Many years ago, at the dawn of my cafe-artist life, where I ceased actually making music and began talking about it and art while exploring new dimensions of inebriation, my cafe-artist crew and I were sitting around a going through pitcher after pitcher of beer (we had yet to discover the efficiency of brandy, gin, and whiskey) and there was a table full of art-school-fruityloops at the next table, discussing something about ... i'm not sure, but I would surmise modern dance ...

"The toe is trivial!" blurted out a another certified cafe-artist in a shrill, nasally whine that cut through the din ...

I ridiculed then the remark, the sentiment, and even the anonymous ass-clown who said it, and I do so again as I type these words almost 35 years later.

Berkeley is possibly the Cafe-Artist capital of the world. I say possibly only because I've not spent any time in New York, London, Paris, or any other boho-certified metropolis long enough to determine. San Francisco has a new breed of cafe-artist: the Burners (a derivation of Burning Man), but that is an essay for another day.

As a result of my experiences in the cafe-artist world for many years, I thoroughly enjoyed the movie Art School Confidential.

A few years back, when I was hiding out in Hollywood, I got to a point where it seemed as if the jig was up. I was staying in a friend's place.

I was in a near-suicidal state of depression. Nothing was going according to plan. All the Hollywood bullshit (promised investors, etc.) had become painfully apparent. I was broke, living off a few sales of HoneyBun kits to distributors, and borrowed money.

I had convinced the company that made HoneyBun Spanking Kits to put out a massage kit, with the idea of breaking out of the adult novelty industry and onto the shelf next to Dirty Girl Soap, where the money was.

They wanted to make a soft-core massage video to go with the oil. I said that was too tacky for HoneyBun. I proposed a relaxation cd. They agreed.

So I did what I have done so many times: I went down below to where the music is. Whatever storms rage above the surface cannot touch me down there.

I can only assume other artists know of which I speak, or anyone who has perhaps submerged him/herself in meditation, or prayer, or focused labor, which, now that I think about it, seem to be the main components of my creative process.

In the time that followed, about three weeks, I composed four songs. When I came out, these are the songs that had flowed through, each about fifteen minutes long:

1. Summer of '68
2. Autumnal Sun
3. Winter Blue
4. Isle of Islay Revisited

Isle of Islay Revisited is the only song I have ever done composed entirely from samples: gongs, chimes, birds, water, guitar, and so on. The title refers to an incredibly sweet and sad ballad by Donovan, on his album Gift From a Flower To A Garden, released in 1968.

I have since reworked the first three songs, taking them from the pastels of the original versions into more technicolor realms. The label I am discussing releasing the cd with insists I redo Isle of Islay Revisited as well. I am in the process of composing a very different piece, although I hope it will have the same placid flow as the original. The label insisted I not have any of the original pieces available on the web (you can hear an excerpt of Winter Blue at my myspace page, however), but since there are issues with samples,etc., on this piece, I think it safe to offer to you for download.

Download Isle of Islay Revisited

You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.

And when two lovers woo
They still say, "I love you."
On that you can rely
No matter what the future brings
As time goes by.

Moonlight and love songs
Never out of date.
Hearts full of passion
Jealousy and hate.
Woman needs man
And man must have his mate
That no one can deny.

It's still the same old story
A fight for love and glory
A case of do or die.
The world will always welcome lovers

Another family-values Republican exposed as being homosexual. Will it never end? 

Attention gentle Christians: ALL OF YOUR REPUBLICAN AND RELIGIOUS LEADERS ARE g-a-y, gay, GAY, GAY!!!
At least our queens are upfront about it. Vote Democratic!

Glenn Murphy, Jr., in the upper left of this picture, the recently elected chairman of the Young Republican National Federation (also the RNC Chair for Clark County, Indiana and formerly the YRNF Secretary) has been accused of sexually assaulting a sleeping man. Immediately following the accusation, he came up with an unrelated reason to resign, and the YRNF cleansed their website of his name.

Allegedly, Murphy and another YR were drunk and crashing at Murphy's sister's house. The other man apparently awoke in the morning to find Murphy giving him a non-consensual blow job. The Clark County (Indiana) Sheriff's Department is charging Murphy with "criminal deviate conduct", a Class B felony.

Taking Down Words, an Indiana blog, has been following this guy for some time. And guess what? Apparently this isn't the first time his mouth has ended up on someone's privates while they were asleep. Glenn Murphy has a prior arrest for sexual battery. Here's the 1998 Clark County police report. A snippet, for your entertainment. 

Be sure to click on the links. Apparently, the Young Republicans are scrubbing the site of any reference to him. Just like when male prostitute Jeff Gannon was hired by the right-wing Texas website Talon News Services to sit in the White House steno, I mean, press pool. (click on read more for answers)