Stop Watching The News!

Spent the day in bed
With a head full of dread
For all I've ever said.

Can you take back something you said that you wish you hadn't?
Can you truly spend the day in bed?
I love to sleep, the only place I have peace. A bad night of sleep and nightmares are often better
than a good day in the real world.

Now to some good news.  Our Moz has released his first single from the new album "Low In High School". It's called "Spent The Day In Bed".  It is a delightful tune. I immediately took a liking to it. To me, it is different than the songs from "World Peace". That's a good thing. Our Moz is constantly
evolving and changing. One of the many reasons he continues to be the icon that he is. I will leave reviews to others. I am certainly not qualified. What I know is this, I love the song. It is both alluring and captivating. Bravo Mozza!! This new album is going to be fantastic.

                                                              Spent The Day In Bed

                                 Our Moz spending the day in bed? or just playing solitaire?

                                                        The cover for the new album

I am extremely upset and worried as to why the hyphen was taken out between High and School?
I was terribly vexed when the hyphen was there originally and now it's gone. It's haunting me, taunting me. The grammar police are constantly wanting me to break their laws and I frequently do.
Our Moz is a grammar whiz so I guess I will go to my grave never knowing the true story.

                                                                Puzzlin' Evidence

                                                            A very poignant grave

The Second Coming

By W.B. Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre   

The falcon cannot hear the falconer; 

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; 

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, 

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   

The ceremony of innocence is drowned; 

The best lack all conviction, while the worst   

Are full of passionate intensity. 

Surely some revelation is at hand; 

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.   

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out   

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi 

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,   

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,   

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it   

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.   

The darkness drops again; but now I know   

That twenty centuries of stony sleep 

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,   

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? 

To Autumn

By John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cider-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,–

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

The Man And The Echo

Man

IN a cleft that's christened Alt
Under broken stone I halt
At the bottom of a pit
That broad noon has never lit,
And shout a secret to the stone.
All that I have said and done,
Now that I am old and ill,
Turns into a question till
I lie awake night after night
And never get the answers right.
Did that play of mine send out
Certain men the English shot?
Did words of mine put too great strain
On that woman's reeling brain?
Could my spoken words have checked
That whereby a house lay wrecked?
And all seems evil until I
Sleepless would lie down and die.

Echo

Lie down and die.

Man

That were to shirk
The spiritual intellect's great work,
And shirk it in vain. There is no release
In a bodkin or disease,
Nor can there be work so great
As that which cleans man's dirty slate.
While man can still his body keep
Wine or love drug him to sleep,
Waking he thanks the Lord that he
Has body and its stupidity,
But body gone he sleeps no more,
And till his intellect grows sure
That all's arranged in one clear view,
pursues the thoughts that I pursue,
Then stands in judgment on his soul,
And, all work done, dismisses all
Out of intellect and sight
And sinks at last into the night.

Echo
Into the night.

Man

O Rocky Voice,
Shall we in that great night rejoice?
What do we know but that we face
One another in this place?
But hush, for I have lost the theme,
Its joy or night-seem but a dream;
Up there some hawk or owl has struck,
Dropping out of sky or rock,
A stricken rabbit is crying out,
And its cry distracts my thought. 

W.B. Yeats 

Prayer For My Father

Prayer For My Father
By Robert Bly

Your head is still

restless, rolling

east and west.

That body in you

insisting on living

is the old hawk

for whom the world

darkens.

If I am not

with you when you die,

that is just.

It is all right.

That part of you cleaned

my bones more

than once. But I

will meet you

in the young hawk

whom I see

inside both

you and me; he

will guide

you to the Lord of Night,

who will give you

the tenderness

you wanted here.

Low in Elan Vital

Today is an odious day in the deplorable history of my miserable existence. One year ago today I graciously received a DUI on my way home from the club after tennis and some beers with my friends. Was I over the limit, yes but not by much.  Was I a threat to society? The world promotes
beer ads on TV every 2 minutes, it's acceptable and encouraged, except if you get caught. Now, I am a criminal on par with Capone, Dillinger, The Rosenberg's. I had bad judgment, no question. I made a mistake. There was never a bit of mercy or consideration for one who has never been in trouble. Deals are made all the time but not for one as contemptible as me.

I saw first hand what Morrissey was talking about in Ganglord.  The Cop was trying to bait me into
a fight at the police station. Calling me names and trying to give him an excuse to punch me.  He grabbed my cell phone and started looking through it without my permission. What is it with these policemen? Wasn't it enough to just process me though, instead I had to be humiliated. Thank God I wasn't black or who knows what would have happened. I got just a tiny taste of what black folks go through and it was very bitter.

Hypocrisy seems to rule the roost in the criminal justice system. My case is all about fines and money. Everybody gets a piece of the pie. My lawyer heartily took my money and did nothing at all. He was so nervous at the preliminary hearing his hands were shaking. I should have just represented myself. He was silent as a proverbial mouse, scared of the prosecutor. It seems to me morality is generally imposed by the immoral.  Do as I say, not as I do. We peons must adhere to it. The old adage absolute power corrupts absolutely certainly applies. The government can basically do what they want with no repercussions. Ask the nurse in Utah who refused to let a Cop draw blood on an unconscious patient.  The Cop got mad and put her in handcuffs and detained her. The only way this saw the light of day was because there was video.

Sometimes there can be video and it doesn't matter. See Philando Castile and how he was murdered by a cop in Minneapolis just reaching for ID. There have been many other examples of innocent black men unnecessarily murdered. There are many good police but they are complicit if they allow the bad ones to keep going. There is a reason why a lot of people do not like or trust police.

Life goes on and this past year has been a living hell. There has been very little good news.  One piece of good news is that Morrissey will be releasing a new album in November called Low In High-School. It's been quite a long time since his last release. I am looking forward to hearing some new music from Our Moz.  His music makes living in this abysmal world somewhat tolerable.
As I attempt to rage against the dying of the light, the world grows dimmer each day with no relief in sight. Music from Morrissey is a beacon to those of us who do not fit into the Peyton Place world that we live in. I can only be different in my mind.  In the outside world I must conform. I have decided there is a place they can't and will never get to, my mind.