So i go for a little walk down the road, and it appears that the place "float on" is expanding... their business is sensory deprivation tanks that help you achieve a Zen like state, if you will. 4 dudes are knocking out a wall with carpenter hammers and dust masks, chipping away little holes in the drywall... i take it they are expanding. A horrible excuse for a smashing exercise if i ever saw one... i could donkey kick those walls down faster in my birkenstocks... and then there is my 16lb sledgehammer... i could putt those studs out of there in no time achieving a zen state of calmness that no sensory deprivation tank could ever hope to. I really wanted to step in there and straighten those children out... if your are going to smash out things @ 1am then go for it and feel the power of a good smashing... smashing is fun, make no mistake about it. It was paining me to see a good demolition go so feebily, but maybe they were saving it up, on some other trip, poking little holes, making dust... i guess it is their gig, and they will get it done.
The question is do i go back there @ 1:15 am with my sledgehammer and show them how it's done? Could somebody get injured? Probably, but smashing is a blood sport and an injury is like a trophy on the mantle... I came, i saw, i smashed. With my luck i might show up and give a speech on the fine art of smashing and in my first blow take out a live outlet that some fool forgot to trip the breaker on causing all manor of chaos... after all i do have beer and words here.
But smashing is so fun... a nice destructive blow to something that once was... sound, violence, danger. The bad part about smashing is cleaning up the mess after the smashing is complete... that's when i slip away, perhaps into a tank to bask in the glow of a fine smashing. All quiet and warm the blood pumping through the ear canal.
I will go and lie in one of those tanks one day and see what i have to say to myself when i'm all alone in the sensory world... hopefully the vision of a woefully disorganized and muted demolition job doesn't enter my conscience at that time. Pretty sure i can overcome it with the power of music... my next song will be about Cesar Estrada Chavez... there is a street in Portland named after the guy and the way i see it if a Mexican can get a street named after him in the U.S.A. then he must be one king hell individual, not like the swine Harvey Scott, who i thought my first Portland song would be about, but then upon further research had to change course. It's all good, a song about Mt. Tabor was the way to go, and if Mr. Scott helped bring that to fruition then maybe he did something good after all.
Perhaps a song about a demolition job on Hawthorne could be in order... somebody once said "don't let the facts get in the way of a good story"... smashing on Hawthorne could have wings.
The question is do i go back there @ 1:15 am with my sledgehammer and show them how it's done? Could somebody get injured? Probably, but smashing is a blood sport and an injury is like a trophy on the mantle... I came, i saw, i smashed. With my luck i might show up and give a speech on the fine art of smashing and in my first blow take out a live outlet that some fool forgot to trip the breaker on causing all manor of chaos... after all i do have beer and words here.
But smashing is so fun... a nice destructive blow to something that once was... sound, violence, danger. The bad part about smashing is cleaning up the mess after the smashing is complete... that's when i slip away, perhaps into a tank to bask in the glow of a fine smashing. All quiet and warm the blood pumping through the ear canal.
I will go and lie in one of those tanks one day and see what i have to say to myself when i'm all alone in the sensory world... hopefully the vision of a woefully disorganized and muted demolition job doesn't enter my conscience at that time. Pretty sure i can overcome it with the power of music... my next song will be about Cesar Estrada Chavez... there is a street in Portland named after the guy and the way i see it if a Mexican can get a street named after him in the U.S.A. then he must be one king hell individual, not like the swine Harvey Scott, who i thought my first Portland song would be about, but then upon further research had to change course. It's all good, a song about Mt. Tabor was the way to go, and if Mr. Scott helped bring that to fruition then maybe he did something good after all.
Perhaps a song about a demolition job on Hawthorne could be in order... somebody once said "don't let the facts get in the way of a good story"... smashing on Hawthorne could have wings.
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