Me, a card carrying member of the patriarchy, that demands to be smashed.

Smash me first I say. Bring me down. Topple me. I deserve nothing less.

For now is the time of Mothers. Now is the time Women Will Rise Up ,and smash our sweet asses. God knows, we deserve it.

Another friend said, “No, you are one of the good ones.”


I deserve to be smashed.

Me and my sneer and my up turned nose.

She’s A Boy. He’s A Girl.


 Genda Blenda.  

A love song.  A song about the possibility of love, of change, of finding your voice, of being your true self, of acceptance of the pain of acceptance.  

It’s complicated, like life.  It is an attempt by a straightish guy to give support to my LGBTQ2+ friends and family.  

Because love doesn’t discriminate.  Love will find its way, through the myriad of pronouns, acronyms, capital letters, bars, bathrooms, schoolyard taunts, bullies, past  all the false flags waved by those who love to wave flags. 

“ She’s a boy. He’s a girl. And they want to change the world”. Change the world, not just change pronouns, not just change partners and dance, change the way we think about gender, and bodies, and kinds of love.  This is a call to assert their right to love, life and the freedom to just be.  To be boring if they want.  To be whatever, whomever, forever. 

“Doesn’t matter what they are. ‘Cause everybody is a star.”

“Use your inside voice. It’s an uptight world. Doctor said ‘Don’t worry, Mom.  It’s a Boy. No, it’s a Girl.”

“It’s a tough crowd tonight. We’re playing chicken in the bar.  You brought that damned feather boa. All I got is this goddamned guitar.

Found a hidden map. Lying in your lap. All roads lead to scars, schoolyards, and smoky bars.

She’s a Boy.  He’s A girl. And they want to change the world.” 


July 9, 2022

Autocorrect, my ass or Wht I mint to say


Writing is a gift and a challenge.   A gift when you put the words together in a way that makes your meaning memorable, a challenge when your ability to construct sentences is hampered by your inability to construct sentences.  What I meant to say was, sometimes the words get in the way of expressing the thoughts in your head.  Or rather, the thoughts in your head are interrupted by the voices in your ear, or the foot that keeps placing itself in your mouth, or the new meaning of formerly acceptable words, or how typing with a finger on a tablet, can be autocorrected into complete gibberish.  

Autocorrect, my ass.  I typed that though into the A.I. Image generator, and got the image to my right.  I mean left.   Or today, as I typed a comment on a thread, and was autocorrected five the first time to a misspelling. I lij that.  Fuve minutes of fame. No wonde we are becoming non- verbal.  No wonder you have to add emojis to confirm meaning.  

Scratch my head.  The ponder sign.  Hmmmm.   Couldn’t find a gif.  

“Head-Rub Girl

When your BFF's got drama to discuss, or wants you to confirm if her Instagram caption is good, or brings you into a group chat to help formulate her text messages, Head-Rub Girl's like: "I'm going to pretend to listen to your idiocy because I'm your friend, but I literally can't with this." In fact, Head-Rub Girl "literally couldn't" so many times that it gave her an aneurysm and now she spends 100% of her time at home having the blood massaged out of her brain.”

Have you had the blood massaged out of YOUR brain?  Would that be pleasurable? Massaging blood out of your brain? 

Head-Rub Gurl

What I am trying to say is words no longer matter.
Except when they do.
The wrong words can end a fight, a relationship, a bad day.
The right words can make all the difference.
(Is that even a complete sentence?)

July 3, 2022

My Soul Mate - Happy Anniversary

What to say that hasn’t already said?  

We met 47 years ago. 

I was still in high school.  

You were a year and a half older.  


We have been together for 43 years now.

We were kids. We made a child.

We are child owners.  

No one makes me laugh like you,

                                                                                    Only you can melt my bitch face.

You challenge me. You push me.  You refuse to take my crap. You always call my bullshit. 

You never canceled me.  You forgave me.  

It hasn’t been all roses.  But way more roses than not.  You have a ton of patience, waiting for me to grow up. But I treasure all the thorns along with the way as you make me a better person.  I am a better person because of you.  

This picture was taken on the night before we legally married, if I remember correctly, which is about a 50/50 proposition these days.  Our anniversary is July 4.  Independence Day south of the border.  Fireworks. Bombs bursting in air.  Makes it easier to remember. As if I could ever forget.  

I have always been such a lucky guy.  So much lucky.  Winning at the horse races.  Bingo! Say it louder. BINGO!  We have a winner. 

Through the years, the seasons, the snow, the heat domes, the atmospheric rivers, earthquakes, the art, the bands, the friends we have made together, the losses we shared, living with me is not always easy.  I would be the first to acknowledge that.  

But we always have a full glass to raise, to cheer, to toast our good fortune finding each other. Again.  

I remember the night you told me that we had been lovers before in another life.  I was the woman that time.  We have been together for lifetimes, and there will be more lifetimes to come. 

Michelle, my belle.