tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5449240803008271632024-03-12T01:19:20.637-07:00Beloved StrangerAdventures with a brain injured spouse, musical musings & whatever else comes to mind.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.comBlogger303125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-88235950599691589962019-03-27T11:11:00.002-07:002019-03-27T11:11:27.915-07:00"A Person's Vitality" <br />
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<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41); color: #1d2129; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"A person's vitality - and I appreciate the humor of myself, a dead man, speaking of such things - is difficult to capture in words. Our friends race through our lives like shooting stars, and when, of an evening's conversation, we manage to enclose their fire and our own within a few hours and the space of a room, it is a taste of eternity, the true meaning of friendship." </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41); color: #1d2129; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">-Paul Williams (1948 - March 27, 2013)</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-55152739556026753982018-03-27T22:35:00.001-07:002018-03-27T22:36:14.031-07:00Five Years Ago Today <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMdS1hG8V1umvkmbb_D73psUhdEDKhtktssrB8cLyf9xhBFXQVvuj_EukD1cYkQsHCItv8KMGjV9C42GB04dxITi41uVsnoCu5J_kXULAbKPqXbZxOcdNTZI9KDR7XgAltxJHd0FdEjQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-09-28+at+1.16.08+PM.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMdS1hG8V1umvkmbb_D73psUhdEDKhtktssrB8cLyf9xhBFXQVvuj_EukD1cYkQsHCItv8KMGjV9C42GB04dxITi41uVsnoCu5J_kXULAbKPqXbZxOcdNTZI9KDR7XgAltxJHd0FdEjQ/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-09-28+at+1.16.08+PM.png" width="224" /></a><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "sf optimized" , , , "blinkmacsystemfont" , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.11999999731779099px;">Five years ago today my best friend passed away. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "sf optimized" , , , "blinkmacsystemfont" , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.11999999731779099px;">I miss Paul Williams. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "sf optimized" , , , "blinkmacsystemfont" , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.11999999731779099px;">I miss the conversations about music, art, books. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "sf optimized" , , , "blinkmacsystemfont" , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.11999999731779099px;">I miss the unending belief and support he had in my music. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "sf optimized" , , , "blinkmacsystemfont" , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.11999999731779099px;">I miss him reading his latest writings to me. </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: "sf optimized" , , , "blinkmacsystemfont" , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.11999999731779099px;"><br />And i miss the physical connection that eventually fell away as he fell further into the complications from a traumatic brain injury.<br />I miss how much he loved and adored his son Alexander, and his two grownup sons Kenta and Taiyo.<br />It was a grand love, but not always an easy one.<br />Im still grateful for how he showed me how to love someone.<br />How to be an adult with car and health insurance.<br />How to cherish and feel cherished.<br />How to persevere with your art/music/writing with or without big (or any) bucks behind you. Paul kept writing even when he had no publisher. He said he "felt the readers reading" his words as he wrote them.<br />I miss the intellectual tango I could have with that amazing brain and way of thinking he had. Elastic. Like his furniture was not nailed down in the living room of life.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-5006942875825330172017-09-12T22:25:00.002-07:002017-09-12T22:25:35.156-07:00ONE DAY LATE ESSAY<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: 'SF Optimized', system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, '.SFNSText-Regular', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: -0.11999999731779099px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
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In September of 2001, I was a month away from my sons birth, very pregnant, and it was that time of year where everywhere in Southern California becomes extraordinarily hot. Even here at the beach. Fires start. And people get testy. Id finished my year long work odyssey as girl-friday at Lookout Management, working for Elliot Roberts (Neil Youngs manager) and Bonnie Levetin. I said my goodbyes in early August and now I was in flight loop, waiting for my time to touch down on the tarmac of motherhood. </div>
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It was a simple, fine time. My husband Paul and I were in a good place, happy and even thrilled at the prospects of our new life as parents. Paul had been in his early/mid twenties when he'd had his first kids and he admitted he could have been a better dad. So he was going to therapy and working out his various parenting issues. </div>
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My songwriter-photographer friend Kim Fox came to visit from LA one day and despite me feeling uncomfortably pregnant, talked me into a photo session. This, rock and roll mama, is a photo of her photo, sorry Kim for the low-fi. It was fun hanging out with my LA pal and I kept trying to figure out how I would find my way back someday into writing music, touring and releasing albums. It was a time I'll call 'void of course'. And there was a certain amount of calm and non-goal seeking in those xanax-like days. Those natural pre-birth hormones were a good drug. </div>
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A few days later I was awoken by Paul who said that his ex wife Donna had called and told him a plane had hit the World Trade Center. My first thought was 'this is it', as Id been in New York when the bomb had gone off in the WTC parking garage in 1993. I knew it was a target. We didn't have TV so I had the rattle in my head as I drove to a doctors appointment and listened in on the radio. </div>
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The TV's were on full blast in several corners of the OB/GYN offices at Kaiser. I had an appointment for a "Stress Test" to check and see if the baby was faring well. You see Id been tagged as a late pregnancy Gestational Diabetic, which meant I checked my blood sugar 3x a day, with a poke of a needle, and I came in twice a week for these baby Stress Tests. Its essentially honking a big horn into your torso and see if the baby freaks out and moves around. If they move around they are alive and kicking and all is well. But after watching both towers fall I wondered outloud if we needed to freak the baby out too. </div>
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I bought the Springsteen album a few weeks later. I didn't listen to it, but I put it by the Bose player with the intention of listening 'when Im ready'. I never became ready. Somewhere that album is around here, unopened. </div>
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It was hard to not think about what had happened. I thought of all my friends living on the Lower East Side. I thought of the temp work Id done for a savings and loan on Wall Street some years earlier. The dust my friends were living in. But through all the thinking I had the 'good drugs' of pre birth swimming around in my system, and the Oxytocin was calming. So was the sound of the sea on my walk every morning. And there was this hope, a brand new life was coming into the world. Nothing would ever be the same.</div>
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Alexander was born October 16th 2001.</div>
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(Encinitas, Sept. 12, 2017)</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-36821045305651006142017-08-13T11:40:00.001-07:002017-08-13T11:40:24.344-07:00I Have This Thing About June Bugs<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: 'SF Optimized', system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, '.SFNSText-Regular', sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.11999999731779099px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I have this thing about June Bugs. And there's one hanging around my screen door this morning. Buzzing back and forth, sometimes landing and looking in. My thing about June bugs is; I see my late husband Paul in them. I know it sounds strange. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The day of the memorial for Paul, in 2013, I was loading up my trunk with his books, out front of our place, stuff to share with others that cared for and loved him. There was a June bug buzzing around my head, bothering me as I loaded<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"> the books, and then again later, after the memorial at the church a June bug again buzzing around my car trunk. I thought, 'huh, if Paul wanted to get my attention he would do it with sound'. Now Ive come to see it as Paul visiting from the Heavens. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He's here now, sitting on my screen door resting and looking in at Alexander and I, living out our lives as humans. Still loving him and having our life adventures, and being okay. Somehow thinking about this takes a bit of the sting out of a frightening weekend for our country.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-71871908626520237572017-07-26T12:37:00.002-07:002017-07-26T12:37:30.195-07:00CLB Yahoo! News StoryYesterday I wrote an essay on how it feels having the ACA Health Care on the chopping block and how scary it is as a single mom. Yahoo News published it much to my surprise:<br />
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<a href="https://www.yahoo.com/music/singer-songwriter-cindy-lee-berryhill-american-health-care-afraid-000143578.html">https://www.yahoo.com/music/singer-songwriter-cindy-lee-berryhill-american-health-care-afraid-000143578.html</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCJQM75lJMuAq_vAe9wxbkX5oTD4yaFO_q0x89n7MZ7yeC7iop3MdzNScKo9-LUVrq-fkp7QQ9oU4V7osFYKjApnif3cn-ul-M09N8c3KX00_quj7TFh746Gt-mgY8kEgAGGK8El2qw/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-07-26+at+12.32.00+PM.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCJQM75lJMuAq_vAe9wxbkX5oTD4yaFO_q0x89n7MZ7yeC7iop3MdzNScKo9-LUVrq-fkp7QQ9oU4V7osFYKjApnif3cn-ul-M09N8c3KX00_quj7TFh746Gt-mgY8kEgAGGK8El2qw/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-07-26+at+12.32.00+PM.png" width="320" /></a><br />
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Last night my 15 year old son read the article and said "that's really a good article mom". Then an hour later he came back and said "I still think its a good article but its probably not going to change someone's mind on the other side of the argument. I don't want you to feel bad but they might say something like, "get a real job", but its still a good thing you wrote it."<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-16832241889544631522017-05-19T09:49:00.002-07:002017-05-19T21:01:44.328-07:00Paul Williams On Starting Crawdaddy! The Magazine Of Rock In 1966<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKi3MDi6oIDQxIq2sWGafGmuZ0C5h6M6Sv0sWMtAnNIMFR08Adz1bJnvauTelu2JmXxbqO5tLXvhYoJJ-Z6jpeSF_7PfSKqjjDOC8gYS7PG_YcdXQ1Rvlnp__KGZwTaZXrQrBw2m0cw/s1600/securedownload.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKi3MDi6oIDQxIq2sWGafGmuZ0C5h6M6Sv0sWMtAnNIMFR08Adz1bJnvauTelu2JmXxbqO5tLXvhYoJJ-Z6jpeSF_7PfSKqjjDOC8gYS7PG_YcdXQ1Rvlnp__KGZwTaZXrQrBw2m0cw/s320/securedownload.jpeg" width="239" /></a><br />
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Sleeping in Van Cortland Park, running wild with wild newfound friends on the winter beach at night at Coney Island. New York people, the ones I met, were crazier and freer, because of the all-night subways, and whatever, so many young people in a world of their own, it was a place were you didn't have to go back to your dorm or your mother.<br />
And it was a place where you could do things. It was in New York that I started my magazine.<br />
I was bored y'know, like the man says, bored and restless and lonely, I couldn't do the schoolwork or get it on with the Swarthmore scene, and it made me feel very insecure, Id build myself up from terrible inversion with people in seventh grade to a certain self-confidence & reluctant fluidity based completely on my output, the high school extracurriculars and the science fiction magazine I published on the side and so forth, the stuff I was doing made me feel sure of myself which in turn made it possible for me to run with, have fun with, other people. Which reached a peak in the fall of my senior year, I was accomplishing things left and right, I had the respect of the young women I worked with in the dramatics club and then even the attention of a few of them, I was writing a lot and I even tried briefly to study guitar, a whirlwind of energy and though still shy inside I hardly had time to notice -- and then there I was in college, at Swarthmore, unable to open a book or even write a story for the newspaper, hanging out, doing nothing... Doing nothing! A total disaster for one whose ability to function in the world was based solely on his pride in the things he was doing, I needed desperately many things including that holding and being held but most of all I needed something to <i>do, </i>my inability to do anything at college was bringing me face to face with the most horrible self-doubt I have ever experienced.<br />
So finally when the idea came or came back to start a magazine about this rock music I was so in love with, arriving in my head complete with a plan as to just exactly how I could do it and what to do first and what would happen, it was a godsend -- a tremendous gift of energy -- my salvation.<br />
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And it married me to New York -- though I didn't consummate the marriage and move there till much later, eleven months later, December of 1966 -- because that was where the rock music business was on the East Coast, that was the place I needed to go simply to do the very first thing, which was obtain some new records so i could review them.<br />
I conceived of the magazine as a weekly, believe it or not, which would review new albums but especially singles, intelligently rather than with the usual hype, as a service both to music lovers and the music business. I knew about the trade magazines, had been into them since I started listening to rock a year earlier (and even in the sixth grade I'd been addicted to top-40 lists, actually bicycling into Belmont Center the hour that I knew the sheets would arrive in the local record store because I couldn't wait to see what the positions would be this week, I was a pest, a fanatic), but I felt the trade magazines were inadequate because -- just like the "fan" magazines from eh opposite side -- <i>they didn't take the music seriously. </i>I knew that the earnestness which my friends and I felt wasn't being expressed in print.<br />
And something else -- it wasn't just love for the music -- I wanted to start a magazine. And I'd read in a "fanzine", an amateur publication from the science fiction underworld, an article by James Warren, publisher of <i>Famous Monsters of Filmland</i> and <i>Help! </i>, in which he talked about how to start a magazine; he said that what you need most of all is a subject that a lot of people are into that nobody is doing a magazine about. I read that & I believed it & even mentioned to some people in Cambridge in the summer of 1965 before I went to Swarthmore, when a folk music paper called <i>Broadside</i> was the best-read publication in town, that somebody ought to start a magazine about rock n' roll. I couldn't do it 'cause I was about to go off to college and get involved in that, but whoever did pick up the idea would meet with certain success.<br />
And I forgot, and then got ever deeper into rock via the college radio station, and then was standing in the town of Swarthmore, a tiny commercial district beyond the great lawn of the college, standing in a drugstore reading a story about the Yardbirds in a fan magazine and when I read that both they and the Rolling Stones had got their start in a club in Richmond, England called the Crawdaddy Club it just hit me out of nowhere that that would be the name of the magazine and I could do the first issue in New York during the four-day intersession after exams and mimeo it at Ted's (Ted White a jazz music journalist and science fiction fan-clb) house and then.... I paid for the fan mag and walked back across the tracks to the campus very excited and completely lost in a truly enormous daydream.<br />
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Paul Williams, <i>Heart of Gold,</i><i> </i>published 1991<br />
page 58-62<br />
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Today, May 19th is writer Paul S Williams birthday.<br />
He was born in 1948 and died in 2013.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-10358850347467565272017-03-23T22:31:00.000-07:002017-03-23T22:31:04.453-07:00FLYING ON THE GROUND<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Four years ago this week Paul was in hospice. His hospice nurse didn't know how long he'd have but she said he could hang on perhaps for months or weeks. But we didn't think days. Our son Alexander, eleven years old at the time, and I were preparing to fly to New York to attend a gallery show of Paul's written work and a loving tribute to him at the Boo-Hooray Gallery in Soho. We left a few days after this post in late March 2013. We wouldn't make it back in time to say goodbye. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Paul's oldest son, Kenta, was with his father when he passed away. Remarkably an hour before he was gone Kenta got us on FaceTime together and Alexander and I told Paul how much we loved him. I told him how beautiful his books and writings look at the gallery, with the admiring eyes reading his words. I also told him I would help his books and papers and writings find a home. That is a thing still on my heart and mind. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">March 20, 2013</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Listening to Buffalo Springfield Boxset disc 1</span> </div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">If Flying On The Ground Is Wrong</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Alexander visiting his dad's room</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">On the wall: Philip K Dick, Christopher Dick, Paul Williams</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">On the TV table; with Paul's glasses</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Losing weight. But still has some fire. When his music is interrupted by a conversation between me and his teenage-years friend Judith Bragar he shouts "shuddup"...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We smile knowing Paul is 'still in there, loving the music he always loved'</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "verdana" , "arial"; font-size: large;">Is my world not falling down<br style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px; font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I'm in pieces on the ground<br style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px; font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />And my eyes aren't open<br style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px; font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />And I'm standing on my knees<br style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px; font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />But if crying and holding on<br style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px; font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />And flying on the ground is wrong<br style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px; font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Then I'm sorry to let you down,<br style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px; font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />But you're from my side of town<br style="border-style: none; border-width: 0px; font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />And I'll miss you.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "verdana" , "arial"; font-size: large;">-N.Young</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-85222511341250539672017-03-15T10:28:00.000-07:002017-03-16T21:25:27.728-07:00 From the E-ternal Border Blaster station of rock<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsXEulYTe7vhN0JzfxUfpLKuwSr7RuuNTSIGVFHdMLBrRO7RhgBY-dzGlOiDgLLx9Q77dkoo6OPRxAIFI5nyl_5zy8dnAJcIRK_1NpYbjnrgAggnqUATo-jn9__Fgszz0Chxp0wli1g/s1600/PaulAlex.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsXEulYTe7vhN0JzfxUfpLKuwSr7RuuNTSIGVFHdMLBrRO7RhgBY-dzGlOiDgLLx9Q77dkoo6OPRxAIFI5nyl_5zy8dnAJcIRK_1NpYbjnrgAggnqUATo-jn9__Fgszz0Chxp0wli1g/s320/PaulAlex.jpeg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday walking through my neighborhood on the way to the beach I thought I saw my late husband, Paul Williams. He was walking with our very young son up fourth street, hands held, a father gently coaxing his very young walker up the steep sidewalk.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had to look again. It was an optical illusion of course. As the figure got closer I could see it wasn't Paul and 20 month old Alexander, it was a rather bookish looking mother and her child. But for a moment..it was like the photo above.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It made me realize how long ago that time was. These photos were snapped in 2003 on our way through the Tehachapi Mountains, the Ridge Route, on our way to northern California.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Id forgotten about that warmth of feeling. A small family, Paul and I working together for the greater good of the unit. There's a kind of selflessness that brings out a feeling of safety, love and warmth.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I miss that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In a little over a week it will be four years since Paul passed. But it was very long ago indeed, that he was this guy in the photos. He began to disappear about 2 years after these pictures were taken. I don't miss all the caregiving and worry and time spent on Paul's care. But I do miss Paul.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't want to give you friends the wrong idea here, I don't live in a state of grief. I have a very nice life now, one that Paul would be happy to see. Life isn't perfect but there is a lot of room for new adventures.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Last friday my new album The Adventurist landed in stores around the free world. What a joy that is. There are so many things to be thankful for. I can feel Paul's joy as he listens to my new music.. on Radio Heaven with DJ Wolfman Jack on the eternal Border Blaster station of rock, coming at you every hour with an infinite quantum connection of rock and roll power.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So in the infinite crazy of quantum physics, multi-universes and alternate realities, yeah, I saw Paul yesterday, for a minute. He looked happy.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5ryFfuICn0MQSGowhHGYIfkertHSuV0w5CmEACXNlS-xXKXY5DDtA3ildOzsjcfcM3RRxwJfpidjsSnrYCvNGVOtBrJHj_h6CqaNz7w5aNk_awcloqQq_qlJHYdGTPA-g8cuMpojKQ/s1600/Scan+17.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5ryFfuICn0MQSGowhHGYIfkertHSuV0w5CmEACXNlS-xXKXY5DDtA3ildOzsjcfcM3RRxwJfpidjsSnrYCvNGVOtBrJHj_h6CqaNz7w5aNk_awcloqQq_qlJHYdGTPA-g8cuMpojKQ/s320/Scan+17.jpeg" width="224" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-65872013339473470142017-03-09T10:04:00.002-08:002017-03-09T10:05:31.960-08:00Video For "I Like Cats/You Like Dogs" Premiered at No Depression WebsiteHere's a link to my new song and video!!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://nodepression.com/article/video-premiere-cindy-lee-berryhill-explores-relationships-quirky-cat-loving-video">http://nodepression.com/article/video-premiere-cindy-lee-berryhill-explores-relationships-quirky-cat-loving-video</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-25113865015857726542017-03-06T09:01:00.002-08:002017-03-06T09:01:42.407-08:00Raising Money For Touring and Promotion of The Adventurist<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">My new album The Adventurist comes out this week. Im excited about getting the word out about and doing some touring around the U.S. I could use your help making that possible. Since its been so long since I toured I will need a little help to kickstart the process. If you have the new CD, ahead of the release date, you know how effective a fundraiser can be. If you can help get the word out about the album I would be most grateful. clb</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://www.gofundme.com/cindyleeberryhillCDPromo"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.gofundme.com/cindyleeberryhillCDPromo</span></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is what the funds will be spent on:</span><br />
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<strong style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;">1. touring the U.S. </strong><br style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;" /><strong style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;">2. a sturdy flight case for my Gibson 330</strong><br style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;" /><strong style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;">3. a promotion person to get the word out to magazines, newspapers, social media and blogs that the new music exists!</strong><br style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;" /><strong style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;">4. fix and upgrade CLB website</strong><br style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;" /><strong style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;">5. Pay musicians on those special occasion gigs, where Im not playing solo</strong>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-51679575233667083512017-03-03T14:06:00.002-08:002017-03-03T14:06:37.882-08:00God Only Knows..<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Written March 2013, I was coming to terms with Paul being admitted to hospice. All of life was in the present moment and we took it a day, and sometimes an hour, at a time.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Today I met with the hospice nurse, while she looked over Paul's charts, his stats and took in how he looked. Pulse, temp. all that stuff fine. "He could be like this for a little while", she said, "he's only lost one pound this week, now he's 110. So you don't want to stop your life, put it on hold."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"So", I asked, "how do you know when someone is ready to die?" "You don't know", she said. "For him it could be tomorrow or a month from now. He could aspirate on some food and that could turn into pnemonia. If we see that things are very close we will call you. But don't think you have to be in here every day. Go have your life and be with your son."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I was just talking to a friend tonight, Chuck, who lost his mother a year ago. "I was at a Y Indian Guides meeting and I get the call from the nursing home; 'Your mothers dead'. And I had to tell the guys I gotta go my mother just died and they looked at me and said 'Your mother just died and you were <i>here</i>?'</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">There's this idea I have, maybe from the movies, maybe from reading obituaries of well known people, that they were constantly surrounded by their family and friends. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Who has the time to do that?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Who has the free pay-check?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Here their are elderly spouses that come and see their partners on a daily basis and <i>they</i> are the ones that do that. Otherwise the families are working and come on weekends. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Their was an older man in the nursing home, he'd had a stroke and his family would show up once a week and pull him into the tv room and they'd play music; guitar's, horns.... I sat in with them a few times and the dad played the bongos a bit, and I sang. That was the Sprague family and they are exceptionally gifted musically and quite beloved in the county. Quite a family and they really fit that ideal I had of going out with the family all around. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But a lot of families live far from one another. Paul's family lives in the Bay Area or on the east coast. So when they visit it's a real commitment. This weekend Paul's first wife, Sachiko Kanenobu Williams is coming to visit with her partner and I really look forward to seeing her. She's a singer-songwriter and she and Paul met in Japan right before the release of her debut album in 1969.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mostly what I see here at the nursing home is aging lonely people with no one visiting them. And that is a fact, though a sad one. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Death is like a birth, in that it seems like you'd want someone to be there to witness the experience. But maybe the witnessing is happening on the other side, (as one is escorted into the new experience ones energy will take). </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Paul and I saw many a talk with Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hahn in which he talked about death. He said the wave is afraid of not being a wave anymore, and doesn't realize that it is part of the water, a part of the whole sea..and that is us. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">One of the deathbed stories that has stuck with me over the years is from a book called <i>Paradise Outlaws: Remembering the Beats</i> by John Tytell with photographs by Mellon. </span></div>
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<i>On February 26m 1994, the day of the World Trade Center bombing, Mellon accompanied Allen Ginsberg on the D train to the Bronx Veterans Hospital to visit Carl (Solomon) on his deathbed. Carl was getting oxygen, Allen took copious notes and some photographs, and encouraged Mellon to use her camera as well. At one point he cleaned Carl's glasses with affectionate warmth. </i></div>
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<i>Then, bending over him, Allen asked Carl's forgiveness for having put him in the spotlight and making him a sensational cipher for universal suffering in "Howl."</i></div>
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<i>Mellon reported that Carl was calmly surrealistic in his last hours, claiming that he was still thinking about sex though he was fading. </i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I don't know how much time Paul has left in him or what he'll be thinking about on his way out, but he <i>has</i> been enjoying some little things this week: the smell of essential oils like lavender, the familiar chords and chorus' of the Beach Boy's <i>Pet Sounds, </i>and a few times being sat up, propped up, so he can look out the window. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He grows increasingly difficult to communicate with, he's moving further away, but these few lovely things are the last tethers to this world we have all agreed to be in together.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-90848472263336133452017-01-03T14:29:00.000-08:002017-01-03T14:29:08.356-08:00ASK ME ABOUT MY BRAIN INJURY<h1 style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-weight: normal; margin: 0px 0px 8px; padding: 0px; position: relative;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Could brain injury have sparked soldier's rampage in Afghanistan?</span></h1>
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<a href="http://www.latimes.com/health/boostershots/la-heb-brain-injury-soldier-afghanistan-20120313,0,2448806.story?track=rss">http://www.latimes.com/health/boostershots/la-heb-brain-injury-soldier-afghanistan-20120313,0,2448806.story?track=rss</a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"The U.S. Army staff sergeant who allegedly murdered 16 Afghan civilians in a dead-of-night spasm of shooting, ....is reported to have suffered a traumatic</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"> brain</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">injury during a deployment to Iraq in 2010.</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Research on traumatic brain injury has established a clear link between brain trauma and irritable, aggressive behavior that can be explosive, often without apparent warning or provocation. Sometimes, brain injury magnifies a victim's longstanding tendency toward irritability, depression or hostility. Some brain traumas bring personality changes in their wake, causing even laid-back types to become irascible and impatient." </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">(LA Times 3/13/12)</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It is worth noting that brain injury, especially in the front of the head/prefrontal cortex does cause a person to lose their sense of inhibition. Modern medicine now has the ability to save lives when people sustain a traumatic brain injury, but we need to put as much time and money and assistance into the other side of the recovery, and not expect TBI folks to go about their lives like they did before. </span></div>
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<i>Paul Williams, in his office in Encinitas. Two months after his brain injury and still in outpatient rehab</i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My experience with my husbands injury was such that they sent him home after two months of care, one month of ICU, then another month of In-Hospital-Rehab. Then one day the doctor announced to me, "good news, we will be sending your husband home with you tomorrow". </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I didn't know what to say. I was stunned. Just the day before, Paul had screamed at a nurse and stayed up all night wandering the halls and then he failed his "making brownies and cooking strategies" test. A week before he had jumped out of bed, had a blood pressure drop, keeled over backwards and was wheeled out to the emergency room again. His face was still black and blue from his head slamming on the linoleum floor.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I didn't know the first thing about taking care of a person recovering from a brain injury. The thought of the responsiblity was too much. Looking at the doctor my turned pale. I could barely take care of myself, what were the doctors thinking...no I knew what they were thinking "we can't justify to his health insurance company why he <i>has </i>to be here longer". </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I asked the doctor for more time. He gave me 2 days and then we brought him home. I'd also asked for Paul to see a neurologist to see what he was capable of on his own,... at this time no one had asked to take his drivers liscense away or even suspend it. And Paul thought he was ready to get right back into his routine. For a while, I had to be clever about hiding car keys. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The car thing stunned me. How could the government <i>not </i>require a driving test from someone who'd had 5 centimeters of their brain removed. Everyone assumed he was <i>good to go</i>. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A friend of a friend was an eye doctor for our health provider. At a party I shared with him I was really concerned about what kind of blind spots Paul might have and whether we could find a way to suspend his liscense at least until we knew if he was a cogent thinker again. This doctor friend checked Paul's eyes and said, "he's got a big blind spot on his right side but that just means he'll have to turn his head around to see what's over there. Otherwise, he's good to go!" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">That was it. Everyone agreed, he was good to go. Other than a brain surgery buzz cut hair-do he looked like himself. He <i>looked</i> okay. Except, I could see the difference. Like: he wouldn't quite look you in the eye when he talked to you/he was sort of in another hazy-world. After the sun went down he would talk incoherently-this is called sundowning. And, he was a <i>terrible driver</i>-sometimes thinking an off ramp was just an extension of the right lane.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Some of these symptoms changed or went away in the six months post injury. I was told the first six months was when most of the recovery would occur, and that was mostly true. Because Paul had such a high IQ before the injury he faired better than most. His brain surgeon had even joked that with luck and with Paul's 180 IQ he could 'afford to lose a few brain cells and still be a genius'. And that 'folks with high IQ's often fair better after a brain injury'.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The nurses told me "whatever personality traits he had before, he will still have, but they may be played out more dramatically, more emphasized". This advice turned out to be mostly true. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So in Paul's case he was quick to anger, was very impatient and liked to lecture. That looked like this: yelling at the security check person at the airport (pre 911) and getting his luggage examined, pushing a hefty security guard at a Los Lobos concert and getting collared and thrown out, talking non-stop with breathless run-on sentences during sharing time at a Buddhist meditation retreat, yelling at a meditation "expert" and calling the guy an asshole (the guy <i>was</i> full of himself and i rather liked this one), or wearing his bicycle helmet to the national booksellers convention with the words Ask Me About My B.I. written on it (this was a good one, B.I. meaning Brain Injury), yelling at the top of his lungs at a Belgian train station "I hate fucking Belgian Trains!" because it didn't follow the schedule precisely. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">On the note of the Belgian train...we sat near an Austrian couple who noticed Paul was snappy and impatient with the conductor. I noticed their discomfort. Embarrassed and thinking we'd just entered Ugly American territory, I explained to them he'd recently had a major brain injury and this is what a miracle-recovery case looked like. The man's reply was, "he should <i>still</i> behave himself." </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I had no idea how to handle Paul in these situations. (I wasn't from a family with rage issues). And I wasn't an occupational therapist, but I was thrown into the role of being just that. Where was the book, How To Handle Your Brain Injured Beloved Spouse in 5 Easy Steps.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I think of all the advancements made in battle-zone medicine. It's a heart breaking job for families with brain injured soldiers (and it's <i>all</i> gonna fall on the families) coming home from war zones. Spouses and sons and daughters rejoining families and then hospitals and then rehab and then looking <i>normal </i>but really, not being the same. Not being the same at all.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-41333836460311393232017-01-02T10:03:00.003-08:002017-01-02T10:27:43.462-08:00Just Like Starting Over<i>This was my goodbye letter to 2009, one of my life's toughest years. This year now, 2016 has been a collective tough one, having lost so many cultural heroes and icons (for me the loss of Prince, Carrie Fisher, Leonard Cohen and Gene Wilder were particularly sad).</i> <i>But no amount of loss will take the place of the awfulness of finally coming to terms with the fact that my wonderful brilliant husband and companion, Paul Williams was never going to get better. No amount of my wishing and fixing would bring back the broken neuro-highways of his brain. This post in 2010 was the beginnings of acceptance that my life, our families life was forever changed. And there is some degree of relief and peace in that acceptance. </i><br />
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January 2010:<br />
I'm happy. Really, I can't remember the last time a change of decade made me so happy. It's like looking at the house you've been living in for the last 10 years-- on the outside-- for the first time, noticing its windows and doors have fallen off <i>and</i> it's on a cracked slab-- and wondering how you did it.<br />
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I really feel like I'm starting over, all over again. I've noticed, I <i>do</i> seem to run my life in 10 year cycles, though involuntarily, with the end of times happening on the nine year and<br />
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starting anew on the one.<br />
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For example, a New York boyfriend and I broke up at the end of 1989 and I started my new life in 1990 moving back out west. Or.... Paul and I broke up in 1999, lived apart for a year, I found a new life for awhile in Los Angeles, dated some interesting guys had some fun times, wrote songs and then a year later Paul and I found out we still wanted to be together. </div>
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The first time I crashed on a nine year was in 1979. I was in an unknown garage punk band and living in Hollywood (aka <i>Hollow</i> ood), we called ourselves The Stoopuds. I lived with the guitar player who was 23 and his girlfriend Jane, who was 45 in a studio apartment on Hollywood Blvd. Life sucked, but so what. I thought that was the "dues you must pay" to make it, or at least to be a real punk like our neighbor Darby Crash. The dues I paid actually turned out to be a severe depression I fell into after the bass player tried to kill himself with a safety blade razor and got into a car wreck because I wouldn't be his girlfriend. So much for <i>making it</i> at 20. I moved back home to little Ramona and tried to pull myself out of my first depression without medication. I <i>did</i> do it, but it took about 5 years. Antidepressants work so much better and you don't have to lose all those precious years. But I didn't know that back then. </div>
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At any rate, I'm at the start of a new cycle. I'm feeling excited and hopeful, things are looking up. In September I'll be touring Italy and in June Alexander and I are going to the east coast for a family and friend vacation (and probably a few shows). I've got the start of a new album brewing, having written about six new songs in the past six months. It's finally getting easier to do things for myself, having spent so many years care giving. </div>
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Some of my friends expected me to cut loose and start partying and dating once Paul got placed in a nursing home but it didn't work that way for me. The past six months has been a kind of inward journey which has been good for my writing. I think I felt bad, even guilty, living an independent life while my partner was losing it to dementia in a stinking nursing home. I suppose it's the survivors guilt syndrome. Just give me a year and maybe I'll become a celebrity party queen like Tiger Woods adulteress, Rachel Uchitel, who lost her first husband in the World Trade Center attack on 9/11.....or <i>not. At any rate, life starts anew.</i></div>
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<i>Happy New Year 2010. </i></div>
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<i>hugs and kisses, cindy lee b</i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-34737322799717905052016-11-06T21:31:00.001-08:002016-11-06T21:31:25.279-08:00Maybe It Was The Dimming Of The Light<div style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Maybe it was the dimming of the light as I drove east. Maybe the last 48 hours of an anxious, hateful, unpredictable election. But probably it was the Yo La Tengo song I heard, for the first time, wafting out of my radio speakers in the car. The sound of a woman's soft voice, groovy drums, a bass part from an aquatic whale tank.</div>
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Sometimes the lighting, the sound and a mood comes forth that breaks the crystalized atmosphere of what is and you see backwards and forwards at the <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">same time, many years with ease. A kind of transcendence that cracks your personal sky open. </span></div>
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I had that this evening. I had the experience of myself in 1995, living a life with Paul Williams; making music, writing a book, enjoying our shared lives together, back in a flash and meeting the me of right now. It was amazing and heartbreaking. I had the cry of a lifetime, I'll call it a Unicorn Cry, that kind that brings back your feeling of wholeness. I wasn't even afraid to continue crying when I saw my friends. I told them, don't be afraid, Im okay, and thank you for letting me share with you my Unicorn.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-18157739475467663352016-09-26T11:12:00.000-07:002016-09-26T11:12:16.703-07:00LOVE AND THEFT AND JIM MORRISON (originally posted 1/6/2010)<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
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<i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">So what does become of a
Love Life when the spouse goes into a nursing home? </span></i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">And you aren't 70 years old. And you have an eight
year old child. And you're not even old enough to look back fondly on all the
years gone by from your retirement recliner (does retirement exist anymore for
anyone out there, post 2009?).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Sometimes I feel ripped off</span></i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">. I used to think, when I was a young adult, that when
bad things happened to people it was because they brought it on themselves
somehow. I'm not sure how, but it was their fault. I got involved with a group
of older friends that believed that thoughts can be things. So I quickly
surmised that it'd been my fault somehow that my mom died of cancer when I was
eight years old. Was it my fault then, that Paul fell in love with me, moved to
Encinitas, rode his bike to the Post office to turn in our 1995 taxes and fell
off his bike on the way home?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">The sun rises on the good
and the evil, and it rains on the just and unjust. (Matthew 5:45)</span></i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> Then there is this line from Jesus' Sermon on the
Mount. Good and bad things happen to both good and bad people. I don't think
it's the hand of god, it's just the nature of things, like entropy-things fall
apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Speaking of falling apart
I'm worried about Paul's teeth. I got a look at his gums and now I realize he
hasn't been brushing and no one at the nursing home is looking after his teeth.
So I'm gonna have to go on the gentle war path again and set up a meeting and
make sure they are standing over him while he brushes. I figure the home is
used to the old guys in their 90s and who cares if they lose their teeth, but
Paul is 61 and I'm sure he'll live another 40 like his parents, so lets keep
them. And I made an appointment for him to get one of those damned root
planings, that we all hate, but saves our teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Yesterday I had to hustle
Paul back to his nursing home after I took him out for a smoothie. I was in a
rush so I could make it to work on time. I pulled him along to the car trying
to get him to walk quicker. Do you remember the "old guy" in the
Carol Burnett Comedy Hour, that shuffle walked with tiny little old man steps?
That's what I'm dealing with. Paul got testy and yelled "Stop pushing
me". It was the old Paul and I was happy to see the old temper flare up.
He was never someone to push around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">There are a number of great
stories of Paul's famously volcanic anger. My personal favorite was when he and
Jim Morrison of the Doors were on a commercial plane ride together in the 1960s. Paul, very
enthusiastic about a new Thomas Pynchon book, The Crying of Lot 49, he'd just read and had in hand, talked to
Morrison about the book and then gave him his copy during the flight. The plane
landed and they disembarked from the plane, down one of those outside staircases
you see pictures of The Beatles waving from. As they were walking down the
stairs Paul noticed that Jim Morrison didn't have the Pynchon book on him.
Incensed, he screamed at Morrison and made him go back on the plane and
retrieve the book. Morrison did as he was told.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Paul later got to march and
cock rifles on <i>Unknown Soldier</i>. He actually liked the Doors quite a lot but
thought of Morrison as a bit of an asshole and a drunk- but with amazing stage
presence. And he was a very good friend of their producer Paul Rothchild. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-34079223747079697542016-09-15T23:18:00.005-07:002016-09-15T23:18:56.387-07:00LIKE FLOWERS FOR ALGERNON
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<i>Some reworking and editing of a post from 6/25/10</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Paul's new glasses came in
today. I'll take a picture this weekend and put it up. I was too tired and
hungry after work to go over to the nursing home and put them on him, plus I'm
going to need to put his name or his initials on the arms so they lose any
potential "resale" value.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Do you ever wonder why it
is that some aspect of your life turned out to be like a significant book you
read as an adolescent? That would be <i>Flowers For Algernon (Daniel Keyes)</i>
in my case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">In short, the story is told
from the perspective of a man who had been born mentally disabled and undergoes
an experimental surgery, which increases his intelligence. Through his journal
entries you follow along with his increased abilities and eventually his slow
deterioration back into his disability.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">When I was in the eighth
grade we had to read the short story, it was in our textbook and I was stunned
that something so good could be in a schoolbook. (Apparently it won the Hugo
Award for best science fiction story in 1960) I bought the full-length novel
and dove in. Originally published in 1966 it became a joint Nebula Award winner
for best novel. But I wouldn't have known or cared about that stuff then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">It was the 70s and I had
arrived at the age where the first child of the family adventures out on their
own into new and unknown radio territories. I must admit, though I loved music,
I was very naive and unhip about what was going on in the world of pop. But I
found a new station with the whirl of a dial that I dug deeply, and it became
the soundtrack to <i>Flowers For Algernon.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Here's a list of some of
the songs I fell in love with: Eighteen With A Bullet, Me and Mrs. Jones, Using
Me ('til You Use Me Up), Ben (especially poignant since it was about a rat and
Algernon was a mouse), Shaft, What's Goin' On, Backstabbers....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">The other station I
listened to occasionally and when I wasn't reading the book had a few good
songs but some dumb ones too. I liked The Needle And The Damage Done even
though it was a scary song about drugs and I hated a song about a guy named
Guitarzan. There was also a lady that sang about how terrible it was going to
be to turn 17 (Janis Ian), dang it was gonna be depressing apparently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">So I stuck to my newfound
radio station. I didn't realize at the time that it was for young black
urbanites. For me these new songs were the sound track to this grand novel I'd
discovered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">The parallel: When Paul had
his bike accident way back in 1995, I
was with him through all of the various forms of rehab. Even then I thought occasionally
of the book parallel. Paul's doctors said his recovery from such a devastating
brain injury was miraculous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">I watched Paul go from his
early days in rehab, answering simple questions about the date and the
president to his later rehab days of having intellectual conversations with the
cognitive therapist, her saying to me "There's no reason for him to be
here".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Then in the past 6 years
the slow, unstoppable descent into dementia. Flowers For Algernon the book had
been my white mouse, doing a dry run before the real thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">I don't see it all as a
complete loss. We had eight years together after his brain injury where he
lived a normal life as a writer, lover and father. And I don’t see it as a
simple tragedy. Even the character Charly, knew he had done something very important
for humanity, even in his final days of blissful naivete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Paul enjoys looking at his
books now and sometimes reads passages from them. Last year I asked him if he
missed writing, he gave it careful thought and answered flatly, "no".
And I could see he was alright with that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">He wrote more than 30
books. His words and perspective live on through them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-47711851002653660462016-09-04T16:44:00.003-07:002016-09-04T16:47:30.982-07:00PART 2: PAUL S WILLIAMS BIO PIC--The Crawdaddy Magazine Years<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Paul starts CRAWDADDY! Magazine January 1966 out of his dorm at Swarthmore College. But by the fourth copy he has dropped out of college, moved back to Boston and gotten a little bit of funding from his grandfather Phil Williams, who wanted to support his grandson's burgeoning business. We pick up the story from there...</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">15. Paul sez “Jon Landau, certainly one of the best and most influential critics of the rock era, debuted as a rock writer in the fifth issue of CRAWDADDY!, September 1966. Paul now back in Boston was going to Club 47 three nights a week and hunting down rock and roll shows where ever he could,the rest of the week. Flipping for bands like The Animals’ two hour show at Rindge Tech, The Rolling Stones at Boston Garden and Lynn Football Stadium, The Beatles at Suffolk Down “plainly audible, beautiful to look at, and confirmation that we—and I—existed as a special body of people who understood the power and the glory of rock ‘n’ roll.” </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "helvetica";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i>Jon Landau: "during those few short years we changed each other's lives--he certainly changed mine more than the other way around. From the day he walked into the old Briggs and Briggs Records and Instruments store in Harvard Square, where I was a high school student with a summer job behind the counter, we started talking and talking and talking about music, music, nothing but music. He was trying to get the store to carry the first issue of Crawdaddy! and I convinced my boss to let him put it by the register. When he came back the following week, I had read it and I volunteered. With my classic teenage arrogance, I announced that I could do better than any of the writers in that issue, including him. He responded, 'Ok, Mr. Bigmouth, give it a try' Which is how I came to be a rock critic." </i><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; font-style: normal;">16. Between the fifth and sixth issues Paul took a 2,200 miles “mostly business trip”, hitchhiking from Boston to New York, Cleveland to Chicago, and Wisconsin and back. In Chicago on a blues fan’s pilgrimage Paul stopped at Chess Records’ recording studios which resulted in a full page ad in CRAWDADDY! and an assignment to write the liner notes for new albums (each called More Real Folk Blues) for artists like Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, and Sonny Boy Williamson. When Paul gets back to Boston a local magazine distributor has ordered 2,000 copies of the sixth issue, which now has a print run of 2,800 copies (up from 1,500 copies of the previous issue).</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">17. The Sixth Issue of CRAWDADDY! was published Oct 20, 1966 (the first issue of Rolling Stone debuted November 1967), in a print run of 2,800 copies, up from 1,500 copies of the previous issue. Paul writes, “….sales of the fifth issue had been good enough to attract the interest of a local magazine distributor who ordered 2,000 copies of the sixth issue. Tim Jurgens, a young subscriber from San Francisco moved to Boston to help out as an editorial assistant. Paul wrote, “ I don’t think I could have made it through the next few months of the magazine’s progress and rapid growth without Tim Jurgen’s friendship and hard-working support”.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">18. In mid November CRAWDADDY! moved to New York City. Paul writes in The Crawdaddy Book (Hal Leonard), “The new office was a big second-floor room overlooking Greenwich Village (I used to spend a lot of time sitting on the ledge of a large open window with headphones on, watching the endless parade of people walking across Sixth Avenue and Third Street)." The room had previously been a guitar shop called Fretted Instruments, and the walls “were pleasantly lined with natural-looking pine planks installed by the former tenant”. “All of us (additional staff persons came along soon) did much of our work on a huge table in the center of the office. There was a small back room with no windows (halfway up the stairs from the street) where Tim Jurgens (the assistant editor, also from Boston) and I slept,” Paul writes in the Crawdaddy Book. An article was written in the Village Voice of CRAWDADDY’s arrival, it was just the beginning of a lot of press</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"> attention.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">19. Ralph Gleason from the San Francisco Chronicle wrote on January 1967, “The most interesting publication in the U.S. covering the rock scene is a magazine called Crawdaddy….it is devoted with religious fervor to the rock scene.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">20. The seventh issue of CRAWDADDY! came off the press the first week of December ’66. There weren’t many ads yet but there was a new look. The typeface inside had changed, Paul was now leasing an IBM “Executive” typewriter, the resulting page looking more like other magazines of that era, “Instead of looking like a letter from a friend typed on an ordinary typewriter”, writes Paul. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The seventh issue is notable in hindsight for its opening sentences raving about the Doors (“the best new band I’ve seen this year...”)—the first mention of the Doors in a national publication. Paul had been given an acetate of the Door’s forthcoming album after he watched them make a promo film at the Elecktra office for their first single, Break On Through to the Other Side”. Paul had befriended their producer Paul Rothchild, at a Loving Spoonful show back in Cambridge at Club 47. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The list of writers that wrote for CRAWDADDY! expanded. Paul said, “Crawdaddy! didn’t have any money to pay its writers, so writers wrote for us mostly as a way of communicating their enthusiasm for, the music they loved”. Sandy Pearlman and Richard Meltzer both came from Stony Brook, Long Island, Peter Guralnick and Jon Landau from Boston, David Hartwell was a childhood friend from the world of science fiction, an illustrious list of writers, rock producer/managers and editors that would all make their mark in the world of popular culture.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">In the Crawdaddy Book, Paul writes: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Before we finished putting the next issue together, I made my first ever visit to California (thanks to a mid-sixties phenomenon called Youth Fare, which provided half-price airfare to those under twenty six). In LA I met the Buffalo Springfield and saw them do a great show at the Whiskey A Go-Go, and I spent a few days with Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys and attended a recording session for the never-finished SMiLe album. In San Francisco I was very impressed by Big Brother and the Holding Company at the Arc in Sausalito, and Moby Grape at the Avalon Ballroom, and Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead New Year’s Eve at the Fillmore. It was a good time to be a young music lover.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">In December Paul spent several days as a guest at Brian Wilson’s home in the Hollywood Hills. It was during the wildly creative Smile era and Paul stayed in Brian’s tent, which was in a sand box in his living room, next to the piano. The first time Paul smoked pot was with Brian in this oriental style tent. Brian played Paul the early acetates of Heroes and Villains and some of the other SMILE songs, which were never officially released. One day Paul spent time with Brian and the Beach Boys at the studio and remembered singing odd sounds and noises on one track (probably “Barnyard”-ed). And Paul was witness to this moment: “I was visiting a Beach Boys recording session in Dec. 1966 when Carl Wilson walked in with a record he’d just bought, something he’d fallen in love with during the group’s recent trip to England (Gimme Some Lovin’ by the Spencer Davis Group). He put it on a turntable eager to hear it--stopped after a minute and tried again--then grabbed the record and broke it over his knee in fury. He’d just discovered that the American record company had remixed the song in an attempt to make it more appealing to the U.S. market.”</span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-36744737993446636292016-08-31T21:16:00.001-07:002016-08-31T22:47:30.943-07:00The Bio Pic: Paul S Williams<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.0pt;">Paul
Williams: THE BIO-PIC--Part 1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 17px;">(originally posted March 8, 2010)</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">1. <i>Film begins with footage of the first atomic bomb.</i> Parents meet
and fall in love at Los Alamos both employed by the Manhattan Project under
Oppenheimer. Robert Williams a young physicist, is invited to come watch the
detonation of the worlds first atomic bomb. Women are not allowed near the test
site but Paul’s mother Janet and a girlfriend sneak away and drive down to
White Sands where they watch the explosion, from a safe distance, hidden behind
boulders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i>Janet Williams and her best friend Heidi Sitte. Janet is here holding young Paul. Both Janet and Heidi's husbands were physicists that worked together in Colorado, after Bob Williams Manhattan Project years.</i> </div>
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<i>Kurt Sitte and Bob Williams (Paul's father) in the 1940s. Kurt was a Czech Jew who had escaped from a Nazi concentration camp. He was later arrested by the Israelies for spying for the Czech (communist) government. After Kurt was arrested Heidi and Paul's father left their spouses for one another, only to have Heidi die young of liver cancer. Some family members think Heidi was Bob Williams 'only true love'. </i></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">2. Paul was brought up in Cambridge but lived a short year of his childhood
in Princeton where his dad taught Physics….at age 5 Paul was left to “babysit”
his 2 younger brothers and decided to walk them several streets from home to a
library. His youngest brother changed his mind midway while crossing a busy
intersection and refused to budge. A friend of the family happened by and
scooped up and saved the 3 young children. Janet, Pauls mother said “Paul was
so mature at that age, he seemed fully capable of caring for his brothers”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">3. Paul teaches himself to read at age three while looking at old 78 RPM
records. His father said he was tired of reading the names to him and Paul
taught himself the names. By age 4, it is said, Paul would read the New York
Times while being driven to nursery school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">4. Paul, age 5, writes a note to his mother one day “ Dear Mom, I have gone
to Clinton’s house, but don’t be surprised if I’m home, because Clinton may not
be home”. She sends it to the New Yorker where he has his first piece of
writing published in the Talk of the Town column under the title “Logician”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">5. According to family legend, by third grade it is discovered that Paul
has an exceptional mind and is given an IQ test, the score is 180. His parents
move him to a private grammar school in Cambridge. He has trouble fitting in at
school no matter where he goes and once admitted that kids called him “spaz”
because his hand would fly up for every question. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-VDx0uE_DeiIn6ZZB8BZrvJW2SvipkFvqF2QDQ-aFOc7pZcXtsovYXDZchc85asciNO9RIZRiNNiMJlaGGkqEfDwoPy7rOcqf4eak2lASpAXl1oV72leV-b8lz_clIzoNaq6NHNsQg/s1600/paul10%253F.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-VDx0uE_DeiIn6ZZB8BZrvJW2SvipkFvqF2QDQ-aFOc7pZcXtsovYXDZchc85asciNO9RIZRiNNiMJlaGGkqEfDwoPy7rOcqf4eak2lASpAXl1oV72leV-b8lz_clIzoNaq6NHNsQg/s320/paul10%253F.JPG" width="239" /></a></span></div>
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<i>Paul around the time his father left the family for Heidi Sitte. He felt the weight of having to be the responsible one now, even though he fought with his mother bitterly on most issues. He told me of her suicide attempt, with pills, after his father left. </i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">6. In sixth grade Paul starts a newspaper, The Sunlight Herald.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">7. At 15 he attends his first Science Fiction convention, soon after he
starts a Science Fiction Fanzine called “Within”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">8. Age 16, Paul graduates from Browne and Nichols and decides to go to
Swarthmore College. According to his mother he’d been offered a full
scholarship from Stanford, where his father and grandfather had both graduated,
but he turned<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">it down… “I didn’t want to be lured into the whole bay area music scene, I
was afraid I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on my school work.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">9. Paul becomes a DJ for the Swarthmore radio station. Paul has an
argument, a disagreement in philosophy class with his professor, the man gets
so riled up he threatens to kick Paul out of the class. Then Paul begins his
first issue of CRAWDADDY Magazine from his dorm, two fellow college students
contribute to the first issue. <i>The name CRAWDADDY! came from Paul’s
admiration of the UK music club where the Rolling Stones got their start.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">10. After the first mimeographed copy of CRAWDADDY! is printed, Paul gives
away as many copies as he can by hand, he receives a phone call at his dorm
from Paul Simon who thanks him for his wonderful writing on the single
“Homeward Bound” and praises him for writing intelligently about rock and roll.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">11. One day while walking into his dorm a student yells out “Hey Williams!
You got a phone call from Bob Dylan”. Dylan had read the latest issue of
CRAWDADDY! and liking it invited Paul to come and hang out back stage at a show
on the Blonde on Blonde tour. He also offers Paul an interview.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">12. While attending Swarthmore Paul heard that his friend Richard Farina
had died (Paul met him at a club in Philly where he was gigging and asked
Richard for permission to reprint some of his writing in CRAWDADDY!, they hit
it off) … there was to be a funeral for him in Carmel, CA. Hoping to catch a
free ride on a cargo plane Paul is stopped in the airport and confronted by a
Philadelphia police officer who calls him a <i>hippy</i>. A few hours later
Paul is in jail and the next day in court for assaulting a cop<i>. Paul told me
the whole thing got thrown out when they realized that as he said “my glasses
assaulted the cops fist.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">13. Unable to concentrate on his school work at Swarthmore…he moves back in
with his mother in Belmont, MA where he starts his fourth issue of CRAWDADDY!,
issue five would include writings by Jon Laundau a clerk at the local record
store, <i>Briggs And Briggs</i>. Landau becomes someone that Paul would consult
on music and current record releases. At some point Paul’s grandfather decides
CRAWDADDY! is a good investment and pumps a little money into the paper,
encouraging his grandson to start a business like he had, he’d manufactured a
device called “the sniffer” which sniffed out gas leaks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCPJLICaJWhtCZTFal57qaOBeEaQv9VtSklELnE-XdPNEmjHAQABGvFjPRFETPEH-EwU-TUWGKwKdm0-sHim0cj7gjeY1EoYI7vucoLDBV4nDPHjRtbD6PM-yhmJ46-ob802i1xaRirA/s1600/howlinwolfsm.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCPJLICaJWhtCZTFal57qaOBeEaQv9VtSklELnE-XdPNEmjHAQABGvFjPRFETPEH-EwU-TUWGKwKdm0-sHim0cj7gjeY1EoYI7vucoLDBV4nDPHjRtbD6PM-yhmJ46-ob802i1xaRirA/s320/howlinwolfsm.jpg" width="221" /></a></span></div>
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<i>Paul gave free copies of his first few issues of CRAWDADDY! out to music fans</i></div>
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<i>at the Newport Folk Festival. Here he is watching with zeal, Howlin' Wolf, with Grace Slick</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i>looking over his way. He wasn't on stage here, just a fan standing around the stage, trying to catch an upclose of a great performance. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt;">14. Issue number 4 had Bob Dylan on the cover with a now widely reprinted
article called “Understanding Dylan”. Paul ambitiously takes handfuls of copies
of CRAWDADDY! to sell at the 1966 Newport Folk Festival where Jack Holtzman of
Elektra Records bought a complete set. Elektra was to begin advertising in
CRAWDADDY! with the next issue. There is a well known picture of Howlin’ Wolf
performing at the festival that year, the photo includes a clear image of Paul
behind him. He is also seen in the film “Festival” dancing with a young black
woman during Wolf’s set.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">(photos of Janet and Bob Williams </span><span style="font-size: 17px;">courtesy</span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> of David Williams)</span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-7117695256304658542016-08-15T22:14:00.000-07:002016-08-15T22:14:17.196-07:00A Kind Of Intellectual Elation<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">I met Paul in May of 1992 at a Dylan show at the Pantages Theatre in
Hollywood. I was on a date with a friend of a friend, a nice guy, and I still
feel guilty about how I kinda ditched him that night. I knew I'd see friends at
the show and I kept making excuses about needing to go to the bathroom or
needing a drink from the bar and I'd leave him sitting there waiting for his
date to return and Dylan to begin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Out in the lobby I did run into folks I knew, but I was surprised to
see my friend Andy Paley, one of Brian Wilson's co-writers and ex-best friends,
among them. I was on a big Brian Wilson/Beach Boys music jag at the time. I
used to say that it was "informing my new music" and it <i>was</i>
...but mostly Brian's music and life story was a great narcotic for a girl
still reeling from a broken New York romance (and lost record deal and
lost-stolen car, lost booking agency, manager,...) . The smokey phantasm of
Brian's great music lead me down a yellow brick road into an enchanted forrest
of weird dreams which included some Beach Boy "visitations"; new
friends related to the Beach Boys story (Andy being one of them) and a brand
new song-cycle of tunes having nothing to do with the lost New York boyfriend.
I still remember zoning out alone, after my VW bus was stolen (and all my
belongings as I'd just moved back to San Diego from New York) listening to the
Surf's Up CD, the song Feel Flows captures that hazy rapture perfectly, you
don't even<i> need </i>the hash pipe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Along with Andy, Dominic Priore was in the lobby and Wes (John Wesley
Harding), and Paul Williams. It was remarkable meeting Paul, I'd just read his
old CRAWDADDY! pieces on Brian's SMiLE period. We hit it off right away. I was
very happy to talk to another Brian fan and asked him if he'd join me for lunch
at Canters the next day. I wanted to ask him a <i>million</i> questions about
what it was like smoking pot in the tent at Brian's house back then or what did
the SMilE music sound like on those original acetates. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">We met the next day and shared a pastrami on rye and then proceeded to talk
through the rest of the day. Paul then invited me to come back to the Dylan
show two days later, on May 19th and join him and his wife Donna. It would be
Paul's birthday. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">I wouldn't say I fell in love with Paul that day but he made a huge
impression on me. It was just such a pleasure to meet and talk with another
lover of music and not feel the least bit geeky about it and have it parlay
into discussions of Stephen Hawking's theories of black holes and Science
Fiction or whatever. It's always a great kick to meet a fellow traveler. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Later I was to realize that this experience I'd had with Paul, a kind of
intellectual elation, was not particular to me, others had had it as his friend
or through reading his books and essays. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-39706890703915583352016-06-08T08:24:00.002-07:002016-06-08T08:24:41.977-07:00Acoustic Guitar / Strings Magazine Presents Cindy Lee Berryhill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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CLB and Renata Bratt at the Acoustic Guitar and Strings Magazine studio.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">Cindy Lee Berryhill and Renata Bratt recently stopped by the AG offices to </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">perform </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">three songs.</span></div>
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<br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">With Berryhill on acoustic guitar and Bratt on cello, they played “Horsepower” and “An Affair of the Heart.” They closed with the touching “Somebody’s Angel,” which is inspired by the Kenny Rogers song, “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town,” as well as Berryhill’s own experience as a caregiver as her husband’s health declined.</span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">In between songs, Berryhill offers compelling backstories about angsty attraction, country blues great Mississippi Fred McDowell, and a little about her upcoming album, The Adventurist.</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-29529446995774141882016-05-17T09:44:00.001-07:002016-05-17T09:46:36.971-07:00SUMMER SHOWS!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Cindy Lee Berryhill and Al Stewart talking about Umberto Eco and Chuck Berry </div>
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before the shows at McCabe's</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>June 14th City Winery New York City ... Al Stewart and Cindy Lee Berryhill </b> </span><span style="font-size: large;">http://www.citywinery.com/newyork/tickets/al-stewart-6-14.html</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>June 18th The Birchmere Alexandria, VA ... Al Stewart and Cindy Lee Berryhill</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">https://www.birchmere.com/events/al-stewart/</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">July 8th Java Joe's San Diego, CA... Tom Brosseau, Cindy Lee Berryhill, Gregory Page</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">http://www.javajoessd.com</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-28076770586484040962016-04-20T22:01:00.002-07:002016-04-20T22:20:55.692-07:00Merle Haggard and This Girls Kern County Radio<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="70do9" data-offset-key="9ev8o-0-0" style="color: #373e4d; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span data-offset-key="9ev8o-0-0" style="font-size: large;">I didn't want to like Merle Haggard. Just like I hadn't wanted to like the other messed up, some dying young, iconic music artists (i.e. Janis Joplin), as a kid they scared me. I knew he'd, Merle, done something bad. I didn't know what, but why would I want to like some one that did something bad to someone and went to jail. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span data-offset-key="847mc-0-0">When I was 4 years old we moved from Los Angeles to Delano, CA about 30 miles north of Bakersfield. My memories are of wide open fields of dirt, grapes, cotton, big sunflowers growing wild. Endless acres of poppies and purple lupines. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes we'd go into Bakersfield and my dad would rent us horses and ponies and we'd ride along the Kern River. At night the Bakersfield sign and the old downtown hotel with its walkway over the main drag, was a magical place, somehow it, with its neon green light, was as mystical and promising of fun, as anything at Disneyland.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="847mc-0-0" style="font-size: large;">In 1999 I was working at Joe Tabler Book in San Diego, and I came across Merle Haggard's autobiography Sing Me Back Home (originally published in 1981), it was a buck ninety five and I thought 'what the heck, lets see what Merle has to say'. I found deeply moving. I saw a bit of my childhood in it, my days in Delano. A little. </span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="847mc-0-0" style="font-size: large;">And I remembered the kinds of music the local radio stations in Delano and Bakersfield would play. While Bakersfield KCHJ (letters confusing like LA's 93 KHJ, but oh so different) would play country western sounds and present an evening program called "Freeway 99", the Delano station- on in my bedroom- so I wouldn't be so afraid of the dark--was what I knew best. My dad would put it on each night after tucking me in. It was just he and I at that point and he did a good job of comforting a scared little kid. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="847mc-0-0" style="font-size: large;">Delano's local station was the last standing Voice of America in the country, and it was shrouded in some mystery. I've put a link at the bottom of this post to a article about what all that little station was up to over the years. Delano's station even played an accidental role in the Manhattan Project. Apparently at a most inappropriate time the Trinity Project countdown and the Delano frequency crossed wires: </span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="847mc-0-0"><span style="background-color: #dddcd8; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: large; white-space: normal;">“The final countdown began at 5:10 a.m. with a crashing rendition of the ‘Star Spangled Banner.’ Just as Bainbridge (a Manhattan Project scientist) gave the signal to Allison (another Manhattan Project scientist and the countdown announcer) in the control center, radio station KCBA in Delano, California, crossed wave lengths with the Trinity frequency<span style="font-size: xx-small;">."</span></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="847mc-0-0" style="font-size: large;"><i style="color: black; font-family: arial; white-space: normal;">....The National Anthem, (opening of Delano's morning show) provided stirring accompaniment for Allison as he intoned the announcement: ‘It is now zero minus twenty minutes.’"</i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #373e4d; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mostly I went to sleep to old crackly sounding WWII hits like, "Over There", "The Battle Hymn of the Republic", The Marine Corp theme song or big symphonic musical escapades like Tchaikovsky's Serenade For Strings. I must have had a lot of marching dreams back then. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #373e4d; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Merle Haggard thank you for the music that could cut to the core, the attitude, the book (!), and the remembrances of growing up in Kern County. Here is a song you inspired. While reading your biography i was struck by the caption on the photo above and your "Look at that grin...." After reading the book I had a wild dream and your phrase made so much sense..Here's that song. Thank you Merle, turns out I liked you after all.</span></span></div>
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Article on Delano VOA radio station</div>
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<a href="http://www.radioworld.com/article/last-of-voas-wartime-transmitting-stations-goes-dark/20235">http://www.radioworld.com/article/last-of-voas-wartime-transmitting-stations-goes-dark/20235</a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-46223153746564708502016-03-19T14:44:00.000-07:002016-03-19T16:08:25.220-07:00Paul Williams Talks To Bruce Springsteen <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_r9FYeDqMG16C7mOOrLYyzUYXHXTbVUwr61G7xFcSrgTyK78gRtQsM8Gu2rIarH9dCRCGyHddShgyWLWjBLsnPZMy5PP6W8eSy9WmB6IIAMCAkt-Kj2XAs22X-jpzzXsqvik2e5Oevw/s1600/12294900_10153325417156039_8609800116269351797_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_r9FYeDqMG16C7mOOrLYyzUYXHXTbVUwr61G7xFcSrgTyK78gRtQsM8Gu2rIarH9dCRCGyHddShgyWLWjBLsnPZMy5PP6W8eSy9WmB6IIAMCAkt-Kj2XAs22X-jpzzXsqvik2e5Oevw/s320/12294900_10153325417156039_8609800116269351797_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Paul Williams, Bruce Springsteen 1975<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">This excerpt is from <b>The Map or Rediscovering Rock and Roll</b></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">published 1988, by Paul Williams:</span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
I taped an interview with Bruce Springsteen in 1974, at a time when CBS wanted to drop him from the label because he wasn't selling enough records, and we talked about a performer's ability to decide his own destiny.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Paul</b>: "I sometimes wonder if the way that the record business is now can actually stop things from happening, just in the sense of stopping them from happening on the radio, or..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bruce</b>: "Yes. I mean, it's like- First of all, only to a certain degree. I don't really want to get into the specifics, because I know some things that have been done to me, you know (laughs) and I don't want to sound like, I don't want to whine. But they could stop it to a degree. They can't stop you going out there and playing every night. they can't stop you from being good. They can keep it off the radio. They can make sure it gets low airplay, or no airplay, or what er, which, it hurts, yeah. But they can't well gosh, like, Ive been playing, we've been going for two years, and the second records the biggest, its sold what, 70,000? That's nothing. That's zero. And I don't know, I don't think they can--</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "It depends on who they're dealing with, who they're messing with. It depends on the person, its like anything. Some people can be stopped, and other people can't be stopped, you know? It depends, if you're dealing with people who <i>can</i> stop, or not. Like me, you know, I can't stop, they can't make me stop, ever. Its like once you stop, that's it. You might as well....I don't know what I'd do.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "But its like that. If you're dealing with people who can say, 'well, hell, Im going to go back to , you know, hanging wallpaper (laughs), that was easier than this.' them you can stop. Those people who are going, 'Oh man, Im gonna go back to college, forget this stuff,' those people can be stopped. People say, 'Hey, what should I do? Gee, I don't know if I want to play or if I want to get married to my girl, Im having a real hard time deciding...' Well, if you have to decide, the answer is right there: don't do it! If you have a choice, then the answer's no.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Its only the ones who, some people really don't have a choice, and those are the people who--The record company, I don't like to use the term 'the record company', cause they always get painted as the bad guys--its like the pressures of the business, or whatever, are powerless in the face of what is real. (Laughs) You just can't stop somebody with things like that. I don't think."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Paul</b>: "Something that bothers me, but that you seem to have been able to get around pretty steadily, it the tendency for there to be nowhere to play except big arenas. "</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bruce</b>: "Well, its simple. What you gotta do--Like, I did the Chicago tour, right? I did that tour because I had never played big places, and I said, 'Well, I aint gonna say nothing, because I don't know what they're like.' So we went and played them. About fourteen nights in a row. Went crazy. I went insane during that tour, the worst state of mind Ive ever been in, I think. And just because of the playing conditions for our band. The best part of the tour was the guys in Chicago, great guys, it was nice. But I couldn't play those big places, it had nothing to do with anything that meant anything to me, at all.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Those big arenas. So I told Mike, 'Im never going to play those places again.' And that was it. So he knows that usually we don't play any place over three thousand, that's the highest I like to go. I don't like to go any bigger than that. And thats even too big."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Paul</b>: "The challenge comes when you get more popular, which is inevitable."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bruce</b>: "Right, you know, but--It's like, theres no way! Im always disappointed in acts that play those places. I don't know how The Band can go out and play like that. I don't know how Joni Mitchell can do it. I don't know how you can play there. You can't. You can't effectively do it, I don't think. "</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Paul</b>: "I guess its because somebody--like the Who, you'd expect them to do different, but I guess what they'd have to do, really would be to have somebody come in and book a concert hall in New York City--"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bruce:</b> "For a week."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Paul</b>: "For at least a week. They're doing four shows in Madison Square Garden and it sold out in an hour. So it would have to be at least a week of two shows a night, or maybe more. "</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bruce</b>: "Yeah, you gotta do that, and you also gotta realize that if you get that big, some people who want to see ya, aint gonna see ya. See, I don't know, Im not in that position. All I know is, those big coliseums aint where its supposed to be, you know, it just aint where its supposed to be. Its just too big."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Paul</b>: "It's always a drag, especially if you're not sitting in the front row."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bruce</b>: "Like I said, its something else going on all over the room. You go to the back row, you can't see the stage, talk about see whats on it. All you see is a blot of light. You better bring your binocs, you know. "</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Paul:</b> "I guess people go just for the event..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bruce</b>: "See, it turns into-- what happens is you go to those places and it turns into something else that it aint. It becomes an event, rather than, I don't know, whatever else it is. Its just hard to play. But that's where everybody's playing, any more."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Paul: </b>"It's the biggest part of the entertainment business, I mean bigger than movies, bigger than television, much bigger than records. Arenas....that's the biggest, in total dollar gross...."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bruce:</b> "I don't know how they do it, I don't know how you can even expect to do it in a place like that. Especially like, especially our band, it would be impossible to reach out there the way that we try to do. "</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Paul</b>: "Oh yeah, I think so. What happens is you end up playing an imitation of yourself, that the best that--"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bruce</b>: "It's like, forget it, you know. That's what happens. So you start being somebody you read about. "</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And of course it came to pass that in 1985 Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band played show after show in baseball stadiums, in front of 50, 60, or 80 thousand people at a clip, and still lots of people who wanted to see them, didn't get to see them. And thats' just how the wheel turns, one week your a punk, the next week your a cultural icon, next week maybe you're an old geezer talking about glory days. It doesn't matter. <b>Fred Goodman said in</b> <b>Billboard</b> of a Giants Stadium Springsteen show, <i>"It was tough to shake the feeling that one was watching MTV with a live adjunct rather than a concert But criticism on this level pales next to the stamina and energy offered by Springsteen and company. In performance, he is clearly setting the standard for everyone else to meet, and he is probably the only person who can best it."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So the man had the freedom not to be imprisoned by last years vows. And on the other hand, who could begrudge any punk today for holding the attitude Bruce himself expressed so earnestly in 1974?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(Paul's son Alexander, 14 years old, read this aloud to us this week as we drove up to see Springsteen and meet with Jon Laundau, and while listening to The River all the way there -ed. encinitas 2016)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-83464035644717976442016-03-08T22:17:00.003-08:002016-03-08T23:19:02.904-08:00Out Of That Whale Like Jonah<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVJAo9u3N-NEHQyEQiPxxuQLNm95lpvHs70n1ymk0fxY_EQy3ZgONT7dR1g94AV4Ao4_uG2B-LNXnhpf__SjsRgD818Fddx0GSZNUQ2O0Oe-OL0SXw0Z1Ky1m-HE7j-chOfrHy_oquA/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-08-27+at+9.23.21+PM.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVJAo9u3N-NEHQyEQiPxxuQLNm95lpvHs70n1ymk0fxY_EQy3ZgONT7dR1g94AV4Ao4_uG2B-LNXnhpf__SjsRgD818Fddx0GSZNUQ2O0Oe-OL0SXw0Z1Ky1m-HE7j-chOfrHy_oquA/s320/Screen+Shot+2015-08-27+at+9.23.21+PM.png" width="320" /></a><br />
Balboa Island, Newport, CA. Mother Ruth and me<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tonight a woman approached me and with teary eyes she said "I LOVE your song about your mother". I didn't really know her and I wasn't sure which song she meant, she saw my confusion and said "the song you put up on Facebook. It made me cry, it was just so, touching. " </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">These are the moments we hope for as artists. They are gifts. This song she referred to, is one that never made it onto an album, in fact, by the time I wrote this song and the entire song cycle my time as a Virginal Vessel of Monetary Possibility had already passed. And that time had come and gone a very long time ago.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And so the question of relevance arises. Am I, or is my message as a songwriter relevant. Its not a question actually, because any artist worth their salt passed over this conundrum in their crappy van drivin'-bad part of town livin'-ramen eatin'-mid 20s. Its actually more of a spiritual riddle.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">What do I have to say? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Can I hear the ear of the listener listening?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If you listen their is always something to say. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One of my favorite philosophies espoused by Paul Williams, rock journalist extraordinaire, </span><span style="font-size: large;">was that an artist requires time to get to know by the listener. He would sometimes spend hours </span><span style="font-size: large;">listening to the same album or piece of music- trying to get inside the feeling place of it. He was </span><span style="font-size: large;">fascinated by an artists individual vision, something only they had. And even when you do learn </span><span style="font-size: large;">their language they may switch it up on you, like Dylan, and you are then required to learn a whole new language. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As a songwriter, I notice, I need a lot of room. To make mistakes. To find the sweet stuff. Whatever this place is...the pure place where you get your juice for a new song....it's a place that isn't touched really by the cares of the world. It doesn't give a shit about Facebook, Kim Kardashian, what's trending on Twitter, or the World Bank. I'm not saying we don't ever write about that stuff, it's just not the real juice. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The juice is the pure place that makes you wanna write and share a feeling. It's that spiritual quest. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Man. Did you watch the Keith Richards documentary? You see him in this place where there is only music and the people that make it and those in the zone with it. That's it. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbMgyo62eJ6U1ZlmG23JgDCgmtGC5DnyzutbjxBpO_qQJGskEkIOaaGHeMbz7-83JhZE7n9hi4Z9hBZiZ5q7TkVJqXOyfDgcAGmmQAlY-B6mTFYibZtHjPEGZ5v-dsUCAmYcQ0_JeuA/s1600/Ruth+and+clb.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbMgyo62eJ6U1ZlmG23JgDCgmtGC5DnyzutbjxBpO_qQJGskEkIOaaGHeMbz7-83JhZE7n9hi4Z9hBZiZ5q7TkVJqXOyfDgcAGmmQAlY-B6mTFYibZtHjPEGZ5v-dsUCAmYcQ0_JeuA/s320/Ruth+and+clb.png" width="320" /></a><br />
A screen grab from super 8; me and my mother Ruth, Hermosa Beach<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We all have shit that happened to us as kids. Some of us can ignore it, maybe well into our adult life, and go forward not noticing how its making us limp. I thought I could be like that. I hit the age of 19 full-drive, moved to LA, went to acting school, put together a punk rock band (The Stoopids), and had this weird-wish-vision of myself on stage at the Hong Kong in LA, singing a snarly song with my band, then, the band would drop back, pulsing, and I start talking, ruminating about overcoming the troubles of our lives. I thought; what the fuck? Are you wishing yourself a punk rock messiah. Jonathan Livingston Seagull+SexPistols. But our first gig didn't even happen. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Instead, I had a crushing depression. It was just my brain, the way it was wired. But also living the past 10 years ignoring that my most important person in the universe, my mother, had suddenly died. With no funeral or tomb to visit, and no mention of what happened to her, she simply disappeared from the Planet, and from the photo album, and the lexicon of our family. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My sister had a photo of herself, torn in half with a mother-arm over her shoulder, nothing else but a serrated edge, a free fall where the mother would be. Later, in archaeological expeditions of the house and unknown drawers, and relatives photo albums a meager few photos were uncovered. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It's amazing how much we can be affected by the people places and things of our youth. Would I have finished acting school? Would I have recorded an album and played shows with The Stoopids?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I moved back in with my dad and second mother and struggled to rise above the murky waters of depression. Darn. I'd never be like John Lennon 24 and famous. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Whatever.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Right before the veil of suffering ended I had a visionary dream. I followed John Lennon into a painting. A man followed behind us and he was full of foreboding, I knew it was Lennon's killer. At last I ended up at a rodeo and met that dark eyed man who represented the killer. We jumped off the rodeo fence and grabbed some grub from the pancake breakfast. While sawing our sausages in half we looked deeply into one another eyes. His were dark dark evil pools. But as I looked further something remarkable happened. We saw each other. We smiled. We fell in love. And the killer was transformed to lover. It was a remarkable healing. I awoke grateful, knowing it was time for me to move forward. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We all have to meet our Waterloo. Sometimes its early, sometimes its late. Regaining my footing took me about five years and then I burst Out of that Whale like Jonah. My first album came out of that pressure cooker. And every song cycle since has had its own war to wage.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(Even this brand new one, The Adventurist...) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It's not about whether we are relevant to some Music Official-fancy person, or to the unblinking mind-set of the Reality TV Eye, it's whether we are seen by "the seer's", the truth-seekers, the music-lovers, those who are <i>actually listening</i>....as authentic and bearing a message. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So the real question is: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Are You Telling The Truth?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'll do my best. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwcZKH90OUn_MHebAw2cuXr3x4PRUbb64JMT7Drmc8NgS5SuO_A8ciugAl06bi_i2ER1xntg4KoZlIlQsuF-ECtSmCsM6rKhnZTdhFAiVx1_NxCOT859LcqV8PTJuHKw_XXahXo5lqw/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-08-27+at+9.21.58+PM.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwcZKH90OUn_MHebAw2cuXr3x4PRUbb64JMT7Drmc8NgS5SuO_A8ciugAl06bi_i2ER1xntg4KoZlIlQsuF-ECtSmCsM6rKhnZTdhFAiVx1_NxCOT859LcqV8PTJuHKw_XXahXo5lqw/s320/Screen+Shot+2015-08-27+at+9.21.58+PM.png" width="320" /></a><br />
My mother, grandma Ross, grandma Berryhill<br />
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FAMILY TREE (the song that made her cry)</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-544924080300827163.post-53519997351660480972015-12-06T21:30:00.004-08:002015-12-06T21:30:53.199-08:00Philip K Dicks' "Fawn Look Back The Owl In Daylight" <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTyjxbf_4VnG42LcsjWXKPn36Yy-9DwQjx56haaN7LoN1bPlNNbxYF6ubYAuQZ1pItriX85PQn9-hcgHo75ihPbdQVnuZ0O_gq5gP6B5I6Ec8HfUM7xK_sxECslAsYxx5wwptNLt8H_g/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-12-06+at+9.25.21+PM.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTyjxbf_4VnG42LcsjWXKPn36Yy-9DwQjx56haaN7LoN1bPlNNbxYF6ubYAuQZ1pItriX85PQn9-hcgHo75ihPbdQVnuZ0O_gq5gP6B5I6Ec8HfUM7xK_sxECslAsYxx5wwptNLt8H_g/s320/Screen+Shot+2015-12-06+at+9.25.21+PM.png" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">PKD fans this legendary paper/outline of The Owl In Daylight is now for sale!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's the link:</span><br />
<a href="http://www.lwcurrey.com/pages/books/149245/philip-dick/fawn-look-back-the-owl-in-daylight-plot-outline-and-analysis-of-an-unwritten-novel"><span style="font-size: large;">http://www.lwcurrey.com/pages/books/149245/philip-dick/fawn-look-back-the-owl-in-daylight-plot-outline-and-analysis-of-an-unwritten-novel</span></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14238443632454897835noreply@blogger.com0