Hop in! Where you headed?

I aim this blog at Hitchhiking stories, obviously. However, you can take that in the 'poetic' sense, as we are 'snakes' in time and the asphalt rivers take us to many places, as well as 'places'..

PLEASE REMEMBER TO READ PREVIOUS PAGES..
.... occasionally my own 'Road' spurs me to use this blog to communicate with someone I've 'travelled with' who holds a special meaning to me.

Monday, December 23, 2013


Monday, November 4, 2013



Broken Bicycles

tom waits

Broken bicycles
Old busted chains
With busted handle bars
Out in the rain
Somebody must
Have an orphanage for
All these things that nobody
Wants any more
September's reminding july
It's time to be saying good-bye
Summer is gone
Our love will remain
Like old broken bicycles
Out in the rain
Broken bicycles
Don't tell my folks
There's all those playing cards
Pinned to the spokes
Laid down like skeletons
Out on the lawn
The wheels won't turn
When the other has gone
The seasons can turn on a dime
Somehow I forget every time
For all the things that you've given me
Will always stay
Broken, but I'll never throw them away


Read more: Tom Waits - Broken Bicycles Lyrics | MetroLyrics 

I hope that I don't fall in love with you ----(words displayed with song)


Songwriters: TOM WAITS
Well I hope that I don't fall in love with you
'Cause falling in love just makes me blue,
Well the music plays and you display
Your heart for me to see,
I had a beer and now I hear you
Calling out for me
And I hope that I don't fall in love with you.

Well the room is crowded, people everywhere
And I wonder, should I offer you a chair?
Well if you sit down with this old clown,
Take that frown and break it,
Before the evening's gone away,
I think that we could make it, 
And I hope that I don't fall in love with you.

Well the night does funny things inside a man
These old tom-cat feelings you don't understand,
Well I turn around to look at you,
You light a cigarette,
I wish I had the guts to bum one,
But we've never met, 
And I hope that I don't fall in love with you.

I can see that you are lonesome just like me,
And it being late, you'd like some some company,
Well I turn around to look at you,
And you look back at me,
The guy you're with has up and split,
The chair next to you's free, 
And I hope that you don't fall in love with me.

Now it's closing time, the music's fading out
Last call for drinks, I'll have another stout.
Well I turn around to look at you,
You're nowhere to be found,
I search the place for your lost face,
Guess I'll have another round
And I think that I just fell in love with you.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

Cure for Anxiety Discovered



Study: Anxiety Resolved By Thinking About It Real Hard

WALTHAM, MA—Potentially offering hope to millions of Americans struggling with psychological and emotional problems, a study published this week in The New England Journal Of Medicine found that test subjects were capable of fully resolving their anxiety by thinking about it very intensely.
The study, which followed 1,200 adults suffering from mild unease to chronic anxiety, confirmed that focusing continuously and exclusively on one’s own specific sources of distress to the point that one’s mental and physical health began to suffer was associated with the complete elimination of anxiety from patients’ lives and their subsequent return to happiness and emotional well-being.
“Of the hundreds of individuals we studied, those who thought about their feelings of dread and apprehension at every moment of every day—including throughout their workdays, at home, and in social outings—were able to effectively cure themselves of anxiety in 100 percent of cases,” said psychiatrist and lead researcher Rajiv Menon of the University of Virginia. “Whether someone is feeling overwhelmed at the office or constantly pondering whether their relationship might be falling apart, it appears that incessantly agonizing over this source of stress is all that’s required to eliminate your feelings of tension about this subject altogether and leave you feeling untroubled and fully satisfied with your life.”
“The results are clear,” Menon continued. “The more you obsessively worry about something bad that has already happened or about something bad that may happen in the future, the better you’ll feel.”
According to Menon, research participants who focused all their mental energy on fretting passed through three distinct stages as their feelings of angst were systematically eradicated. First, subjects frantically overanalyzed each detail of their particular anxiety, after which they mentally tormented themselves regarding every single thing that could possibly go wrong. Finally, and most crucially according to the data, subjects beat themselves up over their stresses to such a degree that they became virtually paralyzed, rendering themselves too impaired to function in most aspects of their lives.
After completing these three stages, Menon confirmed that every subject was found to be completely free of anxiety and immediately went forward leading a normal life.
“The key to beating anxiety is to let yourself become totally consumed with intrusive, irrational thoughts until you actually raise your pulse and blood pressure,” said assistant researcher Dana Kelley, who said that blinding stress headaches were a crucial indicator that one’s anxious feelings were disappearing. “If you can get to a point where you legitimately feel short of breath and begin to perceptibly tremble, that means you’re progressing. In fact, the more tense your neck and shoulders are, the closer you are to moving past your anxiety altogether.”
“Lying awake in bed for hours every night due to your singular, debilitating focus on your insecurities is a great start, but ideally you want to get to a point where you have horrible nightly anxiety dreams that persist throughout your few fitful hours of sleep,” Kelley added. “That’s a clear sign your anxiety is almost entirely gone.”
Kelley warned individuals, however, not to attempt to take a step back and distance themselves from their angst issues or try to gain a rational perspective on their fears, as such efforts caused immediate spikes in their overall levels of anxiety, setting their treatment back weeks. In addition, she urged friends and family members of those suffering from anxiety to be as dismissive as possible about their loved ones’ conditions, noting that hearing frequent belittling and condescending remarks about how their fears were “not valid” and “nothing to worry about” was correlated with markedly enhanced and expedited recoveries among test subjects.
One of the study’s participants, April Willis, 41, praised the research for resolving deep-seated insecurities about her appearance and competence, citing in particular the effectiveness of a technique in which she mentally replays her most anxiety-inducing thoughts and memories over and over in her head at all hours of day and night.
“After years of struggling with anxiety, I found that the cure was as simple as mentally torturing myself over every last shred of disquiet in my life until I became so riddled with doubt and unease that I was unable to eat or sleep,” Willis told reporters. “Once I obsessively worried to a point that I was effectively debilitated and felt that I barely even wanted to go on, then, poof, the anxiety went away for good.”
“So now when I sense any anxiety, no matter how minor, I just allow my intrusive, anxious thoughts to take over and take me wherever they choose—it’s that simple,” added a smiling Willis. “If I can do it, so can you!”

Finally!


FDA Approves Depressant Drug For The Annoyingly Cheerful

Monday, June 17, 2013

CALLING AND NOT CALLING MY EX - OKKERVIL RIVER







She was once mine
That smile that shines
From the glossy magazine that's stuck inside the Sunday Times

She was so sweet on Christmas Eve
With the snow set deep
When we went walking through the pines

I had just been fired and her first offer had arrived
And the new year would see her flying far away from me
Though I didn't know it at the time

With outstretched hands
Now she commands
A famous figure for every picture

And she stands up strong and she demands
And they deliver
Yeah, she's a fixture

And it's a mixture of dumb jealousy and fear
That I might feel should she appear
Just like it hasn't been three years

And there's a distance to her voice over the phone
And that's because she stands alone
While I'm still sitting here

Girl, you see me here on another quiet night
I will wait until another indistinguishable day arrives
I'll decide where the light's even and bright
[ From: http://www.elyrics.net ]

Where my life's sweet as it's slightly, disappointedly, just gliding softly by

And you won't wait for me in some secluded stand of trees
Some Christmas Eve, some God was kind enough to set aside
Although I'd love you too, I'm proud of you
God knows I'm feeling really stupid now
For ever having said goodbye

During the fight
I said, "Yeah right"
When you insisted that I visit, that you'd write

Now, I know you're working hard
So I never hear from you, and that's fine
You look the same on TV as when you were mine

I walk in from the kitchen and I finger the remote control
I watch you from the distance, you go walking through the terminal
I remember ever instance, when you stung me
Oh, you're so lovely
Oh, you're so smart
So, go turn their heads, go knock them dead, go break their hearts

Go break their hearts
Baby, break their hearts
And I know you will
Lyrics from eLyrics.net

Sunday, April 28, 2013

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.