Jose' Diaz / Blog

Scratch a site,,,

Just a note to let you know I have dropped the legasyssongs website. legasyssongs.com is no longer a place to go...


Fate respects no one. It has no remorse. It never compromises in its intentions. It is a close companion with karma but karma does not affect its actions. Fate is emotionless yet it fosters deep emotions in everyone it touches. It knows everything we do and everything we do not. Most of all, it knows when our time has come. It knows how it will deal with us. It knows how much we will discover about it in our final moments. It knows how long we will live with that knowledge. It bathes itself in the cacophony of thoughts that might flit thru our minds as we cross the line separating the living from the dead. Fate follows every tears trace. Every whimper, and every scream, greets fates indifference solemnly. Fate is far stronger than love, hate, anger, despair, or any and all emotions combined. It is as steady as the wind, heavier than a mountain, and as sure as the moment that has just past, the moment you are in right now, and the next moment to come. We cannot deny fate in its inevitabilities even though we sometimes lie to ourselves in its shadow. It befalls us. It assails us. It wrenches us down over tightened, deep into reality.

There is nothing in creation worse than fate. There is no living pain to compare it to. Its job is complete when the last spark of energy leaves us; the last neuron has fired for the last time, and our very last memory dissolves into darkness. If we are lucky those who knew us will keep a few memories alive within themselves. If we are lucky enough we might transcend with our memories intact into the great unknown. Fate forces us to leave so much to luck and faith and so, we indulge ourselves. Fate is only generous with the freedom it gives us to think what we will of it.

Fate respects no one. It can be as neat as a fallen eyelash, or as ragged as a hyper-nova. In either case and in every case in between, fate is a thing of perfection.

Prices Fall!

Just a note to say that I went down the list and dropped every song from $1.29 to $0.99.


Where do you enjoy your music? How well do you get on with that enjoyment? These days finding the place and time to enjoy the music you love can be a chore. Yes, I will use myself as an example. In my house I rarely put any music on. I’m the only hard-rock/ Heavy-Metal fan there. I have to hear hip-hop, Adult-Contemporary, Country, Pop, and any-and-everything else. Please don’t get me wrong, there are many songs across many genre of music that I enjoy hearing. I just put the hard stuff on when I can get away with it.

Outside of the house I usually get a few moments both on the way to and from work. That amounts to either two to three songs on a couple of local rock stations or one or two songs on one of my own original albums. My away-from-home-nirvana is a long drive to someplace. Then, I get to hear several more good rock stations or a complete CD or two of my own compositions.

In my youth I hung out with my musical peers and the music was as non-stop as we could keep it, and LOUD! I and my drinking buddies had a slew of awesome albums from awesome bands and we pretty much wore out cassettes, vinyl, speakers, and volume knobs. Our days had a soundtrack that was the perfect backdrop for how we felt about life.

The days I catch my beloved tunes when and where I can. I take care not to offend with it. I respect that not everyone around me likes what I listen to. I just wish more people around me felt the same way. There’s an occasional “thumping” in my house at two or three in the morning. That’s something I quit doing many years ago.

I’ve had some great moments with friends thru music. I’ve also had some great moments with total strangers. Sure, there were great moments in front of crowds. The stage was an awesome trip. But there was a moment one day on the way to work when I was listening to the radio. Queensryche was on. “Silent Lucidity” is a favorite ballad of mine. I was at an intersection and waiting to turn left. Across the way was a young lady waiting for the light. She got the right of way and as she came by I noticed her singing. I was singing too. We both caught each other’s eye as we passed. We read each other’s lips right there in the chorus and smiled a few syllables. It was just a nice moment between total strangers. Nothing shared but the mutual love of a song.

The same thing has also happened to me with Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb”. Whenever two strangers can connect visually and emotionally to a song on the radio, that, is a special moment. Of course you have to be careful with these situations. Those with simple minds will usually inject all manner of misconception into the casualness of such situations. For me, it’s all about the music. It’s always been about the music.

Music feeds me. My mind starves without it. My soul shrivels up and dries to dust. My body weakens without sonic input. My imagination fades without the proper lubrication that music provides. As I age, I find that fewer and fewer people understand that, and even fewer respect my taste in music.

The Blues

How do you find the blues? What is, the blues?

Until you lose something dear to you, until you find something you never knew you needed, until you discover pain in parts of your soul that you know you’ll never be able to lance into and purge, you will never know what the blues are.

The blues is something both intangible, and concrete. The blues is like a broken heart, or a busted soul. It’s like a broken bone or a serious black eye. It hurts when you discover you have it.

If you ever find the blues you might smile eventually. That is, if you can figure out how to share your soul in a simple way. If you overthink your blues the credence will tarnish immediately. Then your blues is just a sad joke the world gets but you don’t.

If you’ve ever cried a river then had to walk it dry, if you’ve ever screamed out until you lost your voice and then kept on screaming until it came back, if you’ve ever hurt so bad that it started to feel good just to feel, then maybe you’ve gotten close to finding your blues. If you’ve ever missed the sunshine of a smile, the touch of a long lost love, the sound of your own name from a dear friend, your mommas’ cooking’, your daddys’ laugh, or the sound of your grandmas’ voice singing in church on a bright Sunday morning, you might be getting close to your blues.

If you ever find your blues remember, they are yours. You walked the coals to find them. You screamed into them and you bleed your soul to feed that vampire that is the blues. You were Humpty Dumpty though you tried to be the king. You can’t blame anyone else for your blues. The pain of the blues is an inevitability of life. The time you spend suffering, is your own choice.

Take pride in the solitude of your blues. Take pleasure in the publicity of the blues of others. Take inspiration from the greats of yesteryears gone by. Take the experience of the blues of others and cradle it deep down in your soul. You may never understand a lot of what you find but just feeling it is always the right thing to do.

Life is a thing from point a to point b. You may not find your blues until the last second of your life. Even then, it will be a worthwhile discovery. If you are lucky enough to find it sooner and time is on your side for a while, do what you can to share it. The blues is not always a flurry of screaming notes, but sometimes it is. The blues is not always a complex vamp on an instrument, but sometimes it is. The blues is not always a sad vocal lament, but sometimes it is. The blues is a moment, or a minute, an hour, day, week, year, or a lifetime that seems to last forever.

If you find your blues try to sum it up in one note. That’s just how those who have found and mastered their blues can do it. Sometimes a backing band helps, but not always. Be it sinuous or staccato, sustained or muffled, bright, or dark, the blues is best shared thru music. Music is honest and no music is more honest than the blues. If you’re faking it, the world can tell.


The human race is stagnating. Problems are a fact of life. Even when we can solve one, we still create more, one way or another. Not everyone can be satisfied. Yet, satisfaction is something everyone needs, or wants. Seeing eye to eye rarely occurs. Ignorance has created a void into which anyone and everyone can pour their opinions, their intentions, and their convictions.

Knee-jerk reactions have become the fodder for the cannons of all political rhetoric. “Law abiding” has become the excuse of the day by which governments seek to set their swords of control ever deeper into the populace. Leaders, for the most part, line their pockets by taxation before they lift a finger to help the people who put them in office. It’s easy to love your country but it’s very hard to love your leader(s) today.

Criminals exist to circumvent and undermine society. No government can ever write a law that criminals will abide by. Laws only control the actions of those who choose to live by them. No law has ever kept a criminal from getting exactly what they want, when they want, and however they choose to go about getting it. That goes for loot and booty as well as weapons and human beings. The power criminals have is granted to them, by themselves. The only way to take it away from them is to give law abiding citizens similar power. Not only does responsibility come with power, but morality will always be the sole separator between good people and bad people.


Inspiration can come from anywhere at any time. It can also languish just out of reach. It might be elusive for less than a moment, or even for a lifetime. Either way, the lack of it can be excruciating.

Creative “blocks” can come in many forms. Just telling an artist to “go create” can be one. The list of catalysts extends into infinity. Most that create art do so in a chosen environmental setting. A quiet corner, a surrounding of books or images, lucky charms, talismans, favorite pen or pencil, there are no limits to what any given artist might use. Likewise, there is no end to the settings that might be the best for any given artist.

Creative “blocks” are the brick walls that strand artist concretely in reality. The moment of “now” becomes a prison from which there seems to be no egress. The words, music, images, shapes, and forms cease to materialize. The mind flounders painfully. Marooned too long, the body may well succumb to the pain as well.

Hope becomes a lonely vigil. Deep down inside the artist knows there is a memory of something that might shatter the blockage. It can be found. It will eventually be found. Until that happens, the floodwaters will build behind that dam. The weight might crush the spirit, but even as it warps the mind like a black hole being birthed hope expands exponentially.

Great artists don’t create things so the world can enjoy them. Great artists create things because they enjoy creating them. The history of whatever genre they work in has little to do with their idea. The easy way out would be to use things created in the past to ferment any given idea into a product. The right way out is to find the right ingredients within and ferment them unaccompanied.

Reality is a desert where imagination must venture. Reality whips up putrid dust storms and rattles off dry lightning in great sheets. Blinding grains of pulverized dreams cut into the minds’ eye. Boulders dance by on tangled lines of screaming magnetism and haphazard gravity wells. Imagination is lost if it cannot maintain its’ posture. For imagination to survive it must take to a chrysalis. Its lone refuge is within the artist. The heart, mind, body, and soul, are its only haven.

Cocooned, as imagination is, the raging din of reality might fade just enough for a scant thought to be processed. That flicker of contemplation might just germinate the seed of an idea. If it sprouts strongly enough it might well shatter the dam. If the time is right, imagination might bring forth a flood. The dream might explode into a tidal wave that brushes the clouds away and settles the dust into muddy rivers. Imagination can then steer the boulders, smooth out the distortions of gravity and magnetism, and use as much of that energy as possible to build the little idea into something fully original and new. If nothing springs forth from the little thought then it can only be hoped that the cocoon is strong enough to last long enough for something good to happen.

From Here

From here I scroll down the multitude of past posts and realize how much I've been writing. I really need to step back and take a deep breath. This mental respiration might take a while. There are some other things in my life that require my attention for now.

I know that, if I am scarce or not, it matters very little in the grand scheme. I'm putting together a few themed playlist for my enjoyment. I encourage you all to do something along that line of thought. I'm just doing my own tunes for now. You will of course want to do a mix of all your favorite artists. Make sure you include some of the little guys like me.

I may not be here for now but I am not gone for good. God ain't called yet. That album I'm sitting on is one I don't listen to every day. Still, when I do, it still sounds right. I'm sorry I can't release it as planned this year. Even us little guys have to stick to a budget. You can still sample some of the tracks on Reverbnation though. You might even find a free download or two.

Keep the music loud and always stay proud of the music you love.

2-11-13 Feelings, Emotions

Some feelings last forever. Emotions never die.

I can still feel the relaxed softness of the first time we were introduced. It’s always closely followed by a nostalgic flash of who I think is you in high school with suede boots on.

I can still feel the flutter of butterfly wings and crisp electricity from the first time we were alone together. Your hesitations were like a rose stuttering open.

I can still feel the warmth and moisture of our first kiss. The first time I looked back on it there were fireworks. There are fireworks even now.

Life is measured in seasons. We’re born in the springtime. We grow up in the summer. We start looking ahead in the fall. In winter we reminisce. The times we share with others are the fodder of feelings and emotions that define who we are. As each season bleeds into the next we waste a bit of reluctance on the changes we see in those around us as well as in ourselves.

Actions speak louder than words but memories are all we have to prove the past has even happened. Every memory you have will only ever be hypothetical to the rest of the world.

Our bodies age ceaselessly. The fire you started in my heart rages on. The flames will never wither. Should the world freeze over I will still be volcanic inside. My dying thought will surely be of you.

I can never get enough of you. The softness of your skin entices me. The purse of your lips makes me foolish. The light in your eyes drives me insane. Shakespeare could do no justice to the way I feel about you.

Time steals a little more of you from me each day.

Most Of The Time...

Most of the time, it’s not painful to visit my children’s Facebook pages. It’s nice to see how their lives are turning out.

Most of the time, it’s not painful when I see friends and ex-family from the past there. Just as with my children, a part of me hopes they are doing as well as it appears.

Most of the time, it’s not painful how I miss every single one of my grandchildren. It’s warming to see my genetics have reached across the generation to them.

Most of the time, it’s not painful when I look back down the road of my life. Without regret, where I am today is where I ought to be.

Most of the time, it’s not painful to replay past events in my mind. That’s how I keep my own reassurance validated.

Most of the time, it’s not painful to sift thru the leftover pieces of my heart. Each grain still represents the best of me.