Thursday, November 09, 2006



MUSIC IS REVOLUTION has begun with a generous outpouring of goodwill,
rock and roll, and funding in the streets, ha, ha. On October 19, in
San Francisco, Thunder Watso and friends, The Lords of Altamont, The
Corruptors, and White Barons, played the inaugural MIR event raising
enough money to create the very first MIR mini-grant. Great day in the
morning, the Foundation rears up for battle. Charge on, my little pony,
we got a world of kids to lay the musical mystery tour on. Immeasurable
thanks to all those who donated their time, talent, and gas, driving
hundreds of miles, or pushing their way through traffic to make it
happen. I’m very proud to have such a great family of friends who care
enough to stand up for the cause. Applications for mini-grants have
started to pour in. These are really exciting when you read what the
teachers have proposed for their students. The imagination and value of
their ideas are beyond anything I might have though of and show
tremendous affection and respect for their pupils. When we
bequeath the first grant later this month we will describe the details of these
wonderful programs. Stay up on it.

As for Interferon Funny Guy, he, …I mean I, am getting a blood re-test
today and will have the results before I leave for the UK and
European dates end of this month. I’ve started back to the Rose Bowl,
as was my routine a year and a half ago before the treatment and a
motorcycle accident interrupted everything. I don’t regret either of those things though. The treatment, although a hell of a long one, and brutal at times, was
monumental in changing my perspective, not to mention my health. The
bike wreck was also a big positive, believe it or not. In that critical
moment when fate put out its hand, I learned the value of every other
moment. I’ve had to bide my time for cycling until my back was strong
enough, and my body healed enough to do a few miles. The bicycle feels
great and although I’m weaker than I ought to be, it’s a start. I’ve
said that before. I have a nice little hybrid Trek on which to get back up and
running. On this type of bike, I sit more upright in the saddle than
leaning forward like on the road bike. I can’t let it go now, because at
my age, it’s important to keep active before the body does its downhill
slide. Angela is preparing excellent meals and helping the boys and me make good food choices every day. She is finding some great new recipes in Men’s Health magazine (the boys and I like being fed “muscle-chow” as the magazine calls it, so she has found a good balance). Check it out, lots of cool stuff and fragrance samples too.
While I’m on the subject, INTERFERON FUNNY GUY is going to undergo a
Make-over. Barring an unforeseen positive viral finding in the re-test,
the trials of The Funny Guy and his Interferon Fun days are but a
memory. I shall return to being Michael Davis, bass man, showman, and
human, located in present day Solar System, kicking out many jams man.
The new version of Interferon Funny Guy will be known as "ON THE GUEST LIST w/ Michael Davis". Interferon Funny Guy won’t go away entirely, I don’t want to abandon that, but I do want to be able to discuss a more diverse range of topics and have the blog easier to access. Well, we’ll see what happens. In the meanwhile, those are the notes of the day. I am pleased to say; soon we will see the light at the end of a long dark hallway. We have waited, and this time
the freedom bell will chime.

Michael Davis

Saturday, October 14, 2006


FRIDAY 13, 2006

Here we are again with a new entry and a fresh start. While some things
are as yet not cleared up in the continuing saga of all things MC5, a
portal opens for those of us bent on creating something out of nothing,
and to hell with those who can’t tolerate it. I remember a time when I
was in a federal lock-up and I told my counselor that I thought
getting busted and going through the worst of times was actually a good
thing because I was going to come through it a wiser person. He said
to me "you mean you are turning your mistakes into success?" I said,
"yeah, that’s it." So I came out a wiser person, but 10 years later, I
got addicted again, and that’s when I think I contracted Hep C. Like
Yogi Berra says, "It ain’t over ‘til it’s over." I don’t think it’s
ever over. One just has to always stay strong and that ain’t always
Those of you who followed my treatment in the blog, INTERFERON FUNNY
GUY, know the hardships that were placed on my family while I struggled
with anemia, lethargy, grouchy-ness, sullen attitude, and apathy
brought about by the chemo. At the end of a year, I emerged from the
doldrums a happier character, with a new reality. Then, as I was about to
end chemo, I had a near-death experience in a motorcycle accident on
a Pasadena freeway. That was a one-two punch to last a lifetime.
Since that time life has been in a state of continuous improvement.
Every single day provides enormous satisfaction. Not only did I resolve
my fascinations with drugs and alcohol, I learned the value of each and
every moment that I have been granted in this life. Why couldn’t I have
seen it in the beginning? Well, that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?
It’s how you get there that tells the story and makes it valuable.

On Saturday, October 21, I will be appearing on a telethon that is
being held to create funding and awareness for Hepatitis C sufferers. I
will be special guesting with a blues band called Kelly’s Lot, and doing an on the air interview during the telecast, which will be streamed on the internet and
televised on a local channel here in Los Angeles. My friend and musical
comrade, Wayne Kramer is also appearing with his solo band to support the cause. Please go to HYPERLINK "" for more information about this.

Music Is Revolution is real, real, real. Launched this week,
HYPERLINK "" hit the net and we couldn’t be prouder. The
mini-grants are immediately accessible to all public school teachers
who desire to provide a musical experience for their students. We’ll
see what happens, but whatever it is, you know that can’t be bad, yeah,
yeah, yeah. I am really hopeful that through our efforts and way cool
people who make up "The Bored," it will catch on and grow to outrageous

The story goes like this: when I was in the hospital after my motorcycle wreck, a biker buddy from the Bay Area named Thunder Watso offered to create a benefit gig for my medical expenses. I felt compelled to decline the offer since I wasn’t desperate financially. That’s when it came to me; if the benefit was inevitable, how about raising money for a cause of our choosing other than for me? Angela and I worked out the details of creating a non-profit foundation dedicated to music education in public schools, and asked Thunder if he would like to promote the first benefit for Music Is Revolution. Angela has years of experience in working with non-profits that support public education, and we have had an amazing group of professionals come forward to support the cause and work with us. Re. the benefit, four great bands will be playing at Annie’s Social Club in San Francisco on October 19. It’s going to be a great inaugural event for MIR. We are also collecting musical instruments and having them repaired, lubed and tuned, and distributed to schools around the country, and are currently accepting mini-grant applications to submit to our review board. Check the website for details. When the first mini-grant application came in from a sixth grade teacher here in Pasadena, the description of her class and their needs, and her obvious dedication to her students as she described her plans for the grant money, brought tears to my eyes.

DKT is getting back on the road soon. For the first time in 35 years,
we will be performing with the Stooges at Thurston Moores’ All
Tomorrows Parties Festival in Somerset, England. In addition, we will
do a brief tour, playing in Spain, Belgium, Holland, France, England,
Ireland, and Northern Ireland. I’m really excited about getting back
with my mates and KickingOutTheJams one more time… Lord knows, we need

Check out the News section at HYPERLINK "" for more info on that.

Well, that’s it from milepost 69.
Hope everyone is doing fine.
Because you’re mine,
I walk the line.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006



Greetings friends. It is the 30th day of August 2006. I’ve described as
best I could my experience with the Hepatitis virus and the treatment
that I undertook in June of 2005. With a single additional visit in
December, the book should be closed on that episode of my life.

Together with my wife, Angela, I have created a non-profit
organization called "Music Is Revolution." When I look at this world,
and at our society, I see a strange mutating blob that feeds off of and
regurgitates the bilge that keeps things all fucked up, as usual. When
we want to help people realize a better life, what do we do? We attack
them and force our values down their throat. Or worse, just keep them
in chaos until we’ve established "order". Then leave them to sort out
the mess, so they can continue supplying us with what we need from
them. Sounds like a science fiction master race theme? Everyone wants
to go to Heaven, right? Yet we grind out weekend box office hits that
super-size violence, brutality, arrogance, and vulgarity like vitamins
for the masses, with no regrets.
Power and wealth are without a doubt the most valuable and worthwhile
pursuits in life, it would seem. WE are number 1. Hell no. WE aren’t
number anything. We’re hypocrites.
What we need to do is focus our attention on our greatest resource, our
children. The way to change, the way to revolution, is education, music
When I think of music, I realize that throughout my life, music of one
sort or another is a milepost on the long road. From earliest memories
of Peter and The Wolf, Captain Kid’s Cats, Swan Lake, The Nutcracker,
patriotic music, popular music of my parents time, incidental radio
airplay, teenage ballads, classical favorites and discovered music of
other cultures, all of it represent glimpses of my past. In fact all
cultures represent themselves musically. It honors each culture and
speaks of its uniqueness. Music in the raw is the purest expression of our
souls. Music speaks it’s own language, understood by all, because it is
produced by the soul. How great it would be if every single human being
could experience the exhilaration of sharing musical moments with
another person? To play in an ensemble is an enriching process that
teaches us the basis of community. When you think of the fact that all
of us exist in concert as the human race, it becomes obvious that music
is a parallel by which we could learn how to be better humans. Music
comes from a place inside that can only be described by music. Art and
poetry also come from places that can only be described in those terms.
But music has an imaginary life of its own. It is the mojo of mojos.
When I was in the 5th grade at Dossin Elementary School in Detroit, We
were offered the chance to take stringed instrument lessons as an
elective a few days per week. They had violins, violas, and a couple of
cellos. I thought I would like to try the cello, and I did. Though the
course lasted merely one semester, it was enough to set me in a
direction that would eventually be a lifelong career in the music
profession. With virtually no formal training, I was able to find a
situation to pursue and create a legacy of music and performance that
has made lasting impacts on the world of popular music, and affected
many people’s lives. By way of the fortunate attention and
recommendations by those early music teachers, I gained the
confidence and curiosity it took to make a career of it.
In the late 60’s, my band, the MC5, adopted a stance that challenged
the status quo of our social system. While we strove to make people
aware of the need for reform, we were not tuned in to the correct
method of reaching our goals. We chose to make confrontations with the
old order and got blown out of the water. Now I realize that
the police and the government are merely doing their jobs, and the real
issues can only be dealt with by the next generation. This is our
greatest resource and our closest ally.
"Music Is Revolution" seeks to provide funding for pubic school
teachers throughout the United States. They can apply for mini- grants to set up
musical experiences that are empowering, enjoyable, and meaningful to
children from grades 1-12 in school environments that are lacking
public funding to provide such experiences. Situations can be as
varied as imaginable, giving students an awareness of the value of
music. Listening and describing musical genres might be a good way to
provide children with an understanding of music history and how it
molds the human experience. Musical instrument training, no matter how simple
or informal, is another possibility. For example, a group of 2nd
graders playing kazoos with section parts is a viable way to teach
ensemble experience. The idea is not to produce Mozarts and Yo Yo Ma’s
in 12 weeks time, but merely to give students inspirational
experiences, and a sense of participation. The exhilaration of
participating in a musical experience is like an invisible blessing
that has a lifelong effect. I know from personal experience. My brief
lessons on cello, piano, recorder, and later guitar, were crucial in the direction of
my life. Discovering the many composers who have left incredible works
has been a cornerstone in my positive attitude and pleasures. What
could be more valuable?
There are no limits on what music is, either. Current styles and ancient chants have equality in our view. I have no doubt as to the positive effect music has on an individual. These children are the future voters of our society, and it is our
responsibility to give them everything we can muster to affect real change in this society and ultimately the world. By placing greater emphasis on music as a true value in our society, not just a tool of profit, we can provide an invaluable service to the future of every human being.

I have many friends in music, both famous and those who are not famous
but are wonderful musicians and creative people. I know bluegrass
mandolin players, free jazz horn players, storytellers who use music,
rock and rollers of all sorts and styles, punks, and percussionists who are
concerned about the direction of the planet. As I have recently been
touring the world with DKT, I have met people everywhere who are concerned
with the direction of the planet and the state of human affairs. Could
it be possible that we can shape the destiny of society by offering our
children better access to the thing we have treasured all of our lives;
our music? It really is time to become part of the solution!
Be a part of the solution: Music Is Revolution.

I will post on this blog the details and developments of Music Is
Revolution. I will also answer questions and give information on how
to take part in M.I.R. activities in your area. I have some good stories
to share with you concerning the reasons why we chose to create our own
foundation. Be sure to check the web-site:, for updates;
new people on-board, events, fund drives, skate4MIR, merchswapmeets,
auctions, benefit gigs, etc. The MusicIsRevolution.Org site will launch soon too.
I feel good about this. So, let’s get down with it and kick up a little
Music Is Revolution out there. Brothers and Sisters, the time has come for
each and every one of you to be a part of the solution, MUSIC IS

Monday, July 31, 2006



I said goodbye to an old friend today. He was my friend and sole
companion for difficult years, and all through the rebuilding of my
torn and tattered self. We were together for 9 terrific years. In the
fateful year of 1997 I was preparing for a solitude I expected to last
for some time. On a whim I stopped by the dog-pound just outside of
Tucson. I thought I should have a look and see if they might have a
boxer in the kennel. My folks had had boxers throughout my
childhood years and the thought had always been persistent to find a
little boxer dog of my own. As if by grace of God there he was,
shivering from the flea-dip tank, and looking for all the world like
life’s loneliest creature. I snatched his 3x5 card that was above the
cage door and went to the front desk to ask about adoption. Three days
later I picked him up from the Humane Society, where he had received his
shots, rabies vaccine and mandatory neutering. I put him in the front
seat of my truck, where he calmly rode shotgun, and gazed at me down
his suspicious snout. It was like, who are you and where are we going?
I talked to him a little to try easing his suspicion. I was told he was
approximately 1.5 years old, but his actual birth date was unknown, as
were his previous owners. The name on his card read "Rooster." I
decided that it was as good as any name I might think of, and since I
always have trouble deciding new names, it would stay Rooster. When we
arrived back at the homestead, the people who were there but leaving
shortly and without notice, acted mildly taken with him for a moment.
They were "animal lovers" as such, maintaining a small herd of dogs of
various sizes and breeds, and several horses. So, he was largely
ignored. A kind of sick Cinderella story set in the desert, it was.
Soon, like a nest of thieves, the people were gone, and Rooster and I
were given all the space in an empty house, miles from anything.
I sold the house after a fashion, and Rooster and I moved closer to
town, in a smaller place. He never wanted to be left behind. He loved
to ride in the truck or the car. He would lie down on the seat and wait
with such patience, while I went into wherever we had gone. At home he had
to have a piece of furniture to make his resting spot. Eventually, I
bought him a couch, but he still was in my chair whenever I left and
came back. He slept in the bed with me, and was notorious for taking
3/4 of the space by morning. He never had "accidents" in the house. He
was seriously in control of that part of his life. He would disappear
down the wash that ran alongside our property and come back after a
fashion like a seasoned trooper. He was a rough customer toward other
dogs. He was completely fearless, regardless of another animal’s size
or aggressiveness. His turf was not negotiable. Towards people, he was
the gentlest, most loving dog I have ever seen. When he saw me again
after any separation, he danced about like a crazed puppy. Anyone who
met him was enchanted by his aura. He was courageous and had a
mesmerizing telepathy in his eyes. He seemed to know what you were
thinking. Ok, he was just a dog.
Then, in 2001, we met our family. The night we first went to their house for supper, Rooster came along. I told him as we pulled up to the house, "Rooster, someone is cooking dinner for
us." He paid attention to everything I said. Both he and I were greeted
with such love that we stayed forever. Rooster even gained a new friend
named Scotty. Scotty is a Dalmatian about the same size as Rooster, but
was in need of a wiser friend. That night was 5 years ago. Now we all
live in California and enjoy a happy life together. We have become
Today I said goodbye to Rooster. We all said our good byes to Rooster
in the last week. This month (July) we began to notice Rooster was
changing. He was coughing and seemed to be losing weight and energy. I
took him to the vet in the first week. He was given medication for his
cough and antibiotics for any other infections that might be. One week
ago he looked not the same dog that I have known for these past 9
years. He was given a blood test and X-rays. That afternoon, the vet
gave me the diagnosis. Rooster had a large tumor on his liver, and it
had spread to his lung. The condition was inoperable. I brought him
home so we could have him a little while longer, and love him as much
as we could for as long as we could have him around. By the weekend, he
was skeletal and breathing uncomfortably. He still was eating, but less
and less. I noticed he was trembling as he lay on the floor. He was
having difficulty standing, and I knew our time was up. We are all
holding our grief in our own way. Angela and I are embracing as the day
marches to an end. The children are containing their misery and loss
with courage. We said goodbye to our pal today. I really can’t describe
what it is like, because it is unlike anything. We said goodbye to an
old friend today.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006


> Been a while…
> About a month, I reckon since the last post. Formerly known as
> Interferon Funny Guy, past the Gates of Hell, into the sublime of Non:
> a rose speckled garden of non-description and tangent variety, I have
> traveled - made a trip or two down the Lovers Lane, brimming with
> white
> foam beach scenes and noiseless wave pounding surf shows, I gaze and I
> gaze and I gaze. It’s hardly a memory now, that time of endlessness.
> This body was wracked on the freeway within death's grip and the
> moment
> yielded fresh life. But now have I seen my death and fear it no more.
> In addition, or as a bonus, I saw through the veils of the past (my
> back pages), beyond the next menu attraction, at the character
> known as
> Me. So, with a newer resolve than ever before, I plot to capture the
> untainted aspects of the things that I lost long ago. Music, art,
> writing, all of it, all at once, now is my last and best choice.
> For anyone who might be interested, I have some back problems that
> need
> more than mere time to correct. I went to board a plane from an
> outside
> gangway, took the first step on the stair, and…nothing happened,
> except I
> fell to the ground. My leg just sort of took a break from reality
> and put
> my ass down. That sucked, but no one saw the mishap, because I was the
> last one boarding the plane. Well, except for the airline guy who was
> directing the group to the gangway. I’m sure he was confounded at the
> sight of me falling down for no apparent reason. Then when I went
> to get
> off the shuttle bus, I fell again on the first step. This time, a
> lot of
> people saw the fall, some of whom were my family. I was pissed or just
> plain humiliated. So, that’s what’s happenin’. Something having to
> do with
> the fucked vertebrae and the leg isn’t making the grade. I’ll work
> on it.
> Other than that, I’m having a positive influence on me. I’ve got a
> bunch of paint and canvas, and a cool place to get it together. As
> usual, life goes on and new people come into the picture, and I feel
> great. It is immensely satisfying to be rid of the virus. It was
> crappy
> at first, but once I fixed my mind to win, I got used to it.
> I’ll try to post every once in a while, like when I have
> something to
> say, or if someone asks, as happened this time. So, if you post a
> comment, I have to reply with a posting. It’s not a bad deal. I
> kind of
> like it this way. Hang in there folks, "it ain’t over ‘til it’s over",
> and then you never know, it might come back to haunt you.

Monday, June 12, 2006



Having just returned from Tokyo, still jet-lagged, settling in, now
looking ahead to the coming days and weeks, I’m all about the new
lease on life I’ve been granted through patience and the support of
lots of people who must give a hoot about me. It’s a couple of weeks
since the meds ended, and already I feel a tweek of normality in
general. That is, in addition to not loading my body with strange
medications, distancing myself from beer and drink has me feeling more
myself than I have in ages. Even though I’m depleted of muscle and
flexibility, I feel the better aspects of body returning. It’s the mind
one has to watch out for. It’s the mind that takes control of your path
and chooses how you live. One can be clean as the holiest of water and
dedicated to maintaining the course, but if the mind wants to change,
"IT" has all the options and the rest of you follows like a zombie.
It’s the same old story of mind over mind… well, in my case anyway.
Some times we are weak and we find any way to do what we want
regardless of what we know is right. Having the right partner is what
can keep your ship from getting off course. Not that one can’t do it
alone, it’s just a whole lot more challenging. I could be wrong.

My recovery from the motorcycle accident is going very well. I
get up
and down much easier. Normal activity is manageable for reasonable
amounts of time. When I feel over-done, I know I had better sit back and
chill. I take a pain med, usually at the end of the day, although I do
see a danger there. I’m walking the line with that. I don’t need to
make another habit for myself, but on the other hand I know that
denial is a prescription for a binge down the road. If it’s about pain,
then it’s ok to get rid of it, but if it’s about merely taking
something to relax, then it can bite you later on. That’s how stuff
gets started. By the time you get around to asking for help, you’re in
deep and it can get REAL bad from there. All in all, I have a feeling
that everything will be optimum with a little time. Thanks for asking
about me, and thanks to all of those who emailed and sent cards,
wishes, and good words for the hobbled old dude.
It looks to me like the two foregoing paragraphs are really about
same thing. So, safe to say, I’m in a period of real transition. Things
are brighter, and physically, mentally, spiritually, I will get where I
want to go, if I’m not there already.


Wednesday, May 24, 2006



No trumpet voluntary was sounded. No brightly colored ribbon hung loosely to be broken by the finisher. No crowd was waiting and applauding the moment. Without pomp, without fanfare, without ceremony, the last round came and went as if nothing happened.
Approximately one year ago, a nice young person came to my house with a kit and presentation of how to administer the medications necessary to fight off the virus that had taken up residence in my body. With a minimal amount of instruction, I performed the first installment of Interferon to myself, and awaited the gruelling effects of a new type of invader. I recall the next 24 + hours of gut wrenching emotional baggage spill-out from the evasive little monster that controlled my ambitions and attitudes. Somehow in the chaos of that, I was finding where the truth was hiding. It was the beginning of coming back. Yesterday, calmly, uneventfully I played out the same old routine as I had for the past year without pomp or fanfare. It was the last shot, an anticlimactic one more time type of thing. What the hell…it had become as routine as a cup of coffee in the morning. All the same, something new had taken over as the latest in the series of life’s hurdles. Two weeks ago, at 5:30 in the afternoon, on the 210 freeway, I crashed my bike and sustained a fracture in the lumbar region of my spine. The next 5 days were spent in the hospital, and now, two weeks later, I regroup for yet another fight to pick up the pieces. No self-pity here, just to be alive is the greatest gift I could ever ask for. My family was spared from my death, which easily might have been the case. I survived without being paralyzed or requiring amputations. I’ve lived to write this blog and tell you all what is on my mind, and try to make sense of why anything happens as it does. So, here it is. Whether one takes the long road or now road, our lives are precious gifts and whatever it takes to repair and rebuild them is our duty and trust. If we could just look around and see the grace and perfection of what we’ve been entrusted with, we might see things through the eyes of a better being. The people, the animals, the Earth, the sea, and the sky, the mystery of the universe, the ever- growing mind of the human species, it is for all of that we must take responsibility.
As I flew through the air, in that fleeting moment, I knew I had lost everything, and my fate was about to be written on the pavement. I braced for the unknown. The next several seconds are a blur of impact and out of control tumbling down on the rock hard freeway pavement. YEOOOW! I rolled to an abrupt stop and glanced forward just in time to see my bike crashing up the road at an exit ramp. It seemed to be at least a quarter mile away. The next few moments told whether I would live or die on that road. I couldn’t move myself to get out of the lane. I was scared. A guy stopped his car in the middle of the freeway and created a small roadblock. A few more cars stopped, and soon a small group of people were standing around me and telling me to not move. Someone was patting my arm in a nervous but comforting manner. I knew I would live. I had struck an errant muffler that fell off a truck and appeared with no time to react. During the tumble, I felt my helmet strike the roadway. I was hysterically calm. I felt a disabling pain in my back, but being able to move my feet a little gave me hope that I wasn’t paralyzed. When the chips are down people, we rush to aid our stricken brothers, because something in each of us is undeniably godlike. I wish to thank those passing motorists who came to my aid, whoever they may be. I asked the guy closest to me to call Angela on my cell phone, which he bravely did. When he passed the phone to me, I told her I wrecked my bike, but I was probably going to be alright. A few minutes later the paramedics arrived and a new kind of chaos started. Well, that’s most of it. I spent 5 days at a great hospital and by now I’m on my way to a complete recovery.
Angela would come to my hospital bedside every morning with reports of scads of well wishing emails. They came from people I’d never met and old pals from many years ago. I was overwhelmed with gratitude, and still am. I never imagined how much support I have from so many people. And, of course, my wife and life partner, Angela Davis, and our family, give me the will to stay the course until all the battles are won. I love you all.

Monday, May 08, 2006



Many people have sent heartening comments to me lately- unlike before, when many blogs would go by without a trace of response. So many times I told Angela that no one was checking it out except spammers, and she would say, "Just keep writing. They’re watching and waiting to see how you’ll do. They aren’t sure what to say until they know if you can handle it. There may be a lot of people who are following the story because they’re in the same boat as you." This is the case, and you know, no matter what, I needed to keep a running diary of it all to feel a sense of detachment in a way. It certainly helped.
Now, with 3 weeks left of medication I almost can’t believe that it’s over! I ask myself, isn’t there something more? It’s funny how time is the easiest and hardest thing to pass all at once. It’s harder for us addict types, because, like children and psychopaths, we require instant gratification. We are by definition true hedonists. This is my character; it’s the hand I was dealt. In this habit I have not changed, I can’t, it’s me. Rather, I have become the master of it. Now, instead of indulging cravings with self depreciating experiences, I have learned to embrace it completely and flood myself with kindness. I realize that there are things about myself I cannot change, nor should I want to. I am who I am, and that’s alright with me (and my wife). Armed with fresh conviction, I give it its due. The result is nothing short of a 360 degree full circle back to feeling the feelings that I knew when I was a twenty- one-year-old aspiring art student, full of curiosity, adventure, and love energy. I could say that quite phenomenally I have returned to myself. It is thorough and unilateral in its effect, but the explanation of that will have to wait until it plays out a bit more. I’m really happy that I have been able to help out some people who gained a vision through my experiences. If you only saw ME, that’s ok too. I wanted you to. If you saw me in YOU, then, that’s what this is about.
When I started this treatment, I thought I was purging my body of a virus. I was embarking on a medical process with a whole slew of variables and complications. Well, that is only part of it. What I didn’t know was how that virus, real as it was, symbolized the wayward direction my path had taken all that time ago. In a sense, I have flushed the demons from their hiding places in my secret world. Begone, begone, begone! AHHH, hello darlin’, it’s been a long time.

And now for something apparently different, but ultimately related. Ok, so I’m a retro geek. I even go out of my way to buy outdated cool cassette decks. Angela said; "Cassette tapes are obsolete, right? Nobody makes them." I said; " To me they’re not obsolete." Last year Evan had a bunch of cassette tapes with him on the bus and I asked him what he was doing with those. He said, "I love ‘em." I thought he was bonkers. I have discussions with people often about the analogue/digital sources debate and its relevance, if there is any. But this is where the beauty lies. That we even care about such a thing as 20-40 year old technology and it’s trappings makes us passionate about something. Like Jack Lemmon said so mournfully and desperately in the 1970’s film SAVE THE TIGER, "I just want to be in love with SOMETHING." As I look around at people's general tendencies it is common to see an astonishing trend toward regaining what has been out dated by the new.

There is always the fanatic fringe that clings to the origination of anything. I think it’s more than healthy, it’s who we are, but even more important, we get to pursue our tastes and fulfill our desires. What remains critical is our motives. That determines what the worth of anything is. So, we are not just little babies with big appetites. We are the ETERNAL pilgrims- even if our quest brings us back to the beginning. And the blog goes on.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006


> Da bloggety, bloggety, bloggety; sacred sound of a Harley
> Davidson idling away and waiting for the master to unleash the
> hounds. It’s the sound of raw energy bleating for the chance to run
> wide open - that’s what it is. So, you get out there with the
> “flow” and what happens? You use the compactness of your machine,
> the power of it’s torque, and the threatening nature of it’s sound
> to slide through, around, and past all forms of little monsters
> driving expensive, nimble, shiny pellets as though a checkered flag
> waited at some distant point on the horizon. You struggle to free
> yourself of the hazard by being a more aggressive rider, but
> always looking out for that MF who can’t stand being bested, or
> cramped in by the myopic slowpoke that shouldn’t be issued a driver
> license in the first place. Still, I wonder what would life be
> without my two-wheeled passion.
> I saw the doctor a week ago. That was at the 40th week of my
> treatment. We discussed the finish line for the meds. I am due one
> more shipment of them, which has arrived today. And with that I
> will have completed 46 weeks of Interferon/ Ribavirin medication.
> Dr Bartley, who is a very by-the-book kind of doctor (no shortcuts,
> higher dosage/accelerated treatment schedule), stated that 46
> weeks of treatment is fine and we should be alright with that. All
> my blood-work is normal without any relapses of cell volume. I can
> tell Bartley is pleased that I’ve gone the distance without
> bitching and complaining. Splice in a couple of trips to Europe, a
> killer flight to Brazil, and who knows what I’ve forgotten, and I
> stand here with the end of the road now in-sight. After the
> completion of medication I will return in 6 months for another lab
> test for a viral load. If the virus does not reappear at that time
> we can consider the treatment completed. So how do I feel? Ok, but
> still tired a lot. Weak physically, but not unhealthy. Decadent,
> but, and most importantly, happy. For all the minor irritations and
> piss-offs, I’ve got a great life and have been blessed with a
> situation beyond anything I could have hoped for. Five weeks from
> now I will be able to say “damn, I made it”. Accompanied by the
> knowledge that I am virus free and past a shadow of my former dark
> days, it’s a good feeling for the old boy, like redemption. I’ve
> never even imagined what it would feel like at the end, but it’s
> like anything else; you can’t know until you get there!
> The weather seems to help my mood a lot. Arrival of spring and
> warm sun on the face is a heck of a way to smile inside. Jesus, I’m
> getting sappy again. That means it’s time to take off until I get a
> better idea to talk about.
> My old high school buddy Jim is coming to L.A. this weekend….neat.
> I haven’t seen Jim since 1962.
> I’ll check back in to the blog in a week or two. And for sure
> to make a statement if I haven’t already done so, at the end of the
> big medication highway.
> Sayonara, M.D.

Monday, April 03, 2006


> Monday, March 20, exactly 9 months/36 weeks have been completed in
> treatment. I’ve gotten some very nice feedback from you recently, and
> my wife tells me I had better keep writing, because it might be
> important.
> While my medical treatment for Hep C has been successful, I have
> observed that it lacks a holistic approach. The traditional treatment
> plan offered throughout our healthcare system misses most of the
> fundamental needs of the patient by ignoring every issue besides the
> chemistry that is the basis of Hep C treatment. As the treatment
> progresses, it leaves one vulnerable to loss of body mass, energy
> shortage, and psychological dislocation. There is no formal auxiliary
> treatment that addresses diet, rehab, or relationship development that
> ultimately takes over as time progresses. I’ve been lucky enough to
> have support in all those areas, but what about someone who faces
> these realities without any help? During my time on Interferon and
> Ribavirin, Angela has seen to it that food is plentiful, wholesome,
> and natural. Whenever possible, we use organic produce and lots of
> whole grain. We are not vegetarian, but do attempt to always supply
> ourselves with more fruit and vegetable produce and use lean organic
> meats as the "sides" . It’s good eatin’ and I’m enjoying every bit of
> it. We started a program of physical rehab at a fitness club. While
> Angela has maintained the daily 3 mile trek around the Rose Bowl, I
> have not had the motivation or energy to go out. I lost control of my
> physical stature over the course of this time under medication, and my
> body has wilted from inactivity. I don’t know if I can make up the
> slack. I’m going to try to return to a regular bicycle ride and a
> weight training routine. We have also been looking at a number of
> insight related areas that are helpful. Yet, I feel the most valuable
> therapy is the consistent availability of a partner and his or her
> willingness to hear all the whining, dream-telling and self- analysis
> you can dish out. Somewhere in all that introspection is the security
> I desperately crave. Now that we’ve undone the virus, looked at ways
> to recoup my physical nature, and corrected my diet, it’s time to
> focus on helping others. This is the spiritual transfusion that can
> make me truly a better person.
> I’ve recently returned from Italy where I had to take along a dose
> an Interferon for the following Monday, as I would be gone a total of
> 11 days. When my luggage failed to arrive in Venice, being that it
> was stuck in New York at JFK from baggage mishandling, I wondered
> what condition the dose would be in. We had packed the contents in
> stay-cold packs with the thought that it would stay refrigerated until
> I was able to stow it in a proper place. On Saturday night, I
> unwrapped the reunited duffel bag to find a soggy, but still cold
> package with the dose in it. The next morning, a day early, I decided
> to get on with the dose and not have to mess around thinking about
> refrigerators. That was the first time I gave myself a “shot” on the
> road. Well, maybe not the first, but certainly the first beneficial
> shot. (Moral of story: always carry your medications in your
> carry-on bag and keep them with you at all times.)
> When I see Dr.Bartley again, I will be almost at 40 weeks. Seems
> like I’m almost finished, but that is two more months of pill taking
> and Interferon injections, and I shouldn’t quit until it’s officially
> over. Maybe it’s why I still can’t seem to get motivated for anything.
> All I care to do these days is ride my HD and look at eBay for bike
> related parts. Although I never think of the treatment and the drugs I
> have to take as debilitating any longer, I wonder if it still is
> having a negative effect on me anyway. For that reason alone I wish
> for this treatment to be over. I don’t really feel anything in
> particular related to the medication. It’s a lame excuse, I know, but
> makes me wish to be done with it and get on with a normal life.
> Ok, kids…sorry for not keeping up with the blog on a regular basis.
> With traveling done for now, I will try to make a regular stab at
> writing. I’m a lazy sot, and I know it. Bear with me. Ciao.

Tuesday, February 28, 2006



Scandic report #1 from snowy Oslo, Norway. It snowed all night last night and all day today, and it is still snowing this evening. I’ve just returned from a brisk walk in the early darkness of evening, through the traffic and snowy streets and sidewalks. I didn’t slip once in the mush of snow. That is because an old Detroiter like me can never forget the lessons of winter from all that time growing up and learning how to play in the stuff. Of the many times I went airborne in the winter wonderland, it was because of icy conditions, never snow. Snow gives you just enough traction so that you can make a move without losing it. So, anyway, I’ve been outside and got a blast of Oslo if for only several blocks. If it were a little nicer I would venture farther. These days I play it safe. Honestly, I’m not sure what I have anymore in terms of endurance. I’d like to say I’m able to do most anything I care to do without worrying about the outcome, but I’m most comfortable being on the safe side. So I didn’t fall down, big deal.
I get the feeling Oslo (and I’ve been here before) is a place with a lot of clout. Steeped in Nordic tradition and history, one of the purer modern cities of ancient tradition, without being over run with commercialization. It feels strong, with a good mix of old with modern. I never saw it like that before. These days I am much less distracted with bullshit than I ever was. I feel so much clearer. I can’t help but think the lack of obsession with drinking is the major factor here. My priorities are directed to real needs and not imaginary ones. I am less overwhelmed by delusion and the constant internal nagging “when can I start drinking?”. I hate to belabor a point, but I can’t pretend it isn’t important.
I was watching the past two gigs as fans would talk to me and always they were transparent by the amount of alcohol they had consumed. The beer people were on slow rolling binges of retardation, while those who used hard stuff with whatever were just plain incapacitated. I felt somewhat omnipotent and helpless as I observed the pathetic performances. I was worse not so long ago. If there is one thing I can pass on to anyone undergoing this confusion it’s this: Take this seriously. A minor problem can become an out of control manifesto for self-destruction with not too much effort if you let it get the best of you. I think drinking as a highly regarded noble tradition is nothing more than procrastination by the ounce. It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. On the other hand, plain ordinary people with real lives and feelings and hopes and dreams are less appreciated, but ever so much more important.
Tomorrow we head further north to Tromso, where we must fly in; you cannot drive there. I understand it’s -18c. I wonder if Santa Claus is coming to the show. Ho, ho, ho.

Mike Da’ Vike

Sunday, February 12, 2006



After a long absence from the blogscope, the Funny Guy bursts forth with a fresh rant about anything and everything…but first things first. A note to the commentators from the previous entry: Joakim, Ron, and Cavedeb. I like the comments a lot, like more than I can explain, but I have no way of accessing your email address through the blog. If you were to write to me at, I would then be able to get back to you with a personal note. Such as if you ask me a question on the blog, I would only be able to post a comment as a way to answer your question. If you write to me through the website it would be more efficient and I can answer your question in more detail. Joakim, I will see you in Stockholm in a couple of weeks. We’re going to rock the joint, you can count on that. Ron, I would love to answer your MC5 question with a personal response. Not that other people aren’t interested in that info, but at this time, it’s better to respond one on one. Cavedeb; thanks so much for being in my corner and giving me a boost in the morale department.
And now to the major news story of the day. Interferon Funny Guy has tested negative for the Hepatitis C virus. Surprisingly, this test result was from a blood sample of last October 2005. Three weeks ago, after my last blog entry, I went to see Bartley and he made a rather off handed remark that I had tested negative some time ago. Why am I worrying about whether the treatment is working when the answer has already been noted? I suppose there are times it’s in the patient’s best interest not to know every detail of his progress. While I know a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, I don’t like the feeling of being treated like a laboratory hamster. Once I learned that we were through the barrier, my sense of revitalization took me on a trip of freedom regained. The dark cloud of being held by an invader lifted from my shoulders, and a bright day appeared on the other side. So, it seems, in my case anyway, at 4 months of treatment, the virus was purged according to test standards. It is now closing in on 8 months of my treatment experience. Dr Bartley’s method of treatment prefers that the patient continue the treatment process to completion, 48 weeks. In this way, every effort is made to eradicate any lurking viruses and reduce chances of relapse by a greater margin. OK, that’s fine with me. Knowing that this just a means of overkill is a lot more comforting than wondering if anything is working. The real silver lining of the present routine is not having to give myself blood boosters on a daily basis. My cell counts are all normal, and that was the only mitigating factor that might have derailed my quest. Without multiple shots as a daily action, I am free to feel like a regular person, a wonderful feeling. So that’s the story as of now. I am virus free.
Angela and I have joined a fitness club. During the past 7.5 months of inactivity, I lost a good deal of muscle mass. Since I know a smattering of exercise really won’t bring dramatic results, it only makes sense to provide myself with a more rigorous training schedule. Trying to keep a M/W/F routine is what we have decided on. After one week, I feel pretty good, a little sore, but very inspired to get it on and back in shape in a much better way. Having a partner to workout with is a happy experience, one that keeps you focused and enjoying the challenges.

There are a lot of subjects I want to talk about in the coming blogs. Your comments are always most welcome. I want to talk about obsession and addiction; two human traits that occupy the majority of people young and old. I want to talk about what I’ve learned about these very basic drives and inability of people to say no to themselves.

I also want to talk about what we can do to change the tone of this world from rampant marketing and hustling to a compassionate reality that seeks to lift the burdens of our kind, and construct a creative, happier atmosphere.

One of the reasons I slacked off on the blog recently was because I grew tired of talking about the treatment. There seemed to be not much new in the way of revelations about the whole thing and it felt redundant even talking about it. I suppose by my accounts, most bases were covered one way or another and that by and large most of you got the story for what it was worth. As an overview, I can say the treatment is almost a mirror of the issues in each person’s psyche. It can be easy or hard according to the needs and expectations of each individual. Having a solid partner, i.e., some one who loves you, is the greatest assist I could have hoped for. I thank my wife eternally for what she gave me in terms of sustenance, tolerance, deliverance, perseverance, and good old fashioned humor. She also was a treat to look at when I was capable of nothing else. The remaining four months are a cakewalk as far as I’m concerned. It will be June in no time and we’ll leave it all behind as though it was never a matter of doubt. Before I get too sappy and carried away with euphoria, I should bail on this edition and leave some room for a new entry sooner than this one found it’s way onto the page.

Sayonara brothers and sisters.

Michael Davis

Sunday, January 22, 2006

January 16-22, 2006

Here ‘tis Monday and I’m putting off the shots I need to do. Already 1 in the afternoon, and I should just get up and go into the house and do my duty. Even the small amount of pain has become a minor dread. It is nothing, really, and my loathing of this exercise ridiculous, but all the same, it is almost like being forced to eat your peas at the dinner table. I need to take the meds out of the refrigerator, and let the two items reach room temperature. That at least begins the process, it’s a commitment.
Done, mission completed. I don’t like having to take the time, which is all of about 10 minutes when two injections are required. I hope to hear from Bartley’s office this week that my lab results are back.
Many thanks go out to a couple of people who wrote supportive comments on the blog. Nice to get some feedback and know people care.
The Lords left for Spain today. They are out for 6 weeks. I will join them for the last leg of the tour in Scandinavia - probably not as cold as Detroit in February.

I was thinking about some alcohol related issues that I want to share. When I think back to the very first time I got drunk, or let’s say tried drinking, it took place in a parked vehicle with a couple of my friends. I think we were about 16 at the time. We scored a couple six packs of Pabst Blue Ribbon by way of an older acquaintance and drove to a side street to guzzle them down. Guzzle them down we did, like it was the forbidden wonder of the world. Within minutes, perhaps seconds, a fuzz came down over me that put me out of control of myself. It was like being spun around 6 times and released in a void. It was like being sicker than I had ever been before. I was dizzy. Yet I was compelled to be a part of this ritual for reasons I wasn’t aware of. I was attracted to drinking it seemed from then on, although the first experience of it was totally unpleasant. Throughout my school years, drinking took on a priority for any social activity. The “party” was a drinkers ball. People would talk about which booze was the “good stuff”. Scotch, bourbon, vodka, etc. soon acquired traits that identified the profiles of people that drank them. A Scotch drinker was, on one hand, a person of heritage and wealth. A bourbon drinker was slightly bent, cynical, and tough. Vodka drinkers brought up the rear as serious drinkers, lushes. Beer drinkers, the hardy lager and ale men established the salt of the earth, and so on. Characters, both real and ficticious, brought glorious auras to the habit. In short, the whole imagery of drinking, either as a social attachment, merrymaking, or pseudo anti-depressant, is rife with illusion and delusion. Yet we are compelled to adore this habit as though it were a religious ritual. What is a football game without almighty beer? What is New Years Eve without the holy champagne? I can tell you. It’s just what it is. It’s New Years Eve, and it’s a football game, that is all. The accompaniment of drink is just that. It’s just drinking with an excuse. It puts us right back to where we started, in the parked car, making ourselves uncomfortable. This is what I think is going on. It is peer pressure. Even when I drank alone I was maintaining my self-image, as if I were yoked and driven by a mad sod-buster. The futility of it all! Many times I tried to shake the cycle, always to fail when faced with a situation that brought me to having to choose. I would get my supplies, get my high, and be as miserable, if not more so than I had been previously. Then I would/could pass out. Of course, I should mention that there are people in this world who can take a drink intelligently and move along in their life without undue effects. I would that that were me. However, it may be true that I am better to avoid it altogether. The point is; it doesn’t matter, unless, of course, it matters. Then it is a problem. The hard part, as a friend recently pointed out to me, was they found it impossible to quit when it was going on all around them. I do understand. Actually, the motivational forces that drive us to drink are the same as any substance abuse. The pattern of addiction is the same pattern whether it’s about alcohol, heroin, cocaine, pills, coffee, cigarettes, you name it. It doesn’t necessarily have to be about substances either. So, if you're going to get strung out, get strung out on something that’s good for you, but remember, satisfaction is obtained in moderation. “All you need is love, love, love, is all you need”.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006


Day 1

It’s a new year. Let’s hope it’s a good one! After all those years of celebrating, complete with non stop cheer and recovery, I cannot imagine what could be more disenchanting than waking in the morning with a pumpkin sized hangover from holiday bliss making. Those are days gone by. It took a very long time to find my way out of that. So, for what it’s worth, I must thank my old Dr. Sethian for bringing me to the doorstep of self-realization and cure. Tomorrow, it will be one year that I removed alcohol from my life. I cannot express how glad I am to be done with it. It just causes so many problems. We had a great holiday, a very happy time.
I keep plodding along, giving myself injections. After missing a couple of weeks of blood enhancing goodies from snafus at the lab and running out of syringes, I’m back to a daily routine. Pain in the ass it is (not literally), forcing myself to do what I know I have to do. I’ll go for a lab analysis tomorrow, this time checking the viral load along with the usual items. Yesterday was lousy. The day after the interferon consistently is unforgiving. Every evening I’m cold. I cram myself under the blankets in fetal mode trying to get warm. Lately I use Lanocane to quell the itching. It had gotten so bad, that I scratched my legs to bleeding. Then the nerves would light up like someone was holding a red-hot iron on a few spots. It’s been going on like this for some time. Funny, how I’ve gotten used to it.
Angela has been great, what a partner. She’s got so much work every day, all day and into the evening. Yet, she manages to run the household and feed everyone, see to their complaints, and keep me in good spirits while we struggle with the longevity of the treatment. It’s alright for us though - we feel pretty good about doing it together. I imagine it could be really tough for someone to have to do it on their own.
I have great plans for this year. In the coming months I’ll have more to talk about with my creative projects. I’ll be in Scandinavia and Italy shortly, and will make a full report as those things develop. That’s it for now. Stay on top. Keep the faith. Sayonara. Happy New Year.