Third-Hand Intelligence. . .

Heard somebody say. . .

. . . They overheard you
Just the other day
A simple word
About the way we get along
If only I were sure
Of the semantics
Having doubts 'cause I'm
One hopeless romantic
Could it be
You're slipping away from me
What will I do
If what I'm thinking is true
And you want to be
Really free of me
I won't last very long
Very far from your heart
And this third-hand intelligence
Might be the way that it starts.

Heard somebody say
They thought they saw you
Walking in their way
You were not alone
They said he didn't look like
Thinking to myself
Must be mistaken
Try not to believe
but still badly shaken
Why would you
Deceive me in things you do
So many years
Sharing our laughter and tears
Lasted very long
Maybe I was wrong
Not to ask you
Why you feel
We've drifted apart
And this third-hand intelligence
Might be the way that it starts

Are my sources reliable
Wait and see
Wait and see
Is my psyche too pliable
It could be
It could be

If somebody said
The sky was falling
Soon we'll all be dead
Have to quit our stalling
Try to be prepared
Would you believe it's true
Or would you question
All the things you do
And change your direction
From spinning round
When it hits the ground
That's just not true
Any believers are few
When you've seen it all
It could never fall
Any more than
I think you could
Tear us apart
And this third-hand intelligence
Might be the way that it starts


Hear THIRD-HAND INTELLIGENCE
©1997 Raymond M. Jozwiak



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It was late at night. . .

. . . on what seemed to be. . .

. . . an early summer evening but was in reality, an obscenely unusually warm March evening.  Returned home from rehearsal and philosophizing with the boys in Oho.  Grabbed a quick bite of leftover pizza (not just ANY pizza mind you, but a chicken fajita pizza with a drib of Lamoreaux Landing Bordeaux blend to accompany) and headed off to shower and sleep. . .

. . . when I heard from across the street, the sound of an acoustic guitar and a young, blues-influenced male vocalist.  I would like to have grabbed my Taylor and joined them, but being quite older, wise and tired, I decided not, and simply reveled in the memories of similar evenings in summer as a youth and the just plain pleasant feeling that listening to that faint music through the open window on this warm, spring evening provided.

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Ever feel . . .

. . . like an outsider; . . .

. . . like you don't belong;  at least you don't belong to many things?  You have belonged to some things which you later learned you would rather not.  But you suppose that's simply a matter of your maturation process.

You feel like you're  pretending;  like you're playing charades;  like you're going through the motions.  You want to put your heart and soul into the things you do during the preponderance of your waking hours.  But you simply can't.  You're not cheating anybody;  you are devoting yourself to your daily tasks to the best of your abilities.

But you cannot deceive your own heart.  You can't pretend to love what you do not love.  You may do a respectable job of deceiving or deflecting any suspicion;  but you cannot pretend.   That's not to say that you are insincere or calculating.  You are honest, conscientious and devoted.  In a 'fair' supply and demand situation, you will (and do) deliver.

But how many are able to devote their waking hours to the pursuit of their heart's desire and provide for all the physical needs at the same time?  NOT MANY!  That you truly believe.

You feel the daily stresses of life just like anyone else.  You have your responsibilities and do not want to run from them.   You embrace your responsibilities.  And during the hours remaining when your 'workday' is over, you actually enjoy true happiness in all that you do.  TRUE happiness.

So it seems that you really are an outsider.  You can't or don't necessarily express yourself very well with regard to this dilemma and have very few people to whom you can express even a portion of this and only one to whom you can express it all.  But you think those aren't bad statistics.  At least you're happy with them.

Ever feel this way?   I have.

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Once upon a time . . .

 . . . there was. . .

. . an open-ended  law in a particular state called the "Stand Your Ground" law.  This law allowed people to defend themselves with deadly force as long as they "reasonably believed" it was necessary to protect themselves.

In this state there was a very bad man who found the opportunity to invoke this law, claiming he was acting in self-defense, and was forced to kill an unarmed teenager. The unarmed teenager happened to make a phone call to a friend only minutes before his death, which made it clear the teenager did not pose a violent threat to the very bad man, calling public attention to a law that clears a suspect from prosecution if the state does not find evidence to dispute their claim of self-defense.

In short, this was a very bad law.

The law extended what has been called the Castle Doctrine, which asserts that a person has the right to defend his or her home with deadly force if they are in "fear of great bodily injury." Unlike similar laws across the country, this particular state's provision does not require residents to retreat before using lethal force -- whether it be with a gun, knife or baseball bat -- against a home intruder, a concept that is based upon the English common-law idea that an individual's home is their "castle."

With this very bad law a person no longer needs to prove that they feared for their safety, only that the individual they shot, even if unarmed, had forcefully and unlawfully intruded. Unlike the initial Castle Doctrine, the newer law extends the principle to vehicles and public places and also does away with an earlier requirement that said a person attacked in a public place must retreat if it is a viable option.

Many people involved did NOT live happily ever after.

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How? . . .

. . . Mitt? . . .

 (from MSNBC http://firstread.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/03/19/10765542-romney-best-thing-i-can-do-for-student-debt-is-get-you-a-good-job) at a 'Town Hall' session at Bradley University recently. . .

 "I and my party are also devoted to making sure we don't pass on to you trillions upon trillions of dollars in debt. We have in the Democratic party people who are consumed with giving more and more benefits to me and my generation, and passing on those burdens to you,"

How, Mitt?


"My party, my vision, is about protecting economic freedom for you," Romney said. "I've had it for me. I've had economic freedom. I've achieved beyond my wildest dreams. I want economic freedom for you."

 How, Mitt?


"Well they can go wherever they’d like to go; this is a free society. But here’s what I’d say, which is the federal government should not tax these people to pay for Planned Parenthood," Romney said. "The idea of the federal government funding Planned Parenthood I’m going to say no, we’re going to stop that."

How and why, Mitt?


"Best thing I can do for student debt is get you a good job when you come out," Romney said.

How, Mitt?

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Heart, soul . . .

. . . warmth, grit, poetry. . . Mark McKay

But listen to what some others say. . .

"Surrealistic cowboy poetry. Springsteen on mescaline. Steve Earle on a literary jag. Wilco with grit. . . expansive, exotic Americana, urgent, whiskey-fed melodies topped with lyrics that often seem to consist of a string of vivid images and striking non sequiturs . . . "  - Jason Warburg , The Daily Vault

". . . punchy roots rock fit for prime time. In their incarnation on Hotel, some of these tracks displayed a raw beauty that tended toward sprawl. . . "  - Nick Zaino III , Paste magazine

". . . Combining many traditional American styles, including rock, bluegrass, country, and even a smidge of blues, Mark McKay, continues his style of mellow and melancholy acoustic (or acoustic-type) rock with heavy country influence . . . "  - Sarah Kantor , Emmie Magazine

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Ever wish. . .

. . . you could go back in time?

I have, although not quite THAT far back.  Just far enough to get a 're-do' and prevent the disaster that has now been wrought.  Well, if not quite a disaster, at least one bad night.

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