The Unpleasant Reality Of The Business Of Life

                                               Near Durango, Colorado

A long time ago I knew a man who was fond of stating that the worst lie most people tell themselves is "I'll get around to it." 

He was not referring to the common, everyday procrastination that most people indulge in - he was referring to something he said was far worse.

He was referring to, as he made certain to make clear, the habit some people have of working at jobs or professions they have no real passion for, for most of their entire lives, in the hopes of one day being able to pursue their true passion.

I always wanted to kick that man right in his self-righteous balls.

Why? Simply because I am 100% certain no one on this planet makes it a habit to do anything they are not enthusiastic about if it were possible to be doing that very something they absolutely loved to do.

It has been my experience that anybody who is working at a job that is not their actual dream job, is doing so because they are not fond of being homeless, or in debt, or do not have the luxury of living off a trust fund or the public tit. They work that job in order to survive, to take care of themselves or their families.

I am also 100% certain that, if given the choice and freedom to do so, every single last one of the inhabitants of this big blue marble would be pursuing their real passion, especially if it not only afforded them a living, it brought them fame and fortune.

However, that is not the case for most people. Most people - and by most people I mean 99.9% of the people, are not able to pursue their passion and earn a living/provide for themselves and family/not be a burden to society. 

Sometimes it's due to not having gotten the break they need, sometimes it's due to the circumstances they were born in, sometimes it's because they can't afford the necessary education or don't have the right contacts. Whatever the case, most people have had to put their passions on the back burner and attend to the business of life.

Most people have to take jobs in industries that have absolutely nothing to do with what they really want to be doing. The world is overflowing with actors waiting tables, singers ringing up groceries, fine artists selling real estate, wanna be Doctors, Lawyers, Chemists, and Writers flipping burgers or signing people up on two-year cell phone contracts. That's just how life is.

All of those people no doubt are being honest with themselves and the world when they state "they will get around to it." Unfortunately, the business of life takes precedence over the dreams we all aspire to, unless you are fortunate enough to have some external means of support that will last until your passion becomes profitable.

That good fortune is made available to a very small percentage of those dreaming of wild and wonderful success in their chosen career field however - most people are forced to take a job simply to pay the bills.

And again that, I must reiterate, is just how life is. There is no conspiracy at work against the up and coming in any field. The obstacles that one encounters with each and every endeavor that may keep you from early successes are just the challenges that have to be overcome in order to prove your worth, to use a centuries old adage.

Think about it. If we could all have the level of success we really, truly wanted, there would be no one left to mix up a frozen Daiquiri and listen to people as they contemplate what is necessary to improve their lives; what it is to really overcome the odds and win.

Unless, of course, there are people whose idea of ultimate achievement is to be the best Daiquiri making bartender on the planet.

I guess it comes down to hope. Those who are still trying, still rehearsing lines in the shower or practicing the chords to the latest hit song in a dimly lit bedroom, are those that still have hope. They strive to improve, to overcome the odds, to "get around to it."

Those are the best people on earth, those are my brothers and sisters in arms, so to speak. They keep striving as they keep on taking care of business.

Kasey With A K

                                               Sunset, Lakewood, October 2013

She stood there looking like Maria Grazia Buccella
                                      Nude but for a garland of flowers
                                      Tastefully covering her breasts
          Her hands on her hips 
          She smiled with an exaggerated smirk
                 Dark hair cascading down her back
                 Like a waterfall of shimmering blueblack curls 
                  It would be easy to mistake her
          For a European nymph
          Possibly born in a village not far from the Adriatic
                                       Instead of the Kansas farmgirl
                                       She was
                                              

                        

That Radio Never Played What I Wanted To Hear

There were times, when I was an adolescent, when I would tie up the phone for a long, long while trying to get through to a radio station. I wasn't trying to win concert tickets or $103.5 in cash, and I wasn't trying to win a trip to some exotic locale. I was simply trying to get through to the DJ in order to request a song.

Back then I had no idea that radio stations had playlists put together by Program Directors, and that the unpaid intern answering the phone who earnestly assured me that she would pass my request on to the DJ was simply following the station's protocols. Back then I honestly thought that my good taste in music would be rewarded with the playing of my request over the airwaves.

There was a summer when I was absolutely in love with The Clash's London Calling album, and I would call the local rock station (KGB FM in San Diego) and plead with them to play Clampdown, by far my favorite tune on the album. I was actually told numerous times that my request would be coming up soon, and countless times I stayed by the radio eager to hear it.

Never happened, not once. The first time I ever heard Clampdown by the Clash on the radio was 6 years later, on 91X, a radio station that had converted from an album orientated rock format to a rock of the '80's format while I was away from San Diego playing wingnut.

The station featured a DJ on their morning show (named "The Breakfast Club," as were hundreds of other radio station morning shows of that era) who seemed to have the clout to play a lot of what he himself actually liked to hear, which was startlingly close to what I liked to hear. Bryan Jones would spin a tune by the Jam and follow it up with a tune by the 'mats, which to my ears was pure heaven.

91X became my station of choice for the most part, until the rock of the '80's format morphed into a modern rock top forty station, which meant they went from playing unheard and unproven up and coming bands to only that which was proven to appeal to the 16 to 24 year-old market...and they repeated what that demographic wanted to hear over and over and over again.

I had learned by then that popular music was first and foremost a business, and I was as far from the core demographic for radio stations as one could get.

I ended up leaving San Diego right around the time the rock of the '80's format became the Modern Rock format. I imagine some PR guy decided the term Modern Rock sounded newer and wouldn't need updating on the letterheads and stationary every ten years.

Some years ago I read that Bryan Jones, the DJ that had first played music over the radio that I truly liked to hear, had passed away from a heart attack at the age of 49. I can remember feeling saddened when I read the news. He was a unique character, and the world is the worse for his passing.

These days I rarely listen to the radio, at least not to stations that play music. The radio stations in and around Denver are all very narrow in their formats, even those that purport not to be - those stations just play the "alternative" music that is readily digestible to their target market, and not much else.

Fortunately, technology has come to my rescue. The advent of first, satellite radio, and now Internet radio, has made it possible for me to hear the music I want to hear, whether it's an moldy oldie (Yep, Power Pop and Punk from the late '70's and early '80's is now moldy oldie music) or the latest oddly-named (Rock ran out of good names for bands about twenty years ago) noise makers, I can hear it over my computer. It is truly a wonderful thing.

It's also a bit ironic though - now I have grown to really like a lot of the late '70's and early '80's bands I absolutely despised back then. Hell, I caught myself singing along with Lynyrd Skynyrd this morning on the way into work. 

Her Green Eyes On The Beach At Sunset

I once met a woman on the beach in Ventura

                                       She took my picture near the shore

We had dinner at a Chinese restaurant on East Thompson

      Our conversation did not include any mention 

                                       Of Proust

                                       Or Buckley, Teasdale or Kerouac

We talked of how we had both ended up on the beach

                    Me visiting SoCal from Alaska

                    She from just a few miles inland

                                                            Valencia

                                       She had red hair, with a hint                                                  Of russet

Had a condo not to far down the road

                    After two hours of pleasant conversation

                    (Not, of course, to the staff working late) 

                                       We left the restaurant

                                       And went to her place

                    A nice little condo

                    Befitting a hairdresser

                    Not too far from the college

We stayed up until the wee hours

                                       Me sketching her as a mermaid

                                       Or maybe a Selkie

                    She sharing her collection of erotica

                    Or rather, her copy of Madonna's book

Eventually we both grew tired

                                       3:00am

She brought me pillows and a blanket

                                       She went upstairs to her bed

               I slept on the couch

                         She had eyes like emeralds

A Temporary Defensive Position

                   The Marina, 16" X 20", Watercolor, Chris Long (nkna Bakunas) 1980

There was a time in the history of the world when not one person considered what was on their schedule, when the only action item for every living soul was getting something to eat or drink, or possibly finding shelter. That and maybe getting together a group to sit around a fire and create myths about the origins for everything.

There were no books, no magazines, no radios, television or cinema. Not one single playhouse. All story telling was around that fire, all knowledge known was shared there. Any possible advances made in the technology of the day were introduced there and every single thing that happened to any member of the group was related there.

That was the place, the one place. No breakrooms at the workplace, no bars or clubs to mingle at, no parks or public squares to gather at. Just the firepit, every evening.  

Man, the boredom must have been unimaginable. No wonder people invented stuff. Gave 'em something to do.

Not Allowing Years To Determine Age

On occasion I have met
People old in years, physical years
Who have no intention of ever allowing a number
Determine their age
They resolutely continue to enjoy life
As if they have a lifetime to live
These rebels against the talons of time
Seem to have reached the conclusion
That it's not the years you rack up that kill you
Or even slow you down
It's the allowing yourself to feel
Old
That does you in
These people with their young souls
Still revel in the challenge of education
Still seek adventure, rejoice in the dawn of every new day
Their revelry embarrasses family or friends
And they intend to extend that embarrassment
For as long as they can
I for one
Hope to someday join this notorious gang of
Geriatric delinquents

The First Morning In October Will Always Be Like This

Brad and I spent the evening toasting his memory and looking at old pictures. Pictures that captured moments spent living life with a man who had become more than a friend, who had become our brother and will always be our brother.

Three years gone now, and still it's rare for more than a couple of days to pass when something doesn't remind me of him; his mannerisms, his combination of a devil-may-care attitude with a wise-beyond-his years sense of responsibility. He was a character and a crack-up, a man who loved his family and a man who valued his independence.

Over the course of the past year there were many times when I thought of John. Times when I would think, "I wonder what John would think of this shittery," or I would say, "Man, that is John-level tomfoolery."

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever forget about him, and when I think those thoughts I always immediately answer myself with, "No, won't happen. John wasn't a visitor to my life, he was a permanent resident. Permanent."