25 SEP 2026.
Why So Many Things Confound Me and I Thoroughly Love It
I am not confused because I am slow. I am confused because the official story keeps arriving pre-chewed, shrink-wrapped, and already applauding itself. That is when my brain sits up. That is when I start having a good time.
They tell you the institution is competent the same week it cannot keep a date straight. They tell you the press is a watchdog the same hour it is a choir. They tell you the science is settled while the footnotes are still on fire. I am supposed to nod. I do not nod. I lean in. Confusion, if you refuse to outsource it, is not a defect. It is a smoke alarm.
I love the moment a narrative develops a limp. One document that does not match the press release. One briefing that sat on a desk. One hiring memo that rewrites morality as “case by case.” One foundation that funds the movement and then congratulates the movement for being organic. The world is not mysterious because it is magic. It is mysterious because power hates a second question.
People treat certainty like a personality. I treat it like a tell. The louder the consensus, the more I want the receipt. Not because I enjoy living in fog. Because fog is where they hide the machinery. If a thing cannot survive being turned over, it was never a thing. It was a costume.
I thoroughly love this because it means I am still awake. A mind that is never confounded is a mind that has been rented out. I would rather be the man in the room who says wait, that does not add up, than the man who claps on cue and calls it wisdom. The puzzle is the point. The official answer is often the first lie. And I am not done asking.
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John Martyn’s “Bless the Weather” is a gentle, luminous meditation on love, change and emotional surrender. Released in 1971, it captures Martyn at his most intimate, blending folk, jazz and acoustic warmth with that unmistakably relaxed vocal delivery. The song feels almost weightless, as though he is accepting whatever life brings without resistance. Beneath its simplicity is remarkable emotional depth. It is tender without becoming sentimental, spiritual without preaching and representative of Martyn’s singular ability to make vulnerability sound effortless.
John Martyn – Bless the Weather
From the Collegiate Theatre London, 10 January 1978. The show was broadcast on the old grey whistle test and features on the BBC DVD but this performance came after the final credits rolled. It may have been shown at a later date but I don’t know.
