Neil Young Reverie

Listening to Harvest Moon, by Neil Young. Been a while.  Reminds me of early morning road trips with Doc, in the van, going to deliver auto parts to dealers down in Philly.  We'd eat at Nifty Fifties, and play Neil on the cassette player.  I'd take pictures of him while driving.  Profiles of a road man, at least back then.  He'd have lots of other good tapes to play, but I remember Neil the best, of course.
I'm listening to music to take me away from the real world for a little while.  Too many big looming things, and not enough time to ready myself.  So, later for that, at least for today.
Listen to music.  Old time reverie.
"Do you want to get lost?" he'd ask.  "Sure" I'd say.  So he'd take the wrong road and we'd find new vistas along the way, and new camera shots to be had.  Shot with Tri-X film back then, and a yellow filter on my lens.  Loved my black and white.

I'll find some other music and see where it takes me.

I chose more Neil (duh), this time with Crazy Horse, from the Live Rust album.  This reminds me of several things... Me and Steve, 'cause we were heavily into him together, which was nice.  Reminds me also of my cousin Ed, who came to a Neil Young concert with me.  And the music is so him, as it is so me.  Reminds me of myself, my true inner being.  Ballads to hard guitar licks.

Oh, to live on Sugar Mountain.  When the concert hall was quiet I screamed out "Sugar Mountain!"  And the next song he played was that.  I was just like it was for me, you know?  Amazing.

Listening to "Comes A Time" on the Live Rust album, and that reminds me of Jim, which is funny, because I heard "You've Got Mail" and sure enough it was an email from him.  Nice synchronicity.

After the Gold Rush... reminds me of high school and yearbooks that quoted the song.
"Look at mother nature on the run in the  1970's"
"Thinkin' of what a friend had said, I was hopin it was a lie." reminding me of my friend Joanne who had broken out friendship with a conversation to me mom.  I wasn't worldly enough" she had said.

My my, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue)... a "me" piece of music.
It's better to burn out than it is to Rust.

I gues this was a Neil Young music piece today.

On a whole, his music reminds me of my sister and Melissa, which is very cool.  Think of Tree when I hear "Cinnamon Girl", and Melissa when I hear "Old Man."

So many fine tunes that you can take so many different places.

15/365 treasures

Today's 10 minute free-write* is on Treasures.

Locked away in drawers, private memories of life's events, kept safe -- as if one needs to lock away such stuff.  I keep mine exposed and hung on walls, in memory boxes.  These are some of my treasures.
To say the people in my life are treasures would probably be an understatement.  And the cats, of course.  Well, at least Little Guy; Morrison, not so much.
Some of my small treasures--teeny tiny bottles from Jim, where he collected Pacific ocean water for me some 30+ years ago, now all dried up. In the other one is some magic of sorts, I can't quite remember.
A tiny pink glass elephant that my mother had a few of, but only this one survived. 
So many thing -- things I covet.  All amount to memories, it seems.  What treasure doesn't evoke a memory?  The contents of my old power pouch.  Hummingbird wings.  Crystals are my treasures, but do not evoke common memory, but memory of the ages.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Visit Evie, whom I freewrite with, at the space between colors.

6/365 Memories

10 min free-write on

Memories

The time I went sleigh riding with my friends, in Sunset Park.  "Follow me!" one said,
gliding round the hill.  My sled, handed down, would not turn.  I belly-whopped, face first,
into a broken bench, and shards of ice.  My face, a bloody mess, I went home to my parents.

Memories come with a song, an old love, a summer divine, the view of Colorado mountains.

Climbing Cuyamaca in 90 degree heat, drinking applie juice along the way.
Stopping by trees to collect oak sap, to later burn as incense.
Bathing in the secluded waters, and listening to the spirits speaking on the hill.

Memory of myself, holding the camera to my eye,
and dancing my way into people's spaces, trying to capture the perfect shot.
Never did, but I keep trying.

Always memories of my father.  His large hands making beautifully delicate
decorations on wedding cakes, and holding my own young hand in his.

Memories of my mother, when she could walk, and how she took life by storm,
indeed, she still takes it that way.

Memories can make our insides cry or rejoice once again.