Burnt Aggie Gonzo 1: Better QB

 

When Dr. Tone Capone notified me of a free ticket and a spot to crash, the early October trip to Kyle Field in College Station was decided.  And why not, the Arkansas Razorbacks were travelling south to play Texas A&M, I was curious about all the fuss, all the yells, and all the 12th Man lore.  Truth is, I'm an orangeblood from way back, my pops played for Darryl Royal from '60-'62, he was a big dude, strong and mean.  Mocked Aggies, hated Sooners, ignored Red Raiders, and didn't trust Razorbacks.  He was never really into any of it, mostly jokes, stories, old buddies, and offensive line insights; he was always watching the big fellas.

I never liked the Aggies much for those reasons and others, they seemed incompetent, smug, gullible, and loud, a horrible mix of traits.  Sorta stuck up almost, somewhere between pride and buffoonery with a military twist, but somehow, still likeable.  Respect the consistency, I suppose, don't want them as enemies, don't want any enemies.  Just wanna be entertained, just observing.

Early in the college football season and both these teams are 2-2, on must-win alert, on panic button, on thin ice.  The Aggie head coach gets a million dollars per game, he doesn't seem worried.  The other head coach just got to town this season and the Hog fans are wearing paper bags over their heads and boycotting games. A two touchdown underdog, their only losses are against highly ranked teams, the Aggies lost to Kentucky.  I've done exhausting, extensive research, Hogs got the better QB, take the points.

Mugshot

 

If ya wanna be a country star.

Play them famous country bars.

Take a swing at a security guard.

Getcha a good mugshot.

If ya wanna prove you're cool.

Cut classes, ditch the school.

Be rude, act a fool.

Getcha a mugshot.

Nothing major, but he carried a gun.

Out cruising, having some fun.

Smoked a J, wasn't hurting no one.

Now he's gotta mugshot.

She hit him first, but that's no excuse.

She was unfaithful and really loose.

Showed the cop his chipped front tooth.

Got him another mugshot.

Had a good lawyer, so he's all good.

Acts like an outlaw from the hood.

Sings all about it like an outlaw would.

Cause he's got some good mugshots.

If ya wanna be a country star.

Play them famous country bars.

Take a swing at a security guard.

Getcha a good mugshot.

AE

AE

DA

EDA

Draw Don't Draw

 

When my draw don't draw.

When my swerve don't swerve.

When I can't make contact.

Think I lost all my nerve.

Keep taking it back.

Keep making that turn.

Keep your hands in tight.

More you play, the more you learn.

If you wanna blow your top.

If you wanna go whack.

If you wanna snap a club.

Ain't worth a heart attack.

EADE

Fresh Wit

 

These pixels don't mean anything.  Greetings and signoffs, edits and mixing.  All contrived.  Even the paper pushing papers, the grumps and the lumps, zany-eyed in nostalgic hypnosis.  All technology from here on out is awful, they print on a printing machine.

Fresh wit turned old and haggard, lying to themselves.  Envy of things beyond, two hundred years beyond, things no one now alive will ever see, hear, or taste.  Likely, humans will instigate other natural senses through technology.  Much of our current brain lies dormant.  All that's gonna change.

No telling what they'll be hooked up to in 2226, even bluetooth will be out of date.  Telepathy is probable.  Exposure of thought will make the world lonelier, but safer.  Thinking will be rare.  Humans will have an automatic setting, sleeping will become a sport.

Miss Those Dogs

 

**Co-Write, JR Russell

Left me again, this time she took the dogs.

Last time she left, I spent 3 weeks in an awful fog.

She wouldn't even pick up my calls.

Left me again, this time she took the dogs.

Gonna miss those dogs she took away from me.

Won't miss her much, we could never agree.

Kinda nice really, prolly just let it be.

Gonna miss those dogs she took away from me.

I miss their howling.

I miss their chowing.

I miss their wagging.

Won't miss her nagging.

Women, they gonna come, they gonna go.

What's in their minds no man will ever know.

What makes them turn so cold?

Women, they gonna come, they gonna go.

Left me again, this time she took the dogs.

Never would guessed it, she really has some gall.

Something makes me think it's against the law.

Left me again, this time she took the dogs.

FCGx2

FC

FCG

AmCx4

Band Practice 3: An Undetected Sound

 

The melt tune was essentially in the bag, as was blister, as was strange, as was teenage werewolf, as was down under, as was picasso, as was caress, and as was minnesoter by the dandy Dandy Warhols.  Essentially.  Eight tunes in all, a tight set, prolly 45 minutes of music to refine and shine and make whole.  Workshopping, woodshedding, callouses and apathy, fighting through.  To the other side of hate, where performance art glows.  

We didn't create any of these tunes, but we will perform them to Pablo Picasso Project perfection.  An undetected sound from out there to in here.  It will all make sense in the end.  There will be no encores, everything is an encore in a supergroup.  Our processes are tested, the music is right, the hang is tight, it's Wednesday night.

Space is top of mind, adding drums and microphones and obsession and success is another level of commitment.  Any band can wear out a welcome anywhere, it's to be expected.  Even Hunter S. Thompson needed his peace, more than most know from my research.  Space, space, space.  The folks need space, as do the punks.

Pin Prick

 

Bloated egos and lack of humor is expected.  Air gets in the brains, we float on temporary highs.  Suck a little helium for some cheap laughs, it always works.  But the thinning layer of skin will burst, eventually.  It always does.

Maybe it'll burst in a booming, cracking pop.  Or, a pin prick and deflate slowly and obviously.  Like death in a way.  Neither way is good, but the float is ending, slow or fast.  Egos must die, and will.

Humbling will come.  In a heap, by some sort of biological means.  The brain runs this ship, like Eastwood said.  Don't let the old man in, man.  Keep your wit.