I've been playing and singing for anti-poverty rallies of late.These are unpaid and after all the energy laid out--hm, one is still poor. In fact you throw a lot of thunder into being a kind of John Prine after Elvis.
This afternoon, I collapsed after a routine workout.
To borrow a titles from the great Robbie Roberson, this might be the last waltz.
Seventy-four and trying to be an Elvis manque'. And John Prine. Come on.
But then, holy mackerel, I seem to have groupies a little younger than than old Methuselah here.
Rock till you're dead?
Again, like a wine-stoned cowboy. Women on the phone. But ah is only 75 y'ars old!
"My momma she done said
She don't like that rock and roll
"I said please, momma please
Momma you just don't know
I don't want
...hang up my rock'n'roll shoes
'Cause me feet start movin'
Every time I hear those blues."
And yet the collapse at the gym.
My doctor was amused when I told him death is nature's way of slowing you down.
Ah what the hell.
One has always been a performance artist.
Maybe, to stay with the season, I might come out as Rob Zombie.