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RAMBLIN WAYN -- ART
Music- Poetry- Paintings LIVIN' IS AN ART - VIRTUAL GALERY
WITH THE AFTER-TASTE OF WHISKEY - Column by Ramblin Wayn
I dreamt last night that the world was getting better. A world without war. Because wisdom and prudence is better than any instruments of war and greed. A world without poverty, without pain and sadness. A world without blues. It was raining.
I was alone in bed with the after-taste of whiskey. Bourbon. Although the Scots compete with Irish that you have to spell whiskey otherwise with ' y ', a tag. But I prefer corn-liquer, o my Cherokee land, country of the harvesting, land of ancestors, when the white-faces has not yet had taken possession of the mighty plains and millions of bisons wandered about the endless meadows. Until skin became their death, their tongues as a delicacy in the major cities, their bones glue and finally their excrement for fuel. Meat was there to rotten. It was raining.
I was alone in bed with the after-taste of whiskey. Bourbon. Jack Daniels. And dind't chose God Brazil as the country to spent his vacations? Country of birds, plants, animals of God his kingdom. O paradise, he said, but look what kind of people I sent over there. Trampled by loners. Now it become a nation of football and samba. Land of Indians and slave children. Favelas, Shanytowns, shacks where the bullets fly as signs of insanity, mothers, children, beneath their beds of fear. Police glories to revenge. In my dream horses run in fierce areas under the flurry of white birds. The forests were greener than ever, a realization that Indians managad to begun. That one man should not be denied by the other, where the peaks are like breasts of a magical witch. In my dream where poverty is a phenomenon of another time. When there were only natural laws and mankind was allready evolved from the sea. The fish crawled ashore and became something like us, slow as a snail. Fins, legs, upright, walking, thinking, monkeys, manipulated. Billions of years ago. Millions. Being realistic is a vague concept. So what is the present of men whom aspires are to be a winner? Nothing.
A dust particle, nothing more. Poverty and wealth exists as the outgrowth of envy. He who doesn't have enough of what mother earth gives him. We must realize that the time shall come when we fade to splinters. We are simply here to survive and not to be to survived. Destruction is already present, look at the disasters, the tidal waves, trembling earth. Hunger, war, destruction and the Dafur conflict in Sudan is slightly different from the Canary Islands. My God! Is this a warning or just an omen? Shall we, all of us, have to think about the future world? Will the world of tomorrow for children be a yesterday option? There is salvation! It was raining. I was alone in bed with the after-taste of whiskey. Bourbon. Jim Beam. But then everyone have to stick out his neck. Smoke of chimneys and gases of cars, who want to change? Smog of Sao Paulo, Mexico city, New York, Bogotá or Tokyo. Who cares? The leaders? Sleepy heads, egoists, manipulated by capitalist. We are at the mercy of the gods. We live in a consumer society. Eating, drinking and consuming. This will never works out. Each one of us, have to make for themselves that point, what the closest thing to natural life. Love? Understanding? Up in the sky is peace (In caleos quis), but who wanna go to heaven? Or go to hell? Who wants to return? Reincarnation of the superhuman. and maybe I will return like in the shape of a mustang, running over the plains. Wild, restless, free! Life on Earth is a privilege, but not to everyone. The most dangerous idiot is the brother of arrogance, the man without scruples. He who thinks that only he can walks. "Let the dead rest said the Eagle to the Raven," and he devoured a lively fat pigeon.
He will perish on high madness. A study is not difficult, the poverty created by humans will become equality in the sense of the word. The capitalist will admit once again that he is a solitary guest in his own home. He who who walk with a money suitcase under his arm. Po' man. Righteousness will win, even though I might be too optimistic. But the notes on my vocals will be tough. The scientist will be better to think it all over. The philosopher will have too scratch himself behind the ear, while the soul doctor should learn from the insane. Sometimes i am embittered by humanity, the laxity, the ignorance of people, who call themselves leaders. The dirtiest pigs always want the best straw.
I dreamed that the world became better. It was raining. I was alone in a bed with the after-taste of whiskey. Southern Comfort? I was dreaming. I fell in love with a black woman. She rode a white Mare She sang like an Angel. She sang like an Angel. Songs of 'saudade', an indescribable word, like desire. Songs of Maria Bethania. Songs of Bahia. Love songs of the country with timbres. Africa. It was raining. I was alone in bed with the after-taste of whiskey. Jack Daniels.
'My main interest is photograpy, making pictures in every possible way. My interest is the common world. I like to make pictures that refer to small emotions and yet are interesting though simple. Turning the ordinary into something interesting. My nearest surroundings are my inspiration. I'm influenced by movies, paintings, clouds, some people, music, memories, food, and dreams. '
He serves as well gospel, blues and country, just the way he poured Jack Daniel's in to his piano, before he threw his zippo in it.
Recently, he recorded the cd ' mean Old Man ', in which he sings duets with, Eric Clapton, Sheryl Crow, John Fogerty, Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards and Ron Wood.
Country, the bottle, the resurrection Jerry Lee lost two sons but got on his feet again. In 1968, he made his comeback with country music. 15 years, he was heavily on the bottle, untill his stomach tore in 1981. That same year, he co-starred with Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins just one more time live as the survivors.
This song tells about harshness en drought of the brazilian northeast... when the white bird (picazuro pigeon) spread out his wings he leaving the sertâo (backwoods or wilderness), the protagonist of the song does also, driven by poverty. He leaves his love Rosinha behind with the promise to return... saying: goodbye Rosinha... save my heart with thee...
this song was written in 1947 by luiz Gonzaga and Humberto Teixeiro and is considered as one of the Brazilian classics