Tales from a Small Town Bar Stool #4: Written at Club 223, Hallowell Maine

A farewell & an Irish wake:
A tale of good times, good friends and great music.

There are few things in the world I’ve ever found to be more valuable than the company of good people, even more so when they’re joined, all in one place, by a good drink, and even better music.  It’s a shooting star event, rarely seen, even rarer to find lasting, and something I’ve always counted my blessings to be able to experience as it happened. It’s just one of those times, those fleeting moments in time, where the whole world seems to come together to dance and sing. It’s been happening in one of those places where, no matter what was going on in the outside world, as long as you could make it through the door…you just knew you’d be okay.

For the last three months, I’ve been securely fastened to the stools there – instead of writing here like I promised I would – simply absorbing the atmosphere of the place. Maybe there was some, universal, mechanization to the music that told me the foreboding tale but, whatever the case, there’s one thing I can say with absolute certainty: The void left behind in its wake will be a very hard thing to fill. Most of us can wander our whole lives without finding some place that can make us feel at home, and, for those of us that touched what was given us – we should count our blessings while raising glasses to the days that were. We’re a lucky family for sure.

That place has been Club 223, in Hallowell Maine. For the last year, no matter what storms bellowed at the world around those of us who were there, there was that single piece of safe harbor. It is a place where all your bartenders are happy to see you, where your drinks are made strong, where arms are opened to hold you up though the night. It’s a place where most strangers have foregone shaking hands and embrace themselves within the tightly knit family. It’s a place where, spending countless hours of laughter and toe-tapping comes as easy as breathing; a place where the music has always been good and the soul has always been touched by anyone who let the sound into their soul.

There have been an impossible number of bands that have seemed to capture the very essence of the place. There has been everything from soulful jazz and blues, to upbeat pop and bands like and even a handful of hip-hop and electronic shows. We’ve been graced with town legends and new faces from far away, but there’s been one group that’s stood out to me above it all, and that band was The CharleeBlack Band.

Charlee, Scott, and Dan, all excellent musicians who, together, make some amazing magic, are standard trio of excellence. Seemingly effortlessly, these three give us a constant gift of soul, volume, raw, original, energy, that carries, not only through the beautiful styling of vocals, but also with each pluck set upon the strings of the acoustic guitar, each rhythmic bang of the drum, and each penetrating note from the bands upright bass.

Charlee’s love for the guitar and well honed voice blend so flawlessly with Scott’s lifelong, passion for the drums can be felt in every note he plays, and Dan’s uncanny ability to set the perfect tone of, toe tapping, soul filling rhythm. Individually, these musicians are a real treasure but, when combined together, they make one of the most amazing acts I’ve ever head the pleasure of seeing perform – and it doesn’t end there either.

The band, as a whole, embodies the spirit of real music more than many bands I’ve seen. It’s not just their love of what they do, but that they also endlessly appreciate their fans and the support they get from them. It’s the way they’ll talk to anyone who so much as says “thank you”, or the way they’ll pass along where their next shows are going to be to anyone who seems interested; and remembering them when they show up, and the real sense of gratitude and love they have for their fans. It’s these things that have made The Charlee Black Band stand out to me, and it’s why they continue to do so.

While we may be forced to cut down our flags and sing songs of mourning for Club 223, there are many things we have to look back and be thankful for, things we wouldn’t have had otherwise. We can be thankful for the people we’ve all been able to meet; the constant hours laughing and playing pool. We can be thankful for the places we had scrawl our notes, to speak our piece to the world, to the music we had and the laughter we shared; for the family some of never had, and to the love all of us knew we felt.

We’ll all manage to carry on, doing our best to remain together through the times, as families always do, and we’ll be able to count ourselves lucky that we’ll always have songs to follow. No matter what time passes, or what weather brings, we’ll always have the memories, the moments and, of course, the music. Hic habitat felicitas; it’s here that happiness dwells.

 All my love to 223, and The Charlee Black Band.

 "Music has always been a matter of Energy to me, a question of Fuel. Sentimental people call it Inspiration, but what they really mean is Fuel. I have always needed Fuel. I am a serious consumer. On some nights I still believe that a car with the gas needle on empty can run about fifty more miles if you have the right music very loud on the radio."
— Hunter S. Thompson

Tales from a Small Town Bar Stool #3: Conceived at Club 223 in Hallowell Maine

(In fairness, I must confess this piece was only conceived from my usual bar stool. Due to health and financial reasons, I was unable to make it out to my usual haunt and get the job done. Nevertheless, here's this weeks post on the topic of Change.)

Dealing with Change:
The dollars and sense of not always getting what you want

Life’s hard. It’s complicated, unpredictable – which is arguably what makes it fun – and full of intersections. It’s impossible to know just where you’ll end up at any given moment, or really why you ended up there. The how of the matter, which is the only thing you have any real control over, though is entirely plausible and tangible. Asking yourself how you ended up where you did never serves you as much purpose; instead, try asking yourself: “Why did I make the choices I made?”

We’ve all been there, with everyone; new friends, potential romantic interests, new jobs, moving, big life changes, the works. Sometimes things just don’t play out the way we want and, generally speaking, this process is something we all have to learn to manage. Were we too forward or too timid? Did it really all fall apart, or did we just intentionally not put enough gas in the tank? Did we misread a sign, or did we not see it at all? Did something change and, if so, why did it? These are all important questions to ask yourself, and sometimes the other parties involved too.

The key thing to remember is that life changes. It’s not a direct line or some constant, straight, road will well marked road signs to inform you of all the dangers and pitfalls up ahead. It never will be either – besides, that would be boring – but what happens when the sharp turn hits, and you find yourself spiraling from a position of ‘Person of Interest” into the caliber of good friend? What happens if you’re told you’re under qualified for that job you really wanted, or what you write just isn’t good enough?

My response to this has always been simple: “So. What.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. If one onramp suddenly has flashing orange barrels and the caution tape slung over it? Don’t worry so much about it. If you find one of your aspirations being treated like a crime scene, it’s probably not the best place for you to get off right now anyway. There’s a myriad of reasons for it, but it’s the bottom line that matters: It wasn’t for you, at least not right now.

The post-disillusionment depression is normal. Give it its time; let it have its day in court. Drown it however you need to, loud music, excess, fast driving, good company, whatever, but don’t let it win. Whatever’s happening is temporary and, as long as you have a needle that’s not on E – in other words lounging around in Death’s waiting room, feeling crushed and defeated by life – you’ll be just fine.

If you do find yourself beaten senseless by the hordes of animals and wild beasts that tend to run amok in the jungles of dashed hopes and altered dream states, then there’s a problem. It’s easy to fall into it too, those dark and foreboding street corners, just off the highway of your dreams, without a single streetlight to guide you. These can cause anyone a very real sense of panic. There’s no way of knowing what’s in front of you, or on either side. There’s no way of knowing which way you should go, because you have no basis for direction. Don’t panic, there’s a simple solution.

Move. It doesn’t matter which way, just move. The gas pedal is always within reach. Don’t worry if the tank is on empty, just close your eyes, turn up the volume, and put your foot to the floor. Let the music pull you wherever it will; it’s bound to be better than inaction. Take your hands off the wheel, let the speed kick start your heart again. Turn the volume up even more – then open your eyes, grab the wheel, and decide. Whatever happens, where ever you end up, take with the knowledge you’re moving. You’re going to keep going on. You’re not going to slow down, and nothing is going to stop you now.

These are the magic moments, where it’s okay to realize you are, in fact, God of your own universe. You control the speed, you control the course, you can decide if the ride’s too fast and slow it down, but the catch is to never stop. There are many laws in the world, but the greatest crime of all? It’s stopping living. That choice will, one day, be made for you. Like it or not we’re all just charging forward, doing our best to avoid the Black Rabbit, and put as much space between it and ourselves as we can.

It’s why I advocate high speed living. The edge is out there, you will find it, and it will, eventually, take you over it. It’s a limitless road until then though and it’s best to take in as much of it as you can while there’s still time for you to do. Still, there’s no denying that final destination, the end of the road. It’s unfortunate but not tragic. The ride has to end sometime, but if you made the most out of it? There’s nothing to mourn and everything to celebrate.

The tragedy comes to those who decide to just end the ride because of some bad vibrations or truly loathsome circumstances. We all find ourselves stumped at times; screaming wild into the red bricks of a last call that snuck up on us out of nowhere, but there’s an inherent wisdom in that experience. There are plenty of walls, but you can go around them & should you find one you really if you really can’t? Don’t panic. There’s only one thing to do: Shut your eyes again and push harder, faster, and further than you have before; you’re stronger than stone, you’re unstoppable, and there’s more pavement just waiting for you on the other side.

Also, don’t be afraid of the road and take with you the knowledge that choice is what matters. If you chose to be indestructible, you are unstoppable. Don’t worry if the road looks rocky, untouched, unappreciated, or even unpaved. If it’s a road you want to take, then grab the wheel and take it. If you find yourself gripped by doubt, relax. Automobiles have rear view mirrors for a reason. You can always take a second look back, but don’t forget driving 101. Always. Watch. The. Road. You never know when something truly spectacular is going to be in front of you, and if you spend too much time checking your blind spots? You’ll miss it.

Take change like a wave; it’ll crash on the beach no matter what you do. You can’t stop it. You can’t control where it goes, how much damage it will do, or wet it’ll leave you at the end of the day. When confronted with this kind of water, you only have one choice: Climb on it and ride it into the sunset. Let it carry you where you will, and try and think of it like a brand new stretch of road, pristine and freshly paved; with all it’s winding, mountain side curves, snaking forward over your existence like a great Dragon, just waiting for you to grab on settle in for one of the greatest rides of your life.

Don’t be afraid to be surprised, or even lost, where ever it is you end up, and take comfort in being lost too. If you’re lost, it really doesn’t matter where you go – it has to be somewhere new and exciting because you’ve never been there before. You can’t always go where you want, but you can, always, keep going. You can’t always get what you want, but you can always get somewhere. Not everything will be anything, but anything always means there’s potential for something – and everyone knows that something is always better than nothing.

It’s these, often vital, things that become the easiest to forget when actually in a situation where they matter most. Despair is a giant, behemoth, of a monster that’s taken down some of the best and brightest the worlds ever known. Monster Hunters extraordinaire aren’t even always equipped to handle it, because there’s no way to track it. There’s no way to predict it, no way to see it coming, and you can be sure it’s always waiting in the wings; waiting for that one, perfect, moment to strike.

It’s not impossible to beat it though. Just remember: Anything in your way can be circumvented: Speed can outrun it, loud music and force it into retreat, and, barring these two options, you can always take it down with your fists. It’s your road, your highway, your life – despair is just the lingering threat of darkness that hangs out where you’re not looking. Don’t bother trying to see it, or even prepare for it. Just understand that it will find you.

It’s always preferable to be found by the black beast of despair, when you contemplate what else could be waiting for you. Don’t ever confuse despair and disappointment with Death. One waits, the other rides a pale horse – and if you see that crazy thing coming up in your mirrors? Don’t you dare slow down, make it work for you. Treat Death like a crazed Motorcycle cop in a bad horror movie that has to have a sequel. Never take it for granted, but never slow down to look and see if it’s still chasing you either. Understand that it always is, it always will, but you’re harder, better, faster, and stronger.

Gods only die when nobody believes in them anymore. Believe in yourself and you can go anywhere – but don’t half ass it. You’ve got to really know you’ve got the skills to persevere. No wave is too big, no speed is too fast, there’s no such thing as a wall you can’t knock down, and detours often bring you to places you never would have experienced otherwise. Pray to yourself and cut the breaks. Enjoy the ride – because it’s the only one you’re ever going to get and you don’t have the luxury of making a U-turn.

Tales from the bar stool Volume 2: Written at Club 223 in Hallowell Maine

The Notion of Stranger Danger

And other dark & scary prowlers of adulthood

"Stranger Danger."  It’s a term most of us know very well. It’s one we heard over and over again as children. Anyone we didn’t know, especially those who drove in large vans offering candy, were dangerous people. They were perverts who lurked on every street corner, who would pounce on us like jackals at a moments notice, ready to defile us and leave us life a bag of shredded, wet, trash on a street corner somewhere we’d never be found.

I’ve never once argued this teaching to youngsters and children. It’s the law of nature; the young are often the easiest prey. Teaching them to run at the first sign of danger is not a bad thing. It’s an evolutionary advantage, designed to keep our children around long enough to learn the lessons of how to weed out those who would be dangerous from those who would not. What happens though when we don’t, as parents, take the time to teach our children the proper social dance steps to maneuver through the minefield and allow them to take this concept of Stranger Danger, well into their adolescent and adult lives?

            It’s just that kind of training that’s really driving a social wedge into the world. It’s why we take the furthest seat away from anyone in the movie theater, always look to separate ourselves in bookstores, and coffee shops.. Nobody dares to trust in those around them anymore, because the unknown is just too scary. Perhaps that’s what drives us, in droves, to the various coping mechanisms we’ve created for ourselves; text messaging, social media websites like Facebook, and the like. Is that really good enough; how long can we really hold out in that kind of dark, burning our best spirits just so we can see?

            Why is it that we hold on to these patterns of instability and isolation?  What is it that caused us to deviate, so far, from the tribal routes and customs from our bygone days, leaving us to venture down the paths that are only well lit and, ultimately, empty? It’s a pattern of comfort, of inhibition, self doubt, and even a dash of self loathing. We’re all dangerous strangers to others and to ourselves. That’s the problem with adults and stranger danger, but when you step back to look at the world? The picture, at least why we look at it the way we do, makes a little more sense – as much as it can anyway.

            The notion that the world is bad seems to be reinforced at every turn. Good news is never as good for business as bad news and it never gets the ratings. Television dramas, – at least the popular kind – aren’t any better. Look at your average television crime drama. Everyone’s a murderer, or some other predator, prowling the streets of your concrete jungle, just waiting for the right time to leap out of the shadows and drag you straight to the statistical headline in the following week’s paper. There’s at least four or five variations of these shows, and entire channels dedicated to this kind of heroic fear mongering.

            It is these highlight reels and benchmarks our world in thirty to sixty minute intervals; each commercial break reminding us that, through spending, we’re actually safe if we keep up with the trend of ‘Buy. Buy. Buy.’ Is it any wonder then, if you look at this model, that we’ve degenerated into a slathering mass of wage jockeys, hiding out in our basements, shutting off our world outside, and living vicariously through the terrors of late night infomercials?

            Even the sporting world hasn’t survived the social impact of adulthood ‘Stranger Danger’ unscathed. People gather around, crowding into Stadiums across the country, or hunched over in front of their oversized televisions, waiting on the edge of their seats for a tiny glimpse of disaster or violence. Sure, everyone feels bad when it occurs, but there’s always that hope, silently lingering; that the next time the car rounds that, dreaded, number two corner, that it will somehow lose control and go headlong into the wall. The resulting explosion and fireball will draw gasps of surprise from the crowd, but if you listen real close, you can hear it. It’s the muffled cheer that, finally, something had happened; the sickening delights of excitement that ride in on a tailwind of panic and despair.

            These are just some of the, all too tragic, side effects that come from being so detached from those around us. It’s why tempering this notion that “all strangers are dangerous” with the reality that not everyone drives a dark van with tinted windows – that not all words are like, drug coated, candy that you just can’t trust – is so important. Not everyone should be regarded with a white knuckle fear. Yes, there are some particularly vile and depraved behaviors in the world, but it’s teaching people to look out for them, how to identify who means you well and who means you harm, that should be the real lesson.

The brass tax of the matter is that we’re never taught to let go of that fear. Yes, fear is healthy. It’s the natural evolution of a survivalist response and every animal has it for a reason. The difference is that animals learn by experience what will hunt them, what will kill them, and what has no more interest in them than any other blade of grass on the savannah. Humans seem to have forgotten that part. We keep on with this mentality that the world is full of stalkers and other ill intending scavengers ready to pick us off at a moments notice. It’s healthy, if not prudent, to be aware such things are possible, but to approach every situation with that sort of mentality? That’s just lunacy, and it just doesn’t make any sense. Which life is worth more; the life lived among friends, both old and new, experiencing adventures and taking the occasional risk, or the life of vice grips and paralyzing fear, where no one talks to anyone and all activities are undertaken alone?

It all comes down to the edge again, that teetering moment where we’re forced to stare into the yawning maw of the unknown and decide which way it is we go. Some, naturally, will always favor the safe roads. There is wisdom, even if I find it outdated, in the “dangers of the unknown”, but what about the adage of “look before you leap”?  Whatever happened to teaching yourself to take a good, honest, look at what was out there and then decide? Does that not sound like a far better lived life, even if you still decide it’s just too scary?

The social world is a dwindling flame, sputtering on its last breath, but we’re spreading further and further out so that no one can enjoy its warmth; leaving those who, so infrequently, take a step in to be greeted by everyone else wearily staring at them like they’re a serpent wandering into the garden. The cost of this treatment is already exceeding what we can afford, and we’re all freezing to death. We’re already well on our way to social bankruptcy, staving off the final death rattle with the life support system built on the internet, social networking sites, and text messaging – something has to change.

So, why continue to hold on to these archaic notions of childhood, treating the whole world as alien, and everyone in it as someone who would abduct you? The whole world is not bad, and it’s okay to second guess that thinking. It’s not a death sentence that promises you’ll wash up, pale blue, on the banks of the river. We might all be strangers but there’s only one way to fix that. We’ve got to deviate down the mountain we’ve built for ourselves and walk dangerously close to it’s edge. You’ve got to get close, even if all you do is look, It’s the only, absolutely safe, way to know what’s really out there. We’re all unknown to one another and, until we take the time to make that investment of knowledge, we have no way of really knowing if the lions in the woods like to prey, or play.

At this point, starvation and desperation is making even the candy seem tempting; which, by all accounts, is a bold and foolish risk without the proper training to know what you’re getting into. We’re ravenous with hunger but still holding onto the training that all the food might kill you in your sleep. The hard fact of the matter is that we have to eat if we’re going to live, it’s simple science. This pattern of starvation, with the small handful of risk takers being the only ones to eat, simply cannot continue. It’s high time we stopped paying so much mind to, sensational, Five P.M to Five A.M. television; maybe we ought to stop buying into to such commercialized, and high priced, fear. The cost is too high, and we all have the right to be rich in the world. It’s a choice. The food of people, real, honest, to goodness, people, is not a luxury that should be paid only to risk takers and fools. It’s a right for everyone to eat – and I, say, a right for everyone to feast.

So, please, feast. Take the principle foundations of this world we live in and dive into the excess of capitalism. Take what you will and toil for what you want, turn down the volume of the T.V., and turn up the volume of your world. It’s better to live dangerously in a world of faces – knowing as many as you can – than it is to wither away without the warmth of flame, and the fullness of food. Our days are short, our hours are long, and there’s never a good time to hide, but always a good time to keep your eyes open and take stock at what's around you. Yes, the world is full of all manner of things. It has all manner of well meaning people, as well as those who'd just as soon take your teeth and make an ashtray out of your skull. It never hurts to be mindful of the dangers, but it never pays to invent them everywhere either.


So be aware that poisonous animals exist, but don’t think they’re everywhere. Be careful you're not creating them where they're not too, as inaction and isolation, due to fear, are just as fatal. Those thoughts are the same breed of scavenger, and just as common, as those “dangerous” strangers you’re trying to avoid. They lurk, just outside your conscious thoughts, waiting for just the right time to pick off the stragglers of the herd; those too weak from a lifetime of caged living and basement dwelling, to fight back. Life's too short to be ruled by a tyrant like fear. We’re all burning sand and, when that hourglass is empty, there’s no one there to turn it over. So, fill your days with faces, old and new, and brandish your name loudly on your flag. Strangers are only strangers until we get to know them, and sitting still is just as strong an invitation to discord as any hand you might opt not to shake. Be ready for anything and weary of turning away everything. All the wisdom is wasted if unshared – and all we are is all we know.

“Waste not for wanting, and don’t waste yourself for a lifetime of nothing. Spend your life richly, for time is money, and your currency is good everywhere -- as long as you spend it. It's the high cost of being afraid to go broke that nobody can afford. There's always a limit and when you find it you have two choices: Stop or Go further, just to be sure. I never advocate stop. I say -- Ad augusta per angusta - To high places, by narrow roads." N. Alexander

Tales from the Bar stool Volume 1: Written at Club 223 in Hallowell Maine

Fast Strange Times

for fast and stranger people

The world is always changing and those of us on it, we’re just struggling to adapt. Sixty years ago, we conquered the last of the tyrant kings, usurped the old and fickle gods, and really thought we had a world of peace ahead of us. Then what happens? We get Pestilences, Famine, War, and Death – not to mention all the other new breeds of horsemen – galloping across our skies and television screens, halted if but for a moment, by the strange, golden, rays, of a new dawn.

It’s those early, morning, hours; where most of us are still reeling form whatever poisons and toils we were up to during the Werewolf hours, where we dare to have faith in a better day. It’s those precious moments, spent shaking off cobwebs and cursing the cobwebs in our wallets, where the sense of revelry in life is most clearly painted. It’s a reminder of the high waves we rode, screaming into the sunrise, waving the banner of promise and hope for whatever came next.

Hope is a dangerous and powerful drug, doled out to every adolescent, every up and coming adult, but we’ve long since lost sight of the wisdom to use it properly. Now, after passing through the gates of “Adultland” – we realize the charlatans have charged us a steep price of admission. We’re hopeless and doomed, trekking through down the brightly colored walkways, pushing aside tent flaps to shell out our limited tickets to carnival headshrinkers, buying our own hope back at outrageously inflated prices.

The problem is that the modern day, street legal, pushers don’t do a thing for hope. They hand it out in neat little packages, books on tape about “Self Improvement”, motivational posters about success, and whatever else they can get their greasy little fingers on. It’s only natural though, just like everyone knows: There’s no money in a cure, only in treatment. They don’t teach you how to maintain hope, but rather happily take your money week after week, to give you the perspective as if you have it.

I’ve never been one to buy into any of that, finding that too much of whom we’re supposed is fed to us on the spoons of commercialism and the only real sense of worth that means anything in the world is predated by a dollar sign. It’s really no wonder we’ve lost sight of hope. Hope is difficult to commercialize. It’s not sensational – until you’ve lost it – and you can’t market it.

So where’s the place for hope in a world where everything we’re told that everything we need to make it on the outside world should come from a tube and be applied generously in a paste? What about everyone else, those among the crowd ill content to paint on their personality and take a pill for all their problems, these perverts to the “natural” social order? Television dramas would have you believe they’re all lost and tortured souls, in dire need of your intervention. Those who turn it away? Well society would tell you they're a ragtag band of miscreants and degenerates, blazing a mad trail of chaos and depravity that undermines everything that’s right and true in the world.

I like to imagine, if only because it helps me sleep better at night, that the same has been said of all the great Pioneers that have come before. If every cosmonaut had been socially stoned for wanting to go to space or every philosopher was cast out for interpreting new behaviors, I’d feel a lot better about this trend. Couldn’t it be said though that those among us who walk away from this socially medicated thinking – and still manage to overcome – are doing their Patriotic duty? After all, it wasn’t that long ago that a bunch of people got on a boat and sailed away to avoid religious oppression, landing in some new and alien land to forge a path all their own.

Why then, are there those would seek to treat every sickness with the same cure? Is it really that we’re all just sick as people, or is something wrong with the world? It’s the question nobody seems to want to ask, but isn’t it really past due? At what point is the price of not asking just too high? When’s does the risk of breaking social foundations finally cease to outweigh the value of forward progress?

We’re taught, at least in hypothetical principle that progress never comes without risk. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained” goes the slogan, and it’s always been true. The problem comes in when, in these modern times, we’re taught to safeguard our ventures until we’re coughing away a lifetimes worth of unused ambitions on our deathbeds and life support, sputtering and crying our eyes out at an endless list of ‘What if’ questions. It’s another side effect of having a culture run by pushers seeking to treat a sickness, and not cure a disease.

From the moment our key gets turned over in the ignition and the engine screams to life on the echoing sound of a hand slap and a crying baby, we’re burning fuel. It’s really on a matter of time before the tank runs dry. So, in a culture where it’s all about bottom lines and corner cuts to aid profit margins, which cost then becomes greater, loss or regret?

In a world gone bankrupt, what’s the harm in risk when there’s still time to heal? What’s the point of being safe, only to end up mummified by wires with all the money in the world to keep you alive until someone else with more money comes along and the greedy vultures wheel you down in the basement to live out the rest of your days in the dark and cold? That’s just outright madness.

As long as there’s time, loss can be balanced out, but regret? That’s a permanent blemish on an otherwise pristine credit score. So why slave away until the years of retirement, squirreling away nuts for the endless winter, completely ignoring the fun of spring, summer, and fall? Death or, worse yet, an addled mind, is the only surefire diagnosis for a prescription of that caliber.

It’s that kind of thinking, waiting forever, hoping that one day the price will be ‘just right’, that has those among the world who simply go out and spend labeled as frivolous - if not just outright deranged. It’s a kind of living that’s just too fast, too strange, for the average person to really understand. It’s a real ‘no holds barred’ kind of fight for everything and everything, that’s driven more than one hapless bystander into a lifetime of binge sleeping. Dreams, after all, are the hopeless mans mung bucket. It’s where all the overflow of unused hope ends up, and he’s left drooling for the scraps, rather than going straight for the source.

Still, even those bottom feeders are a step ahead of those would rather covet an existence defined by pristine health and material possession. It’s those mad fools who’re the really terrifying mass in the crowd. They tend to be fiercely territorial, and always like to keep buckets of polished rocks on hand – just waiting in the wings for whatever might challenge their particular flow.

It’s those people who embody that primal, wolverine, mentality in a way that I almost consider sacred, if not for their application. Still, I hold out hope for them. For now they’re just the holdouts, defending the walls of their personal Alamo’s, stocked to the gills with over sized televisions and barbecue grills. This, as a point of fact, is a very dangerous practice for them, as the smell of meat will often drive the locals into a savage frenzy.

It could be said though, that such a frothing chaos is healthy for the sound mind. It’s just the kind of thing that might, with a little bit of luck and a dash of that old world magic, serve as a catalyst. It’s like the first bite of a cattle prod that sends the whole herd into a hurried stampede of action.

Those on the outside of those walls, or at least those who have no desire to try and be on the inside of them, are always welcoming to this kind of horde. It’s a numbers game after all and the more of them who’re willing to come play a different game, the better. It’s those on the outside who understand the importance that hope without action, is effectively useless. They see hope for what it is – the driving force behind every great play in sports history, that list bit of fuel in the tank that eases you into the driveway, it’s what give you that strength to really pull through, no matter what life’s throwing at you.

So, here we are, outcasts in the desert, waiting on the mad rush of barbarians, drunk on the smell of cooked meat, to welcome them into the tribe. It’s here and seemingly only here, that the old wisdom from those earliest days when we were wanderlust gathering people still seems to have a real sense of weight. It’s that luring call that echoes off the canyons of our souls, harkening back to those long forgotten days. It’s the rhythm of tomorrow that stirs the heart back into motion, where it’s not just beating – but dancing.

We’re the people who never ask “What if?” but instead ask “When?” We know there’s time, we believe in making it. We’re the miscreants and degenerates your parents always warned you about. We’re the ones who you were always told would never go anywhere in life. We’re wishful thinkers and daydreamers. They’ll tell you we’re pariahs of the natural order, piranhas of the structure, all singing some strange, freaked out, song because we’re all so totally twisted on drugs we couldn’t tell you what’s evening happening.

The truth of it is that our drug? It’s just hope. It’s rawer than anything they’ll sell you at the corner store, and causes more smiles than even the most potent anti-depressant. Hope is my anti-drug. It’s the music that moves us all to dance our dance, and sing the songs the rest of the world seems to find strange. It’s hope that lets us count ourselves among the truly rich. It is hope that has helped keep us together in these times that seem almost too weird and strange for our eyes.

It’s hope that has helped us evolve from the hunched desk monkeys, still slinging fruit, into the upright free runners we are today. It’s hope that we’ve used to paint the banner under which we all ride, changing the colors whenever we get a little to close, and the Cowboys have riding out to try and gun us down or reign us in. It’s hope that puts air in the tires – which is good…because we have the gas, and there’s plenty of road for us to burn yet.

"Never underestimate the value of a well placed surprise; it’s just the kind of thing you need to keep you on your toes. That kind of training is ultimately invaluable when you find yourself teetering on the edge of madness." -N. Alexander