Hi BK! I hope that you are relaxing in the (relative) comfort and security (burp) of the Midwest. I commend your move, I hope it does ya well and keeps ya rockin'. You are a great drummer ... We got the beat.
Thought of you the other day because I was invited to play baseball again with that rag-tag team of Euro-heroes. 10 am game. Got on the underground at the crack of dawn, to out-wit the greedy controlleurs. Beat 'em to the punch, before they punched in. Bastards. Got on that early mourn train with me Ghost Exit 333 mug, full of a think, black cup o' Joe. (Coffee.) Slurp. slurp. Ya know that mug, the one we got on that amazing journey-ride through the Arizona desert, to go mix those killer songs at that killer studio. And this time (a few days ago) I met a weird/cool backpacker with a mohawk, who was flying in from somewheres, and I was sipping coffee on that train, and I tried to direct him to the hostel that he wasn't looking for. He was from Slovenia. Told him that I just read a book by Paulo Coelho, where the premise from the book was that no one knows anything about Slovenia, very funny and interesting. He said, "Hey, this is great - wanna go for another coffee?" To which I said that I had to meet my friends because we were playing baseball, no time. He said nothing, but looked at me as if to say, "Dude ... it's 7:45 in the morning, and it's RAINING!" So he coaxed me into going for mo coffee. I mean, this guy looked like a Moroccan mohawk-ed reject Sonny Rollins or something, and I was out-weirding him, heh heh! So off we went to coffee, indeed, and we had some really wonderful musical discussions. It was a MOCHA MORNING. Wish you were there! (But I know ya are ...) And the cute turkish waitress flirted and giggled in approval. (Now, as I write this, a song from a little-known solo CD from Chris Cornell is playing, 'Seeking a friend for the end of the world ...') After coffee and topical musical musings I met my buds, and was shuttled off to some remote location where we played another rag-tag team. I hit two home runs. It was an old Stalinist-style park, very grey. But it was funny, cuz everyone wanted to know about the mug, asking things like, "What's the Chieftain?" (big Indian head on the front) and "Where is Exit 333?" And I told them the short version of our adventure, and how we saw those ghosts, and things. Told them, "It's the Year of the Ghost." Thought provoking, that one. They were excited about driving on Route 66. A dream for some, I imagine ... One more thing, why don't you come and play with us on New Year's Eve in Switzerland. It's gonna be great. They have great fondue down there ... Peace, -Todd
Hi there. You know I respect you, and you know who you are. I expect more from you, I expect more from MYSELF. Now then ...
We can either fight for justice (against all odds) and basic human rights (for all) or we can say things like, "My hands are tied," and, "I am just a slave ..."
The choice is yours.
Poem by the Nicaraguan poet Gioconda Belli:
Rivers run through me
mountains bore into my body
and the geography of this country
begins forming in me
turning me into lakes, chasms, revines
earth for sowing love
opening like a furrow
filling me with a longing to live
to see it free, beautiful,
full of smiles.
I want to explode with love ...
Hi all. Stuff I did in the last couple of days:
Went to that festival in Ostrava, made love, drank Czech beer, made hilarious references and translations from a book with neither side really understanding and not really caring, rode the train for 375 kilometers to Prague, visited my bud Ales who makes his own bass guitars, rode another train for a few hours, got off in Cesky Budejovice (Budweis) and went to a punk pub I know, met some cats at 2 in the morning who took me to a Czech disco (this is where it gets interesting), boned up on me Czech, heard the weird DJ play that song by some friends of mine and the text goes, "It's time to start a fight ... to save the world," and we gonna do it, met another guy who was skinny as a rail but outrageous and all the girls loved him, he saw one girl who was wearing an open-back shirt and he grinned and licked her all the way up the back to her neck, she turned around and instead of smacking across the face instead spread a toothy grin his way, then he popped out one of his front tooth, an injury he explained by getting punched out by some skinheads he mouthed off to (Czech skinheads? Was fuer ein' wiederspruch!), and he became another of my personal heroes, rode the 5 am train to the border, shook hands with the lone border agent as the train lazily waited in the early morn, he went back to reading, got off at the next big town in the next little country, hitch-hiked another 400 kilometers, part of the way with a wise man from Nigeria who told me all kinds of true-life tales from his magical country, another big rig trucker took me right to the front door (!) of a friend o' mine in a town far-away, who is in fact a wine meister of high repute, and we laughed and drank his (own) delicious red wine. I told him of my recent journeys ... Peace. -Todd