I bought this CSN album after my Dad committed suicide, and the song Cathedral played for me for the very first time, and clung to me most profoundly, and I almost had an out-of-body experience, smoking some great herb that I personally grew too, but, I was scared, and I realized, that I'm no more stronger or significant than an ant on a crumb of sugar, or a spider in a well-designed web.
Joe Pat Allen
I met Joe Pat Allen early in my life; he loved sports and enjoyed playing them, too. Joe Pat worked at Burroughs like most adults at his age, either you took seasonal labor outside or you frolicked at some local factory or distillery here in Bardstown.
Joe Pat loved his cold mug of beer at Joe’s and everyone did. Joe’s place was home away from home where all your friends lived after work. Joe Pat was a decent pool shooter but I wouldn't say he was near the best and when he was young before his eyes started to go bad, he won a few bucks. He was decent at foosball, what a game that was; the game was very new to Bardstown, too. The game was invented and patented by Harold Searles Thorton in 1921. A serviceman Lawrence Patterson discovered it in Germany in the 1950s and brought it into the United States. In the 1970s, the game took off like mad! A great game. I practiced endlessly, because I had free access, I cleaned up the tavern. We had some historic games on Joe’s foosball table. The jukebox was right next to it and Joe Lawrence had it loaded up with Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, and CSN&Y. The winner got free beer. I played front, but was a great back goalie too. Joe Pat often played goalie as my partner. We played long enough to get drunk, then quit, and watched the World Series, or whatever game was on ESPN, or on the local channels.
Joe Pat was a decent person, he came from a strict Catholic family, and they lived less than a mile from St. Joseph’s Church. He was one of the Maple Hill Gang, a neighborhood of many patrons of Joe’s Tavern. The tavern made everyone come together, it was like a human convention of friends. Friday nights came to be everyone’s Mecca; where everyone prayed to the ever-flowing tap of premium beer.
I saw many great bands in Louisville, I usually bought 4 tickets, though many times only 2 too. Tickets were cheap back then, I saw so many great bands and always paid $6.50-$7.50 a ticket, YES was a buck extra but nobody griped. The great band that I still love today, YES, was coming to town and I had all their albums. At Joe’s, I told Joe Pat I had 3 tickets to see YES. I misplaced and lost one ticket. Bobby Elmore overheard me, he loved YES, we all did, Joe had the song " Roundabout " on his jukebox. Bobby interrupted me, saying, “Tim, I'll drive us all.” I said, “You are in!” We all met up at Joe’s beforehand, and we jumped in Bobby’s car. He had a Porsche but only two people could fit into it. He borrowed his brother’s big LTD Ford. Freedom Hall was an incredible stadium, not a bad seat in the place! YES had an elaborate setup, placed their huge revolving stage in the heart and center of Freedom Hall, like all bands, they had 2 drummers. Somehow, Bobby talked to the Security police and got all three of us into that sealed-off area where only a few were allowed near the stage, Chris Squire was my hero too, he had his solo before Roundabout and he threw a guitar pick right at me because I was spellbound by his performance, and he saw me and I caught it, yet I gave it to a beautiful gal who was right beside me, to this day, I regret that. She wasn't even impressed by my gesture. Joe Pat and I lit up a joint in the far back, weed aroma filled that place, cops were everywhere too but they usually looked the other way unless you were stupid. Weed and great concerts went hand in hand. What a glorious show. I bought a shirt, even bought one for Joe Pat, who never paid me back, but it was a token he never forgot. I loved Joe Pat. He loved me back too.
Living in constant pain, the
Physical and mental misery,
Leaves one in a multitude of Hells.
The naivety of ignorant people
Who justify their youth by
Laughing at the old and
Disabled, this world was
Never right for the meek
Where the gentry control
The world.
Oh, the circling vultures refuse to gnaw out my heart
Though the crows mock me as supreme squires with
their judicial caws
I've stumbled on this curse again, will not depart,
This meddling with my God;
Gilded cages, silent rages
Weathered every season
Upon these history pages
Bourne this unspoken reason
Why thy madness beckons me?
To this wreckage of wilt
That lures Me back to thee
And this abundance of guilt.
Watching the squirrels fly
Through the air with ease
Effortlessly these flying
Critters on their limb trapezes.
The bushy-tailed critters love to steal
Every nut that can be heisted
Yet, come the cold wintertime
They become shortsighted.
The absent-minded rodent
Forgot where he stashed the nuts
Digging through the snow
Reckless and starving like a putz.
I just got back from Hell
And all is not well.
I drove my truck
Into bad luck,
Now, I'm fucked.
I sit here in Hell,
And all is not well.
I lost my faith in the Almighty
Loving Aphrodite
Now, it's good nighty.
I just got back from Hell
And all is not well.
