Folkie

Crazy Like Me?

Folkies were avid folk music junkies into alternative and bohemian lifestyles. We were not Hippies.

I’ve gathered together some of my memories. There are few stories of the great, except by reflection.

Just as in a grand opera the stage is flooded with people. Only a few are stars. But the rest of us also have our stories and those are the ones I choose to tell.

Kept Man

Kept man. Now there’s a descriptor that you wouldn’t generally associate with yours truly. Up until the seventies, I was rail thin. I also had what would be described today as an unruly shock of hair that resembled an anime hairdo. I got up in the morning and ran my fingers through it, and that was it. I was always hungry and either buried in a book or practicing guitar.

Well spent

Funny, isn’t it how you remember where you were at certain times. You recollect right down to the greasy calf D-ringed engineer boots on your feet, going clump, clump, clump on the stage. You can recall in great detail the set list taped to the top of the guitar and how you wished they’d killed all but the single spot you’d requested.

Plans

People who knew me then and later became reacquainted with me had issues getting used to calling me Lou and accepting the fact that I was not always on the road and doing nutsy things.

Party Time

The Monk looked at the Teahouse of the August Moon and stated, “pareidolia, seeing a pattern or image that is not there. A psychological phenomenon not uncommon in inebriates.

Originality

It was perhaps ten PM. Sitting in the back of the coffeehouse Rienzi, my girlfriend practiced her version of “A High flying Bird”

Weaver

It was one of those rambling discussions that tend to occur at four AM when everyone was sobered up, tired, but too revved up to sleep.

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