TRUE LOVE WILL NEVER FADE..Knopfler

True love will never fade 
True love will never fade 
True love will never fade 
True love will never fade 
True love will never fade 

I wonder if there’s no forever 
No walking hand in hand 
Down a yellow brick road 
To never never land 
These days I get to where I’m going 
Make it there eventually 
Follow the trail of breadcrumbs 
To where I’m meant to be
To where I’m meant to be

I don’t know what brought you to me 
That was up to you 
There’s so many come to see me 
Who want their own tattoo 
I fixed a needle in a holder 
Laid my hand upon your spine 
And there upon your shoulder 
I drew the picture as your sign 
When I think about us 
I see the picture that we made 
The picture to remind us 

True love will never fade 
True love will never fade 
True love will never fade 
True love will never fade 

I worked the rowdies and daytrippers 
Now and then I think of you 
Any which way we’re all shufflin’ 
Forward in the queue 
They like to move my operation 
They like to get me off the pier 
And I dream I’m on a steamer 
Pullin’ out of here 

When I think about us 
I see a picture that we made 
The picture to remind us 

True love will never fade
True love will never fade
True love will never fade
True love will never fade
True love will never fade
True love will never fade

THE GIFT...The Velvet Underground

Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now Mid-August which meant he had 
been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had 
to show was three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone 
calls. True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin, and he to
Locust, Pennsylvania, she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would 
date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful. 

But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when 
he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning 
underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he 
pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothing of 
some neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. 
It was more than the human mind could bear. 

Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual 
abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn't understand how 
she really was. He, Waldo, alone understood this. He had intuitively grasped 
every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile. She needed him, and 
he wasn't there (Awww...). 

The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers' Parade was scheduled 
to appear. He'd just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar 
fifty and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from 
Marsha. There was nothing but a circular from the Amalgamated Aluminum Company 
of America inquiring into his awing needs. At least they cared enough to write.

It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. Then it struck 
him. He didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion,
true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself 
parcel post, special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to 
purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a 
medium sized cardboard box just right for a person of his build. He judged that 
with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, 
some water, perhaps some midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as 
going tourist.

By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post 
office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock. He'd marked the package 
"Fragile", and as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam rubber 
cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and 
happiness on Marshas face as she opened her door, saw the package, tipped the 
deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She 
would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of 
this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne 
up. He landed with a thud in a truck and was off. 

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough 
weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about
it though. After it was over he'd said he still respected her and, after all, 
it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no he didn't love her, he 
did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what 
Bill could teach Waldo - but that seemed many years ago. 

Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend, walked in through the porch screen 
door and into the kitchen. "Oh gawd, it's absolutely maudlin outside." "Ach, I 
know what you mean, I feel all icky!" Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton 
robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on 
the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face. "I'm supposed to be 
taking these salt pills, but," she wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like 
throwing up." Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd 
seen on television. "God, don't even talk about that." She got up from the 
table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue 
vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than steak," and then attempted to 
touch her knees. "I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again." 

She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the
telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she said to Sheila's glance. Sheila nibbled on 
a cuticle. "After last night, I thought maybe you'd be through with him." "I 
know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place." 
She gestured, raising her arms upwards in defense. "The thing is, after a 
while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all I didn't 
really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him. You know 
what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheila was giggling with her hand over 
her mouth. "I'll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," here 
she bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to!" Now she was laughing very loudly. 

It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang 
the doorbell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson 
opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his 
green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen cent tip that Marsha had 
gotten out of her mother's small beige pocketbook in the den. "What do you 
think it is?" Sheila asked. Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. 
She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living 
room. "I dunno."

Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the 
muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down 
the center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the return address and see who 
it's from?" Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the 
vibrating footsteps. It would be soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. "Ah, god, 
it's from Waldo!" "That schmuck!" said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation. 
"Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the 
staple flap. "Ah sst," said Marsha, groaning, "he must have nailed it shut." 
They tugged on the flap again. "My God, you need a power drill to get this 
thing open!" They pulled again. "You can't get a grip." They both stood still, 
breathing heavily. 

"Why don't you get a scissor," said Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but 
all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her 
father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs, and when 
she came back up, she had a large sheet metal cutter 
in her hand. "This is the best I could find." She was very out of breath. 
"Here, you do it. I-I'm gonna die." She sank into a large fluffy couch and 
exhaled noisily. Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the 
end of the cardboard flap, but the blade was too big and there wasn't enough 
room. "God damn this thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. Then smiling,
"I got an idea." "What?" said Marsha. "Just watch," said Sheila, touching her 
finger to her head.

Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could 
barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat, and he could feel his 
heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and 
walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her 
knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath, and plunged the 
long blade through the middle of the package, through the masking tape, through 
the cardboard, through the cushioning and (thud) right through the center of 
Waldo Jeffers head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red 
to pulsate gently in the morning sun.

WILD HORSES --STONES...

WILD HORSES

what's in my stolen Heart

(finishes with Vantage WILD HORSES sculpture on hill)

Songwriters: JAGGER, MICK / RICHARDS, KEITH

Childhood living is easy to do
The things you wanted I bought them for you
Graceless lady you know who I am
You know I can't let you slide through my hands
Wild horses, couldn't drag me away
Wild wild horses couldn't drag me away

I watched you suffer a dull aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or off stage lines
Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind
Wild horses, couldn't drag me away
Wild wild horses couldn't drag me away

I know I've dreamed you a sin and a lie
I have my freedom but I don't have much time
Faith has been broken tears must be cried
Let's do some living after we die
Wild horses, couldn't drag me away
Wild wild horses we'll ride them someday
Wild horses, couldn't drag me away
Wild wild horses we'll ride them someday

"I CAN'T KEEP FROM CRYIN' SOMETIMES" - RENBOURN/LEE/COOPER/JOHNSON

I can't keep from Cryin' sometimes
I just can't keep from cryin' sometimes
my heart is full of sorrow
my eyes is full o' tears
I can't keep from cryin' sometimes

I thought when first she left me I'd worry for awhile
Soon it would be all over I'd journey with a smile
But as get older I think of what I told her and 
I can't keep from cryin' sometimes
No I can't keep from cryin' sometimes
Said I can't keep from cryin' sometimes
My heart is full of sorrow 
My eyes is full o' tears
I can't deep from cryin' sometimes

Walking down those highways
Gonna travel Night and Day
With a heart all full of sorrow and 
eyes all full o' tears
Can't keep from cryin' sometimes
Can't keep from cryin' sometimes
No I can't keep from cryin' sometimes
My heart is full of sorrow 
My eyes is full o' tears
I can't keep from cryin' sometimes


............these Lyrics John Renbourn

(Blind willie johnson originally Wrote this song--the above are not his lyrics)
--i'm not sure who wrote this...some variations is lyrics between artists
including Ten Years After (Alvin Lee), Phoebe Snow, Al Cooper, Blind Willie Johnson (wrote it)
...Probably more



While perusing the net I came across this Alvin Lee (Ten Years After) version...and kick myself for not being into them a lifetime ago...guess I'm makin' up for lost time...



 AL COOPER!!! :::::



and Originally----Blind Billie Johnson

BUTTERFLIES--Pearls Before Swine/Tom Rapp (Album BEAUTIFUL LIES)

"Butterflies"
By Tom Rapp

Butterflies are very strong
They only cry when they're called upon
I wish I knew
The butterfly in you

The moth will play with the dirty flame
And end up burning inside
But the butterfly she is the flame
When there's so much pretty
There's so much pain
I think I see
Where all the butterflies must be

Upon a rock
A beautiful thing
Until the rocks come together
On her dusty wings
I think I know
Where all the butterflies must go

Butterflies are very strong
They only cry when they're called upon
I think I see
The butterfly in thee
Won't you spread your wings
On me

Don't Think Twice by Peter, Paul and Mary/4BF

BOB DYLAN LYRICS

"Don't Think Twice It's All Right"

It ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It don't matter, anyhow
And it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don't know by now
When your rooster crows at the breaks of dawn
Look out your window and I'll be gone
You're the reason I'm traveling on
Don't think twice, it's all right.

It ain't no use in turning on your light, babe
That light I never knowed
And it ain't no use in turning on your light, babe
I'm on the dark side of the road
But I wish there was somethin' you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
We never did too much talking anyway
So don't think twice, it's all right.

It ain't no use in calling out my name, gal
Like you never done before
It ain't no use in calling out my name, gal
I can't hear you any more
I'm a-thinking and a-wond'rin' walking down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I'm told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
Don't think twice, it's all right.

So long honey, babe
Where I'm bound, I can't tell
Goodbye's too good a word, babe
So I'll just say fare thee well
I ain't saying you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don't think twice, it's all right.

Tara Brach...worth absorbing

The Silent Observer-T.S. Eliot

“What is this self inside us, this silent observer,

Severe and speechless critic, who can terrorize us,

And urge us on to futile activity,

And in the end, judge us still more severely,

For the errors into which his own reproaches drove us?

– T. S. Eliot

My newest 'word' design. looks like some others had the same idea... anyway, here is the url to my Cafepress store for this item. you can get this image on various items, shirts, cups, etc.... at:

http://www.cafepress.com/undiagnosed

Somebody That I used To Know /ASL Gotye

AZORA needs to make more of these exquisite music videos. Please go to her YOUTUBE site and subscribe and let her know in feedback just how f*cking good she is. I love her... go azora!

Someone Like You-- by Adele / ASL tiffany currier

Ashland to Sacramento to Modesto: Ordination Train for Three Young Kings

It must have been the early part of the year 1970 when three young hipsters made the decision to become Universal Life Ministers. The three: Morley Hughes, Timothy Ewing, and myself, DanThomas; all of us about 20 years of age.

The 'becoming a minister' part of this unforgettable voyage had to have been Tim's idea, but it might've been Morleys. 

Tim and I were from Yakima via Seattle. We got a ride far to the south part of Oregon on I-5, almost to the border, just below Medford: the wonderfully charming town of Ashland, Oregon. Ashland is home to the famous Shakespeare Festival at the Angus Bowman Theater. Ashland, surrounded by the Siskiyous, antiquated houses on nearly all the streets. I have since awakened on bright cold crisp winter mornings, and hot summer days, breathing in fresh mountain air, and just knowing that even in  town there are countless enjoyable and stimulating walks i could go on, beneath Walnut trees, to the Angus Bowman Theater, through LIthia Park, or just on any given street. Our friend Morley, whom we had met when he was passing through Yakima in Washington State, awaited us here. Morley and I back then, in Yakima, had enjoyed playing dual guitars and singing alot of Dylan tunes, to me most memorable was "THE WEIGHT" and "LAY LADY LAY". Morley had already made Ashland somewhat his home by then. I'm thinking it was later when I saw him in Portland, it was so long ago my chronological memory might not be true.

Tim and I had a few friends from Yakima who were young actors in the Shakespeare Festival here in Ashland: Steve Boggess, Alan Fearon and a california friend of theirs, Steve. I forgot that Steve's last name but decades later I saw him on Wheel of Fortune winning about $15,000.00.

Two very pretty girls shared a small apartment right across the street from Lithia Park, designed by the same fellow who designed San Francisco's Golden Gate Park. Tim and I were lucky enough to end up staying with them. (Yes, ... and Yes).

The Vietnam war was raging still and young guys like us were seeking ways to avoid that messy thing. So this Universal life ordination idea took root in our minds and hearts. The home of the Universal Life Church was in Modesto, California, founded by the Rev. Kirby J. Hensley, the Baptist and Pentecostal preacher. Most folks of draft age who sought this free ordination into the Universal Life Church just sent him a request by mail. We were different. I'm pretty sure the riding the rails to transport us to Rev. Hensley's Church and then home idea came from Morley. We had Kirby J. Hensley's address in Modesto and got ready to go.

We each had a moderately sized pack stuffed with what we'd need, which wasn't much. The girls were sweet; they had made us snacks of celery stalks and peanut butter. we were set. 

Morley had more experience at this already. He knew what we had to do. Firstly, avoid the railroad boys.

We set out at night, just walking down to the freight yard. This turned out to be a walk in the park. No one was around and there was a  roofed and wide open freight car loaded half full of fresh cut lumber. I swear to God the photograph above of the ashland rail yards looks like the exact place we climbed aboard! we pulled ourselves up and in and we all took a deep breath, especially Tim and I. This was going to be new for both of us. And perhaps for Morley as I don't think he had ever gone as far as our planned adventure was about to catapult us.

Somehow we knew this was the California bound freight, but when it was going to leave we didn't know. I think we dove into the celery and peanut butter early on. so we began to wait, while anticipatory thought-dreams careened through our young long-haired skulls. Undoubtedly there was herbal assistance.

Then it moved! Yah!... throwing me off balance a bit. might've been the jolt of the train linking up with another set of cars or just moving, I'm not sure which. But we were moving. 

It's difficult to recall specifics, but it seems the train went quite slowly for the longest time. I began to size up other things that might or might not happen. What if they shut the door?! What if a killer hops onto our car?! Then I got to the 'Que Sera Sera' end of that thought. Looked like we'd have a wide vista to see the passing scenery through, the huge freight car door wide open. We spread out our sleeping bags on top of the lumber trying both to find a relatively flat area and trying to avoid getting slivers as we did so. Thus began our Great Adventure,  which ended up being over 24 hours, and maybe more like 48. a journey so many older and less spoiled men had taken routinely to get from place to place through decades, through the depression.. and for some, a lifestyle, by choice or not. Such are the fates of us diverse individuals both then and now in the United States of America and through time. Soon the perpetual vibration and the overwhelming volume of the roaring of these enormous steel boxes and the gears and huge steel wheels carrying same, a marvelous iron snake rumbling into the night. That as well as the occasionally shifting lumber, commanded us into acceptance. we tried to shout to each other but not for long. we all then wore involuntary glowing and wry grins when we acknowledged that for the length of our voyage we were without an audible language, for none of us then knew American Sign Language. We would be essentially as three deaf young men for the duration. we were moving. Our journey had begun! Like three Hobbits on a mission.

I know I had possibly been to california once by then, on another youthful adventure or two; I'm not sure of Tim. I'm pretty sure Morley had been to Cali.

The cool night air flew in on it's own schedule. We all wondered if we were missing the  spectacular sight of Mount Shasta through the other, closed,  door. We did have a crack or a hole in the metal siding wall onto peek through on the East Side. Our open "window" was on the West. 

The thump-thump-thumping and monsterous white noise of the entire long metal serpent continued like a completely present earthquake that would not let up. On it went as we made our private adjustments to our 'condition', and poised ourselves to enjoy the whole thing, complete with all it's encumbrances.

At night once, many hours later, Morley nudged me and nodded towards a lower level of lumber on the open door side, just inside the sliding door. We had company in this moving world, undoubtedly one already at home at riding the rods. it was dark and I could barely make him out, but there he was. As we struggled to perform a rendition of sleeping, that guy never acknowledged us. Several hours later, he was gone, but we were puzzled where he might've moved to, because the train, by now going maybe 70 MPH or more, had not perceivably slowed at any time. I wondered if he'd been thrown off, but then I figured he knew how to move around on a moving train. He was not where he had been, in any case.  Perhaps he was a ghost.

I know I dreamed. Some nightmarish, but on awakening and remembering where I was and that gave me a form of reassurance.

I do remember, I believe the next afternoon, a nice hot sunny blue sky day, the opposite of our previous night, rounding a lake, perhaps Lake Shasta, and watching people putting about in their own rented houseboats as if they were on television. Looked like something I might like to do someday.

Nice day, lazily trolling the lake, no worries, Ah!

I'll add more soon... there's no real climax but good memories...as we were off to see the 'wizard' Kirby J. Hensley.

 coming: the Orange stop and the caboosemen. jumping off @ probably 30 MPH or more! sleeping beneath that beautiful tree near 

sacramento. did we find a Denny's or something? hitching to Rev. Hensley's Church, and then to his messy home..(because he had his wife and daughter attending to paperwork at the church, as we had seen)....no recall of the trip back..have to work on it! may SF?