Kick Out The Jam Bands

You know, I read Victory Coffee’s post and it totally hurt my heart. I almost went emo on you.

Then, I realized, I’m 43 years old and I got no fuckin’ excuse.

SO what do I do? See, I totally RELATED to that post:

This whole place is sick.  War is right.  Torture is legal.  Love is hate.  Shame is pride.  God is fear.  This is the world I’ve walked in to?  I don’t know if I should vomit or cry.  I’d sleep it off again but this time my bed is gone.

Fuck the elections and fuck the superbowl.  I don’t give a shit.  Impeach the war criminals, throw out the complicit congress and start this over right.  This is beyond surreal.  Should I be knocking on people’s doors and shaking them or something?  Maybe kick over their TV while I’m at it?  What exactly are you supposed to do in this situation anyways?

So? What’s the answer?

Ultimately? The answer to the angst of the individual, regardless of the fact that I happen to share it to a crippling extent…I ain’t got it. I can’t lie to you. the short term?

Just for now?

Create headspace. Break off and unwrap.

In other words:

You know the vibe.

It’s on below the fold.

From de wiki, mon:

A Jam band (or Jamband) is term coined in the early 1990s to describe a musical group whose albums and live festival performances relate to a fan culture originating with the 1960s group Grateful Dead and continued in the 1990s by Phish and other similar bands. The performances of these bands often feature extended musical improvisation over rhythmic grooves and chord patterns and long sets of music that cross genre boundaries.

Okay, we know what it all MEANS.

We know who started it all, and we know what the major shift in that space time continuum was.

I spent two days on the polo fields, in a pup tent, with the woman who was my lover at the time.

Without that event, would the artificially-inclusive term “jam band” have been necessary?

Open question, but at the end of the day, not particularly relevant….

because, some fucking where, it’s always 4:20.

I’ve been particularly clear about what I think is the temporary solution:


“You told me, “God made the World.'”

“No, no!” Harshaw said hastily. “I told you that, while all these many religions said many things, most of them said, ‘God made the World.’ I told you that I did not grok the fullness, but that ‘God’ was the word that was used.”

“Yes, Jubal,” Mike agreed. “Word is ‘God'” He added. “You grok.”

“No, I must admit I don’t grok.”

“You grok,” Smith repeated firmly. “I am explain. I did not have the word. You grok. Anne groks. I grok. The grass under my feet groks in happy beauty. But I needed the word. The word is God.”

Jubal shook his head to clear it. “Go ahead.”

Mike pointed triumphantly at Jubal. “Thou art God!”

Jubal slapped a hand to his face. “Oh, Jesus H. – What have I done? Look, Mike, take it easy! Simmer down! You didn’t understand me. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry! Just forget what I’ve been saying and we’ll start over again on another day. But – ”

“Thou art God,” Mike repeated serenely. “That which groks. Anne is God. I am God. The happy grass are God, Jill groks in beauty always. Jill is God. All shaping and making and creating together – .” He croaked something in Martian and smiled.

That having been said…do you need a miracle? I’m doing my best….

In fact..I’m bouncin’ round the room.

But anyway…..

I just thought I’d stir it up…

and then send me on my way.

never thirst