And here's to the blues, the real blues— where there's a hint of hope in every cry of desperation.

We start our lives with blues . . . with music. It's our first language. It's the rhythm of the womb. It's your mama's heartbeat inside your head.

The music echoes in the emptiness. It reminds us where we came from and where we’re bound.

You got infinite channels and limitless rhymes, but the riddles of livin' stay undefined?

Your muse ain't singin' on your MTV? Can't even see him on your HD TV?

And a ride in a hearse tells us we’re all close to that final cruise . . . when the body dies and we move on. It’s just the body, man. It’s just the body. The soul’s already gone. So don’t be afraid of a dead body absent a soul. It’s empty, man. No resident. What you need to worry about is a living body that’s lost its soul. Now that is scary, man.” - Funk N. Wagnalls, owner of the Grim Reapers auto lot, a character in Professor Brown Shoes Teaches the Blues.

I preserve my worldin journals so my children can eat without me