"Train In Vain". Listening to The Clash on Tuesday morning. It is crisp, cool fall. And hell will be raised at 7 AM as I blast this out of sedan speakers in a suburban peaceful neighborhood, to alert the watchman that no, I am not alright. It's normal and exhilarating to feel mildly psychotic at such an early hour. No repeats, no skips. Playlist rules, car rules, music rules. The energy from the speakers feels electric and makes me up betting that coffee, better than espresso, better than sugar. Nothing opens my eyes more in the morning that clear guitar riff. It demolishes me and gives me the drive to push the pedal a little harder. Strawberry wine Mondays lost and gone forever down some spiral of time. Figuring out a problem with an abacus. This ain't science-fiction. It is so hard to disconnect nowadays, leading to general and overall discontent. It pervades all areas of life. When I reach my destination I don't want to get out of the car. I just want to sit here, in the chill, and keep on listening. Keep on imagining riffing and playing just like Joe Strummer. The catalyst to a surefire way to procrastinate and - what are you going to do with your life? You know, I'm still figuring out and that has to be okay because it is truth and real and is what it is. And we are all psychic dice being rolled beyond our control. Predetermination is any interesting afterthought to chew on.