Maria Muldaur

There's a tree down on the driveway, I'm trying to get to D's 30th birthday party for a free beer and cupcake but my way is blocked. Look out kid, it's something you did. Life becomes a Bob Dylan song. I finally clear a path but I'm already late and I haven't left yet. Mom calls and we talk about crab cakes. Maria on the radio. Scat. Some things aren't constellated. I've missed a great many parties, my reasons are legion. The cat ate my homework. Nothing works. Whistling Dixie. Revisit your original diagnosis, it might not be just a headache, consider the possibilities. Certainly you're dying, all those French guys got that right, the one certain thing. But listening to Maria, I swear there's hope. Mac sent a New York Times review of a book about crows. I know crows, I actually speak their language. I specialize in useless knowledge. Early on, I realized it didn't matter what you believed, one thing as good as another. Left, right, off the scale, makes no difference, whatever gets you out of bed. I won't change my life, at this point, I'm comfortable. I like installing art, it satisfies a particular need. Van Morrison talking about the actual, high in the art of suffering, wipe a few tears and buckle up. Mocking bird in the background, singing the songs of rain. Just a crow, complaining. Listen, I don't give a shit what they say, the river flows to the sea. They've tainted my dream, with their carbon, their global warming, still, living amidst this is better than blowing your head off. If I understand the dialogue correctly. I'm a fat cat, really, I don't even apply for grants, I wouldn't want to compromise anything. I'm fine without running water and cooking on a woodstove, just don't hold me to your standards. The sun is shining and things are going my way. There's no place I need to be. Didn't know I was lost until you found me. A bluegrass song, something about that sound, a mandolin, a bass in the background. Crossing borders. What you need to know. Look here. Smokey, but still not transparent. Even what's clear is opaque, what we miss. Change is the coin of moment. Sitting on the dock of bay, watching time. Tide. What flows. Say what you will. Garcia is a genius.