Hoping all is well. The most humorous news-byte of the week (but not so humorous to be overlooked by the truth of it) is the discovery of the infiltration by the RCMP (the Canadian Mounties) of so-called radical feminist groups in the 1970s, for fear of communists.

Shades of COINTELPRO, to be sure, and no doubt related. The grandness of America gives a huge shadow, sometimes shade from the heat, sometimes not.

One Canadian singer, the folksy Rita McNeil, was in the RCMP dossier. Rita is sweet and smart and Canadian, and the fact that she was ‘infiltrated’ is hyper-absurd. She commented, because she lived so far away from the meetings:

“The only thing I’m sorry about now is I didn’t know I was under surveillance, or I would have got them to drive me home.”

Hilarious.

Anyway, I’ve been really creatively busy with the editing of Facing Ali. I still just love the ten guys we interviewed; Cooper, Shavers, Lyle, Chuvalo, Spinks, Norton, Terrell, Frazier, Foreman and Holmes.

In the meantime, well, I haven’t had too much meantime. But I wrote one of the fastest songs I’ve ever written the other day. I picked up the guitar and it just came out. Maybe twenty minutes, all in, scribbled on a piece of paper. Then I misplaced the lyrics I had scribbled, and then I found them again, so I thought I better blog ‘em for you, for safe keeping.

Look after them for me, would you? A lot of my self worth comes from what I produce. Life is good. Lots of yin yoga care for my back, pranayam, getting more flexible, good creative work and play, laughter with my beloved, walking an hour or more a day, to and fro.

What a life of good fortune. I hope you, too, are well.

In My Mind

I remember your body and all of its curves
My memory recalls how that body I served
But time became stagnant and so did the flow
I panicked and I lied and bade you to go

In my mind I can find
All kinds of lovers and stories I claim to be mine
In my mind I can find
All kinds of lovers and stories that claim to be mine

I try to be spiritual and pray you away
But like a good prayer you come back every day
The soul of your body can fill up my night
Until I remember the price of delight

In my mind I can see
All kinds of addictions and fictions that claim to be me
In my mind I can see
All kinds of addictions and fictions that claim to be me

I try to breathe through it and hope that it passes
I try to review it with wide-angle glasses
I can’t deny the little cry the alibi the crash of it all
I can’t arrest the very best or pass the test whenever they call
We must have past lives to have so much confusion
For how could one life pack in so much delusion?

In my mind I can see
All kinds of addictions and fictions that claim to be me
In my mind I can find
All kinds of stories and lovers that claim to be mine
In my mind I can see
An assortment of liars and desires that claim to be me
In my mind I can see
All kinds of addictions and fictions that claim to be me
In my mind I can find
All kinds of stories and lovers that claim to be mine

It’s sweeter than it sounds, believe me. Just a description of the games and stories and fears and anxieties that spin around our minds, and might have some, but likely very little, importance. Key of G, as so many are.

Lots of love to you,

Pete