let's let someone else have savlove.com

Remember "The Last Waltz"?
"We've spent 16 years on the road - 8 of 'em in the backstreets, pubs and waterin' holes and the other 8 as superstars, in the limelight, carryin' the southern cross.... and now it's time to call it quits."

That's kind of how I feel about www.savlove.com
"It's been, yup, 16 years since I posted that investment proposal, 10 of 'em as just another backwood messianic rock'n'roll wannabe and 6 of 'em actually known to people who take a vital interest in defeating the Blue Meanies...and now it's time to make or break."

The future young co-artistes imagined for me as a professional spiritualist has been realized. These days I'm an Administrative Manager of a sacred sciences site, welcoming people from many nations who volunteer an interest in alchemy.

The site is designed by J. Garrett, who tags himself Hermes Trismegistus, the syncretic link between the ancient Egyptian's Thoth to Hermes, the god of sacred sciences and arts to the Greeks. Under tris's aegis I work with co-seekers according to their needs and interests, and monitor any chat that could or did make users feel unsafe. And I brought Taoism to a Rosicrucian template, where the similarities are better off recognized. The only problem is that the alchemical feat I wish to bring off is all about studio magic. And on Esoteric Online, the music of today is EDM and the lessons of yesterday are vast, with the prior studio magic of Led Zeppelin and the Beatles only interesting as one of many musical supplements to individuated practices leading us -some of us anyway - to the ineffable "music of the spheres".

Either way, savlove.com has outlived its usefulness as a public invitation to a dance that is swung either in private or with an update in the approach to music underway today. The deadline is in three weeks. It's like everything else in this golden life. My part as an icon of good will is secure within myself.   I write a song a month, as if to confer form upon the formless - while other writing is transposed to the will of the esoteric chat room.

The collective culture could only do so much for my friend Libby. The whole axis upon which  senses of personal responsibility ride in tandem with social services, order, and cultural habits is a lesson in varieties of circumstance amidst a terrifying appreciation of the forces that make this planet so gosh-darn distinctly beautiful. Human behavior would be the axis here - spinning through the cosmos.



 

Quietly Resting My Voice

    51 Monteroy Road in Brighton, NY will be up for sale soon. Crane and crew shall soon be done refinishing the floors and throwing up fresh paint. Bidding farewell to one’s childhood home is classic diary material. We saw the other one go at 11 Water Street not too long ago, both relatively easy milestones in accepting loss. The concise pints of  Autobiography Ale are stacked in cases across four rooms now up at #3 Vane St., Newrap, VT; solitude, meet solitunes. The car returned from the final drives laden with archival replenishments.

    There’s a set of photos I lifted from the living room stacks, big black & whites of me and my sister romping in a field and jamming on the piano. She’s 16, I’m 13. In a couple, Meg’s on flute, in another I’m stretched out on the floor at the wheels of the Steinway as she sight reads. There’s more elegant china in my kitchen cupboard than I know what to do with. Lacquered match boxes - three sets of wooden sticks beneath one long Netherlands painting - reside here now, and a huge dry set of post cards from 1960s Egypt salvaged from stuff in the garage mine to keep or trash. 

     The last sessions on that Steinway went well. For my last visit home I focused on playing what I know. Although I did work with switching keys to inbred songs, like a way of proving I was fully warmed up. Anything about to ensue there was no heart in singing dropped unsung. “Rocket Man”, performed while the lawyer and interiors lady chose wall colors, stood out as the most enthralling performance of work by another author. And I wrote a new song.

      Savluvvies, must keep you in the dark about the title for now. But you can be sure I wrote extra special clear for all the confident kids out there. Something with a future. The terrified ones too. And for all of us in between. Not the first song of the year, but the last one at my original baby grand, so it has an old familiar SaveLove pulse. Minor, including a bridge with lots of majors. It’s about songs I’ve already written, where they fit into microspace, of who else might sing them. It begins, “Told you before about how not to conform to narcissism ….”