Most of the people read poetry and read stories and didn't play music. Yeah, there were some disabled folks there, alright. I told Lance Farley a while back that I try to keep in mind that my peers aren't Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Townes Van Zandt, or Steve Earle, but rather whomever does these open mikes with me, no matter their skill level or talent level. Being disabled has been a drag for me in a lot of ways, and I'm reminded on nights like tonight how tough it can be for other people too.
Other places I play have people with a lot higher level of skills and talent. The other end of the spectrum for me is the Songwriter's Circle at Cheatham St. Warehouse. Those people mostly play guitar better than I do, a lot of them can sing a lot better, and a lot of them can write good songs. I just have to go to that one and say, "Fuck it! I'll lay 'Sara' on 'em" Then I bust out with the opening line of "Sara:" "Do you want me to kill that rapist, do you Sara?"
Which brings us to tonight's topic: Super crip. Those are the guys who push themselves across the country in their wheelchairs and shit like that. I guess that I might be a super crip. I sure express that possibility in my music and art, such as the story whose images appear at the top of this page.
Last week I talked about how I might have a new Invisible Woman in my life. Read Richy Vegas; a psycho memoir, parts 2 and 3, for the skinny on the first Invisible Woman. The new one might want me to save the World. If that's the case, then she makes too much of me. I'm a man of no special skill, though I've fought in many battles, I suppose. I've won some. I've lost some. Mostly lost. I am Kenbei Shimada. I am ronin. No disciples for me. My evening spent with my fellow cripples brought that home.
If she wants to do like the first Invisible Woman and go around sticking harmonicas in peoples' mouths, I've got no problem with that. Kid's stuff, compared with saving the World. All I can ever do is show up. I hope that there is no Wanda to laugh in my face when I do.