Pacified by illness

A bout with the flu yesterday left me shivering under a pile of blankets and getting up once in a while to release liquid from the place where solids are supposed to exit. That's pretty much all I had the energy to accomplish.

The debilitating fatigue managed to quiet my smoldering existential rage. I'm in a fairly cheerful mood right now, after my fever broke last night and after listening to the fantastic music offered each and every Saturday by WFHB (streaming on Itunes under the public tab).

I have something of an unsubstantiated belief that Woody Guthrie and Hank Williams are the greatest artists of the 20th Century. They represent two strains of American popular culture that I sort of straddle (Country and Western, and Appalachian Folk). Both had the purest, most piercing voices I've ever heard...like vocal razor blades (in a good way). And they had brilliant, poetic, powerful lyrics.

I have no idea if the two of them knew each other or ever interacted to any significant degree. By all accounts, Hank was violent and drunken and generally a sloppy mess, and Woody fathered 8 kids from three different women.

I want to write a story where Hank and Woody come back to life and wander around the country getting into adventures. I'd like to get their perspectives on modern American life.