The Test

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The test of a man is the fight he makes,

the grit that he daily shows.

The way he stands on his own two feet,

and takes fates numerous blows.

It takes a real man to stand up and cheer,

while some other fellow stares.

It isn't the victory after all,

but the fight that a brother makes.

The man, who's driven against the wall,

and takes the blows of fate,

with his head held high,

bleeding, and bruised, and pale.

He's the man who'll win in the end,

for he isn't afraid to fail.

It's the bumps you get and the jolts you take,

and the shocks that your courage stands.

It's the hours of sorrow and vain regret,

the prizes that escape your hands,

that tests your mettle and proves your worth,

while you make your daily stand.

It isn't the blows you deal,

but the blows you take on this good old earth,

that shows if your stuff is real.

Grateful Daze

Jerry Garcia of The Grateful Dead

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Cruisin Down Memory Lane
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I recently ran into an old friend of mine, and we started talking about old times. We went to Grateful Dead shows together back in the day, so naturally the subject came up.
Talking about those days brought back old memories of piling in my buddies bus and heading off to some far away city to see a show. I spent one of the best summers of my life traveling around the country chasing the band, and becoming part of the circus of fans called Dead Heads who lived for this. Our entire lives revolved around going to Dead shows, it became our way of life. The groove and our way of life came to an abrupt end on Aug.9, 1995, when we found out Jerry died at the age of 53, in a Northern California residential drug treatment center, a victim of a heart attack. The Grateful Dead blended blues, rock, country and folk music with a dash of the psychedelic sound of the sixties counter-culture that grew out of their home base of San Francisco. Over three decades, the dead became one of the most popular concert draws in the world... Well, needless to say our lives were shattered, but his memory will live on forever in the hearts of the dedicated fans that lived for the music and the lifestyle that was created as a result. The day i found out, me and my local Dead Head friends gathered around the campfire to share stories of life on the road, and the amazing, life changing music that guided us through our lives. I wrote this poem the day Jerry died~

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I Was But A Child

I was but a child then,
so i did not feel the loss,

from Jimi, Janis, Pigpen,
i did not pay the cost.

When we lost brother Brent,
it made me weep for years,

but Jerry was ever there to
guide me through my tears.

Now even he is gone,
i feel lost and alone,

i think of what is lost,
and i am frozen to the bone.

How long will i weep now,
will i ever quit?

I drop into the abyss,
black and bottomless pit.

Now i am torn down,
far below how low i can go,

and all of this because,
there will never be
another show....

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Over the years the pain has subsided, and the remaining members of the band, carry on, and continue to play music. Here is a glimpse into the fascinating, magical world of The Grateful Dead :)
The Grateful Dead~1965

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The Grateful Dead~1995
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Jerry Garcia~Ripple~My Favorite Jerry Song :)

Grateful Dead - 6-26-94 - So Many Roads~Las Vegas Show~I was there!!
This is one of the monumental Jerry ballads from the later years. Enjoy this one folks... it will definitely ease your soul. Anyone who knows Jerry's music will understand what this song meant to him. An affirmation and definition of his life and travels....

Grateful Dead - Peggy O - 6-26-94~
A magic moment in time captured in Las Vegas in 1994. This one is pure Jerry, frail yet strong and full of emotion. In my opinion, the solo alone is possibly one of the most poetic and heartfelt of Jerry's later years...

Grateful Dead-Eyes Of The World (3-27-88)
From Hampton, Virginia.... And on and on and on they go!!!!!


Grateful Dead - Iko Iko - Anaheim 1987


Related Posts:
Dead Head

Mystic Hot Springs

High

LSD Addiction

Ganja Man

Wild One

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She is a screamer, a dreamer,

a fire in the night.

She is a ball of fun,

wild one,

rock you to the lite.

She's got wanderlust,

she must,

get on the crazy road.

She is a traveler, a rambler,

call the world her home.

Rock in the night,

rock in the day,

rock all the time,

can't wait to play.

Loves to scream,

till her throat's sore.

Give her some time,

she'll rock you more.

She is a rocker,

non stopper,

she will make you fly.

She is a terror,

can't scare her,

and she never cries.

She needs to be free.

Don't stop her,

she'll only say so long.

So lets party down,

to the ground,

tomorrow, she'll be gone.

Related posts:
White Line Fever

High


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Blessed Be The Pain

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Blessed be the pain,

that we may know the lack of it.

Smile for the fear,

for it makes us brave,

and for the poverty,

because it makes us rich.

Always love the nightmare,

so we will love the dream,

and embrace the loneliness,

that we may hold camaraderie.

Thanks unto the confusion,

that we may know clarity,

and unto the drudgery,

that we may know relaxation.

Blessed be the pain,

that we may know the lack of it.

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

White Line Fever

One more string of generic

hotel rooms in the fabric

of my life.

Another tale to tack on

to the miles of stories gone

before it.

Still an old coffee shop,

same as the last one i saw,

a piece back down the road...

So this is why i live,

and this is how i die.

How many people do i

unwillingly make cry...

My road, on and on it goes,

where it ends no one knows.

Back and forth and up and down,

but i'll always be around.

Another hundred thousand or so,

white line fever on

rural roads....

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High

An ill wind is blowing,

it's chilly frozen breath,

i'm tired of not knowing,

never get no rest.

My gypsy blood is boiling,

begging for the road.

I'm tired of this toiling,

sick of getting old.

Keep doin' both anyhow,

trying to get by.

Wish i had blown this town,

dying to get high.....

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

LSD Addiction

Madness boils in my veins,

howling at the moon.

Thousand sounds in my brain,

still can't name the tune.

Living in the realm of night,

it beacons me to come.

Look with eyes of second sight,

make yourself go numb.

If you don't, then know fear.

No peace, no freedom,

find that you are shedding tears.

Nothing will stop them,

try to laugh, just try,

comes out a cackle.

This world makes me cry,

too tough to tackle.

So i go to another realm,

eat a bit of paper,

though it's just another hell,

some how it's safer.

So turn me on Mr. Rainbow,

make my muse dance,

so i may look through other eyes,

dream of romance.

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Nite

Nite, my brother, i welcome

thee into me.

The flames i light are for thee.

Draw their warmth and lite

into thyself.

Consume them, drink them,

make of them a magick.

Nite, my brother, i beckon

thee into me.

Hide me, calm me, soothe me,

as you soothe us all.

Blanket us with your

solitude and joy.

Nay, we do not fear thee

any longer.

For though some claimest

thou conquered.

We know thee, feel thine

strength course through us,

and are strong.

In the course of time lo,

these centuries,

we have feared, yea even

despised thee.

Ignorance can oft breed spite,

even in the noblest of souls.

I, we, have come to know better.

To the nite then,

now my brother.

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Ganja Man

Since i am a Ganja Man,

establishment at war with me.

So i always fight them,

in ways they cannot see.

But since i am a dead head,

i must try to be kind.

Babylonians don't know love,

We're so sorry they're blind.

My brothers and my sisters,

we walk in the light.

Sometimes it's really harsh,

to know wrong from right.

So a word for the faithful,

we shall inherit the earth.

Light the chalice for meekness,

know your destiny from birth.

Peace and love are ideals,

for which we strive and work,

though it seems impossible,

and yet we do not shirk.

We shall overcome and

smoke out in the open,

so Rastafari bless us all,

we always will be tokin'.

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.