February 22 2009

     To try to decide multitudes of things concerning how I might progress; how this or that proposed scenario might end up; why I should or, maybe, shouldn't do one thing or another; go one place or stay. My age factors into this in so many ways that I often just give up in a sense of a flummoxed des-pair—sort of. I know my strengths and weaknesses, but wonder which, if any, are still viable enough to, maybe, pursue further attempt at finding outlets, or an outlet that would not only serve my 'needs', but, maybe, in some way, help to improve your (Jerit's) attempts to gain an attitude and a trajectory that excites you.  ¶  Of course: I can supply good musical backup; and, possibly even, helpful insights and direction with respect to further enhancing your and our abilities to pull off performances—and, hopefully, for some compensation, of some sort, sometimes, that could help toward providing a furtherance of some semblance of a more sound sense of a guarantee of survival, in its simplest sense. As you know: I lean toward the simplest least of requirements when it comes to staying alive and feeling secure enough about my continuing promise of more surviving tomorrow.  ¶  Maybe I am just too far gone, already, & these types of thoughts are just an old geezer's pipe-dreaming; and I am well prepared to accept that, no matter I still know that I can, at my least, still get excited to think about playing—in a group, with others—& when I do think about this, sometimes I almost go nutz with frustrated exasperation that I—my abilities with & understandings of music & its many phases toward successful performance—am just lying here (well: reclining) & doing absolutely nothing that makes much of any real sense anymore. Oh well: The clean air, water, and wildness just beyond the meadow & up in the woods; the fact of no toxics to sour the air or ground (minus loggers spraying agent orange about a mile above Delia's in 1997)(oh, & by the way: what I observed a few months ago that I thought was a , chem-dump-trail, could have been BLM spraying nutrients over the Coos Forest area—still a chem dump) . . . so, no toxics, paint, asphalt, concrete, non-natural cleaning agents, rug or drape outgass, very little plastic; the ambiances of a natural setting, its silences, whispers, no light pollution to interfere with star gazing; and next-to-no vehicular traffic—no constant distant but distinct traffic roar to agitate my soul's spirit, who just LUVZ that absence from my life. That distant but distinct low rumble was a constant accompaniment to almost all of the events of the first 57 years of my life. This place still is a paradise for who I am, or, at least have been up til now, and I feel will, maybe, be a sacrifice too great, were I to decide to move, & it didn't 'work.'  ¶  I mentioned regretting—should I move to higher elevations—my coastal lowlanders' comfort(s). You observed how nervous I was about getting stuck way up at 3,000 feet elevation last November 4^th. Of course, part of this neurosis was being prompted by the possibility of having to drive too fast on I-5 if I couldn't sneak over the back roads, which I knew to be far less of a threat to me and the truck than I-5; but, upon further reflection, I realize that my 68½ years of, call it, 'conditioning' from living at elevations under a few-hundred feet above sea level—not to mention the 17 years at sea level—has given me a sense-of-security & stability, or some such; that is incorporated somewhere deep within my psyche, as well as however living my whole life at the 14 lbs. per sq. in. air pressure and oxygen content of the coastal lowlanders' environmental conditioning lies deep in my person. Nearly an unfathomable sensation to try to describe & express, let alone be very conscious of, it is such a subtle influence, yet, I would presume one of the stronger influential factors in how one goes about expressing his or her life force. Feb.22, 2008