You call me up when I am sleeping

Isn’t it funny how you reach me

Leo Sayer, “Telepath”, from Just A Boy (1974):

You’re always helping me from sinking
It’s your way

Isn’t it funny how you read me

Remember how he did this live. Wish there were a recording from that time.

Could tear the place apart. No need for disco.

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Neil Remington Abramson, son of William Walter Remington (1917-1954), commented as follows:

Sometimes I wonder about the various posts about my father, William Walter Remington. I end up becoming ambivalent. In the longer run, I’m sure few care, except maybe his three adult children. But if anyone else cared, likely it would be a negative, like a chill breeze in a dusty hot dark mineshaft, or eyes you think you see staring at you in the underbrush, that are gone and give you goosebumps. Then you’d wish you were somewhere else – or someone else.

Like a denouement. Yet I find it recycles, episode after episode. Different views and aspects, yet eternally the same.

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All This


Poisonous tendency towards blind rage.

Some pervasive virus, from which few totally escape.

So one riots against self, in terms of what “they” do.

Where later apologies

Explained, but not easily excused.

Incapable of justification on any

Tell me

One without a permanent scar

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Do You Ever

You think about them. Wonder if they ever think about you.

This positive element of age. So much past making sense in the present.

Patterns discovered. Influences appreciated.

Yet one experiences the reconnection fade.

Or the reconnection shutdown.

Or know where you are, but no contact.

All touch then, no contact now.

So the influence

So the distance

Still means much

For an old familiar face
It seems so strange

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Slightly II

In relation to “Slightly“, concerning the comparative need for vacations, Neil Remington Abramson commented as follows:

At Simon Fraser University, we received generous weeks of vacation, but couldn’t save it up from year to year. Some professors, like me through much of my career, who spent the entire research semester actually researching, writing and submitting articles to journals, were rewarded with the least vacation time. The ones who had given up writing (half of us, someone once told me) were both still employed and punished with all of five or six weeks holidays.

Was I embittered? I wonder. I might have said I “wised up”, and chose to spend the time a little differently. For me, doing research felt like holidays, but the writing of articles and the revisions occasioned by difficult and critical reviewers were hard work, and not always to be pursued. So now I am the co-author of a best-selling text, produced at the expense of writing obscure articles, intended for top journals. I have a much bigger audience, but one not valued by my colleagues.

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Won’t Let The Show Go On

Baby, although I chose this lonely life
It seems it’s strangling me now

Leo Sayer, with an exceptional 1974 live performance of the song, originally released in 1973. Where the title is “The Show Must Go On“:

Written by Leo Sayer and David Courtney.

Still remembering the fans in 2017, who still remember him:

I wish maybe they’d tear down the walls
Of this theatre
And let me out
Let me out

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Have a friend who has gone into delusionary states a couple of times, over the past couple of years. Is taking medication with neurological effects. Controls of some sort. Delusions not part of the noted side effects.

Asked if anything had preceded the delusions.

Tension, lots of family tension, he said.

So a medication aimed at addressing one neurological element doesn’t control all of them. And how could one test for tension or fear, beforehand, as an interactive effect…

So, in some respects, all of these mood-altering medications have unpredictable side effects. Brains normally used to dealing with stress in one way, now impeded by chemicals aimed at another, or the same part of the brain. Delusions as one neurological reaction to a chemical control.

And then the primary solution to delusions becomes changes in medication levels. Not necessarily a decrease.

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