The circle of my influences

Hard as it may be to imagine, my loquaciousness isn’t impervious to fatigue. There are times, when I need a respite from talking. All of it, even my twiddly little fingers on the keyboard, stop. When I come to this point of stillness, the sounds around me flood my senses. To tune out the chaos of three talkative and argumentative kids, I turn on the radio. What I hear disturbs me.

Mr. Sting of the Police has informed me; he is sending out an S.O.S.
I might have been interested in reading his little missive, had he not told me so many times. I think we would all do well to abandon him on his little island lest he torment anyone else with infinite repetition. I think even the sharks should refuse to gobble him. Chewing him would be like going over the same thing again and again, and there’s already been too much of that.

If AC/DC could just choose a current do you think they’d have to be back in black? I mean, it just takes a little planning of your voltage needs, really.

The band Boston says it’s more than a feeling. How much more? A strong hunch? Or is it a physical manifestation of something that was once a feeling but has now matured into something more painful like cramps?

And then there are the mysteries to ponder. I think Bob Marley may have in fact shot the deputy. Think about it. He has no qualms with admitting his crime; he gleefully admits he shot the sheriff. I get the sense he simply wants the confusion cleared up. I would posit that the sheriff had been demoted to deputy unbeknownst to Mr. Marley. Does anyone beside me care?

And do you think Paul Simon has a digital camera now or is he still tinkering with his kodachrome? Do you think him and Julio have kept in touch? I’m picturing Julio sitting on an olive green couch, rolling his eyes, waiting for Paul to load the carousel of his slide projector.

If Led Zeppelin tells me more than eight times, light of the love I have found, what does this convert to in wattage? Is that fluorescent? Is there a conversion chart for this? Fortunately, I think any love I have also has a dimmer function.

R.E.M is telling me that was just a dream. This seems a little obvious.

Fleetwood Mac (or is that Macs?) tell me, don’t stop thinking about tomorrow. Don’t stop, it’ll soon be here. What happens if I do stop? Will the world implode?

An advertisement is featuring the claim that their service is unparalleled. Does this mean that none of their competitors can travel in a parallel fashion? Are we doomed to watch the various industries of our semi-successful capitalism travel in divergent or colliding paths? It seems hard to find a profit angle in that scheme, but maybe I’m just being obtuse.

Yeah, that’s right I’m hitting the geometry humor. You can’t stop me; I’m going to get all tautological with this mother. So, listening to the radio has taught me that being receptive is over-rated. And. . . .close.

Thank you and goodnight; you’ve been a wonderful audience.
Next show is at 11.