tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-866091357811692604.post885932556988315772..comments2023-11-05T01:44:25.399-07:00Comments on Capt Pancreas: Where's the user manual?Brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07795799161123003432noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-866091357811692604.post-60625630441903198202007-07-18T14:33:00.000-07:002007-07-18T14:33:00.000-07:00Brian,Not long back from the USA; Festival was mig...Brian,<BR/>Not long back from the USA; Festival was mighty and made lots of connections with like-minded folks, esp Virginians!<BR/><BR/>Reading this post reminds me of the lyrics of the Willie Nelson song "My Body's Just a Suitcase for My Soul" on his album "Peace in the Valley". I'm pretty sure you loaned it to me years ago! I'll let you have some of it back, here goes:<BR/><BR/><BR/>Blind man playing the blues, Down on the corner of the street.<BR/>Skin like Juarez leather, Teeth like old piano keys.<BR/>Businessmen walk by him, And quickly look away,<BR/>They don't know he was a hero, Back in '68.<BR/><BR/>They don't know when he was younger, <BR/>He dreamed dreams much like their own.<BR/>'Till fighting for their freedom, <BR/>Left him in darkness all alone.<BR/>But in the anger of their shadows, <BR/>Where empty anthems ring,<BR/>He found the light of truth in this song he sings.<BR/><BR/>Chorus:<BR/>My body's just a suitcase for my soul,<BR/>My body's just a suitcase for my soul.<BR/>When my last breath is drawn,<BR/>I'll unpack and ramble on,<BR/>And play my blues down on those streets of gold. <BR/>My body's just a suitcase for my soul.<BR/><BR/>His eyes are closed, his head bends low, <BR/>Then upwards to the sky.<BR/>He dreams and sings of simple things,<BR/>That money cannot buy.<BR/>I'm glad I stopped to listen, for that blind man made me see,<BR/>That life's most precious treasures still lie ahead of me.Markhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13907508711324190406noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-866091357811692604.post-62413440966695517002007-07-17T06:55:00.000-07:002007-07-17T06:55:00.000-07:00I think about this connection to our body more and...I think about this connection to our body more and more as I grow older.<BR/><BR/>Are we really this bunch of bones and flesh? Or are we inside it? Is it a part of us or are we a part of it?<BR/><BR/>I don't have any answers. And I also don't know how long I have here. <BR/><BR/>All I have is this poem which I shared with Charles when he first showed me your site.<BR/><BR/>"All day I think about it, then at night I say it.<BR/>Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?<BR/>I have no idea.<BR/>My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,<BR/>and I intend to end up there.<BR/><BR/>This drunkenness began in some other tavern.<BR/>When I get back around to that place,<BR/>I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,<BR/>I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.<BR/>The day is coming when I fly off,<BR/>but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?<BR/>Who says words with my mouth?<BR/><BR/>Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?<BR/>I cannot stop asking.<BR/>If I could taste one sip of an answer,<BR/>I could break out of this prison for drunks.<BR/>I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.<BR/>Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home.<BR/><BR/>This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.<BR/>I don't plan it.<BR/>When I'm outside the saying of it,<BR/>I get very quiet and rarely speak at all."Craphammerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02506631537496492263noreply@blogger.com