I'm awake. I have been granted another day. Maybe twenty, twenty-five years, who knows? Some charlatan is trying to push big society ideas at me. I don't buy it. I'm very fortunate. There is someone who cares. I was born into a world where Thelonious Monk existed. Not to mention Captain Beefheart's Magic Band, which came later. Desert blues. Still rocking. How low can I go? The sky is blue, the sea is green, a bicycle is being pedalled. Yesterday Nelson Mandela was 92. I shall, in celebration, play an E flat minor sixth chord (or C half diminished, if you will), and tomorrow, with my friends, we shall play Arabic Dance. This is beautiful, but the world as presently constituted is not beautiful, even though "beauty" is constantly being pushed as a convenient package (to that, I say "down with beauty"). The bin men make a clatter in the street outside, seagulls yelp and scream, a car starts up, a suspended trinket glints in the sun. This is a day.

You can listen to the Moors and see a new photo-montage of the band here.

And I have more to say here.