Mr. Moonlight

The rain sounds perfect this morning.

Hey Wait Mr. Postman!

Remember me?

Starting tomorrow and daily afterwards, I'm swinging a comeback.

Tie yourself in.

Wouldn't Recommend Stirring a Brew

"Excessive vacancy, well maybe

In the shadow of an eye

All the strangers pass through

Where the rules just don't apply"

~ CKY

Camp Kill Yourself!

Cleaning House

GHOST WITH A BONER!

Hooray! My house now resembles just-moved in condition after a hard year of scrapping useless old things. I'm not starting fresh, instead simply freeing up space for new creative thought. Dad always said a cluttered office means a cluttered mind.

Practice doesn't mean perfect. Alternatively thought as an ironic means to an end of infinite learning and development. Conceptually this can be applied to everyday life, work, and self-aspirations; musically it remains the single core aspect of maintaining talent. Every young musician euphorically smiles when they first experience creating melodic sound in desire to replicate the music they admire. Yet inevitably those who practice to develop their own unique craft transcend ideas beyond knowledgable understanding.

Sounds far out but consider the obvious: there is only one Jimi who sounds like Jimi, only one Eric who sounds like Eric, only one Duane who sounds like Duane, only one B.B. King who sounds like B.B. King, and many other legends (hopefully you catch my drift already). Collectively they share the same unique creativity - the passion and ability to play their instruments differently than anyone before them. Thus creating ideas of which none in the musical world knew or comprehended, and it is these same ideas that music lacks today.

Long story short, Chill Bill has influenced the essence of practice back into my routine. Soul refines sound.

I Love Diarrhea Planet

I broke my nose tonight at the most legendary show ever. Long live Diarrhea Planet!!!

Hey look I see some Jeffers Morning Wood (Mustache Ride)

Now is my time to return

And I ride upon the white horse that fears no death.

"Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down."

Insider Info

If you read this then you now know about the upcoming power Jeffers Morning Wood

Fucking Righteous