Morrissey’s Footprints

Thanks to Matt Wakins. If anyone knows where this originates, please enlighten me. Credit where credit is due…..

Why Urbana-Champaign, Illinois is Better Than Whatever Shitty Town You Live In….

Does your town have a street named after REO Speedwagon? I thought not…

Thanks to Jenny Stewart.

The Gospel According to Ray (part 4)

Readings from “Light My Fire: My Life With the Doors” by Ray Manzarek

THE WORD:

from Chapter 18 “The Aftermath”, pg. 332

“Hallucinogens are still criminal. The ‘food of the gods’ is illegal. The keys to the doors of perception are against the law…Using LSD therapy with convicts, drug addicts, and alcoholics is illegal. The great therapeutic tool of LSD that was proven so effective in case after case of psychological maladjustment has been taken away from the doctors of the mind by the fundamentalist, conservative guardians of our public morality. And that’s the way it is to this very day. No medical research. And certainly no looking behind the veil. No breaking on through to the other side.“

MEDITATION:

This passage really hits home for me.

My poor, lost cousin Rudy had a difficult, difficult life. His mother used to dress him up in a tutu and ballet slippers when my uncle wasn’t around and say how much she wished she’d had a “sweet little girl” instead of an “ugly, dog-face boy”. Rudy would try his hardest to be just what his mommy wanted, sashaying daintily around the house, but it was never enough. And in case he didn’t already hate himself enough, he was savagely beaten by a nanny any time he talked during General Hospital or grew weary while rubbing her fat feet (which he was forced to do for hours on end). Rudy developed crippling social anxiety and would wet his bed well into his teens. His only escape was drugs and alcohol. It began with beer which he’d quaff lustily during lunch hour at high school. Then it was marijuana, which seemed to offer some temporary relief from the terror that consumed his every waking moment. Finally, a co-worker turned him on to heroin and it was like he’d found his soul mate. And then his soul mate led him to the state penitentiary.

The moment he stepped out of the pen, he was back on the horse. If anything, his addiction raged harder than before. Until one fateful day, when a gifted and caring therapist found Rudy on the street and took pity on him.

“Rudy, many would frown on what I’m about to do. In fact, it’s illegal in this so-called free country. The man doesn’t want you to get better Rudy…but I do.”

Taking him to a secluded place, carefully checking to see that nobody was following them, the therapist pulled a tiny piece of blotter paper out of an envelope in his jacket.

“Stick out your tongue Rudy” the therapist ordered. Rudy did as he was told and the therapist placed the magic blotter on his tongue. Within minutes he was witness to the most glorious visions. The ugly, gray pallor that had hung over the world was lifted and replaced by strands of golden light. Rudy felt as if the gods were offering him some priceless piece of wisdom, and that all he had to do was reach out and take it.

“What is this magic thing you’ve given me, sir, and what is it trying to tell me?” Rudy asked

“It’s LSD Rudy” said the therapist, “and the LSD is telling you that you won’t find the answer to your problems through drugs”.

“That’s the answer I’ve been looking for !!!” said Rudy, “My problems are solved !!!”.

From that day on, Rudy was cured of his addiction. In fact, not only was he cured of his addiction, the social anxiety, bed-wetting, gender identity issues and athlete’s foot that had afflicted him since childhood were also gone. And he owed it all to LSD. And to one caring therapist who had the balls to do what was right, no matter what the small minded law makers of this once proud nation had to say about it.

Letter Received by Kevin Cronin, Esq.

Dear Kevvy-poo,

I bet you’re surprised to hear from me. In fact, maybe you don’t even remember who I am. Let me refresh your memory.

I was in the fifth row when you played Summerfest in Milwaukee in 1979. We had been making eye contact throughout the show. Maybe you could sense how many nights I’d sat at home in Sheboygan playing “You Can Tune a Piano, but You Can’t Tuna Fish” and dreaming about what you and I would say to each other if we met. I thought there was a connection between us, but when you looked side stage then pointed at me during “Ridin’ the Storm Out” I knew you felt it too. When a roadie gave me a backstage pass and whispered “Kevin wants to get to know you a little better” I knew my dreams were about to come true.

Before long, we were in your penthouse suite, overlooking the bright lights of Milwaukee. I’m a small town girl so I must admit to feeling a little overwhelmed when you offered me a couple of lines so we could “get the magic started”, but this was meant to happen so I went along. I was starting to feel a little woozy when you said “baby, slip out of those hot clothes while I put some mood music on the hi-fi”. When you said “mood music” I wasn’t expecting Jefferson Starship but you know, whatever floats your boat. I freshened up my lipstick. I don’t have to paint a picture of what happened next, except to say it was magic. And just when I thought we couldn’t go any higher, you shoved an amyl popper under my nose so we could “keep pushin’”. When it was done, I looked in your eyes and knew I was going to keep on lovin’ you. And that’s when you dropped the bomb: “you’re beautiful baby, but could you keep this quiet? I don’t want my wife to find out”.

Well, I went through some hard times after that. I guess you took it on the run, it was time for you to fly, yada yada yada. Well, sorry Kev, but it isn’t going to be that way. As you can see from the enclosed photograph, I have evidence of our meeting. I imagine it will be somewhat difficult to explain to the “little lady” what you’re doing changing records with the sexy little number in the lacy black unmentionables. So I guess now it’s you who has to “roll with the changes”, Kev. You’ll be hearing from me periodically with a list of demands you’ll have to meet if you want to keep this thing a secret.

Jefferson Starship, indeed.

Yours truly,

Lisa from Sheboygan

Dear Dave

David Lee Roth answers your questions on life, love and the pursuit of happiness.

Dear Dave:

I need your help. The problem is that my father doesn’t seem to be able to accept my choice of career. I have a challenging and rewarding career as a health care professional. More specifically, I am a male nurse. Every day I make a difference in the lives of others, whether it be monitoring symptoms, giving pain medication or providing emotional support to patients in their hour of need. But rather than being proud of me, my father calls me “nancy boy” and “sissy pants”. The other day, in front of everyone at a family dinner he said “hey, Florence Nightingale, can you pass the gravy?”. Dave, I don’t what to do about these insensitive comments. This is tearing me apart.

-Crying on the Inside in Sioux City

Dear Crying:

“It’s just a lot of words and–oh my God!–hurt feelings! Somebody may say a bad thing and hurt my feelings! Oh no! Well hey you motherfucker, I’m gonna kick your ass from here to Jupiter. Now how’s that?”

The Moral: No matter what you do, your father may never accept you for what you are. Ultimately we can’t control the behavior of others. What we can change is our response to that behavior. By changing your thinking and patterns of reactivity you can come to a mature acceptance of your father’s backwards attitudes. In other words, suck it up nancy-boy.

Van Morrison Sings His Grocery List

Butter darlin’, butter and eggs, oooo-oooo-weeee !

Chicken…wait a minute, wait a minute, I can see the chicken….in a faraway freezer.

Oh Lord, toma-a-a-atoes,

and lettuce ! Yes ! Yes ! A crispy head of lettuce….that’s right, that’s right.

Olive Oi-oil. Oh chi-ild, you’re so young……baby baby baby baby baby.

A pint of milk. A pint of milk. A pint of milk. A pint of milk. Milk, milk, milky, milky, milk. Lord have mercy, a pint of milk, pint of milk, pint of milk, pint of milk, pint of milk, pint of sweet milky milk, sailing to Caledonia, oh. A pint, pint, pint, pint of milk, pint of milk. A pint of milk……

….and a sweet round melon.

OH !!! ITS TOO LATE TO STOP NOW !!!!

The Screwtape Letters, Revisited.

My Dear Wormwood,

Nobody said winning souls to hell would be easy. In our last set of letters, you had allowed a human to slip through your fingers and achieve eternal salvation. As we used to say in grade school, “smooth move, Ex-lax”.

I remember discussing your case with the board of directors here in hell. Lucifer, Mephistopheles, Idi Amin and Ronald Reagan were on the board at the time. Ronald kept saying “can’t we find something else for the kid to do and get back to worrying about the communists?”. Ron seems to keep forgetting he’s in hell and its not 1984 anymore. To be honest, I don’t know what he’s doing here, but after those “morning in Hades” commercials there would have been a public revolt if we hadn’t put him on the board.

Anyway, we pondered what to do with you until eventually I had an inspiration. Rock and Roll. Nobody could mess that up !! That beat ! Those haircuts ! The raunchy lyrics ! It seemed to turn kids into dancing automatons, jitterbugging and moonwalking their way straight into hell. An idiot proof gig. Or so we thought….until we handed the job to you.

Let’s look at a few samples of your work with Black Sabbath to get some clues as to where you’re going wrong.

This is a prime example of the problem with your approach. Successful devilry requires subtlety. This is about as subtle as Robin Williams. What you’re failing to grasp is that eternal damnation is a lot like tofu. If you don’t cook it to taste like something else, nobody will swallow it. Thus, if your goal is to have people possessed by dark forces, this is probably a little obvious. If, on the other hand your goal is to get people to start sleeping on the floor, this will surely do the trick.

Ummm, yeah. Where to start on this one? When we brought this one up at our board meeting Idi Amin yelled “hey, camel toe in the sky !!!”. We all had a good laugh about that one. Let me give you a little pointer. If you want people to hop on the highway to hell, you have to make it seem kind of cool. What’s the message here: “do drugs and you’ll start dressing like a Japanese hooker”? “sell your soul and you can have a face on both sides of your head”?. If you ask me, the kids will take one look and say “if men are wearing red leotards in hell, it’s time to get on my knees and pray”.

Sorry, but I can’t see how putting Tom Cruise’s baby on an album cover is going to lead anyone to hell.

I must tell you, the board has not been impressed with your efforts. Given that you are my nephew, I’ll put in a good word for you, but your performance had better start improving. Please don’t let me down.

Your concerned uncle,

Screwtape