Okay okay so I read

Another rock-star

Autobio, this one

By old slowhand

Himself. Yeah I know

He did great work

With Cream, Sunshine

of Your Love and all

That, but truth be told,

Any halfway decent

Blues-rock guitarist

Would have sounded

Great playing with

Ginger Baker and

Jack Bruce, the J.S.

Bach of the bass.

And those stunning

Lyrics were penned

By unknown poets,

Of course.

And really, everything

Original Eric did since

Was pretty lame stuff.

The first line of his

Book nearly put me

Off from reading it:

“Early in my childhood,

When I was about six or

Seven, I began to get the

Feeling that there was

Something different

About me.” Well Eric,

Most of us get that

Felling, so don’t wax

Too special.” But after

That the book got

Pretty good, and I was

Surprised to find that

Clapton was a fan of

Kenneth Patchen. But

As Bukowski wrote, it’s

Possible to like someone

If you don’t know them

Too well. Something like

That. So I wasn’t too shocked

To read that, after earning

Millions, buying cars, and

A barely-legal wife, old

Eric ruined my mostly

Positive view of him. As

He wrote: “…it was pigeons

Roosting in the eaves of our

House (mega mansion), cooing

In the evenings and waking up

The kids at five in the morning,

That tipped the balance. I went

Out and bought a shotgun…

Ethically it was never a problem

For me…” How lovely. Now I’m

A guy who loves peace and sleep,

But the sound of birdsongs never

Bugged me a bit. And even if it

Was an annoyance for his kids,

There had to be a better solution.”

So screw

Eric Clapton. Another “hero”

Bites the dust. But the crowds

Still scream his name in

A stadium near you, while

Robert Johnson died in

Agony as a very young man.

And as for me, who would

Cry for joy to hear the cooing

Of birds instead of blasting

Stereos everywhere, well, I’ll

Be lucky if one Blogger likes

This.

 

— FB

 

 

 

 

 

 

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