Talkin' Jazz

In my more youthful and vigorous days I hated jazz.  It was old and tired.  Filled with a poisonous rage, I thirsted for vengeful music.  Now I myself and old and tired.  I find myself downloading those old Blue Note records from the Cosmic Hearse.  My weary body shudders at the thought of lifting weights whilst listening to Danzig.  Instead I crave a dark corner with a glass of whiskey and some music to fit the mood:  soft, slow, and as fragile as Dennis Dixon's knee.  Let me sit and rest awhile.  What has become of me?

Am I am becoming more than nothing?

The pursuit of knowledge comes with a heavy price.  What new liquor is there to try?  What news songs are there to hear?  What have I to say anymore?  Nothing.



File photo of Mr. Booze feeling defeated