What the Busk ((Part 1))

Alright, so welcome to my NEXT series. this one will be about busking, give or take. You know, I can’t stay focused, outside of too much and for everything. In general, I have TOO MUCH FOCUS. Well, not when it comes to writing. Wait. Maybe EXACTLY WHEN it comes to writing, TOO. Imagine you’re writing, are not distracted at all, but wish to focus momentarily on some OTHER matter(s), tangents and shit. Well, what better way to do THAT than to focus HEAVY AS _you know what _ and, as always, this could mean ANYTHING. I have no clue what I’m talking about. I just talk, and focus. But, what does ANY of this have to do with BUSKING, this thing I am as yet attempting to describe but am remaining TOO FOCUSED and TOO DISTRACTED at the SAME EXACT TIME. What a marvel of modern psychology, an “issue” whose two sides are essentially the same, but also VERY, VERY DIFFERENT. alright, chill with the caps, doc. Doc? Yes. Once again, give or take. I AM a real (math) doctor, yes, but I have not yet taken to calling myself DOC. Something about Back to the Future and my not yet looking enough like Christopher Lloyd, yet, though I swear I’m getting close. So, now that I have argued that FOCUS and its opposite are essentially the same thing, let me move on to defining BUSKING in as many fuc**ng words as is humanly possible. Once again, this I AM ARGUING HERE means I am actually staying focused, just not on the thing you may want to know about at that moment. Still, you get where I am, where WE are, where I am headed. And, for some reason, this makes for decent writing. So, what is busking?

DEFINITION 1: BUSKING

Dude, I was seriously about to define busking, for real. Then, I headed to the bathroom to relieve a few liquids, where at it dawned on me that I finally have a decent theory for what “causes” autism and/or adhd. And, of course, I have no real reason for being trusted in ANY of this. but, it occurred to me that it COULD BE that, as the world becomes worse or better, you know in a sort of EARTH AS WHOLE way, that, you know, that, CELLS and BIOLOGY and REALITY THEREFORE respond(s) by making more or less of a certain type of person. Call it a SUITABLE PERSON or SUITABLE PERSONS. Here, and this is my feeling, maybe even one that MIGHT have me committed and/or made of fun of so hard that I have to head to the bathroom for OTHER REASONS, altogether.. EXTRA COMMA. WAIT, PERIOD. wait(ING) period. C’mon. Stay “focused” — ! So, the world is getting hotter and more volatile, and I argue here that the MOST SUITABLE, SUITABLE PERSONS are those who HAPPEN to have the traits known as adhd and/or autism. Call it ENVIRONMENTAL RESPONSE. Perhaps someone better suited to open their mouth(s) on these matters has OR COULD chime in, on this, to confirm or disconfirm whether this theory has any actual merit whatsoever.

It could be ABSOLUTE SHIT.

As always.

And duh.

So, what is busking? By now, you’ve probably so tired of me using an undefined term that you wholesale move on to either looking up the definition, or something else entirely, like attempting to snort pork. Maybe even the pig. Itself. Let’s go. Said some random “GLOWIE” that bought me drinks all night, the other night, but also kept insisting that I have him snipe my enemies. dude, do think I’m as stupid as you are? This guy was COOL, and he may not have been involved with anything glowing and/or government, but, something was WEIRD AF about how he — went on. Also, he kept insisting that we go. Well, he kept saying “Let’s Go!” and I took this literally, because that’s what’s probably right for the environment AND HUMANITY AT LARGE. Still, I was made uncomfortable by feeling as though we weren’t allowed to sit long enough to relax. Said, every foot-homeless person I’ve ever met. Excuse me, individuals who happen to be homeless. I know so many of these kinds of people, and I can tell you confidently, and these things I ACTUALLY DO KNOW, that, often, the whole thing is outside of their control. Some had a bad accident and feel as though they HAVE to smear poop on, like, porches and walls. You know, places you SHOULDN’T poop. And there are so freaking many of these kinds o these places. Weddings. Well, the ceremony itself. Pre-school. Well, if you’re not 2.25 years old. So, I guess we really CAN poop ANYWHERE, if we HAPPEN to be the right kind of person.

For some reason, this is all headed somewhere, starting to make sense.

AND MAYBE THAT PLACE || BE HELL?

either way, busking is the art of placing a receptacle/vessel out for donations, cash and/or kind, I DEFINITELY DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO SPELL RECEPTACLE. I probably still don’t know how to, but yeah, you place a THING out, be it a hat or jar or even an urn, and play music, sing, dance, etc. in exchange for $$$ donations. Some see this as BEING HOMELESS. And those people are fucking stupid. I had an Australian cop, and no I am not talking about THAT ONE. I am talking about a completely separate AUSTRALIAN COP, in an entirely different city, state even, who, well whose verbiage shined unto me that HE saw busking as panhandling. What the hell, man? I thought Australians capture dino-lizards and manage, somehow, to avoid the ‘roos in the road. Bounce, bounce, BOUNCE. Car not good, ‘roo not good either. Have I lost all concept of writing, sentences, structure, and maybe even all of it? I seem, even to myself, not to care. And you know this OF ME. I save my worries, in general, for things for which doing so helps. Either, busking means you get ART and they, the busker, sometimes me, gets TO EAT. And, to EAT WELL, if everything goes better than expected. Which can always happen. And, also, also, as always, will. Eventually, I’ll get to the point of this. I began with the idea to define busking. Seems simple enough, but, dude, I can’t keep from focusing! Dammit. I’m too damn focused. AND SO DISTRACTED TOO.

distraction, as a toad

in a suit

QUEENS

yo SPADES

So, precisely how much CAN I relax my style before people give up on, well, READING,,,,,,, ME. is it even possible, or is there something in my head that prevents everything from becoming too shitty. Maybe my worst stories are tantamount to the best of another? Couch dude, yeah. Farmer, maybe. Serial Abusers, well yeah. Definitely. But, I am done going down THAT path. Fancy Dumpster. Insert Therapy. And get a job. This last part is, of course, optional. Especially if you can manage the struggle of it all.

STRUGGLE AS A PAIR OF EXOTICALLY-COLORed SHOES

insert KELL-O.

Who the hell is KELL-O?

Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about this piece, or my inabilities. Worry ‘out your own problems and, hopefully, allow these words of mine to guide your decisions upon, unto, into a BETTER PLACE. And, yes, this is possible even. Often, I will look, and genuinely feel, a time and place where [INSERT PERSON X] will be happy, better, kinder, maybe even smarter. And this allows me to THEREFORE deal with how they be. So, busking means getting up in the morning, or evening, and going to a corner somewhere and soliciting people for cash. Wait, isn’t that? No, it couldn’t be that I’M A… Nah, let’s not. I probably am though. Just not as you may think. Now, and for some stupid reason, I am being a bit hidden, from the reader, and am so killing the actual point. Maybe THAT’S how?

TV

like everything ever made for TV

ALL AT ONCE

How exhausting, to wake up every day and go to the city and play music for kind strangers, others too, all like a job, like your finances depend on it thusly. OK, Plato. And commendations. They LOVE to commend. And this drives me. I am driven by the people who pass me by, by their faces and t-shirts and foots-a-stomping. I can tell when they like the stuff, and this drives me to respond. It drives me to head to the city EVERY SINGLE DAY, to play even when I don’t really feel like it. If, eventually, after a small walk, I am able easily to do this thing or that thing, is it possible that it’s not the thing itself I am avoiding? Yup. Nailed it.

What EXACTLY have I nailed?

Well, I am in a coffee shop, and a cop, one I have seen many times but had never actually met, knew my name. And, she assures me, this is the point. At least when it comes to being a musician. She’s nice. Because she truly seems to be, but also because she has just informed me that another cop, one I consider a buddy, “speaks highly of me.” Sweet. Mostly because of my statistical background but also because of who I am. he’s a former detective and so can see things in people, things like how genuine and honest they’re being. And these I’m being. BEING, MAN. I am a BEING man. At least today, and for now. Now, I have defined what it means to busk and therefore BE a busker too. usually it just takes DOING to BECOME. When you throw a baseball to a friend, and this idea is not generally good for the health of children, and adults, but when you throw a baseball, you, technically speaking just became a baseball player. A shit one, probably, but yeah, you’ve just played ball. Did you get a mill’ for it? hopefully not. Butt, lol, you get the point. I have lost my mind. No, but really, I get up every single day and think about doing what I’m supposed to be doing. And, and. And, it’s fun.

I BARELY FEEL LIKE I’M WORKING

because i’m mostly NOT

working

Still, I play the notes and sing and keep time and interact with the people who pass by, so, definitely, I am a musician. My hope, as you could expect, given how stupid-deep I get into so many things, highly distractable things, is that THIS could really be how I choose to live. And, eventually, if people dig it enough, I may finally be able to truly become more like Brian Wilson. Hijm and I have so much in common, though his harmonies seem to contain a lot more thinking that ANY of mine do. TYPO($) ACCEPTED. Please move on.

Am I testing YOU?

“yuh”

Welcome to the modern world. It’s all splattered brain cells. Technology this, and fascism that. It all feels a bit like living in the DISTANT past. But, I am still and somehow afforded the opportunity to make money by playing music on the sidewalk. There are so many things that COULD get in the way. Rain. A bad night’s sleep. Sucking ass. Actually… nevermind. It could be that there are no people, and just like for Babu Batt [sic] this is a problem, dude. Dude, it’s a problem to get up in the morning. I was about to say the key to killing music, if you’re bad-minded enough, is to make it rain all the time. That’ll show ’em to play in exchange for cash. No chance. The day the music dies? No. It’s just the day EVERY BAND ENDS UP SOUNDING LIKE OASIS. Like a bunch of,.,. dicks. of Course, and I know this bothers you, the weather cannot actually kill music. As a whole, no, but just for the day, yes. Nothing’s worse than you get up and have a bunch of energy and want to play music but the rain boys seek to piss all down your leg. Like a wet dog, covered in acid, rain. Commas, man.

Comma

Always one letter away from being ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATING.

There’s also the bad days, the bad vibes, the feeling. Sometimes, and I know that this isn’t JUST me, because I have asked a few OTHERS and, around. Other(S) and me will sometimes just not feel like it. Why? And how? Well, imagine that you wake up and are in a bum-ass mood and are worried about everything and think you’ll never find love and imagine you’re never going to make ANYTHING and your hair sucks and you are like less taller than you were the day before and I swear that woman responded like I was a… STOP. That’s perseverance. That’s a psychological problem. Seeing the angles makes you a criminal, but. And this a BIG BUT, butt, thinking about negative stuff all the time IS A SIGN THAT YOUR MIND ISN’T RIGHT. That you should seek, perhaps Mary-Ann over Mary-J. Could be cool to DO BOTH, though. And this, in as, as a total lie, is how I hope NOT to live. I want to stay in the cleanest state possible, if only so that god accepts me faster? Nah, I’d (likely?) smoke “crack” if it made me healthier, didn’t cause dependence, etc. And I’M the one [1] YOU’RE LISTENING TO? What the hell is wrong with you?

US.

what is wrong

WITH US || ?

These days, just about everything.

Now that I have made a very public claim of being being PRO HEALTHY CRACK, let me move on to NEVER GETTING ANY JOBS EVER AGAIN. Let me go full Milkshake. Let me duck out while I’m still clean. They still , for some reason, let me into churches. The roofs don’t cave, and the lights flicker not. But, yeah, I aim to live healthy. Lately this means playing music for others, all the time, and in so many disparate places. It means sitting in a coffee shop and writing all the time. It means doing. ACTUALLY DOING. Themes? Well, if you’re able to, able enough to, pay attention, you’ll see that life is full of themes. Seinfeld is full of themes. And, Seinfeld is life.

INSERT JERRY SEINFELD

as kramer

AND IT SUCKS

Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!

Need I even mention or tell you WHERE i’M FROM? Nope, you can see it in the TV I have watched, in the channels available to me. BET gave me soul, while Dark Wing Duck and Tailspin helped me to learn how to read. Don’t believe me? Well, I can remember the exact moment I learned how to read. I was watching Tailspin, with the captions on, when it hit me. Reading, BEING A READER, means: reading. You’re there, one moment, not able to understand any languages, then, and this is a BIG THEN, you are able to DO it. And people wonder why I firmly believe, with enough time and FOCUS, we can speak directly with animals, in their native tongue. I imagine that perhaps God, and yes there’s that dude again, maybe frog-woman-entity-generally weirdest-weirder thing EVER, built systems in us to be able to communicate directly with everything. There’s probably even a way to learn how to speak rROCK. You know, You’re there about to throw a stone, are stoned as hell, and BOOM, dude, the rock starts, talking. Call it ROCK. Then, universally. Rocks never shut up. We HAVE to change the name of ROCK MUSIC. It is. No longer the best application of the phrase.

DELETE,

EVERYTHING BELOW THIS POINT.

NO, WAIT, this one.

As a general principle, I am likely-done, forever, with the concept of proofing. Let the perfectionists be so perfect. I’ll focus, instead, on making up the ELEMENTS OF PERFECT. I’m fine with getting only part of the way. And here, that means getting part of PERFECT right. Choosing the right road that day, seeing a bear because of that choice, and allowing the best chords to fall into your lap-mind. And it’s all so fast, and cool. About as cool as a world where EVERYONE matters, no matter how [INSERT CHARACTERISTIC]. Remember that, in the absence of you’re enemy, you are totally fine to be as is. Let THAT sink in. It’s not being trans, or racist, etc. It’s being those things around others who aren’t. Those things. But, busking. And the whole point of this thing, which I am now seeing as a lengthy attempt to define a term. I want to move on to talking about OTHER THINGS RELATED TO BUSKING but I feel that that might give this all TOO MUCH PURPOSE. Too much in the manner of a turtle. Wrong word. Who cares. So, what do I gather when I go busking? What makes it’s way to how you see me, on the street?

A HOOKER

a cop car

NO ARRESTS

only _ shatty smiles.

LOL, shatty. I grab my guitar, double duh, and songs, something for others to tip me in, a towel for not sitting on TOO MUCH crappy stuff, some rocks CHOSEN SPECIFICALLY FOR HOW COOL THEY LOOK and from so many places, to hold the pages down in the faces of the wind. At this point, this… No point. No will to point. No need, or desire, to preserve, to make the ego last, to give meaning to your simple name, not even assigned BY YOU, it’s all there. You don’t have to make anything of yourself. In the past, the best a monkey could do, with their entire life, is develop a new, faster method of opening bananas. Imagine First Laughter. And, now, also, imagine the first penis it was directed at. No funny jokes, just pornography. What ties all religions together, I was once asked, as previously mentioned, and by Bodhi, answering “Focus.” Now, butt now that I have had enough time to respond BEYOND THE GUT and NOT IN FRONT of A real SHAMAN, I can say firmly, that it’s porn. Just think about it. So, yeah, my guitar, songs and some other stuff. Then, what do I do? I sit down, like some Indiana figure, meant to say INDIAN, and begin by playing something easy, without words, something of a warm-up. And, once warm, I start singing. This means that, for me, busking means playing the guitar and singing.

BIRD SONGS

backward

AND SO

bird songs

What, precisely, is busking like in other places, other places within the universe we live, inhabit? is there an alien somewhere playing some foreign ass instrument somewhere in a star system as yet so distant that we grant it only a string of HOPEFULLY RELEVANT numbers. Maybe that is how they mate? Maybe BUSKING IS their mating call? It certainly isn’t mine. I know because I strike ONLY SMILES. I don’t and have never made a habit of being cool enough to make music my mating call. Still, I’m on my way.

STOPPED HERE.

There’s some stuff below, yes, but I’m not sure it’ll stay.

As with all,

basements.

And speaking of basements, I’m back. after something of a delay. And, as always: AS ALWAYS. This is how it works, dude. I HAVEto take breaks, I have to hit the streets and make some cash, if only to keep up with those who wish to destroy me, and this, I fear, may be a relatively large set. And all, and only, for being a GOOD PERSON. Welcome to “the”OUR” Modern World. It sucks. You’re supposed to like it, because someone WHO DOESN’T UNDERSTAND YOUR PLIGHT AT ALL likes it. And, of course, I sound cynical as hell this morning. Well, there’s a reason for ALL THAT. Sometime, to wit, AND in the past few weeks, I started falling in love with a woman. At first, all it took was seeing her. Then, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Then, again, I started seeing her again. And this all made me happy, as it’s good to see those that make your gut butter-fly. And SHE madeth my gut[t]eth ,,, fly. She’s still beautiful to me. But, I can’t even remember what she looks like. And this is how my mind works in the face of an enemy. I shut off COMPLETELY. My mind, for one reason or another deletes people. And I am not at all kidding. Let this be a confession of EXTREME COLDNESS. I am EXTREMELY cold. In some cases, it takes almost nothing. In THIS case, I had chosen to hang out with her, that interest of mine, a woman I FELT I could have just laid with, no expectations, to just lay, and say nothing. Now, I cannot say anything. I have nothing to say. Hence all the space I’m taking up here. Well, the other night I, once again, caught onto something like what I caught onto with that dude in Avery county. I had caught on to him attempting to con me. I had, once again recognized the behaviors of a Community Based Agent. And no, I am not unwell. I have learned to separate my hypervigilances from my realities.

READ “REALITIES” IN THE VOICE OF RICHARD LINKLATER

Well, the other night, I noticed that after gaining my trust and affection, maybe even my actual love, I think; she took to trying to con me. I could feel it. I noticed when she placed the phone between us when I started talking. I noticed when she attempted to lure me away from my car, and then still when she tried to delay me BEYOND that. “Let’s scope out these flowers, and make sure to have your back turned to the car.” Then, at some point, she attempted to hold my bag, the one that acts a bit like a MAN-PURSE for me. It took me thinking about all of this, carefully, and in light of everything that happened to me in Colorado, when a fucking rogue, fat, agentic, stupid landlord sought it essentially to tear up my stuff. Well, this woman didn’t take to tearing up my stuff, but something in my gut kept saying THIS IS _ NOT _ WHERE YOU FIND LOVE. She is NOT right. Something IS off. And, after that night, it all but solidified in my mind: she’s a plant, or at the very least, a con artist seeking to take over AND upon ME. Well, letteth not.

I blocked her number.

And the number of her CBA partner, whom I thought for even longer was a DECENT PERSON. Dude, why the hell am I having to bother with all of this? Have they applied an infinite budget conjunctive-and infinite stupidity? and they have sought to antagonize me/anything that stands to actually make the world a better place [INSERT TRADEMARK]. I had spoke to this guy so many times before, had even asked him about vandalism to my vehicle, and he answered an entirely different question. As such, I can only venture to say that I am still being antagonized by some force that sees it not at all UN-ethical to place pretty, loving woman in front of you, in the hopes that your potential for love will place you at a disadvantage. And once again, I am not mentally ill. Therapy really IS going great.

THERAPY,

WHAT IT LOOK LIKE?

Now, I MUST move on. I should place her in those parts of me mind meant for those I should watch out for. Not, and not at all, those whom I should actually lay with. And, largely, this is a disappointment. For now.

Someday, I WILL actually find the RIGHT woman to lay with and all this time alone will be the fee for such a beautiful occurrence.

Or, I’ll be fucking scammed again.

It all depends, I guess, on the budgets of the DEEP STATE.

And, if that all sounds, like, you know, NUTS AF, then see-view it as satire. See it as a satire on THE STATE, and therefore, the very nature of, conspiracy, paranoia, and ACTUAL SURVEILLANCE. Moving on.

So, so far, I have complained, and have loosely defined BUSKING. I guess || That’s the point of this piece. And, no, I don’t look forward to proofing this. THAT has not changed, and probably never will. Never is quite the suck word, but you know what I mean. PS — You cannot spell “Mean” without “Men.” LOL. I don’t care. Now, that I have given you a definition, a few-couple servings of conspiracy and reality, let me highlight some of my favorite moments busking so far (in order of them coming to my mind, not, their importance):

1. A person came and listened to me, became inspired to play the guitar and write songs, left and came back with a guitar, thanked me for inspiring them to finally DO IT. Man, this one felt great. Especially if it’s real.
2. Kids, man. Many kids stop entirely dead in their tracks around my music. I don’t entirely know why this is, but I think it relates to me sounding like a kid when I sing. I sing, like a kid. because I never learned to do anything else. Either way, the kids. One girl said, with all she could understand: “I like… I like that.” As, She pointed to my songs.
3. Meeting so many nice and genuine people, creeps too. It’s good sometimes to meet creeps, if only to avoid becoming too much like one. But here, my point is that, generally speaking, it’s good to be out, to speak to the passerby, to learn things about the locals, not a matter where you are.
4. I was recently tipped a $100 bill. This one may seem superficial, but in seeing the actual response of beauty on the man’s face, I can see why he did that. I had touched his heart in a way that most others could not. He was on the verge of tears, if only from all the drinking. Still, dude.
5. Everyone tells me, “you can’t busk any money out of Floyd, VA.” Yeah, OK> Then why do I do so OK there? This one I still don’t get. But, I think it relates to giving the residents of that place something other than blu-grass to listen to. I find that shit incredibly boring. Mostly because of its lack of wild chords. Show me some WILD CHORD BLU-GRASS and I MAY listen in.
6. I’ll go for 10 on this, if only because I live in a BASE-10 society. Let me add here the shock that some people who know me have/feel when they finally get to see me perform. In a nutshell, I can tell that they find the dissonance between quiet, reserved, writing at full speed Ryan with WHO THE FUCK IS THIS GUY? This is not gloating. It just means I have fun good-shocking people.
7. Doing multiple cities in a day, if only to test my ability to tour. I passed the test. On one day, I busked two cities in Virginia and one in North Carolina. Call it a busking tour. Call it a waste of gas. Either way, it was fun to test myself in this way. I’ve done other multi-city days too. Maybe check my social media for all of that.
8. The good times. Sometimes, someone will stop and listen and make a point to take me to a food and a drink, to “take care of me.” And this is nice. Just the other night, Randy from “416 Ministries” stopped and bought me and some other dude some food, spent time listening to us, etc. It’s good to meet such good people.
9. One day, this guy came up to me and said, “Can I hear a song, I’ve been having such a bad day.” I played him one of my happier more tongue in cheek songs. This led him to stare at me, through bordering tears. I had, touched his heart, and, as such, he, led a prayer, thanking God for bringing me into his path. What a thing of beauty, even for a mere semi-believer.
10. What the hell, man. Do I even HAVE a 10th one here. Insert Question, Mark. Therapy. I have come to realize that this stuff is therapy, that being around so many people, and sometimes making them happy, is a thing of therapy. It heals me, adds to the actual therapy I am receiving. TYPES FAST AS SHIT. I really appreciate my therapist, for all that she has done. It is her that has allowed me to find therapy in performance. Before that, it was all nerves.

BTW, I’m just gonna delete that stuff below. It’s now redundant and so you will not see it. As such, these words are pointless. So, you have a definition, some other words, a fewer complaints, [sic], and a numbered list. Based on this, I feel that you’re in a good position to read the coming pieces of. This series will continue to be about BUSKING. I will continue to highlight the events that happen to me in this context. And, if I end up sounding nuts, if only due to my capacity for randomness and maybe actually being nuts from time to time, that’s OK. Perhaps the point is to let you see where I am similar to you. Yes, there’s the differences, but what fun is it focusing on those ALL THE TIME?

NO.

Later, dude.

PS — Women are not ALL evil. I would NEVER believe this for a second. Still, the downfall of Solomon was/had something to do with CUTTING HAIR and WOMEN, if I’m not mistaken/not combining two of the characters from the bible. This is ALWAYS possible. It is ALWAYS possible to combine characters.

That’s called a story, man.

Once again, later.

Dude.

PS|1.5 — I don’t want to proof this right now, but I DO wish to keep the following distraction from what WAS below. As such, that message above was NOT pointless. It just seemed like it were.

AN OPEN WINDOW

HAIR BLASTING TO THE REAR

SOMETHING SOMETHING, SONIC THE HEDGEHOG

At least that’s the way I see it.

Double Second PS Double Second :: I promise, someday, I will switch to ALL FEMALE PRONOUNS. For now, I’m not doing so as there’s not really any cool female equivalents to MAN and DUDE.

I propose, here, in closing, in post, script, that we use the following equivalents:

MAN ~ MARIA

DUDE ~ DOOBIE

As always, feel free to ignore me.