Don't you witches forget about kj. She turned me into a frog once, so I know she has power. On the way to the church, I think she stops in Salem to absorb more witch energy from sisters in her coven. Uh oh.............ribbbett.....ribbett........ribbett............

how could any of us here forget about kj?
i don't think any of us has forgotten about you either larry! :)

ribbett....ribbett...ribbett...

KJ's place is the intended destination.

Now Shel......don't give TOO much away

Agnes, the use of antibitotics was not involved as Shigella has been causing dysentery for centuries. The question (as MG points out) is did 4 species evolve from one or did one species devolve from 4? (It is that funny time thing).

I survived the trifecta (yes, three, count them, three) hernia at once! I have a full script of vicodan (I hate codeine) to boot!

Night time is the right time and baby the right time is now!
(a pointed question, how can this lyric be related back to the amazing Bobby D in a totally random world?)

(Hint: the same can be said for this diamond ring doesn't mean what it did before)

psb!!
it is good to hear from you! you doing alright?
good to be on the other side of that ordeal i imagine...whew!
i hope you don't need to take them pills for too long

i don't know the answer to your question though right off (listen at me saying "right off" like i'll have it figured out anytime soon or something)...the first lyric sounds like it came from a beer commercial....i don't know

night have been used for a beer commercial...include in the mix Lynard Skynard!

does al kooper have anything to do with it?

Al Kooper, couldn't believe he wrote This Diamond Ring (doesn't shine for me anymore). Anyway, I thought of him because I heard the Slow Goonbash Blues of all things in a Ruby Tuesday eating place. Odd song to hear out like that? I was going to post the Bullfrog Quick Step here (A Rambling Meditation on great debates of coffee, songs and the FGod) but I just didn't do it...

I played a bunch of Old Blues Project stuff after hearing the Goon Bash Blues..I always liked Danny Kalb guitar and the Keep From Crying Feedback stuff...I used to have a record called Live at Town Hall that had an electric Flute Thing...I used to crank that up when i was a little kid (it was great being a little kid).....I was trying to find my old Here Comes Shuggie Otis LP (Anybody else ever hear that with Oxford Grey, I used to crank that too?)...

the bullfrog quickstep?
that title just draws me in
and i imagine it wouldn't quite brace a person exactly for the actual rambling meditations :) wheee!
oh well, if ya don't feel like it right now that's okay...another thing on another day then?

i haven't heard any shuggie otis myself...just shows to go ya how much i know

i fear being part of Larry's advil whisky issue or i would post it. Larry, How you doing man?

I am sure you have heard of Shuggie's dad, Johnny!

Hand Jive, Doing that crazy hand jive.

You know most people, I don’t think, in general, think about Bullfrogs! I don’t know what made me think about them? I was probably singin’ in my head while I was asleep. Singin’, playing guitar, winking for a shot at ecstasy, drinking whisky all while sleeping, all in my head kind of simultaneous like. ….I think I sing in my head a lot when I sleep. I mean the other day, I awoke and went downstairs for the coffee (I was moving slow as I had a sore belly) and you know I had this thing going on in my head. Doo… bah doo…bump bump bah doo doo….so I looked at the coffee and I looked at the guitar (that I hadn’t touched in some time and new it was not quite tuned) but I looked at the coffee and I looked at the guitar (bah doo doo ringing in my head)…. It must have been a sight. Standing there in my underwear with the big bandage on my middle and confused about which a way to go in the “cold grey light of dawn” as the blue grass song would say….what a conundrum…pick up the guitar and come to “closure” with the stupid song that I was obviously playing in my sleep (probably the big rock star fantasy with the good drugs and the hot chicks…let me see…bah doo doo…no, that song wouldn’t feed that dream)…..so, with my feeble consciousness, how do I sort out my next move…well it is pretty frickin’ obvious right…scan the room for that electronic tuning gizmo with the lights that say E A D G B E when you are riding the right wavelength…If the gizmo isn’t handy and I either have to look for it or tune with my “not quite tone deaf” ears I am going for the coffee…(brains and the logical approach, right?). well, there it was right by my dancing Shiva and BIG FAT Buddha…so on the way to the guitar I grab the gizmo (the coffee is calling but like a martyr I move toward finality..closure and the security of the song…as if in a dream it must be complete, Washburn in my hands and lights moving to that resonance without too many under or overtones (on the gizmo) and before you know it I am trying to remember the chords to a song that is in my past but so recently in my head (I assume) G… to D…. to C back to D now…G back to D… back to C end on D (what’s the firickin’ words..quick brain quick…I knew I should have got the coffee first….wait I got it) Well the first days are the hardest days don’t you worry anymore, because when life looks like easy street there is danger at your door…Think this through with me….let me know your mind…oh oh what I want to know, is are you kind.

So what has that got to do with bullfrogs…I was wondering …. Have you ever woke up with them bullfrogs on your mind?
AAAAAW Lawdy mama papa oh papa mama talking bullfrogs on your mind?…..
that’s a shore sign…. baby…you got bullfrogs on the mind

I woke this morning, talking about a corter, baby was a corter, talk a corter to three
When I woke this morning mmmm it was a corter to three
Damned old bullfrog, wouldn’t let me be

I was thinking about the meditation of the bullfrog? Sitting in the sun..only big eyes and a couple of holes sticking out of the warm greasy mud…time to vocalize with the bullfrog call…late in the night that old frog gets a little horny…gonna make that bullfrog call…maybe a little nutra frog stomp…. (Bullfrog translation)…baby please, I done been in this muddy place too long without your loving, …Let me stand next to your fire!!!! …..The bullfrog has the life of contemplation you know…he just focuses his eyes into a stretch of space the length of his tongue and focuses on the stillness…I mean why would you want to get into a bats head just because he has an echo ability…it is the bullfrog’s Cartesian theatre that keeps a slate clean. The extreme concentration or is it lack of concentration that liberates? If you were to look into the mind of a bullfrog what would a successful bullfrog conscious be? (and now for the bullfrog thoughts)…..I am diggin’ this mud..feels good between the toes…. All is still, all is quiet…..movement sensed with my old primitive eyes….it is fly size….trajectory analyzed…there are flies in the stillness…I can hear ‘em there a buzzin’…..go tongue go…ummmm, jolly yummy and good for the tummy….this mud feels good… I am diggin’ this mud..feels good between the toes ….all is still all is quiet…the bullfrog mantra…ribbit.

I know you must be thinking lunacy, the boy has gone over the top for sure this time! Where is that jacket and find them electrodes for the brain…..shock and awe him back to reality….It is just when I read the book about the Astonishing Hypothesis…I found Crick’s (as well as that philosopher Dennett’s consciousness explained) search for the soul to be focused more on the Bullfrog aspect of the human than the Lion or the Bear or the grand master of his domain aspect of the human. Not that it wasn’t interesting or I didn’t find a review of the mechanics of vision of value…or the discussion of how what you view becomes what you see…Orwellian censor or Stalinist Revision, either way something is happening between the eyes and the realization….it was just the fact that they both just wandered away from what makes a human a human…they focused on the bullfrog aspect.or, what I call,.smackin the fastball….a species eye / bat coordination seems the same as eye / sticky tongue coordination to me!..... the difference, the aspect they avoid, is the frog doesn’t sit in the mud and think I could have evaluated the spin on that fly a little better…good thing I got the big fat sticky tongue…but man can think in afterthought…I picked up the spin on that curve ball as it fell to the outside corner so why the hell didn’t I control those neural response to not swing where I knew the ball wouldn’t be? (you ever see that movie Ship of Fools, I never could hit a curve ball on the outside corner!)

You know when you wake up with bullfrogs on your mind you think of the stupidest crap…it just comes at you…I wake at 2 or 3 in the morning on occasion and just want to return to sleep and the stupid thoughts just overwhelm? My brain refuses to be shut down…I tend to reevaluate the areas of my life I would just as soon forget…. I actually think about how I made this mistake and how I would do that different and lament my dismal ability to communicate and all the suffering it’s caused me and then grand schemes evolve before my closed eyes on how I will change the stupidity that fills my world… (as in the back of my head I scream for sleep and I eye the ticking of the clock) I think of grand schemes that will suddenly create effective communication…not only in my own trivial little world of misinformation and/or miscommunication…but on the grand scale…the big stage..THE SHOW….and all the while I just want to sleep….but sleep doesn’t come until dawn. And like the Indian boy on the moonlit night lying on rocks to keep sleep away (if I could just lose the damn rocks), I actively look for visions. I have visions of the four horseman of the apocalypse and, on those nights of manic thought dreams that keep me awake beyond my control I grow anxious in thoughts of my tomorrow and then consider how sad it is to dread your future….as the sun comes up the internal television shuts down just as I should be getting up to go downstairs and get my coffee and see the guitar and there I am…a man with a night full of anxiety and bullfrogs on my mind, finally falling to sleep in the cold grey light of dawn (as the bluegrass songs would say).

Did you ever wake up with them bullfrogs on your mind?

Maybe I am underestimating the mental faculties of the Great American Bull Frog, sunk in the mud, a belly full of flies in the heat of the sun, pumping warm amphibian blood. They do, after all, have a unique contemplative perspective, energy flow animating life, the Heraclites fire in real time. It is funny the words that change perception? I was reading with intense fascination Bertrand Russell’s masterwork on Western Thought when suddenly doubt filled my mind as Mr. Russell proclaimed it fanciful that the description of a physical process like fire could be applied to any meaningful description of life. The burning bush with a fire that doesn’t consume, the one nod to Greek thought in the entire Old Testament and Mr. Russell dismisses it as archaic symbolism in this new dawn of the nuclear age. The Bull Frog has the perspective, as the waves from the sun crash into the physical manifestation of the pond world and send the electrons dancing that heat the mud that warms the amphibian blood or the photons that strike the chlorophyll in the bacterial remnants in the leaves of the plants on the shore and create the great cycle of life, reducing equivalents from here to there and back again. The energy of the sun stored on the banks as manna from heaven (and yes Mr. Russell fired by the great Atomic Power, the energy in the sun). What kind of visions would a frog have in the course of such a realization. Obviously, the little frog mind conjures two forces, two wills, one that would dry this potential until it begins to crumble and ignite the reality in a maelstrom of oxygen sucking and electrons smacking back to the beginning in one great act of uncontrolled dissipation and the flames will end the dreams and leave the bodies charred among the rubble. The other will, the different perspective, will gradually transform the energy into living systems and create frog paradise, a cornucopia of flies and hot mud. In either event, the fire will burn, one consumes and one creates. Of course the frog has to be thinking that these opposed will’s are locked in a struggle and when one prevails there must be a prize. And the only prize that could possibly be worth such a struggle of the great frog gods, the big door prize in the frog pond world, are the precious pearl’s, the grand achievement, the spirit, the essence, the souls of all the frogs.

Or possibly that frogs mind wanders in an entirely different direction. Maybe he looks around him and he sees the colors of life (or at least the shades of grey of life) in that September overgrowth. That frog is contemplating his oncoming fate as the sun heads south for the winter and the evenings cool. The frog sees more colors than just green as the photoreceptors break into there various components as the leaves begin their Dionysian transition, the bees go frantic in the mantra of Osiris as the confront the great seasonal sleep. The frog contemplates the Goldilocks magic of how the conditions are just right for life to spring forth right here in this reality and that unless the relative trajectories of the Sun Earth and Moon change this grand rebirth will repeat itself and all the life that lives on this pond has been tuned to seasonal responses, a time to be born and a time to die. So he fills his little frog lungs with air and he fades the focus of his eyes and he dissolves his existence into that autumn sun and contemplates the fundamental essence of life. The frog dreams he is an electron in a water molecule coordinated in a matrix of loosely bound electrons in some grand organic complex with a magnesium center in a leave of grass reality and as the sun comes up photons start heating the base the firmament of his reality and all his compatriot electrons begin spinning into his space as the sun sends them into a dancing frenzy and suddenly collisions occur and an electron coops his base and oxygen radicals speed out into the atmosphere and he is freed and pushed to another energetic state. The prodigal electron (all in the frogs head) full of energy, full of life and he finds a new base and spins into a zone befitting his new state…the place where electrons hit CO2…and he lives in a carbohydrate palace and it is decision time…should he be conservative and line his palace up in a water free world and be cellulose..structurally sound and free of risk…(I could last forever…even reappear in another time, in a far distant future as coal or oil)…or should he dive into the abyss and risk being just a free energy change back to the state of water for the chance at being something bigger,…part of protein or nucleic acid or even finding his way in the membranes as fat…suddenly the frogs meditation is interrupted as a snake on the bank lunges to feed on a small field mouse. As the frog watches that mouse disappear into the alimentary canal of that serpent he then refocuses on the struggle of wills…all is good…all is bad…all this in a frogs head on an autumn morn.

It was right then that FGod looked me straight in the eyes (hell, I didn’t even know he was about) and said, “maybe the soul once located in the mortal remnants of old grumpy Heraclites has transmigrated into the slippery skin of a meditative bull frog” and he began gesticulating in a crazed hoo doo voo doo creepy fashion that could have conjured the devil. Then Roz comes dancing around, hoofs pounding time to the chant, “Does there exist? This entity of transit, this crown of creation, this human soul?” FGod looks for signs of confusion in my eyes. Like the Frog in the pound will I ponder all my aspects of reality and decide there must be a grand dichotomy, the great polarization, Good versus Evil, in a cosmic struggle for the inestimable value of my human essence. The whole affair feeds my visions of a grand gallery of souls all placing wagers before the entrance of the ultimate Judge looking down on the pitiful souls of the likes of Voltaire, Tommy Jefferson, Chuck Darwin, Adolf Hitler, Pat Robertson and Me. What’s the book? on the probability of salvation? Who is the long shot? Who is the favorite? Maybe I would opt for the enlightened soul with lotus petals all about, spouting the words of Preacher Casey…Seems that the world is just one big soul, well it looks that way to me! Then I could just sit back and free my mind of the elusion of this world, control my oxygen flow, blank my mind and dissolve into the great cosmic jet stream of electrons with free will. Then there is the third possibility. That the concoction of souls and gods and boogiemen are just the product of overactive neural cells attached to the sensory system that evolved for the purpose of fastball smacking. Man cast himself in the role of prominence and position in the great Theatre of the Gods, the cosmic object of desire because of his astounding perfection is just a ridiculous secondary function of the selection of his brain for purely pragmatic survival reasons.

Man, as an animal is not alone in establishing an order of power within his community structure. However, man is unique, in that his power structures are based on preconceived fantasies, fairy tales and notions. A magnificent Facade of Wonder.

Did you ever wake up with them bullfrogs on your mind?

Ribbett!

:)