Summary: Woke up to the news, quit my job, went to a candlelight vigil, passed one around, talked to some geeks from Pacific Daily News newspaper, learned about the Internet, signed up for class the next day, started making websites about hemp in Japan, got a new job, quit, went to Palau and Yap, went to Olympia, met some Internet hippies… somehow its today.
“Digging loads of John Prine recently… he’s a funny as fck and exceptional songwriter / here’s him singing for his hero Gordon Lightfoot. The banter and songs are both top-level” and shared:
and a few minutes later, learned he’d passed from the “this g0dless plague”
so i wrote:
Now ole postman John gonna drink a vodka and ginger-ale, smoke a cigarette 9 miles long, find mom and dad & good ole brother Doug and cousin Jackie…, and momma’s sister cause that’s where the love starts… take this wristwatch off my arm whatcha gonna do with time when ya… bought. the. farm.
and later added a lyric along with our peach tree growing in the backyard while we wait for our lil human to arrive, ergo:
Throw away the paper Move to the country Build yourself at home Eat a lot of peaches Etc.￼
For dear old John Prine with admiration, respect and fondness
With the death of Jim Carroll last week, America has lost one of its singular and most under-rated poetic voices. As depicted in his most popular work The Basketball Diaries, Carroll grew up on New York’s Lower East Side, the son of three generations of Irish-American bartenders, with the fair Irish looks to match. He was also an unlikely poetry prodigy and a man of contrasts: at the age of 12 he started keeping a diary that documented his dual teenage existence as an-all star basketball player at an elite private school, and his emerging heroin addiction and the street life that surrounded the junkie scene.