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nice! enjoyed the poetry. reminded me of backpacks and bagging peaks. I recently wrote a poem about DBS surgery and my brother. we used to backpack together and play tunes, we still play tunes. anyway, here's my poem. enjoy! Bill m Letter to Dick from the Bottom Line Hi Brother. Regretfully, I could not pick you up when you arrived at LAX. I missed the fun riding escalators, and walking upstream blindly through revolving doors. However, once I have the sensors implanted in my Globus Pallidis, get wired to a tiny subcuticular electrical zapper, they hand the magnet - that zaps the zapper - over to me, I think I should be back to normal. The way it works is, when you start to shake, wave the magnet over the zapper that mildly shocks the Globus Pallidis that blocks a signal from the brain that causes the tremors. I said jokingly to my neurologist, "I can zap all day". Become an addict. And the dealer is my Thalamus gland. A minute orgasm machine, like the one in"Sleeper". Ahh! Ahh! Etc. I don't think he appreciated the irony of it all. I have to say, the old time music we played last night had to be the best. Now, if I could only recollect those fiddle tunes I bowed. I found that I was walking up and down your solid bottom line you picked, and I could feel perfect tension between the fiddle and guitar. Its the first time I really noodled with some mountain tunes, like Sally in the Garden, Old Beech Leaves and that polka. I never know the name. Another thing, let's work on more old tunes and instrumentation. You. Dear brother. The guy who turned me on to old time music. O rasty bass line guitarist! O vanishing Snow Leopard! Rare, but highly sought after. Looking forward to doing it again. Keep your shorts dry. Love, Bill