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© '07 Beachsongs Calendar Div. (Three birthdays this month! Please tip generously!}
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Chapter B The Farm had always been a part of his life. The hues, the wafting aromas, the undulating mirages, but especially the harmonic disturbances that kept him off balance. They all created the artistic farmer that he was. Creature comforts and an ever enveloping desire for conspicuous consumption kept him penniless despite the residuals and subsidies. The irony nearly killed him. The ego kept him sane. The dichotomy kept him looking up tough words in the dictionary. 'Hmmm..., this must be Thursday' he thought. He looked above - 'Nope, still a day ahead of my time'. JAVA JOE'S
Had it been a little over a year? he wondered. Well, at least a decade over. Time flies when you're stuck. And stuck is what he knew. Through and Through.
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He looked around at what his celebrity status and artistic lifestyle gave him. Recycled trash walls, solar panel ceilings, artsy-fartsy ecological red dirt floors, and a 72" plasma screen. But it was his "work the soil, own your land, an honest wage for an honest days labor" status that kept him from giving in to the pressure. He loved to eat. And he loved to plant. And he loved to bring life to the seeds that he engineered. HAPPY
He was a musical prodigy by 7, and a bio-engineering prodigy by 12. By 15 he was a total and complete burn-out, who started acting out to keep himself challenged. Happy Birthday Sis, don't worry it's the new '40'!
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All of that is why his income kept him scratching his head till he had a 'friar tuck' patch at the top of his 'do'. They paid him to be the best. They paid him well. Well, let's say they overpaid him. Alot! His shows, his albums, his creations, his used socks, even his freaking theories were purchased. He got residuals every time they were rerecorded, rebought, resold and reexamined. His 400 acre dirt clod farm had produced some of the worlds most nutriciently evolved/engineered soil since the last ice age ended. What he'd grown from it defied discription, and most pocketbooks. JAVA JOE'S
At the time he didn't want the money, just the challenge. That was then. Whoops! Can you say 'do over'? Humility is only a good thing when you take it upon yourself. He hadn't. Hence, the dilema.
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A reputation for being 'more difficult than a lead singers girl-friend' meant musical offers to work with him had long since dried up. Thus no new recordings. A reputation of possesing the ability to render the entire U.S. agriculture economy obsolete and penniless meant that he was now 'subsidised' for growing inert dirt. Thus no new experiments. A reputation for being 'untrustworthy', 'disloyal', possibly communistic, and a totally pathological liar meant that "SHE" got to live with him now. SHE was..., what, the fifteenth? sixteenth? baby-sitter the spooks had sent his way. He'd gotten around every other one of them in one form or another. He thought they were laughable, inbeciles, fopish motley jesters. Whew! Still Forty-Something! That was close! But this time..., this time they sent ---- a woman! And not just any woman. No, this one reminded him of his one true love. The one that broke his heart and spirit. The one that got away! SHE was her exact duplicate. Head to toe, inside and out, with a total lack of personality, SHE held him by the short hairs like none of the others ever could.
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SHE, overconfidently thought he was silly-putty in her hands. But he was near the end; a two-liter bottle of coke with a 'mentos' precariously balanced across the top, a methodone addict awaiting his turn in a hospitals emergency ward late on a full moons New Years Eve, a cobra with wicker allergies being taunted for the first time by an inexperienced fakir. Yes, he was ready to blow. HER first cartwheel out of the room dropped his jaw, the second cartwheel locked it! He'd had enough, and it was time for payback. SHE knew why they chose her, she accepted the assignment anyway. Now he'd extract HIS revenge. Not just for the loss of his twenties, not just for rendering an IQ that laughed at mensa geeks inert, but for reawakening his burried pain. He was about to go Jack Hawkins on their long john silver. Go Rosencrantz and Guildenstern on their Hamlet. Yep, he was gonna go Kurdish on their Hussein! Next month:
Charlie Company

Also, every Tues (7 - 10) is Scott's Open Mic Night at Java Joe's in Yorba Linda (corner of Yorba Linda Blvd. and Yorba Ranch Rd) I usually show up every other Tues. But whether I'm there or not - WOW! What a group of talented musicians! You should come check it out! And, if you're a player between gigs, it's a wonderful atmosphere to keep in touch with your instrument! For directions click here..., SCOTT'S OPEN MIC


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