The Story Of My Fucking Life


Posted by ilbebe on December 24, 2008

Back to the topic of amazing concert films, let’s discuss Rust Never Sleeps, Hey Hey, My My. After he plays After the Gold Rush, Neil Young jokes that “When I get big, I’m gonna get an ELECTRIC guitar!…When I get really big!…” The whole concert is such an incredible work of art; the music, the interlude Woodstock sound clip, the lighting, the stage design, the fuckin’ Road-Eyes!! It’s like a history lesson. The segue riff in Powderfinger is one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard, I couldn’t replicate the way they play it if I had a thousand years. My friend Becky told me Oh Man, I Got My First Speeding Ticket Listening To Live Rust.

Rust-o-vision must be real!

I recently read a story about a police drug raid on a home in the Laurel Canyon in the late 60’s or early 70’s that involved Neil Young. Apparently, there were a bunch of musicians and other people having a party, and of course there was some cheeba there, and when the police stormed the house with weapons drawn, it freaked Neil Young out so badly that he started having an epileptic seizure. Thus we must raise our hats to this Canadian-American, having persevered all the injustices he has suffered by the hand of his adoptive homeland and started a school for children afflicted with “severe physical impairments and complex communication needs.” Oh, and he still rocks. Some of my friend Shawn and his father Shawn’s favorite memories are of attending Bridge School Benefit concerts.

A concert that Shawn didn’t make it to was the Mooney Suzuki at Slim’s in September 2002. He didn’t make it because he was with his father in the hospital. His father had cut the greater part of four fingers off in an industrial accident. Thanks to medical science, all were re-attached, and he has good functionality in that hand today. He’s had some interesting battles with the California Worker’s Compensation System, battles that dwarf my own. But in the model of the Good Human that we all ought to aspire to be, he just fucking persevered, like his hero. Big Shawn said that when he was in the hospital, his mother, who had passed a few years earlier, came to him in a dream and told him things would be okay.

Who needs Saints when magic is real?

Let’s now raise a glass for Saint Kurt Vonnegut. He would find the notion that he’d been sainted hilarious, and it is for that reason I say, sorry, but I have to. He would have been eighty-six today, and it is in his honor that I carry his cause: When he was born in 1922, the eleventh of November was Armistice Day, celebrating the end of the War To End All Wars, of course now known as World War One. Inspired by my girlfriend, I went out two days ago to purchase a copy of Slaughterhouse Five or, the Children’s Crusade. I was lucky enough to chance upon a seventh-edition trade paperback, collectible for the fact that it’s old enough that the author is credited as Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. I was elated because it was a hardback edition of the same vintage and same cover design that I first read. I got it from my high school library. HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT LIBRARIES ARE UNIMPORTANT?!?!

I relayed these facts to the fella that had just sold me the book, and he said he had first read Vonnegut at age 13, and it kept him from killing himself. This guy had the sweetest little smile on his face as he told me this, and I wanted to hug him.

That’s why yr a saint now, kv, like it or not. I’ll try to use lower-case and abbreviate things to try and keep it modest.

I think of the plaintive plea of Tears of Rage, and I say on this Veteran’s Day, I know what those lines in the sand represent. I reject the guilt that I perceive to have been obligated to suffer, and I will not let the bastards get nor keep me down. I listen to the ragged glory of that riff from Powderfinger, and know that there is something here worth fighting for, something that the world just needs to understand a little bit better. It would help if we could ditch the ego of it all. I don’t have an American Flag pin in my lapel today, I have a yellow ribbon pin.

What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?

When you dance, do your senses tingle?

High Tides and Green Grass are ours if we want them sincerely enough, or




at all.

Singing out, 11-11-08.


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