No Name For Reality
My biological father wanted to name me James Marshall, as in James ‘Jimi’ Marshall Hendrix, and that dude was amazing… Like… He’d be standing next to a mountain, then chop it down with the side of his hand.
Sadly, my father left the hospital before the nurse came around with the paperwork, and for that one moment we were alike in that we both got ripped off. It was just a couple of months after he left the hospital that he left my mother. Talk about sore losers.
Strangely, albeit less impressively, I was later given my mother’s maiden name, O’Donovan, which I later repurposed as my middle name, Donovan. Coincidentally, the next time I met my father (aged 8), he was singing Donovan’s ‘Mellow Yellow’.
Not do be outdone on drug-taking excess, Donovan was also responsible for a rugged terrain ditty with the following lyric: First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is…
Now, while this is decidedly much less powerful a statement than Jimi’s, in retrospect one can hypothesize that Donovan’s willingness to accept and acknowledge ghat his drug-addled consciousness was less able to make sense of the real world may have been his saving grace… Hendrix’s certainty that he was unstoppable turned out to not only be incorrect, but place him continuously in danger’s path without protection.
Strike up another win for The Uncertainty Principle as a fundament of scientific understanding and application in the real world, offset by Art’s tremendous loss of a unique artist, musician and singer, sadly out-lived by a hippie that frequently can’t find his way home, but still wants to write albums about it.