In "The Road Not Taken", the great American poet Robert Frost wrote "way leads on to way". In "Hey, Hey, My, My", Canadian songsmith and rocker Neil Young wrote "once you're gone, you can never come back." I've been reading a baseball book, "The Head Game", about the role of pitching in the game. The pitcher's mound began as a pitching "box". As early early games were played, holes developed, and pitchers packed in dirt to even them out. If too much dirt was packed in, a "mound" would develop. Once a pitcher realized the advantage to pitching "downhill", and it's effects on velocity toward the pitched baseball, the box became a thing of the past. Way led on to way, there was no way to come back. As I prepare for the UK, the mystical land of mod rock once seemed so far away. To think that I could forget my musical experiences there and be content with a corner in a Largo bar would be pathetic and silly. Way has led on to way. I've gone, and I can't come back. Of course, I'll still play that bar in Largo (I am still very realistic), but to not continue to grow and expand would seem very odd, and sad. To not travel my music would be the eventual death of it. People say "wow", and commend my gumption of continuing to play and travel, but to me it's the natural progression. If you realize there is something you do that is "what you do", then how can you not do it?
Way leads on to way. I want Europe, I want Japan, and why not? I can't go back. I couldn't go back after that first ever gig at 16 at the local junior high talent show. Nothing's changed. From the junior high to the UK, way has led on to way. Take care. Later, Butch