HIGH ADVENTURE IN THE GREAT OUTDOORS

…the rain the light, the green and blue.
it’s a festival of colors and air
to keep us dancing and messing up.
–Matthew Lippman

Then my wife had a fabulous idea to replant this forest. And when we began to do that, then all the insects and birds and fish returned and, thanks to this increase of the trees I, too, was reborn—this was the most important moment.
–Sebastião Salgado

Even if I was not
born in a dumpster
between a moldy cabbage
and an expired loaf of bread,
I too was rescued by an extravagant woman.
–Rodney Jones

Bread for myself is a material question.  Bread for my neighbor is a spiritual one.
-Nikoli Berdyaev

Well.  Another one in the chipper eh Good Reader?  Time moves blindingly fast and Papa’s sentiment, that the closer we get to death the less important it becomes, may only be braggadocio or else some wisdom to be lived through.  The closer I am to death the more important life becomes, but that’s only when I’m in my right mind and not recovering, like I do, and living half a life as a sufferer of a major depressive disorder.  The bad news is I’m depressed.  The good news is too.  The fact that I’m suffering from a disease means it can be treated.  Going on as I have, this long and addled with a hatred of everyone and everything would be impossible.  Realizing my problems with others aren’t necessarily others is something that can be addressed, even if no easy fix.  Trying to change them and the world not so much.  I’m not saying I’m going to re-commit to the human fold or that my rapacious appetite for solitude should be curbed.  Just that I can hide out and hole up too long and recharging my people batteries only takes me out the game.  I add it up, Good Reader, and it doesn’t look good and anyway folks are leaving this life, faster than ever now, while I’m stowed away “working” or licking my wounds and falling out in a virtual opium den of YouTube and bad blues.

Truth is it hurts to go out sometimes.  Who’s kidding most of the time.  My blues have physically manifest.  I know it can be beat though and it’s really what I set out to do with the founding of Yellow Lark Press—and my oath to release a collection of poetry and prose every year for 10.  At 40 I looked at my life and I was terrified.  I was on anti-depressants at the time and I may have mistakingly included that fact into the harrowing self-view I took at this moment of self realization.  I neglected to see that because of anti-depressants I was able to recognize I wasn’t living to my fullest and not going after my dreams.  Deep down I knew it but the Wisdom had some trouble translating—it couldn’t bubble up without triggering an already overwrought sense of self (or lack thereof) and so I just smoked and drank and fucked it down.  Some of the best sex of my life actually but sex isn’t everything. I miss smoking less than I ever did which doesn’t really say much except that now my desire for a cigarette is often coupled with the retching recognition of how wretched and vile and without class smoking is.  Not drinking is a no-brainer—I’ll even go as far as to say I don’t miss it at all except for how useful it is to forget the time and change the channel in your mind for any reason at any time.  The problem with all these is at any time became all the time.  I wasn’t free but most importantly I wasn’t making great traction towards how I wanted to live my life—that is, I wasn’t living my dreams.  As a Pisces and a punkrocker this was unacceptable but I couldn’t even recognize it, let alone do something about it, because of how overburdened I already was with self-hatred and how close I’ve always been to the total destitution of depression.

So there it is, Good Reader.  I don’t really hate them.  I don’t care for most of them so, why should I let them influence my Life?  I’ve got mad love for the rest though, and the truth is a friend is someone who sees you.  That’s all that’s required.  Get seen and you can take it from there.  And also no one runs this rig alone.  I could list the rank and responsibilities of the Crew but I don’t think I’m really on about the particulars here.  We need help.  I sure do.  I need Julie Niehoff to run my email campaign and Brothers Julian&Leo to have me sit in on the doghouse bass at the Spider House on a Saturday night, Ricky O. to bring ‘em out to the shows and anyway pass along my info to the Chancellor’s for a formal dinner gig in the middle of the week, Mike Baldwin to gear me up and down and continue to amass the MAMU until it’s in ship shape and ready for the road, Dylan Angell in Brooklyn to have me on at Quimby’s…and on and on but, what I’m talking about here is fuel.  My people are fuel and I’ve missed them.  It’s been a long dark night of the soul but I am re-emerging.  Do your people, your depressive and gnarly, anxious-artist types, a solid and accept them—blues and all.  Try and get them out.  Try hard but more importantly, see them when they make it and do get out.  I’ve a mission my bad blues has charged me with.  The bad news is I’m depressed.  The good news is too.

Sedulo,
TRAINER
Austin TX

We Love You Meaux Riley
You Will Be Missed
…class rivals beauty, and she had both see…