disappearing into thin hair

not precisely disappearing. but...not done processing it yet, either.

as Eddie Murphy would put it, meet the clumps.

I haven't had the nightmare experience of reaching up and pulling out a fistful of hair, leaving a big bald spot. haven't tried terribly hard to, either.

I've had the full hairbrush, emptied it out, and had it full again. to tell you the truth, the hair is kind of more impressive on my head than what I see in the brush...not hard to let it go at that point.

I still have something on top to face the world with. I have this forlorn dream that predictions will fail, and I'll be left with a little something up there. maybe some eyebrows. saints be praised, some pubic hair.

against all odds, I still look fuller than Phil Collins.

but it's different.

not the kind of different I wouldn't undo if I had the button.

I thought I would look older daily, more like my father, fading out, ashen. I don't think that's the case. I think I just look like timberline is lowering.

I just don't want to look like The Emperor from Star Wars when it's all gone.

fall. leaves dropping. soon the trees will be bare.

the coolest fall line I ever heard was sung by someone I don't know at a hoot, about trees shedding their leaves to get ready for their new white winter coat. leaving as fashion statement,

not universal symbol for decay and death.

I knew I'd be pulling hair out when I signed up for Pro Tools. look what it's done to me!!!

she asked me why...why I'm a hairless guy

I'm hairless high and low...don't ask me why, you don't want to know. it's just che-mo.

it's not an OCD spell...like Howie Mandel.

it's a childhood friend. a Linus blanket to sneak comfort from without suspicion. the subject of daily ritual, soon to become unnecessary. I'm not deeply torn, yet...as i say, the big trauma is that people would see me differently, and I think my prayeramedics won't be having much trouble with the hair as long as the part underneath hasn't fallen out as well. a huge comfort.

but I am feeling a little sentimental. I never had an ambition to be Mr. Clean. better that, perhaps, than Mr. T.

but my hair is part of my story, just as losing it (and hopefully getting it back) will be. it showed my counterculture leanings in the early 70's. it showed my swing to tidiness in the early 80's. it was an even bigger problem for me til I sat talking with Linda Jones at a solo gig at Fenway Park one night in the mid Eighties, and she (probably not coincidentally) mentioned that she was a hairstylist. kind of problem solved from then on.

I will have to give her a call and say, no, I haven't changed stylists....

hello, adriamycin

nothing to house all my lice in

the hair, the hair is everywhere

I've reached follicle deadlocks

nothing to fashion in dreadlocks

the hair, the hair is everywhere

hello, adriamycin

my do just went up the Dyson

the hair, the hair is everywhere (another song from "Hair"...it all begs appropriating)

I'll return to this theme when I'm a Caucasian Hairless puppy...