Tag: writing

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Best way forward in 2026? Do the things we love to do with all our love, heart & soul. For the Lovely Carla and I, that means making music with our band, whitewolfsonicprincess, and the incredible collection of creative souls we are lucky to create with & know. Fellow creative spirits onto the next thing. Creating new songs, new worlds, exploring new territory. For us, the new year also means spending lots of time with our little flock of birds, and all the happy little furry creatures we hang with; living with body, mind & spirit aligned, navigating a fantastically strange existence as best we can.

Still, 2026 in America: difficult circumstannces, no doubt…

If you have read Cormac McCarthy’s post-apocalyptic novel “The Road,”  (2006) (it is a worthy read), you know one of the key existential questions, that “the Boy” asks “his Father,” after much drama & trama, and a long, winding journey across a bleak & scarred land, a question that sort of makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up:  “Are we still the good guys?” 

It’s a question that this particular American is asking himself this particular morning, the 1st day of 2026. This country I live in has taken a very dark turn. The USA is being led by a criminal & a criminal administration. All evidence points to the conclusion that “No, sorry to say, we aren’t still the good guys.”

Crimes against humanity near & far. The USA now seems to be a force for evil, corruption, murder, greed, racism, white supremacy & idiocy. It’s a major bummer. Makes living in the USA a very difficult proposition. A thorny, contradictory, porcupine-like existence.

It’s  a killer conundrum. I cling to a disciplined positivity as a basic & essential survival strategy, but also I adhere to a determined clarity. To see the world as it really is, not just how I want it to be, no rosy-colored glasses. Clarity. Stone-cold clear-seeing.

How to live a good life, knowing that crimes are being committed in my name every damn day? The only answers I can conjure up: Stay close to ground. Create music. Try to do my best to be honest, true, with positive thoughts for a better day and a better way. Love those I love. And resist, oppose the evil-doers,  refuse to go along with the idiocy, and the bad actions of others, to stand against them with every ounce of my being. 

The Lovely Carla and I choose Love, Grace, Beauty, Intelligence. Happy New Year! – Jammer

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I finished reading Patti Smith’s “Bread of Angels” (2025). It is a beautiful, “death-haunted,” memoir. I suppose if you live long enough you too will become “death-haunted.” Death is sort of the mystery that envelops every life. Those of us still living must contend with the reality and finality of death in our own particular ways. Patti reaches out to the mystery & the poetry. It’s admirable, inspiring and deeply sad too. I was happy to read the book, and also happy to finish it. Patti lost some of her most significant lovers, inspirers, and co-conspirators early on. And she lost many more significant & influential folks over the years. She pays tribute to all those who gifted her along the way. An extraordinary life. The r&r shaman & poet. I recently purchased the 50th Anniversary Edition of her debut album “Horses.” (1975). The remaster CD sounds fantastic. One of the greatest debut albums of all time with probably, for me, the greatest opening lines of all time. Certainly lines that made this lasped-Catholic boy sit up and take notice. Yes. Head-opening. A glorious liberation: “Jesus died for somebody’s sins, but not mine…”  The lines that follow are epic too: “… my sins are my own… they belong to me… to me…” Very Jean Paul Satre “existentialist,” don’t you know?! And then throughout her rendition of the classic r&r song, “Gloria,” Patti adopts the persona of a very insistent & aggressive rebellious-tomboy, on the hunt for a pretty young thing, “leaning on the parking meter, humping on the parking meter,” or maybe she’s imagining embodying a creative, rebellious, rambunctious boy, something along the lines of a young, surrealist-cowboy-mouth Dylan or an illminated Arthur Rimbaud? You know, totally, fucking extraordinary, mind-expanding r&r, right up there with Dylan’s great album “Highway 61 Revisited” (1965).- Jammer

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We know people, who know people, who are being terrorized & assaulted by ICE here in our beautiful town, and surrounding localities. ICE is acting like a lawless force, snatching folks off the streets: Mothers, Fathers, hard working folks, carried away to god knows what gulag-hell-hole, leaving young children Motherless & Fatherless, crying and alone. Totally ripping families apart. This is madness. It’s happening out on streets blocks away from our home. It’s happening in beautiful Chicago Neighborhoods like Little Village, Pilsen, Lakeview, and yes, our sleepy little Town, Evanston. Such cruelty, pointless, heartless, nihilistic cruelty, with no purpose. Really, just raw power imposed on the defenseless Humans. Very, very sick. 

ICE is an obscene abomination. Of course, it should be abolished. It is being used as a tool for this Facsist/Authoritarian regime. It is ugly, counter to everything we hold dear here in America.

We spent time at a little art-space, Compound Yellow a truly extraordinary art-space last night. A shaggy, welcoming, friendly room, well-lit, and comfortable, filled with creative, engaged, intelligent Human Beings. The Crimes Against Humanity out on the streets loomed over us all. We are the kind of people who see an attack on one of us as an attack on all of us. We see ourselves as part of a beloved community, a collection of beings that includes folks of all colors, creeds, & persuasions. We are diverse & inclusive. We open our arms and hearts to all. We talked of the pain, the sadness, the disgusting displays of power being inflicted upon our Brothers & Sisters, and how we are all deeply wounded, but at the same time absolutely firm in our opposition.  

Folks are rallying to help the children. Folks are out on the streets witnessing & filming the atrocities, and voicing their deep contempt of the actions & crimes of the ICE thugs. Last night we played music, we gathered together as a community of souls. We think of this creative pursuit as the good work, soul-work, enriching & life affirming, we think it is the antidote to the tragedies unfolding across our country. We are filled with sadness and righteous anger. We oppose this super-charged cruelty with all of our hearts and heads. A disciplined non-violence. and a dedicated, deep in the bone, opposition to this terrible shite. – Jammer

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Relevant Question. Was the Chilean novelist & poet, Roberto Bolano, Antifa?! Anti-fascist? No doubt. We throw our lot in with Roberto. Last night we played as a trio in Kathy’s Living, a wonderful home & music room. Intimate, gorgeous, perfectly-appointed, welcoming, inspiring. A gathering of the beautiful people, you know the “beloved community” of souls.

We were so lucky to share the night with Lisa Zane. She is a powerhouse, a creative dynamo. She commands a room with every breath & move. She was backed by a tremendously gifted, mysteriously-un-named guitar player. A beautiful wide-ranging set. Songs from their gorgeous record “Mysteries of Spain,” new songs recently recorded with her “flamenco-punk band” Flapunco, and a couple of cool covers; Joni Mitchell, and yes, The Beatles.

Then we did a reading from Roberto Bolano’s “Amulet” (1999).

From our introduction: “Roberto Bolano often wrote about human beings living under a heavy boot.  Sort of an echo, a foreshadowing of  our new American Dystopia.  He emerged as a writer at a time when people  no longer believed in utopias, when paradise had become a sort of living hell. People disappeared off the streets, mothers and fathers taken away in the dark of night, children left to fend themselves.  Of course, as an antidote and response to the cruelty and horror of the authoritarians, there are always the artists, the poets, the storytellers, the musicians, all of us seeking love, wild abandon, living life to the fullest.  Truth-seekers. Truth tellers. Always searching, & remembering”

Sort of a code for better living. We refuse to knuckle under the new American Fascism. Finally our trio did a set. I fumbled at first, playing in the dim light, I could barely see the fretboard, but by the 2nd song I adjusted and the set flowed. Thought we played with power & enthusiasm. Seems much of the audience was truly with us. Lots of new folks who never saw or heard us before. Hopefully we made some new fans.

Yes. It was good one. Reminded us of the importance of community, love, intelligence, spirit. It was all alive in the room with us. Over-powering. The antidote to stupid shit flowing from this new ugly dystopia in Washington D.C. – Jammer

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We sat on our favorite bench and watched the waves yesterday, late afternoon. One of our favorite activities, or is it a glorious in-activity? Another perfect Autumn day, blue skies, summer-like temps, a golden fading of the light. Folks were out, swimming, sailing, walking, biking. A little scene of perfection.

We should have been chill and full of peace, love & understanding, but, of course, all is not well in paradise. My partner & I were swirling down a dark tunnel in our minds. Our conversation was all about the raid & brutal assault on the residents in an apartment building on Chicago’s South Shore. The current very corrupt, unwell, President is at war with Blue State America,  with the Big Cities, & with Immigrants. Agents zip-tied little children, moms, dads in a disgusting & immoral raid. We are the kind of people, who believe an assault, an attack on “those people,” is an attack on us too. You know, solidarity with humanity.

Hard to believe this adminstration has decided to make America a fascist, rat-fucking Dystopia. Yes. A dark fascist turn, no doubt. We have lived through bad Presidencies before, especially: Nixon, Reagan, Bush II, but this has gone so bad, so quickly, it is hard to believe, but it is  undoubtably true, this is the New Ugly America, and we are under the thumb of the worst of us. We have a hostile President & Adminstration that is at War with Americans.

We struggled through a conversation. How to keep our heads above water? How to keep calm & carry on when atrocities against our fellow human beings are being carried out by our Government just south of our beautiful vista?

A fellow traveller came riding by on his bike, he stopped at our bench. We exchanged “Hello’s,” and then he talked about the horror that was on his mind too. Funny. It’s was an oddly-uplifting conversation. It was strangely gratifying to know that someone else was also consumed with thoughts & feelings of disgust, dismay, & Helplessness. At least we knew that someone else was Awake too.

Our friend is a father of three children. “What do I tell my kids? I can’t tell them they are fucked, I have to be positive for them.”

Then we reviewed the reality of our collective situation. What to do? March. Protest. Write. Speak up. Alive. Aware. Awake. Be a Witness to the atrocities. And denounce them. And, of course, Vote when & if we can. We all still want to live in the country we grew up in, even if it seems to be vanishing right before our eyes & ears.

Our fellow traveller wished us well, and then he went on his way. We got up from the bench, & walked down the path, wondering to ourselves, what fresh fuckery will be next? And how the hell do we live with it? – Jammer

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William Blake etching from the Book of Urizen

I think it was Nick Cave, front-man of the Bad Seeds, who said something about Hope being a “warrior spirit.” It resonates with me. Hoping against Hope. Sometimes I find myself hanging onto Hope as a life-raft. Even I am surprised how I can conjure up a lightening-flash of Hope in the lowest & darkest of times. Maybe it’s just an impulse, finding Hope for no good reason? Lately Hope comes with a little smile of incomprehension. It is sort of a bold “fuck you” to the tenor of the times. The idea of giving up Hope is just Hopeless, distasteful, anti-Life. Hope is just a tiny glimmer of an intention; a speck of light, a strange, little, zingy feeling shooting through my veins. Can’t explain it. I think it’s just embedded in me, it’s there with me, I suspect it will be with me as long as I can draw a breath, blink an eye. So yeah, the shit is coming down hard, things look quite dark & bleak. The evil-doers and assholes are ascendent, but I just can’t stop that funny little warrior spirit bubbling up, animating my being. You know it’s a gnarly, nasty, recalcitrant, rebellious, fuck-you, Bartelby the Scrivener: “I would prefer not to,” thing. Maybe it’s tough-minded, hard-wired discipline? An always rooting for the Underdog position. Losing is part of it. The losses come fast, hard and relentlessly, like a ravenous shark. Disagreeing with my fellow Humans? That’s cool. Being out-numbered, pushed around by the bully? Made to eat dirt?  Oh, well. The not giving in, the resistance to that shite, makes one stronger. “Fuck, everything didn’t go my way.” Ha. That’s life, buddy. That’s when you turn to the rebels like Joe Strummer, “The Future is Unwritten.” That’s when Hope really comes into play. Hope; spiky, gnarly, weezing, cursing, crusty, beat-up, you know, I think it’s true, Hope dies last, the dark is always contending with the light, it’s a battle moment to moment. Damn the torpedoes.- Jammer