hello world. it's beth sneaking in a blog while Quin is out with the beagle. Someone said to me the other day, what's her name? you always just call her "the beagle". I told him/her the beagle's name, of course, but reflected for quite a while about that. When one is a beagle, it is such an important thing to be, that you can hardly refer to her as any other thing. It would be like calling the king, ralph. People don't say of a king, "what is his name, you always call him 'the king'. There is a reason for calling a soul who is a beagle, "the beagle".
Quin has returned briefly from the ether, I think, as a result of Matthew, his brother's sojourn in new york. The beautiful elfen, white worldish, errol flinish Matthew arrived last friday bringing with him the incredibly lovely Tamsin. Imagine the two most gorgeous people in the world, and you may just begin to approach these two. As Depak Chopra would say "The Poet Rumi" wrote. trying to describe god to someone, it is like an angel (or bird, something with wings) whose size takes up the entire world, and you can see only one feather, just the tip of one wing. The size is such that you can't imagine the rest. We must be satisfied with just that tiny tip. At any rate, soon after their arrival, the buzzer bleeped, I asked "who is it?" and heard those magic three words, "It's me baby". Matthew and Tamsin leave this evening and so I am sure that soon after, Quin will ascend back to the ether whence he came. At least as soon as we have our next thunder storm, which could be any second now.
It has been a wonderful, if tearful, few days. Many lessons learned by all. The greatest learned by me, as usual. We performed at the bar of a dear friend last night. The dear friend owns a building filled with cranky rent control tennants. We performed there without amplification because she, the dear friend, had suffered complaints from said tennants when last she had performers there who had used microphones and the like. I happen to be quite a good singer with a strong voice. After a particularly good couple of songs, Bessie Smith and so on, which my friends told me they couldn't hear because of the loud talking of the suit clad folks in the bar, my dear friend called me aside and gave me quite a lecture. She told me that I could no longer sing, moreover, I could not even be seen standing in the window. "Why?" i believe I hear you ask with poignant interest. Well, I'll tell you. poor friend had suffered complaints again because I was singing too loudly. Fascinating, isn't it. At first i was quite frankly flattered. Later I reverted to my child self and wept. The reason? As a child and adolescent I learned that I was not allowed to speak, let alone sing, even though my parents spent a bit of change "training" me to sing at the top of my lungs. Mostly, parents try to TRAIN the joy right out of singing, or painting, or whatever the method of self expression is. I don't mean to be maudlin here, or self absorbed or to inflict feelings of pity in those of you reading this, but it is interesting to see the old pattern repeat itself. So in the face of this, it seems we have two choices, either we keep ourselves shut up, or we sing even louder. if life were a novel, we would sing louder and receive huge acclaim and win in the end. Be victorious with a brilliant ending where everyone dances in the street while we sing sing sing. That's what we're taught. But life is never a novel. Nor a movie either. Aint no brilliant ending in life usually. So we sing sing sing and the better we sing the more folks try to shut us up. It's a hard world we've created. We've made our souls rigid. We don't like to hear singing because it means that we can't or won't. We don't like seeing fearlessness or a little bit of joy because it reminds us of what we aint got. And oh, the shame is hard. So, just so you know, I'll be singing loudly and well, but the lesson is learned. I don't expect anyone to want me to. Quin tells the truth. Read this blog and know that he speaks the truth from the ether. The better you are, the less anyone likes you. Goodness and truth make folks really uncomfortable. Goodness and truth is like a ringworm under the skin.
My dear friend is scared silly that her tennants are going to call the cops and she'll get slapped with a 4000 dollar fine because i'm singing without amplification. That's a pretty good press release in a few years, but it made me sad last night. I wish someone would give me that 4000 dollars. i could use it to pay my taxes on the money I haven't made this year. That's another lesson I've learned. The less you make the more they tax you. it's very strange. really. All you other learn-ed poor people out there know this lesson. We can't stop working all together or they'll charge you so much that you have to beg from your mother, who won't give you anything because she thinks you should be working . . . The mother says "your father and I worked so hard for our money," but she hasn't worked for the last forty years of her life. When she did work, forty or fifty years ago, she taught skool for a couple of years.
oh well.
oh well.
It's been a wonderful week for lesson learning, and we have the most beautiful animals on the face of the earth. If you want to see what I mean, check out Anarchist Home and Garden at RagtimeTexas.com. You'll see the beagle and the kitty too.
You'll probably hear from Quin next. Back out there in the ether. You'll get your usual dose of political ranting and raving. he'll be surprised when he sees that I've slipped this in here.
Oh, i do want to tell you, that I've been meaning to update RagtimeTexas.com, but I'm putting it off because we just got all of the spiders crawling all over the site and i want them to have time to read everything. Do this, it's exciting. Go to google, and do a search under hypernovel. THE EMPIRE OF DR. BIENKE comes up as number 11. Being in the top ten is a webmistress's dream. We almost have one dream done. do that today. It's fun.
All right.
Back to Quin.
12:26:38 PM 
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