This is not my tune, but it’s mine to use. “This is not my tune, but it’s mine to use.”

All the following is very sad and you may be better to wait for a different version of this same post that I do believe will have some merit. As will be self evident, I intend to iterate, but the following paragraph just seems urgent to me tonight.

I’ve been strangling (or maybe throttling is the proper term) an article I’ve wanted to make for months. Sometimes great art is horrible philosophy. Contrary to popular belief, this does not unmake it great art. …but a great chemist knows the intimate details of many substances while he only drinks a very select few of them.

Anyway, here is one of the best songs I’ve ever heard. It is wrong. By this, I’m not saying sad content is bad. Lots of great philosophy has depressing implications. But the philosophy behind the message in this song is actually flawed and destructive. However, it hits me hard as I reflect on some folks I’ve lost over the years, as it may for you too. It is great art. Curiously, I also grew up with a dog named Sadie, that my parents had to put down after a violent incident.

The pics below are just other moments from my week adding to the dark mood…and they’re beautiful as well. I don’t think they convey any overtly bad philosophy, but I can’t speak to their merit one way or the other.

But please, if anyone is up and reading, I share this poison for you to observe, not to drink. If you’re up at this hour, maybe take a look, ponder, and reflect more in the sober light of day.

Sadie, white coat You carry me home And bury this bone And take this pine-cone Bury this bone to gnaw on it later; Gnawing on the telephone And 'till then, we pray and suspend The notion that these lives do never end And all day long we talk about mercy: Lead me to water, Lord, I sure am thirsty Down in the ditch where I nearly served you Up in the clouds where he almost heard you And all that we built And all that we breathed And all that we spilt, or pulled up like weeds Is piled up in back And it burns irrevocably (And we spoke up in turns 'Till the silence crept over me) And bless you And I deeply do No longer resolute oh And I call to you But the water Got so cold And you do lose What you don't hold This is an old song, these are old blues And this is not my tune, but it's mine to use And the seabirds where the fear once grew Will flock with a fury And they will bury what'd come for you And down where I darn with the milk-eyed mender You and I, and a love so tender Stretched on a hoop where I stitch - this adage: "Bless our house and its heart so savage" And all that I want And all that I need And all that I've got is scattered like seed And all that I knew is moving away from me (And all that I know is blowing Like tumbleweed) And the mealy worms In the brine will burn In a salty pyre Among the fauns and ferns And the love we hold And the love we spurn Will never grow cold Only taciturn And I'll tell you tomorrow Sadie, go on home now And bless those who've sickened below And bless us who've chosen so And all that I've got And all that I need I tie in a knot and I lay at your feet And I have not forgot, but a silence crept over me (So dig up your bone Exhume your pine-cone, my Sadie)