honea byrne

The very kind host of the Thursday night open mic jam took my Kramer for a week to do surgery on it. Therefore, I wasn’t as prepared as I would have preferred for this week’s performance. Regardless, I performed another original. It was an instrumental “Haunted Highways.” I stayed after to work on some things that had theorems of staying in the same old situations that are self destructive because doing something different is frightening. I stopped to watch a three piece teen-age band play. When the parents of this band started taking footage it reminded me of you. Your parents were always so supportive of you in your music and writings. Then I began to feel foolish for being older and still going after “the dream.” Somewhere in my introspective conflict I wrote the rough draft of a song dedicated to you. Some of the lyrics: For miles and miles More than the eyes can see I went up and down, down and up Wished upon shooting stars for my share of good luck Gone and come back again

click here to hear song Ghosts of Whitmore By Charles H. Galloway  I have to admit experiencing both immense relief as well as measurable foreboding upon receiving my invitation to employment by the Mississippi State Hospital at Whitmore. During such bleak economic times any opportunity to employment is welcome, and one earning a reasonable wage with benefits to boot is truly a blessing to one whose resume leaves something to be desired. The accompanying anxiety I experienced upon receipt of such news was due to Whitmore's reputation and the rumored tales of things that supposedly transpired there under cover of night. Having long been know as “The Madhouse of Mississippi”, it was said that the clientele comprised only the most depraved and demented the state had to offer and that no one who entered ever saw the light of day again. Since I was a youth I have repeatedly heard stories from friends and relatives about people they either knew or knew