I Feel Alright

I was born my papa's son
A wanderin' eye and a smokin' gun
Now some of you would live through me
Lock me up and throw away the key
Or just find a place to hide away
Hope that I'll just go away

I feel alright – I feel alright tonight

I'll bring you precious contraband
And ancient tales from distant lands
Of conquerors and concubines and
Conjurers from darker times
Betrayal and conspiracy
Sacrilege and heresy
I got every thing you wont or need
Your darkest fear, your fondest dream
I ask you questions, tell you lies
Criticize and sympathize
Be careful what you wish for friend
Because I've been to hell and now I'm back again

I've been listening to this song over and over and over since I heard it on The Wire on Sunday night. It's really helping me a lot. I can't emphasize enough how much ass Steve Earle kicks, nor can I say enough how much help all of you have been during the fallout from my dad's death. My friend Alfredo's dad called the other night and kept saying my dad was a "righteous man", and the more I thought about it, the more it rang true. He was a great person, and I owe at least half of everything I am to him.

n/t

Was wondering how you were, it's good to hear that you're as well as to be expected.

What a wonderful testament to your dad, to be called righteous.
I'm fairly certain some of that rubbed off on you.

How's your mom?

She's looking forward to joining our merry band of misfits. NSMA is setting up an email account for her as we speak, and Skinner has given his blessing, so with any luck, she'll be making her message board debut sometime tonight before my brother and I hit the road back to Kearney. I kind of feel bad leaving her, but we just can't afford to miss any more work.

Oh, cool story: My friend Cayle, who's wedding I was a groomsman in about three weeks ago, came down for the funeral, and I sort of offhandedly mentioned that I was worrying about money. Anyway, when he was leaving after the service, he handed me an envelope with $200 in it. I opened it as he was pulling away, and I never would have expected him to be so damn generous. It's probably the best thing any of my friends have ever done for me, and I'll never forget it.

who I was fortunate to have a long relationship with, once said that money is the smallest thing that a person can give to another person they love. Sometimes, when you are the one who is needing it, it sure feels like a huge gift.

says, dammit!!!!!!

And I myself am a spelling/grammar nazi, but in this case, please cram it with walnuts, ugly. I'm trying to express my hopefulness/optimism in spite of the untimely death of my father, and you're getting on my case about a spelling error? Get bent.

You quoted him properly; Steve made the spelling error. Artistic license, I'm sure.

It may be "nonstandard" but you'll find it in any descriptive dictionary.

I heard it the other night, too, and would like to learn how to play it on my guitar.

There is no right way to grieve. Don't tell yourself, and don't let anyone else tell you, that there is. Your dad knows you love him. Your mother is lucky to have you. Blessings.

you had that talk with your friend's dad...if you are any indication, your dad was, indeed, a righteous man. Be proud to carry his memory with you.

My own father had a major debilitating stroke when I was quite young, & I only have one clear memory of him. He lingered on in abject misery for almost 20 years, until pneumonia mercifully took him. I was happy for him when he died. I wanted to slap & stomp my mother's priest who officiated at the funeral mass, because he seemed to think that "banqueting with all the saints of heaven" made up for all the years of pain & misery my father suffered. I'm still angry about that--strangely enough, that's always been my mother's solution to everything: eat something & you'll feel better.

Sorry for littering your thread with my recollections about my father, but it's been on my mind a lot lately.

Everything people post, especially people's personal stories and anecdotes, helps. I'm sorry your dad had to suffer so much, one of the few comforts I have is knowing my dad felt no pain and went quickly. I still miss him terribly and wish he was still here, but there's not as much sadness and regret as I thought there'd be. He was happy when he died, though he was in a lot of pain because of his back. He'd finally gotten to a place in life where he wasn't bitter about his childhood or family stuff, and my mom and he loved each other more than they ever had. And I know he was proud of me, and I intend to do something with my life to make him even prouder, though I don't quite know what that is yet.

Anyway, I'm back in Kearney now, and listening to Blood On The Tracks, Steve Earle's "El Corazon", and a little Paul Simon helped to relax me a bit. Of course, stoner friend who's staying here didn't bother to turn off the kitchen light or tv whenever he left for the night, and the house is a little messy, so that was a bit aggravating. Plus, I've got a headache, but as George Harrison said, all things must pass.

I kept telling mom "everything will be ok", and I meant it, but just thinking it right now is the first time it's really registered with me. It will be ok, and I feel like he's still with us, helping us be strong.

...all I can say is, "Keep the faith." You'll never be quite the same, but things'll get better for you. Just takes time.

Incidentally, when my dad died, the song I found myself singing over and over again was the Impressions' "Keep On Pushing." Which I did!

'Cause I got my strength
and it don't make sense
not to keep on pushing!