Oh, right- Hmmm...

I was in the hotel room dressing or undressing. I had my shirt off and my mind was God knows where and Ailz snapped a photo of me. 

I'd post it only Ailz has lost the lead to her camera and can't download it. (You believe me, right?)

It shows a fat old man. A fat old man with a vacant expression. 
 
Actually- worse than that;  it shows a ghoul.

I don't believe I've put on weight, but the muscles have relaxed.

You look in the mirror and you don't see the truth. You edit and adapt. You have an idea of what you "really" look like and you lay that across the appearance. Also the reflection plays along. It smiles and grimaces and acts youthful.

In my mind I'm ageless. Or- let's say- a young-looking 40:  mature, but still slim and trim with a boyish face. People used to tell me I didn't look my age and I was pleased to believe them.

Now I come to think of it, no-one has told me that for a while.

And now I know why.

The Return Of Woody Guthrie

 THE RETURN OF WOODY GUTHRIE

 

Thanks to Billy Bragg and Wilco

 

I look past several historical epochs

To see Woody Guthrie walking his road,

With his famous machine for killing fascists

Slung from his shoulder, as jaunty as Chaplin

When at the end of a two reel movie

He toddles off not happy but free.

But Woody isn’t leaving us;

He’s coming back down the long straight road

That goes to the California hills

Through the orange groves. The songs he’s got

Are several historical epochs old,

But the music’s new. “Have the times changed?”

He asks,  and we answer “Well no, they haven’t.

We still have fascists. They’re in high places

And truth is no more popular now

Than it ever was, no more is justice

And men and women are just as good

And crappy at loving and still want to hear

Your songs about being not happy but free.”