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