Go See A Man About A Blog

I met Tad at a bar down on Main.
It was my first night out since the murder, and it felt good to see a friendly face. We downed a few Grape Knee-highs, and got to talking about art: who we were digging, who was doing interesting stuff…that kind of thing.
Tad spotted an old friend, and invited her to join us: "This is Beverly Fluster. She's a fabulous publicist from out West, and she is certain to play a role in your next Blog."
Beverly was a hoot to hang with, and it turned out that she repped a number of well-known and developing artists out on the coast. She slid easily into the conversation.
"You boys wanna know the secret to becoming a successful artist?" Beverly slyly asked. It was a topic that had handcuffed me throughout my career. Tad and I had debated it on many occasions, but with no good answer to show for it. We both shrugged and leaned in close for a shot at enlightenment.
"Go and see Caraway, the artist" she began. "The journey to his home is fraught with danger, but when you finally find Caraway, you will have your answer."
Tad and I exchanged confused looks and then switched back because they felt weird.
"Trust me, fellas, " Bev went on, "If you want to know the secret to an artist's success, go and see this guy. He may be new, but he's by far the best artist that I've seen. An instant success, who's got the whole thing figured out."
Intrigued, I planned to leave the next day in search of the secret. Tad decided not to join me because he was fictional.
I rose with the sun and headed in the direction of Caraway's home. I had downloaded the directions off of Google Maps, and though the screen was difficult to carry with me, the route was well laid out.
I walked, for what seemed like hours, though it was likely only a day. Finally, I reached a sign that read: Welcome to the Barren Desert. The hot sun beat down on my toupee, as I traversed the arid land. The ground was cracked and dry, and there were no plants or vegetation anywhere to be seen. The only glimpse of life lay directly ahead, where a young man sat painting a picture.
His work was shocking; a rose, so brilliantly rendered, its colors near leaped off the canvas.
I looked at him, and then at his dreary surroundings. As if reading my mind, he whispered: "An artist's imagination is never barren…" And then he pointed me onward, my education having just begun.
I continued on until I reached the precipice of a valley, where a sign read: Welcome to the Valley of Noise. It all looked rather ominous, and as I stepped down into the gorge, I was assaulted by sound: piercing shrieks and low, grumbling moans. The din was insufferable, yet at the bottom of the valley, a guitar player sat writing a song. I wondered how he could possibly write a song amidst the cacophony. He turned to tell me, and though I couldn't hear a word he said, I'm pretty sure I understood.
I wandered on, 'til I came to a crossroads, and the end of my map. A sign read Welcome to the End of Your Map. I did not know whether to turn right or left, but a crowd of people with notebooks in hand were rushing to the left. I figured that this must be the way. I joined the horde as they hustled by, writing in their notebooks. But after several hours of doing the hustle, I was getting nowhere fast. I decided to fight back through the crowd the other way. To my surprise, as soon as I turned around, the crowd parted and I was able to move forward at a swift pace. Another poignant moment in the journey, I thought, as I approached a figure dressed in white.
When it was time for another thought, I realized that the figure that I was approaching was the mysterious and reclusive Caraway (I recognized him from his pics on Facebook).
I had come too far for small talk. I got right to the point…
"Hi Caraway. My name is Robbie, and I too am an artist. I used to have a record deal, and now I do a lot of songwriting for other artists and for theatre. I'm actually working on a cool record right now for a guy who's got a big record deal in - "
"Who sent you here?" Caraway interjected.
"Oh…ah, Beverly Fluster, your publicist. She said that you were the greatest, and that if I made the long and dangerous journey out to see you, that I would learn the secret to success as an artist."
Caraway smiled. "You traveled far from your home in search of the secret. You crossed a dry and barren desert, and saw fertile imagination. You wandered through a deep and deafening valley and saw great focus. You faced a broad, consuming crowd and found your own path. You've come all of this distance to find me, and now you still wish to know the secret to success as an artist?"
I leaned in close to listen.
"Obviously, the secret is to find a fabulous publicist."
I end this week's Blog with another interesting musical fact:

- If you soak your guitar in oil for two to three hours on the morning of a gig, you will likely end up canceling the gig -


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