Two bus loads of drivers attended Chuck Everette's funeral today. It has been my great privilege to work with some fine people.

Speaking of corporate agriculture: Unemployment in Imperial County, California is 30.2 percent. How's capitalism working out for you?

Driving people from defiance to compliance- Noam Chomsky (Buy) (Or don't buy)

It's not a music download but nobody's listening to any of those either. If only you knew how hard I work at this stuff.

Posted elsewhere

As I've said elsewhere, my best stuff shows up on other people's blogs. Mr. Beer N. Hockey posted one of his excellent poems and I just had to mouth off:

"Some neighbors decided to buy some ewes, raise a few lambs and make a couple of bucks. Seemed like a good idea until it was time to separate the lambs from their mothers. The lambs screamed and the ewes screamed back, that lasted all night until the truck came to haul the lambs off. The ewes continued to scream and cry for a couple of days afterwards. The sounds they made were heart rending. I couldn't eat lamb for several years after. Reminded me of the time a calf died in a field near here. The cow stood over the body, rigid with grief, and didn't move for days.

The longest I ever lasted as a vegetarian was about a year. By the end of the year I was dreaming about meat. I thought about it like I thought about sex when I was sixteen. Finally a vegetarian friend told me that I should probably go ahead and eat some meat. By that time I probably could have clubbed a baby seal and eaten it's heart.

These days I eat dead things frequently. I try and remember the animal on the plate but mostly I don't bother.

Twenty some years ago, I spent a few years around big corporate agriculture. I saw all of those factory farms that the animal rights assholes like to talk about. They were pretty bad. Being an animal on one of those farms was about as bad as being a human and working at most human jobs. That's the part that animal rights people miss".

Beer, as usual, offered a good reply:

"When the morning whistle blows, everybody I work with know they are just meat in a grinder.

I too am in favour of free range humans."

Work- Scott H. Biram (Buy)

Work- Maureen Tucker (Buy)

Here's a song about work, not in the Marxist sense, rather what one does with "That Thing".

The Way That You Work- Les Sexareenos (Buy)

Finally a song about a man who has slipped the bonds of labor and everything else.

The Bottomless Hole- The Handsome Family (Buy)

While we're laying people to rest, RIP Jim Dickinson.

Sorry

I don't know when I'll get a chance to post anything new. I'm still fighting the nameless virus. I'm very tired. A friend from work was murdered last week. Say a prayer, or if you're not the praying type, think a kind thought for Chuck Everett.

Once again, I blew off church

I did watch Dogma last week. Does that count? It is one of three movies about New Jersey that I don't find depressing. Can you name the other two?

Besides watching Dogma, I listened to Porter Hall Tennessee. More hipster hillbilly gospel music, but I like that kind of thing.

Satan On The Run- Porter Hall Tennessee (buy)

Ola Belle Reed was no hipster, she was the real thing. I've been listening to her too.

Fortunes- Ola Belle Reed (buy)

Speaking of hipster hillbilly music, here's the skinny and talented creator of the Chicken Banjo Uke playing same

Having been pawed at by doctors I am sick and exhausted. I felt OK until the doctors got to me. I am not looking forward to getting truly old and being unable to defend myself from the doctors.

The word for this is Iatrogenesis.

The doctors decided that I have a "sleep disorder". They described a bunch of symptoms. In the interest of being helpful, I pointed out that I do not have any of those symptoms. In the interest of commerce, the doctors insisted that I would have to sleep attached to an expensive machine or two or they would take away my job. Under that threat, I attempted to sleep attached to the machines. Supposedly, I have trouble breathing when I sleep. The machine was supposed to help me with that. In fact, the machines cut off my breathing and made it almost impossible to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. After three nights without sleep I have all of the symptoms of someone with a severe sleep disorder. I fall asleep every time I sit down. I can't read without falling asleep. I can't play music without falling asleep. I can't watch a movie without falling asleep.

I offered to return the machine through the window of the sleep clinic but the nice receptionist negotiated a less dramatic return. Despite the fact that I have medical insurance, here in the country with the "best" or more likely, thirty second best health care in the world, I was forced to find a doctor who does not have a financial interest in the sleep disorder industry. I paid him cash and he examined me and found me fit to work.

This whole business drug on for two months. I am depressed, exhausted and can't shake this cold that has been dragging me down for weeks.

I have often expressed my admiration for Brownfemipower. She has had a few interesting things to say about the disease industry lately. Click here to read an excellent post.

Sunday morning is past, but it's still Sunday so it seems appropriate to post this little tune,

Sunday Morning- Elizabeth Cook (buy)

Elizbeth Cook is married to Tim Carroll, former Gizmo and Indiana punk legend. And yes, the song was written by decadent New York heroin afficionado and Andy Warhol associate, Lou Reed. Ain't life strange? They tell me that Lou is all cleaned up and nice to be around too.

I shall not be vulgarized.

I suppose I could pique your interest if I posted some of John Lennon's little known ukulele tunes.

I notice that nobody seems to like any of the songs I've been posting lately. Your loss. I will not cater to the vulgar masses by posting cornball punk rock reminiscences. Every body hated the stuff I was listening to 35 years ago. Now it's cool and young people think I'm hep. I am not hep you darn young people. You would hate the stuff I listen to now, just like your daddy hated the stuff I listened to then. When I die, people will realize how wonderful I was, just like they did to William Blake. I am a lot like William Blake except, you know, untalented. Man am I tired.

Here's a song I've been partial to since I was a little weasel with an ugly sweater and a borrowed banjo. I've been working up a little ukulele rendition of it. I understand that this is considered a bluegrass standard. This is not the standard version.

Soldier's Joy- Holy Modal Rounders (buy)

Buy everything you can find by the Holy Modal Rounders. Listen to it over and over until you get old listening to it. Keep listening.

The only useful advice I was ever given while drinking in a bar:

"Kid, you gotta be tough. It's a tough world. That's no excuse for being mean."

I saw Gran Torino today. I wasn't sure I'd like it. I was surprised by the ending. I get my Jesus wherever I can. It was better than going to church.

Russian Satellite- Mighty Sparrow (buy)

Oh shit

I was at work for fifteen hours today. I got home late, tired and cranky. I opened the door and smelled burning rancid grease. I had left the stove on, with a frying pan sitting on the flames. 15 hours. I'm amazed the place didn't burn down. I'm trying to work my way around to feeling grateful. Mostly I feel tired. I hope I'm not planning to burn the place down. You know, stir things up, create a little excitement.

I'm not crazy about the M4A format either. I'm working on it.

Update: No more more m4a's!

Ohio Prison Fire-Charlotte and Bob Miller (buy)

What you end up figuring out

Most people will tell you that they are "better than average" drivers.

I used to share an occasional late night cup of coffee with an old timer named Sonny. He was a Greyhound man from the old days, back before the lockouts and strikes, back before the smart money boys had run Greyhound into the ground. He'd been driving since the fifties and he had settled into a routine, driving the over night bus, up the coast from San Francisco to Crescent City.

Sonny would stop off in Santa Rosa and come into the Orange Bridge driver's room for a cup of coffee and a five minute break. I would usually be there, writing an incident report or watching television before I went home.

"Hey Sonny. How're they treating you lately?"

"They're still fuckin' me, but I must be used to it."

Other than that, there wasn't much conversation. Sonny would stand there, drink his coffee and leave. One night, after the usual long silence, he said, "You know, I can remember a time when I thought I was good at this shit." Then he finished his coffee and left.

Electricity- Paul Birch (Buy)

Because this is supposed to be a blog about poetry...

...Among other things.

I met someone who knew Rexroth. She said he was an asshole and an abusive husband. Too bad, the guy could really get the words to line up right.