RIP Les Paul

There have been a lot of celebrity deaths lately, and with the exception of Walter Cronkite, I’ve been unable to even fake that I cared.  Today, however, Les Paul died and that is a huge-ass drag that really has me a little down.  I’m not going to say a whole lot here, there are plenty of other people who can and will do a better job of it than I ever will.  What I will say, is that he and his wife, Mary Ford, recorded one of my favorite songs of all time, “How High The Moon”, which you can see them perform here:

Look at that motherfucker play.  Is there anyone from the last century who had a greater impact on music?   There’s a profound difference between celebrities and legends and Les Paul was a legend.  I’ll not be watching televised news for the next month so as to avoid the inevitable comparisons to Michael Jackson.


Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.

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