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.

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.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

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



Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Friday, April 12, 2013

Alvin Lee...TEN YEARS AFTER @ woodstock..

.(Damn! I should've been into them then)
This is the  piece that made me comment on alvin lee (below).. just get that passion-guitar!

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

OH SUSANNA-- Mike McRae

"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



Wednesday, April 3, 2013

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