I need to riff like jazz, like Kerouac of old, like Coltrane and Miles. iPad reaching out over the ether to the Bluetooth speaker playing the Byrds from a long damn time ago, and then the Grateful Dead, and then I have to go walking around and I don’t care what’s playing. We’ve worked so hard to get here, so hard to, to get here, to throw it all away on a madman, to throw it all away, it all, it all, it all away. There’s nothing on this side of empty. Nothing at all. Don’t get your hopes up. It isn’t worth the crash. Better to die a simple, honest death than this, but we are not so lucky. Never really lucky, but always lucky as fuck, “They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed…” Boy, have I got you fooled.
Right now I need to riff like jazz, simple as zat, to pick up the bass and run the minor sevenths off the overtone sequence – see, I know all that stuff, I know, in there useless, I know. It might as well be blowing down the street like trash in the wind, “I could drink a case of you and still be on my feet.” Well, probably not but I’d die trying. I know all that stuff and it’s in there useless, useless. It’s in there. There is not a single negative emotion that cannot be dispelled by enough whiskey and cannabis. “Just the facts, Ma’am.” These are secrets which should not be revealed because people need to suffer to work out their karma, just the facts, ma’am. Ma’am. Should not be revealed, ya’ll. We need the pain to learn.
Right now I have this need to remember. Riff like jazz. You know there aren’t enough pills in the world to make you feel good? Do you know this? You need to know. There really aren’t enough pills in the world. Maybe there’s enough reefer and whiskey to make you feel good, but I’m not sure of that, not at all sure, not at all. Not at all sure, at all, and that’s why I took the path I did. I’m still trying to find out and there’s just a certain amount of pain one can endure. There’s just a certain amount of pain one can endure. Endure. Don’t end your pain. Don’t end it, send it or rend it but not end it – mend it maybe; trend it with a hash tag, bend it don’t end it.
Riff like jazz right now, simple as falling in love with the girl you’ll never have, simple as blueberries, and cherries. “You have no right to say that to me.” Of course I do. I have every right. You can’t end the pain; you can only pass it on. Pass the bowl of blue berries and then the cherries. “You scare me when you talk that way.” Of course I do but there’s nothing holding me back, and nothing’s a load. That’s scary enough for Harry and Gary and Larry and Terry. Simple as falling in love, simple as blue berries. Riff like jazz, like stone-ground cornmeal and eggs and milk, and riff like cornbread. Riff like what keeps you alive, not jive but alive, riff like jazz, like jazz.