I entered the practice room this afternoon innocently enough, but I came out with a figurative scar and possibly a sense of longing. As soon as I put down my sax and my many books and folders full of music, I noticed in the corner a small ziplock-like bag containing about five different coloured pills that didn't look like any doctor-prescribed medicine I'd ever seen. There were about two white ones, a yellow one, a brown one, and a lite brown one, and as soon as my eyes cast their gaze upon them, my mind deverted to the thought of all the great musicians like Charlie Parker who did drugs and the like. I don't think I'm quite that deperate...yet, however, I happen to think Bird did not find his demise in the form of drug related problems. He was just too good for any one man to be.
I decided today that I am probably exactly in the middle of the whole political line, however, I am facing the right with very big eyeballs.
Where are the Irish when you need 'em?
SEASHELL
