Life Won't Wait
You can't change the future. You can't change the present. You can only change the past.
You can’t change the present. You can’t change the future. You can only change the past.
I love that front cover. And I love the phrase Life Won’t Wait. But that album was pretty disappointing. …And Out Come The Wolves had a flawless tracklist. It was their ultimate Give ‘Em The Boot statement. Rancid knew albums like Wolves only come around once a career & so they played the game. Sorta. They had dinner with Madonna back when Madonna was Maverick Records. They stayed with Epitaph. And when their Epitaph contract ended, they shrank themselves even more by forming Hellcat Records & singing themselves.
Now, most people call this album Rancid 2000. Some call it Rancid 5, which is just odd. I think it’s just called Rancid, but that’s me. I remember the first single being “Poison” & thinking “meh.” But then…BUT THEN…
….they release “Let Me Go” which for my money is the finest use of the wah pedal ever:
It was their first Hellcat Album and fuck, was it ever weird. Songs like “Loki” & “Don Giovanni” clocking in at under 70 seconds and shit? According to Wikipedia: It spans 22 tracks in under 40 minutes, owing to over 3/4 of the songs clocking at under 2 minutes.
Easily Rancid’s most “hardcore” album, hardcore in the early 80s punk rock sense, not fucking Poison the Well or Bane or Hatebreed. I mean, just a glance at the tracklisting…opener “Don Giovanni” is 35 seconds. “Disgruntled” somehow feels like a whole song despite being just one minute. I loved “Dead Bodies,” it had a real melody. And I loved “Radio Havana,” tied with “It’s Quite Alright” for the poppiest song on the record.
One other thing, I remember bassist Matt Freeman smoking a cigarette on the back of the CD Digipack. The guy smoked so much, that about a year later when it was reported he’d been diagnosed with lung cancer, I thought to myself: Oh that’s it. Freeman’s a goner.
He’s still alive today. They turned out to be non-malignant growths. He looks like shit, but Freeman is alive. That’s him in 2017.
He’s a fugitive from time. Radio Havana! But seriously, Matt sang a lot of songs on Rancid. He’s an awful singer. But his singing gave me a new perspective on him.
@ 1:50: This is all I’ve ever done. Girl I got nothing to fall back on.
Anyway, for whatever reason, it was the summer after Grade Nine and for me, a summer of freedom. And my CD player was on non-stop. So in my brain Rancid’s 2000 s/t album is inextricably linked to my fav R.E.M. album, 1996’s New Adventures in Hi-Fi.
“Leave” is my favourite R.E.M. ever. It’s a hauntingly beautiful highway song.
Nothing could bring me closer. Nothing could bring me here. Where is the road I follow to leave?
I even owned the CD single for “E-Bow the Letter,” which had a different version of “Departure” and a weird little fuck-around soundcheck song called “Tricycle.” The only difference was in the chorus, when Stipe goes “Here it comes….” Mike Mills went straight into singing the “Ba-ack” part that Stipe sings later in the official “Departure,” instead of singing “carried away” or whatever Mills is singing. The verses remain identical. Does that make sense?
I found it! I found the alternate “Departure!” See what I mean about Mike Mills singing “Ba-ack!” instead of Stipe? The Middle 8 bars are different too. The album version above is better, with the higher notes Stipe hits on “GO! GO! GO! GO!”
Anyway last week I had my second seizure of the year. Don’t know why, but the doctor thinks it’s connected to whatever sleep disorder I have. I got 4 bruised ribs from falling during the tonic-clonic episode.
I also found out last week I have major depressive disorder. I mean, I know I’m depressed. I’ve known it for a long time.
Major depressive disorder (MDD), also known simply as depression, is a mental disorder, characterized by at least two weeks of pervasive low mood, low self-esteem, and loss of interest or pleasure in normally enjoyable activities.
When this was read to me I laughed aloud. I laughed for like…a full 60 seconds.
TWO WEEKS of pervasive low mood, low self-esteem, and loss of interest or pleasure in normally enjoyable activities? I can’t remember the last time I didn’t feel these things. It’s called anhedonia. Inability to take pleasure in activities that were once pleasurable. But this summer I’m joining a Frolf team (it’s golf using a frisbee with a hole in the middle). I’d also like to join a paintball team. Something to simulate the life & death our ancestors felt running on the plains after their food (or away from that which would make them food). Adrenaline is the key.
I had a seizure on Monday (my second this summer) and fell out of bed, catching my right ribcage on the wooden base of the bed. Bruised four ribs. I like to say I have a good tolerance for pain, but this….was bad. I couldn’t stand up straight from the pain, at one point trying to crawl to the kitchen using the front of my hands. It took over two hours but I got there. Having done so, I now have a massive amount of respect for Jessie, the lead character in Stephen King’s Gerald’s Game (1992), a story about a couple who rent a cabin to “spice up” their sex life (I’m still young but um…if you need to drive miles & miles to random place to “spice up”your sex life, your marriage is over. At least…the physical part is over. You can either accept that and move on, if neither of you are particularly sexual (doubtful, given the attempt at “spicing up”), or the less sexual of you should be take a permissive attitude toward you spouse sleeping with someone else. I don’t mean half the town you live in. I mean, a single person who is looking for a similar arrangements. There are all types.
Me, I’m on methadone & a number of other anti-depressants so I don’t kill myself. They have, however, done a fin job of utterly destroying my sex drive. Can’t remember the last time I had sex (my guess is between January and May 2020). But if you go into a relationship with someone who has a strong libido, & then suddenly just stop having sex with them, refuse to talk about why, but tell your partner that if he/she/they looks for a sexual partner outside the relationship, you will break up with them because you are a monogamous person…I hate to break it to yam, you are not a monogamous person. Well, you are. But, more importantly for your parters purposes, you have become an asexual person. And that is not fair to your partner. If you’d told your partner beforehand (“hey, I have this thing where 3 or 4 months a year I kinda go into a cave and cannot and do not want to have sex at all or be touched at all, or touch other people at all, or be involved in anything that could be construed as sex or sexual touching” & your partner said “3 or 4 months a year? Okay. I think I can deal with that. I love you enough that I can put up with that.”
But then your 3-4 months a year turn into 6 months, then 8 months, then a year. Then the rest of the marriage. You lied to your partner about a significant part of adult relations, & you shouldn’t be surprised if he either
breaks up with you so he/she/they can meet someone who actually enjoys having sex
stays with you but cheats on you frequently and openly
You were openly disingenuous, he/she/they have every right to be the same.
ANYWAY I’m just posting this because I am working on a much longer piece about a man named Clive Wearing who has the worst case of amnesia in the world. He has a 7-second memory & he also cannot recall anything that has ever happened to him in his entire life.
So every 7-second Clive “wake up” & writes in his diary, which he has kept since 1985 when the virus attacked his brain. The diary has almost no content whatsoever. It’s like this:
9:01am Awake for first time in many many weeks, Conscious. 9:03 ACTUALLY FULLY CONSCIOUS and awake, despite my previous claims.
9:10 completely fully and totally conscious. alive.
9:22 awake for first time in many many weeks. Conscious for the first time!
God knows what happened between 9:10-9:22? You know the Brits. That’s just about the right amount of time for a cup of cup of tea. Anyway this Clive article will fucking blow you away. I hope to be done by the end of the week.
And on and on and on and on. Psychologists have studied his diaries for any mention of his children’s names. None. He knows they are his children. He does not know their names. He knows his wife Deborah is his wife, he embraces her like a man lost among frightening creatures every time he spots her. A friendly face in the crowd. He’s never been able to name her, but those psychologists who read every discussion Clive had with one of them from 1990-1992 had this one, single, “breakthrough,” if you can call it that. I don’t. But this is what happened:
Deborah wrote of how he could not remember her name, “but one day someone asked him to say his full name, and he said, ‘Clive David Deborah Wearing—funny name that. I don’t know why my parents called me that.’
“How,” Oliver Sacks, the brain surgeon neurologist wrote, “why, when he recognized no one else with any consistency, did Clive recognize Deborah? There are clearly many sorts of memory, and emotional memory is one of the deepest and least understood.”
Nonetheless, for many years he failed to recognize Deborah if she chanced to walk past, and even now he cannot say what she looks like unless he is actually looking at her.
No two cases of amnesia are the same. No two.
Clive can’t recognize his own wife if they pass each other on the street but he can play complex works by Handel, Bach, Beethoven, & Lassus on piano - all songs longer than 7 or 30 seconds - as long as he doesn’t stop to “think” or “unthink” because Clive does not “think” like we do, as his wife explains, “the momentum of the piece carries him along.”
You can’t change the present. You can’t change the future. You can only change the past.
So I am working on a piece about this man. Clive Wearing. He can’t change any of the three.
My divorce went through yesterday. It becomes official December 24 2021. Merry Fucking Xmas. The divorce lawyer emailed all of us. You can hit “reply all” but _____ knows that her not speaking to me is making me suffer. So I just have to get to fuck over her. The relationship was FAR more irritating that I remember it being. I’m only remember the good part. 2018 was a great fucking year. Just terrific. I remember the year before I was broke and so couldn’t do much for Xmas (I had to buy her Mum a paperback I had not read myself, so there was no quality control, so throughout 2018 everytime I saw ____’s Mum, she made sure to tell me how awful the book was, that she '“kept waiting for it to get better, but it didn’t.”
I bought it for you because I had $4 Christmas 2017 and ____ wanted me to go to Hamilton to see you and your husband. You don’t like the book? DON’T FUCKIN READ IT.
Cuz I’d get this strong sense that I was being blamed not only for the book itself being bad, but the time she had wasted reading it. Whatever. I knew I was on thin ice with her when we went to see her in November of 2017. It was my only day off ALL MONTH, yet still _____ asked me to get up and get on a GO bus and go visit her parents.
Halfway through the meal, the mother asks me “What’s ____’s middle name?”
My heart sunk.
I didn’t know. I’d been told it was a popular singer. It seems obvious to me now that it was Adele but sitting there, sweating, under the lights, I pretended to get engrossed in some green beans and ignored the question. But the mother wasn’t stupid.
“What’s her middle name?”
I looked her in the ye. “I’m sorry I don’t know.”
“It’s a popular singer.”
“You said that, yeah, I’m sorry. I just can’t think of it right now.”
And from then on she hated me.
BUT FUCK IT.
I AM SINGLE AGAIN.
You’ve got a guy who can’t stand his present. Who would do ANYTHING to change his present: That’s me. The manic depressive.
You’ve got an artist who does not believe he is the same person he was when he was born. That’s Bob Dylan.
These symptoms describe my present (& past) life, despite the fact that the numbers seem way off, just ridiculously low. TWO WEEKS? I’ve had five day periods where I can’t get out of bed.
According to the Internet - which in a mere quarter century has grown from a kooky little novelty which one could use to spend 14 hours downloading “Bawitdaba” by Kid Rock from Napster to something the world literally cannot run without.
I remember downloading “Bawitdaba” and it taking like, a week. I recall writer Chuck Klosterman writing in Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto (2003), one of his best-selling books, if not the best-selling cuz people weren’t used to Chuck’s schtick yet, which is to overanalyze that defended shows like Saved By the Bell, The Real World, etc, so that back in 1996 a friend called him after getting internet installed at his place and invited Chuck over so they could watch his download the Batman logo. That book came out in 2003, and I remember Klosterman noting, not incorrectly, that we had gone in just 6 years from downloading the Batman logo to being “completely unable to do business without it.”
After the first 4 hours of trying to get that Kid Rock song, I still only had the first 120 seconds of that beyond-annoying bawitdabadabangabangdiggydiggysaidtheboogiesaidup
junptheboogie (this timing issue was broadband’s fault, or dial-up….blame cannot be laid at the feet for Shawn, or maybe it’s Shaun…I’d look it up but I don’t care, or Kid Rock’s fault. Seriously though. The song has an 80-second intro & that stupid fucking bawitdaba chant.
I was still watching The Simpsons in high school even though it was fucking terrible, despite a few good moments (Lisa kicking Bart and impaling him on her Nobel Peace Prize…though I don’t know if that is actual post Season 9 Simpsons or an episode between Seasons 3 & 9 and is just a fantastical daydream of what her life will one day be life). Anyway, I enjoyed Homer mangling the lyrics as much as any 14-year old Simpsons fan did back then, tough even then we knew there was something rotten in Denmark.
I disliked how out of its way the show went to make Kid Rock look “cool” the show made fucking Kid Rock look, a man who would, not one year later, use "Radiohead toilet paper for his video for “You Never Met A Motherfucker Quite Like Me.”
I guess it’s funny? I’m not against shit jokes or toilet paper jokes, but if Kid Rock - who, by the way, really needs to change his name to Mr. Rock…he’s 50 fucking years old. He looks like this:
Here he is golfing with the President on June 26 2019, in case you needed more reason to hate him.
Let’s drop the kid act buddy. Your name is not Kid Rock.
Your name is Robert James Ritchie. His first few albums, Grits Sandwiches for Breakfast (1990), and The Polyfuze Method (1992) were supposed to establish Rock as a streetwise, street-level, hip-hop artist who rapped about money, not having it, local landmarks, local restaurants, etc He announced himself a Detroit artist. It wasn’t til Early Mornin Stoned Pimp (1996) that he began to see some success with his “trailer park pimp daddy persona,” as his Wikipedia calls it. You can read about Rock’s early days in an oral history of early 90s Detroit right here:
By the time he showed up on The Simpsons, touting “Bawitdaba” from his 1998 breakthrough Devil Without A Cause, Kid Rock was a star. My beef? Was the way the show treated him like a star. Other guest stars like Edward Norton played characters on The Simpsons. Edward Norton did not play Edward Norton. He played a grifter. But Kid Rock gets the same royal red carpet treatment as Aerosmith & Paul McCartney? I’m not trying to be rockist here. A high influential 2004 New York Times article called “The Rap Against Rockism” showed & shrewdly proved, that there exists a hierarchy of music, unacknowledged but there all the time, and its parameters & boundaries are tethered tightly to those of race. Rap groups allowed into the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame are either white (Kid Rock, Emimem), or they have a long history with the rock world. Cypress Hill, for example, with two identical songs. One’s called “(Rap) Superstar” the other’s called “(Rock) Superstar.”
The thesis, ably proved, was that rap & hip-hop is acceptable to the establishment “only if it, you know, rocks.”
In the video for the Cypress Hill rap song, you have testimonies given by Eminem (white) and Noreaga (Black). The rock artists in this video are Sen Dog & Everlast, though Everlast’s inclusion is a little bit of a half-assed research job. Everlast is a founding member of “House of Pain” whose hit “Jump Around” was (and still is) an international hit.
Everlast, birth name Erik Francis Schrody has the rare distinction of being both a rap and rock superstar, though both careers were, compared to rock artists of the late 1960s, 1970s, and some of the 1980s. As a rule, hope hop is much more of “Well, what have you done lately?” genre, therefore hip hop artists tend to have shorter careers. I was pretty happy ten years ago though (this was well before it came to light Chris Brown is an abuser) when Brown put Busta Rhymes, who I’ve always loved, as a feature in his “Look At Me Know.”
“I don’t see how you can hate from outside of the club. You can’t even get in.”
Anyway, if we were to apply “Well, what have you done lately?” to The Simpsons, it woulda been cancelled in 2001-2002. Instead we get guest spots from fucking Kid Rock. I time-stamped it for you. It should start at 3:25. If not? Fast Forward. LAWL. FF. When was the last time you saw that? FF? VHS? Cassette? Sometimes, as a manic depressive, I’d like to Fast Forward my life, just to see if it gets any better. It there’s not rewind button, nevermind. In fact…the Rewind button would be far more valuable to me.
Anyway, Kid Rock is sad about something & decided he’s gonna pour booze on the ground, because that makes a whole lotta sense.
“Bring on the rappin granny!” shouts Homer. Everyone glares hatingly at him.
And then of course, “all for Homer” when he finds out the 40 of Malt Liquor isn’t 40oz, it’s 40 gallons.
Luckily for the few fans who were still clinging to the show, waiting for it to get better, at least Kid Rock & Joe C & Homer don’t become friends. Their only encounter consists of this: “Let’s waste that bi-taych”
Make no mistake: This is bad television.
The show was getting worse & worse. This Ian Maxtone-Graham guy didn’t seem to give a shit, and Matt Groening was spending all his time either watching his fingernails & bank accounts grow, or he took too much talent from The Simpsons to Futurama, which explains the dramatic decline in quality once the two shows began airing simultaneously.
Kid Rock (or should I call him Mr. Rock?), hype man Joe C, a little person, was crucial to Rock’s early success, so when Joe C died only 6 months after this episode aired, on November 16, 2000, it was a massive blow personally for Rock. While I can appreciate the fact that he lost a friend, I think that “hype men” in rap and hip hop are grossly overrated and wickedly annoying. Think about it. As a fan. You paid $80, $120, $160, whatever the fuck concerts outside clubs cost now. And the first voice you hear is some prick nobody knows? If I go to a Busta Rhymes show, I want to hear Busta Rhymes.
This is why opening acts are received with such hostility. Rule #1 as an opener:
DO NOT play longer than 25 (it takes you 5 mins to tear down, so that’s 30 mins to the audience. Bring your best material. 4-7 songs, depending on what kind of band you are. If you’re early 90s Gob, you can fit 14 songs in 25 minutes. Not every band has NO songs longer than 2 minutes. but it helps. Check it out:
Gob “You’re Too Cool” 2:00 (note the empty 10 second at the beginning. your honour. I attribute that to editing error. The song is closer to 1:50.)
1.5 Gob “Soda” 1:56
Archive “Again” 16:24
If you are Vancouver’s amazing-but-glacially-paced Archive, you get one song & song only. “Again.”
They didn’t use the term back then, but “branding” was as crucial then as it is now. You could argue that Bob Dylan was one of the first to exploit that kind of fan-artist relationship. Dylan went electric in 1965 @ the Newport Folk Festival. He was not received well. Apparently somebody throw a pendant of St Anthony that slid across the stage. Dylan declined to pick it up. “Judas!” screamed an audience member, as Dylan played on, seemingly unaffected, with The Band behind him.
I just Googled his setlist for this article and had to blink a few times. Dylan only played 3 songs. Three. I had always thought, and been told, that Dylan going electric was a seminal rock ‘n roll moment, not unlike the impromptu jam session at The Million Dollar Quartet is the name given to recordings made on Tuesday December 4, 1956 in the Sun Record Studios in Memphis, Tennessee.
Those recordings were of an impromptu jam session, now considered a seminal moment in rock ‘n roll, between Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, and Johnny Cash. The jam session seems to have happened by pure chance. From the photo above you can clearly see Presley is leading the sessions. He’s at the electric piano, Carl Perkins trying to keep up as Elvis led them through (sometimes the whole song, other times just halfway through) rock ‘n’ roll, which they were all famous for but they all had deep knowledge of gospel music, Christmas music, country, western, rockabilly, and whatever else all four of them knew together. Sometimes if only three of them knew, which happened a few times to Cash, he’d take the low harmony, learn the song as it went, and do the best he could.
The guys in the above photo blasted through 47 (!) songs. That’s more than a double LP. Oh man, maybe not the engineer, but if there was one of those useless Sun Records suits there, he must have walked home that day with $$$$$$ on the brain.
I don’t know why they didn’t record those takes earlier. It’s not lo-fi. I’d call it mi-fi. Middle fidelity. Elvis is the star of the goddamn show, and unless someone edited it beautiful the transitions are fucking seamless:
The complete recording consists of an instrumental already in progress with Elvis on piano, Carl Perkins on guitar, W. S. Holland on drums, the fact that Lewis was there (he wasn’t known outside Memphis at the time, & his Wurlitzer Spinet may have been to give a fatter, more bass-heavy sound, cuz I can’t find ANY info on who played bass that day. Perkins had a hit with “Blue Suede Shoes”
Before long he’s sitting down at the keyboard, blazing through nearly 50 songs, and the tape was still running as you can hear the man say goodbye to each other and Elvis leave the studio. It was only later on that the four musicians were given the retroactive name The Million Dollar Quartet. Perkins & Cash were both far too self-effacing to be in a band with a name like that. And I think Presley & Lewis ultimately would have agreed. By the time those recording were released, Jerry Lee Lewis was the only man left standing. And considering how the establishment treated him after he married his third cousin, the 13-year old Myra (let’s be real, it is weird to marry a girl that young. She could be pre-pubescent. AND she was his cousin. Three generation removed but Jerry…you had all of America’s youthful females throwing themselves at you. This bring to mind a David Lee Roth quote when he was asked about his reputation with groupies in the 1980s:
I can’t have any woman I want. I can have any woman who wants me. That’s a huge difference. - David Lee Roth, 1985
These fucking rock stars do nothing but disappoint.
I though Dylan going electric was on par with…I dunno. Something else important.
It wasn’t til years later, during a late 2000s or possibly early 2010s interview with Rolling Stone that Dylan showed real anger. “They called me Judas! The most hated person in the history of the world!”
HE ONLY PLAYED THREE ELECTRIC SONGS, FOLLOWED BY A CAPITULATION TO THE AUDIENCE WITH TWO ACOUSTIC SONGS! THIS IS NOT PART OF THE MYTHOLOGY. I’VE READ 4 BOOKS ON DYLAN & I HAVE NEVER READ THAT @ NEWPORT he played THREE electric songs:
Like a Rolling Stone
It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry
1. Mr. Tambourine Man
2. It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue
Right. Rock ‘n Roll’s Mr Integrity who ostensibly follows his muse wherever it goes, plays two hits off his recent album, a train song, followed by one of his most popular singles ever thanks to its treatment by the Byrds in “Mr. Tambourine Man.”
Why did rock critics derive such enjoyment from showering Dylan with insults & critiques during his most fertile period? It’s like The Weeknd, okay? He’s the King Midas of music right now. Everything he touches turns gold. Or platinum. Or however the fuck they measure units sold these days. That’s the 3rd time this article. Befire this Internet thing, we bought albums, now I make YouTube playlists and I’ve fucking gotten used to it. I love it. I love Bob Dylan. I love The Weeknd.
Then, in 1996, Bob Dylan licenses one of his songs for commercial use, in this case, “The Times They Are A Changin’” to the Bank of Montreal.
Now, magazines, especially Rolling Stone, love to write “Bob Dylan: As You’ve NEVER heard him!”
But this interview really is Bob Dylan as one has never heard him. Bob Dylan thinks that he has been transfigured, & this information consists of his feinting, hinting, but never coming right out & fucking SAYING or trying to convince the journalist that his motorcycle accident of 1966 transfigured him, & he Bob Dylan he is taking to is not to same Bob Dylan who wrote & recorded those seminal albums.
So here’s Dylan lookin’ sharp in that badass jacket. Who wouldn’t look proud? You’re doin a photo session for an album with “Desolation Row” on it. With “Ballad of a Thin Man” on it, my all-time fav Dylan song.
Because something is happening here but you don’t know what it is. Do you? Mr Jones?
In his SEPTEMBER 27 2012 interview with Mikal Gilmore, Dylan insists that the man in the above LP front cover photograph is dead. Gone. Transfigured.
Here’s a pretty one that got a lot more airplay after the Coen’s put it in The Big Lebowski:
It’s an insane interview, total bullshit, and more of Dylan trying to do his “HEY GUY! I AM DIFFERENT! I AM SPECIAL! I’VE BEEN TRANSFIGURED! I AM NOW A RELIGIOUS ICON!”
Here’s is some of the maddening fucking interview:
One of the early presidents of the Berdoo Hell’s Angels was Bobby Zimmerman. On our way home from the 1964 Bass Lake Run, Bobby was riding in his customary spot – front left – when his muffler fell off his bike. Thinking he could go back and retrieve it, Bobby whipped a quick U-turn from the front of the pack. At that same moment, a Richmond Hell’s Angel named Jack Egan was hauling ass from the back of the pack toward the front. Egan was on the wrong side of the road, passing a long line of speeding bikes, just as Bobby whipped his U-turn. Jack broadsided poor Bobby and instantly killed him. We dragged Bobby’s lifeless body to the side of the road. There was nothing we could do but to send somebody on to town for help.” Poor Bobby.
Yeah, poor Bobby. You know what this is called? It’s called transfiguration. Have you ever heard of it?
Well, you’re looking at somebody.
That . . . has been transfigured?
Yeah, absolutely. I’m not like you, am I? I’m not like him, either. I’m not like too many others. I’m only like another person who’s been transfigured. How many people like that or like me do you know?
By transfiguration, you mean it in the sense of being transformed? Or do you mean transmigration, when a soul passes into a different body?
Transmigration is not what we are talking about. This is something else. I had a motorcycle accident in 1966. I already explained to you about new and old. Right? Now, you can put this together any way you want. You can work on it any way you want. Transfiguration: You can go and learn about it from the Catholic Church, you can learn about it in some old mystical books, but it’s a real concept. It’s happened throughout the ages. Nobody knows who it’s happened to, or why. But you get real proof of it here and there. It’s not like something you can dream up and think. It’s not like conjuring up a reality or like reincarnation – or like when you might think you’re somebody from the past but have no proof. It’s not anything to do with the past or the future.
THE ATTITUDES OF THESE 3 MEN SEEM TO BE:
Bob Dylan: Nobody can change ANYTHING.
Clive Wearing: I don’t have enough time to change anything. Everything fades after 7 seconds. So I’ll be just starting whatever action is necessary for change, then I “awake” & have to have it all explained to me again.
Me: The manic depressive disorder doesn’t help. But I think the future can be affected by action we take now. So I’m not sure what Dylan means, unless he considers time to move one way -forward - and that time is a train traveling on tracks that exist ONLY directly beneath the train, I get into this paradox (hopefully in an entertaining way) in my debut novel AtQH. I’d love to make a positive impact on the world. Maybe through writing, eh? Stayed tuned. The next article I publish on Substack will be on Mr. Clive Wearing will blow your fucking mind. Not because I am a good writer, but because his story is frightening, amazing, interesting, & yet I feel I’m exploiting him even by taking an interest in him & his story. (By the way, there is an article I’ve wanted to write for a long time, about the abrupt way Bryan Adam’s video for “Summer of 1969” ends, & how it seems like a prelude to a seriously violent
demonistic domestic assault incident. (I accidentally wrote demonistic & I’m gonna keep it butt strike it just so readers know I do NOT think domestic violence is a joke….like F Scott Fitzgerald & his “orgastic” v. “orgiastic” thing…)
Here’s the video for “Summer of ‘69” by Bryan Adams. I’m gonna skip to the end, right to 3:23. The wife inside the vehicle has been glancing out the window, probably at the address of an old flame.
So here we have a dreamy wife watching he ex-bf’s band play in their old garage, prolly wishing she weren’t married to a brute. She watches them play wistfully. The husband realizes that…she prolly wasn’t just a fan. She may have been involved in the titular position.
ANGRY HUSBAND: Who’s that?
ANGRY HUSBAND: I said who is that?
WIFE: I said nobody.
The car screeches to a halt now. Are we, the viewer, to assume, that the husband is going to now gently try to prod what he wants to know out of her. Or have we just witnessed a prelude to a beating?
None of the comments seems to mention that this woman is probably is physical danger. If I were the director, I would have left the beating out of it. Because once the video ends, the beating commences in the stopped vehicle.