Mi Throw Mi Corn

Dear Journal, have a free song

Start writing …

Okay. I’ll start by saying that inside of me there is something raging, and I can’t quite let it out like I would like to —or not, like to. I sometimes wish, in certain situations, I could turn off my loose lips. Sometimes I feel I am too brutally honest, and hurt myself, and others with my fire. Who the cap fit, let them wear it. Mi throw mi corn, but I never call no fowl …

I deal with this lonesome feeling certainly —by hiding in very tight knit circles, recently more and more, by staying home. I would rather stay home most of the time. I’ve been haunted by a will to be creative my whole life, something tells me, I’ve put myself into this electronical position on my own terms. I’ve been through bouts of depression and manic wildness, clinical and unmedicated, I am feeling crazy sometimes, or, I think, antiquated.

And I should have known. Should have known years ago when I first started swimming in the social media pool, the YouTube frenzy of likes and comments —that the whole gimmick of viral success, was akin to winning money from a scratch off lottery ticket. Sometimes you hit and then spend your entire fortune trying to hit, again. Remember when Instagram was all about photography and Facebook was for finding old-time friends and posting events and stuff? Well, we sure were fooled weren’t we? Oui?

So now what?

Well, tonight I’ll be listening to music, piped in from Spotify —Bob Marley, Rastaman Vibration. And ain’t that the rub? Listening to rebellious, righteous music from a, “service” said to be funding an AI corporation that is designing war products. I wonder who gets the streaming monies from the millions and millions of streams from Bob’s music? This Spotify thing-a-ma-jig could be something great, I mean, I’ve owned Rastaman Vibration on LP, Cassette and CD, but, once I own it, the sale is over —now artists could be paid a royalty for every stream? The recording industry has never been an honest place to do business the history books tell us.

I am not sure where I am going with this entry, dear journal. Are you with me? I’ll certainly start a folder soon, an actual manila folder with these Substack posts, so I can keep them in an analog form for future generations. Listen. I am sitting right now, writing, on a lazy river, in sight distance of a massive mural the size of the side of a building, of Muhammad Ali. He was the greatest, and had balls of steel to prove that self proclaimed inner feeling about his craft —and partly, it is he, who fuels the attitude I must have to keep being creative in a time when it seems creatives are expected, to just take it on the chin, and shut up —keep sharing, asking no questions, just like, share and subscribe.

So back to feeling crazy, and wishing to isolate part I mentioned in the first paragraph of this journal entry. I am going to be furloughed from my job soon, and I am deeply pissed about that, but, will have two months or so to be as wild as, “When the going gets weird, the weird turn professional” — can get. Hunter S. Thompson said that. Muhammad Ali and Hunter Thompson were both from Louisville, and so am I, and I am the greatest and certainly … weird.

In my unemployed time, I plan on studying writing, falling deep into a Steinbeck hole, and learning a bit more grammar, and how to better use my letters —meaning … hide, read, and find an outlet for music. Might as well just stand under a big mural of Woody Guthrie, and play on the street. Hell, why not. I am sick of organizing my own shows anyway. To be a good street musician, you just have to pick a corner and stand on it.

Muralist - Damon Thompson - pic from LEO Magazine

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Here is a free song:

Freedom. (inspired)

You can download more of my music here.

So, in conclusion, dear journal, diary, muse, whatever …

I am looking passively forward to being let go down here at my job on the river. My job is seasonal, I already knew that when I started back in the spring, but, jeeze louise … I do feel a bit anxious about the world condition. I think, I might be over stimulated or something. I need a little place in the country, a small piece of land, 5 acres or less, or a road trip, or something. I’ve thought about releasing the recording posted above as an LP record. Maybe I’ll look into that when I am released from this watch position. Who knows.