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The Spotted Cat. There ya go. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been inside. It was always too crowded and the fun was really on the street. It’s a small place, not enough room to move. Why did we come here, you say? Let me try to answer that.

I got a message a couple of days ago from some guy named John Morgan. Now I don’t know who John Morgan is, so I looked him up and found out that he was singing a song for the “American Song Contest,” representing North Carolina. So I played the song and I like it, but I liked this one equally, so I made my choice based on the country / western authenticity of it. Can’t beat a Jack shout-out in a country song.

So I thought, let me take that dream to a honky-tonk and play this song on a jukebox, see if it stirs some roux. Now we putting the quarter in – it’s two quarters now, is it? – and softly it lifts into the air. Look, we didn’t even have to go inside Quarter? we can sit here drinking our beers Jax beers come from? on the front deck because that’s perfectly legal We’re skipping like vinyl here in the Big Easy. And, look, right across the street, Michael’s Bicycles rental shop. Mmm. Nice.  Relax and take an Ease into it. We just got an Out of sync. Bet I thank his time.

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ha HA! Wait. Ha Ha. Hold up! You’re saying that the Universe is telling me I need to shower? HA! Are you saying that I stink? Is that what you’re saying, I stink? Ha! Hilarious! Hahaha. “Unwashed phenomenon / original vagabond”, means that I need to bathe?! Washing – tonne Square? Hahah! Bing Bing! Score. You wins.

That was a genuine Snickers moment. Gave me a belly chuckle for real. And it set me in the right mood to get back to the Questura today to retrieve my permesso di soggiorno. For those who don’t know, I’m referring to the Italian Immigration Office, where I picked up my residence permit, the equivalent of an American Green Card. So of course I sang “Immigration Man” all day, on repeat. Though I have to caveat the sentiment of that song by saying that the Italian Questura staff are generally as kind as they can be, given what a hard job they have. Think about what the American equivalent must be: a hateful nightmare. Einstein said of nationalism: “An infantile disease. It is the measles of mankind”. So, yeah. All that aside, I can stay for another two years. P.S.: Lyrics to Matchstick Flotilla

Let’s move on. We have, maybe, one more place to stop here in the Marigny. It’s just a block away.

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Here it is. Washington Square. When I was a kid, I knew I had heard the name before, but it was only much later that I put it together with the New York version, which explicitly appends it with the word “Park”. In my young manhood, this was the site of some of my first political demonstrations, festivals, parties, smoke-circles and even a purse-snatching. Let’s sit.

This post has a significant number of synchronicities associated with it. First, a friend alerted me that tonight was the peak of the Snow Moon. I had nothing planned for the post until the lyrics “Washington Square” wafted into my half-consciousness after supper. I noted it with the delight I get when something is undeniably right: It kind of mentally shimmers. It became solid when I focused on it through the opening lines Joan Baez sings to Bob Dylan: “It’s just that the moon is full / and you happened to call”.

So I rolled a cigarette, stepped outside, gazed up at the chilly Snow Moon and stepped back in to do some research. Here were Joan and Bobby singing at the Newport Festival, and Joan says, apropos of nothing, “This is George Washington”. So here is the package, the whole synchronistic package.

What does this post mean, then? Certainly this must mean something? In my dream, we would sit on a bench under those old live oak trees and discuss this. Out of time, out of season, we would sit and discuss the details and the gestalt of this post until we came to some kind of conclusion. What is the message that has been so softly yet so undeniably delivered to our common dream?

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What time is it? Is it afternoon or evening? Is it hot? Cold? Cloudy? Sunny? I’m not painting a very good dream.

Let’s just walk. We’ll head down Decatur and cross over Esplanade into the Marigny. Maybe wander down to Washington Square on Elysian Fields, where Blanche and Stanley lived. There’s good music down there. Cool people. Lots of memories.

The title of this song popped into my head this evening. I had even forgotten the tune. I’m feeling lazy and lonely tonight, so I’m gonna validate that by playing two related songs that I like but I would not normally recommend. In fact, we used to make fun of Spandau Ballet. But that tune is so. . . right for now? You know what I mean? “I know this much is true”.

That just about sums it up. My feeling, that is. Sums. It. Up.

Really, I’m just beat. I’m calling it quits for tonight and going to bed. Good news is that I can see the surface of the water and soon maybe I’ll have my head above my work soon. That will be very nice.

“Elysian : Greek Mythology the place at the ends of the earth to which certain favoured heroes were conveyed by the gods after death: heroic souls cavorting in the Elysian Fields.”

Thanks, Siri!

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You want coffee? Let’s get off here at Cafe Du Monde. Yeah, it’s always crowded, but the tourists move out pretty quick. It’s worth the wait.

I saw this video yesterday, served to me by my “Al Gore Riddim” and School of Life subscription. School of Life was begun by Alain de Botton, whose exhibition “Art is Therapy” I saw at the Rijksmuseum in 2014 (God, has it been that long?). It’s pop psychology and philosophy, but contrary to some “high thinkers”, I don’t mind facile explanations for the plebes, I rather like it, in fact. Not everyone can do a deep dive, and as this video will attest, we can get a nice bite of important info in 10 minutes. Speaking of bite, yo, wait. Watch the beignet, that powdered sugar gets everywhere and sticks.

Beside, “Change the Beat“, with Fab 5 Freddy. Seminal. “one of the most sampled songs in music history”, not to mention a graffiti god. Read about it.

Yeah, it’s the only coffee I like with milk.

Carry on the dream for me, please. I’ve gotta work. Later. . .

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Come on, bae. We ain’t going nowhere, but maybe we get someplace else.

ESG was a little family band from the Bronx. Again, an ephemeral phenomenon that shouldn’t have gone anywhere, but ended by shifting our cultural reality. Listen to this version of the original EP, truncated though it is. It’s a shame, the original EP was all of a piece, and the streamers ruined it. I guess licensing got in the way.

Andiamo. Facciamo due passi. . .