Sidetracked Charley

MacArthur Park is melting in the rain In my youth, the heady days of rock and roll, I was in love with the lonely poets of song; Richard Harris, Paul Simon, Don McLean, Carole King, Donovan, Neil Diamond, Joan Baez, John Denver . . . the list goes on. I only sing in the car with the windows rolled up but I know the words almost instantly and if the song struck a cord in my life I am doomed to never forget it. The songsters of my parents' generation were musical instruments singing the words of others. But the lonely poets wrote of their own lives and so often mine. Since it looks as if my dreams of my youth are melting away I seem to be haunted by all those lyrics. I have a MP3 player where I have uploaded a lot of my favorites from the past so I can tune out. If music is to calm the savage breast why is it end up in tears? My list of lonely poets has grown with Prince and Bowie and Queen and Adele. It isn't the rhythm or tune it is the words. The songs are my audible ...

Seems like all the idols of my generation died in 2016. I begin to see it as a hint it is time to depart myself. And I must not be the only one thinking along those lines because social media seems rampant with suicide hot line telephone numbers everyone is suppose to copy and post. I keep wondering why it is sharing isn't good enough. And why would I want to be talked out of it. What is the plus side of hanging around. I am not, in my opinion, suicidal but I have never been totally opposed to it. Maybe it is my theatrical experience. Know when to make an exit. Or my generations battle cry of live hard, die young and leave a beautiful corpse, but it is too late for that. Or maybe it is simply if I am to hang around for a while in the cosmic consciousness awaiting my next earth experience those who have passed on seem like a really good group to be part of. I do not think along the same lines of those left in charge of the world. Admittedly I felt like this in the days of Don...