Back from the Gutter – The Busker’s View Love is Pleasing and Love is Teasing

By Michael Houston — “Love is all there is, that makes the world go round.”
Bob Dylan, 1969

Was he/I kidding us/me/himself, or what?

Who knows? Me, a consortium of my inner voices colluded in chorus like an act at the Bach Festival and promised riffs on love direct from the Collective Unconscious. Cool. (That was Bach Festival not Jazz Festival!)

“You know our lifetime love will be all right,” – Blind Faith. Done. Mission accomplished and back off subject.

Joking aside, one asks our/my/your ids, “Do I/you blame inner voices for your present revolting emotional predicament?” Do you ask, “I just a sex machine with a brain? And if so, why are both so wonky? ”

Our souls shout back, “Love’s love’s loves, loves!”

Which explains everything quite well if you don’t misread it. Why blame your stream of consciousness when the real problem is the hot wired connection between my/our/your big mouth(s) and what passes for the thought processes these days. So, with all things, even love itself, “We ask does this stuff operate apart from terrestrial reality, and, by the way, am I a shaman or just another bodhisattva?”

Yes, and possibly no, but we’re doing love not national politics this month.

So yes, gnome hearts, love is all there is, and it gives us the amazing power to live without thinking. We’re now on the road to El Dorado (not the street); Nirvana (not the band); Valhalla (the culturally diverse one); Enter’n Exit burger joints, (yes,the carbs and red meat cult).
So eat, love and pray by these simple rules.

• Eat – Don’t eat this humor rag! (No, I’m not saying it’s toxic. It may well be a fine source of fiber.) Just archive it with your other literary treasures or recycle it when you’re done mutilating the jokes in retelling.

• Love – Don’t use Foolish Times to break anyone’s loving heart by wrapping it around a sharp stick and perforating their chest cavity. (our coastal elite nonviolence bias.)

• Pray – No gluttony or love triangle suicides on our watch! Pray read on. It could get better.

“I wanna’ know what love is…” even if I don’t want you to show me. Love is more than series of bad judgments, ridiculous projections, and weird outcomes. W. B. Yeats warned, “Never give too much of the heart.” He’s wrong. This is Monterey. Go for it, and good luck with your karma, free will, predestination, bad luck, or the way things play out. Lacking all else, there is shadenfreud. You may find love with someone else who finds joy in other people’s sorrows.

Music is love; love is money; and money can’t buy me love. That formula squares the great circle of life. No worries. Unless, you, like everyone else on Earth, have issues with love, money, and/or music. In other words, “What’s love got to do with it?”

Charity is love. St Paul said so! By extension, love is giving money to members of the hospitality community upon delivery of food, drink, or some semi-desired requested service. Listen to the voice that says, “God wills it!” Alternately, bring fleeting joy into the life of a street player at the peak of their artistic career.

Rock aficionados, bad street covers of your favorite anthems are really updated versions of mega hits for the tone deaf. Hear it played wrong? Show the love. Throw money into the offending busker’s money receptacle.

Love thy busker as thine selves. Don’t go putting money into the coffee cup the artist is drinking from! There’s a gifted mandolin player looking for the joker what done that one on him mid-solo not so long ago. He hasn’t said whether the quarter tasted good.

Charity (love) begins in the street, not the ocean. Don’t put your money directly into garbage cans. Practice philanthropy and we will transform it and return it to the water cycle via the delightful ale houses which make our town what it has always been.

Show the love! Act now, July may be National Take a Busker to a Pub Month. Love takes many forms…

In the words of Robbie Burns, “O my Luve is like a red, red rose…”

Not in Monterey. The deer got it. Now it’s like deer droppings, dude.

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