Is it the weather or am I going mad?

Had a couple of disturbing dreams recently. A loved one came into the house, seems this person was shot in the forehead while mowing the lawn. It was not a large caliber bullet as their head was not blown off but a small weapon with a small, noticeable hole. No exit wound so it was suggested to go to the hospital to have the bullet removed. For some reason we went separately with the injured party going to Children's Hospital, which is odd because the victim is no longer a child and Mount Carmel West is closer.

The other dream involved me euthanizing a cat I once had in the bathtub, and that's about all I want to say except it really creeped me out.

Who knows what is going on in my head to produce these nightmares. The weather here has been freakishly warm. Thirty degrees warmer than normal. My rose bush is starting to bud six weeks ahead of schedule. The lawn is going to need mowing this weekend. I'll do that, and hope I do not get shot.

Been thinking about poetry slam recently and its effect on poets. Slam can kill you as quickly as it can resurrect. It can create heroes as easily as monsters. I do not know what I'm witnessing in slams these days. It's not supposed to be pretty but the joy has lessened for me and it's already making me lean cynically, not even five years into the game. All I can do is be me out there, and I'm perfectly ok with that. And by me I mean a writer with little self confidence who is not afraid to take risks. That is, when I infrequently write something that is a risk. So do I take a risk and write about these messed up dreams? I questioned putting them here for crying out loud!

Slam and poetry are different beasts that can interact. Sometimes they do not play nice.

A lot can happen in four years, just ask Florence Welch. This was one of the first videos I saw of her performing.



Said then that she was going to be indie big. Looks like that happened for her. All I'm doing it writing about that, and not very well.

In better news, while he's still in serious condition and intensive care, Fabrice Muamba is communicating and appears to be on the road to a long recovery.

Tasks and More

Woke up at an unearthly hour to have my exhaust system looked at. It's been making some odd noises. At first they were skeptical, but then a couple of other people got under the car and listened. Agreement was reached. Nuts were tightened, a few tiny holes were sealed and everyone was happy with the quieter car. Once again, I sing praise of Mad Hatter Muffler.

In two weeks I'm having a chalazion removed from my left eyelid. It's been there a few months, has not gone away and it starting to be an annoyance.

Once again, Jeni's Ice Cream has created a masterpiece. A new flavor, Rockmill Golden Ale and Apricots was released yesterday. It is killer. The Belgian style ale meshes perfectly with the cream and fruit. You can taste the carbonation of the beer in the texture. An amazing collaboration between Rockmill, a brewery of authentic (albeit expensive) Belgian ales and Jeni's.

After digging a hole in the backyard yesterday, the reasons why will be revealed soon, we enjoyed our ice cream, then some Vihno Verde, while listening to Radio Amsterdam. A song came on which I did not recognize, but my Scottish Wife came bouncing out of the kitchen.

It was a song by Scott Walker.



A Jacques Brel number of whores, opium dens and depravity that was quite racy for 1967. I found the record it was on and listened to that, liked it. The was another Jacques Brel number he covered called Next that was even crazier. I found the video on youtube and read in the comments that a guy named Alex Harvey did it better, so I found that.



I had never heard of this guy before. Holy shit, this guy was a performer. Hell, the whole band is amazing. How many bands had a guitarist in mime makeup?!? Before you know who, that is.

I see that Harvey died in 1982, such a shame. This band's live act had to be legendary. Check out their cover of Delilah.



I was in hysterics watching this. My wife wondered what was going on. She never told me about this group of Glasweigans.

Even if you think you have heard it all, and I do not, you have not. There is always something new out there, even it's it's a Scottish glam group from the 1970's.

A First?

N has been been outside today. I had the lawn mower out and he started pushing it around. It was not running. I put it in the garage and kept his wagon out. He asked for it. "I want wagon"



Later, I put both the wagon and mower in the garage and he went out again and opened the garage door. I brought the wagon back out.

He tried pushing it around like the mower, but it did not work the way he wanted and he got frustrated. Knocking the wagon over, was not a happy kid. But he persisted, and the wagon still did not do what he wanted it to do.

He went back to the garage, presumably to pull out the lawn mower, which he was not going to get.

As he closed the door, he said, "I feel sad."

Swear to God he said those exact words.

Something Else to Do After Work

Twenty three percent of registered voters showed up yesterday and approved moving the Columbus casino from the Arena District to an abandoned plot of land on the west side of the city.

I'm not against a casino, but not in favor of a constitutional amendment granting only one company to own and operate it.

Now, instead of being five miles from me, it's only three and a half.

My Scottish Wife asked if we could bike there. I wonder if there will be bike racks.

Getting caught up, last month at Writers' Block Bill Campana featured.



Bill went on for over half an hour, always leaving the audience thinking. It's very hard to describe what he does, only that he leaves you scratching yourself with the unexpected.

Columbus loves Bill Campana, here's what the crowd threw at him.



Writers' Block treats poets it loves the way ladies in Vegas took care of Tom Jones.

Broke out the weed whacker for the first time yesterday. Spring is here. The roses are blooming.



A bit early if you ask me!