the right kind of crazy

Earthquakes in Mexico.

Hurricanes that show up more often than my paycheck.

Cops in St. Louis behaving like fucking Nicaraguan rebels, mowing down people of color without any consequence and then having tear-gas parades to celebrate not guilty verdicts.

American Lawmakers that blatantly look you in the eye and tell you they’re gonna fuck you, because the Koch Organization is taking their allowance away if they don’t.

People overdosing on heroin in McDonald’s restrooms.

a POTUS incapable of basic conversational English.

Armies of zombified idiots on social media repeating talking points from their Sean Hannity flashcards that they bought on Breitbart without even knowing WTF they’re talking about half the time.

Getting Older.

Heroes Dying.

Lately, it’s getting harder and harder to get outta bed in the morning.

But – there are blessings to count…a late night phone call from my firstborn last night that lasted into the wee hours of the morning…watching my oldest son grow up to be a better man that I could have hoped to have been at his age…and an 8 year old that refuses to let me remain in a bad mood for very long.

I veer back and forth from one side of the highway to the other at a manic pace lately, where music is concerned – one day, I’m ready to take on half a dozen new projects and dig into everything with both hands, but more often than not of late it takes actual effort to even bother to pick up an instrument. I can’t lay that at the feet of any one thing, but it’s real, and it’s demanding, lately, that I make up my damned mind and either shit or get off the pot.

My Instagram feed is a pretty solid indicator, when I look back over posts and see eight or nine pics of Danny to every photo from a gig or a session or something else similarly musical…and the thing that probably frightens me about that is the fact that…it doesn’t really bother me that much. As recently as a few years ago, that would’ve kept me up nights. But nowadays, it seems like there’s a hell of a lot more dangerous shit to worry about than whether I have a gig or not.

One of the things Jayda and I discussed last night was creating a place away from the chaos and the madness where you can feel protected from the bullshit of the outside world…and I’m not sure I’ve ever allowed myself the benefit of something like that, because my ghosts follow me everywhere I go. She and I are a lot alike in that regard, but she’s got a better handle on it than I do, I think.

I have a lot of miles on my odometer. I’ve done some pretty cool shit in my life, and I’ve made some boneheaded mistakes, too. Some days, I’m pretty certain that I’ve been an asshole more often than not, and I’m pretty sure there are plenty of you who’d agree with me. A lot of you are folks that I’ve had the pleasure of riding the road with, of spending time with in person, of getting to know beyond seeing photos of your pets and your dinner on the screen of my computer…and my life is certainly the richer for it.

Y’all keep the odometer moving, and enjoy the miles as best as you can.

The world is a crazy fuckin’ place. Don’t hide from it. Go out and make it the RIGHT kind of crazy.

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