| Quotes from 'Chris in the Morning': |
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| There's a dark side to each and every human soul. We wish we were Obi-Wan Kenobi, and for the most part we are, but there's a little Darth Vader in all of us. Thing is, this ain't no either-or proposition. We're talking about dialectics, the good and the bad merging into us. You can run but you can't hide. My experience? Face the darkness. Stare it down. Own it. As brother Nietzsche said, being human is a complicated gig. So give that ol' dark night of the soul a hug. Howl the eternal yes! |
| In dreams begin responsibilities, so wrote the poet. So it is perhaps. Could it be we take our dreams too lightly, those images from places unknown? Could they in fact be angels in flight, our souls aloft? You know, recent experiences have made yours truly take another pass through the metaphysical thickets. As unlikely as it may sound in this rational age, I emerged on the side of those that cannot help but put their faith in that which cannot be easily explained. Be open to your dreams people. Embrace that distant shore. Cause our mortal journey is over all too soon. "Those cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples. The great globe itself. Yea all which you inherit shall dissolve and like this insubstantial pageant faded. Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is rounded with asleep." |
| Soapie once told me that the thing he loved most about country music was its sense of myth. There's heroes and villains, good and bad, right and wrong. The protagonist strolls into a bar which he sees as a microcosm of the big picture. He contemplates his existence and asks himself, "Who's that babe in the red dress?" |
| Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry, "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon, incandescent lights that banish the darkness from our caves to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlights for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead kindly light amid the encircling gloom, lead thou me on, the night is dark and I am far from home, lead thou me on. Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge, light is life, light is light. |
| Whenever there's a new moon looming on the on the horizon, I'll inevitably get a call from someone saying "Hey Chris, how about that sucker?" And I'll usually say something cordial like "Oh yeah, marvelous night for a moondance," or "I wonder what ol' Sun Young Moon is up to tonight." But knowing how we've been tossing and turning these past few nights for fear of where our dreams may be taking us, I'm not about to pretend that that man in that moon has our best interests at heart. No way. He's too much of a kidder. So until the big fellow packs his bags and hits the road, put away with those sharp utensils and stay close to your loved ones, if you're lucky enough to have any. I'll see you in the morning, folks, or in the moonlight, whichever comes first |
| If there is nothing of substance in the world, if the ground we walk on is just a mirage, if reality itself really isn't, what are we left with? On what do we hang our hat? Magic. The stuff not ruled by rational law. Now, that might not seem too comforting, but stay with me. What's the height of the irrational, the zip code of the mysterious? Exactly. |
| After my recent brush with voicelessness, I though I'd share with you a few thoughts about speech. Don't take it lightly me friends. If music is the pathway to the heart as Voltaire suggested, then speech is the pathway to other people. Live in silence and you live alone. |
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