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Let us write some blues right here right now. Blues
Let us get real blue baby
I know your blues. I know your pain let us share it.
Blues is a poetic notion to put a horrible group of feelings into some romance. Blues baby blues. Let me be blue. How about you too. Let us get down and dirty blue.
Blues are usually songs. Well blues could be poetry I declare. But I am going to try and talk blues. I cannot find a hero who already wrote blues like this so you can make fun of me.
I want you to know that I have some serious blues. No not now. We are coming out of a depressive fog. I say we cuz there is more than me in here.
Muddy Waters. Somehow he was a friend of my pappy. My pappy had chops and lips. At six four with a couple of boxing titles under his belt he finally belted right and played a bit for Mr. Waterman. My daddy was white but as early as 1960 he taught me to call any black man sir.
The blues was part of that. You see my pappy loved music and eventually was a musician that learned his trade in bars and tough joints from Joliet to Hollywood. Bugle, Trumpet, saxaphone, piano, drums and a low down, low down voice. Let me get back to the blues.
Later on my dad turned into a physician. So of course was well educated. So he told me stories of the war years and black men and Indians being treated like shit. He once told me a story of a black man with three children being lynched. He told me a story of an Indian being shot by a white cowboy just because he was Indian.
My pappy was raised as a Jesuit in a school away from his dad. Out California way before the twenties of the last century. He had a deep abiding love for life. And so it broke his soul and life to see others treated ugly.
There is time to remember all those people that society shat upon. A time to get blue. I am not that old but I had friends who had to ride in the back of the bus. I saw good men be spit on for their color.
Ok now maybe we are ready to talk about some blues.
Just a little somethin somthin
When I was young I saw a ranch foreman whip a mexican worker with whip.
My girlfriend Mimi ran off to tell her dad the Ranch owner. His name was Lee. Well the foreman had a little fly swatter whip that hurt like hell. Well Lee had a full 12 foot bullwhip. He came marching out of that barn to the corral and whipped that twenty thousand miles an hour and the crack was like thunder and lightning --- I declare it hurt my ears. All cattle stopped. I swear the wind stopped blowing and the sun had an eclipse. And Godfather Lee cracked it again and men took cover under trucks and wagons. The foreman and the Mexican worker stood their ground. And this time the whip seemed to grow one hundred feet and snap and then curl around the foreman's feet and ankles and he when down like sack shit thrown for fifty feet. Somehow Lee just did something from ten feet away and the foreman was smashed again but the whip released him and there was cloud of dust from the corral floor. Lee whipped that whip one more time and it cleared the air. And the result was the foreman lay unconscious in pile of manure.
Now you see the Blues and the Blues. Hard core hard living produces hard stuff. But when something bad happens we sing the blues.
Now here is the Blues: Lee got cancer bad. I sat with him as he wasted and died. I think maybe we only shed two tears between us. Because cowboys do not cry. There my friend is the blues.
The worst blues we cause ourselves. Let me tell ya.
Maybe a man needs to act better. Maybe he needs to love his baby more. Dang I tell ya. For some it is workaholic, but drugs. maybe porno and women.
But for some it just might be whiskey.
This here little diddy is what my pappy taught me to play the clarinet and bongos to. He made me dance with my sisters to it. Thank God for Pappy.
Let us all sing the blues. For somebody else
So let me wrap this up all neat and cute.
You got blues. I got blues. I got orders from my baby not to come home blues no more.
So what we got to do is see our blues. We got to feel our blues. We got to know our blues. And then love our blues. And from there we start crawling back up that slimy cliff out of the chasm of our despair. And we embrace the music that brings us back to fresh air and love.
Can I get an Amen?