James says it is important to write some kind of introduction to a song, to help people understand it. And while I agree with him, it is not really possible for me to do so at this time. Because… whenever I write in prose I feel that I end up channeling some strange personality not my own. Sometimes I call this voice Mr. Pompadou and other times Mr. Belvedere, but at any rate it is horrifying to imagine that someone might mistake this voice for me.
A person’s writing voice is partially, I suppose, a reflection of who they imagine their audience to be. I imagine people reading this who are intelligent, but also close-minded and hostile. Therefore, Mr. Belvedere comes out as a protective measure. Nobody could be mad at a man like him!
Cards and Slots
Cards and slots, drinks and dots,
dropping more things than you got
forms a rift, continental drift…
essential things float away in the mist
and you are pissed.
But if you want to play the blame game you know
it will only be your name on the list;
still I insist
you reconsider all the evidence.
Lost in time, lost in sea, lost in space…
a man was born who never had a face;
they all say he doesn’t exist,
but they can’t explain the pain that emits from his wet kiss.
Is it amiss to be sad, to be mad
when you think of the things that you missed…
and yet you should always remember this:
That you were placed in this space
because you are the man with the gift,
to bringing light into the heart of the pit;
flying high- the blackest soil provides the greatest lift,
the deepest dose of nutrient.
Half the time you fall, half the time you are in pain
but it’s not your fault that you wear chains.
Half of what you said only made your heart lose hope,
but its not your fault that there’s
a black man stalking you dragging a long white rope.
Valentines just in time
twist your brain to form a rhyme-
tell her that you love her the most…
say that you’re about to explode!
(Knuckles crack crack, echoing inside your abode,
but as the tensions rise there are things you must know.)
Is a friend in need the type of friend you need-
what about a scratch for your back?
a feather you can slap into your cap?
cause it stalls in your craw that nobody never gives back.
A thousand faces laugh from their seats-
you’re the only man on the stage,
trying not to fly into rage, and you wonder…
were you that dumb at their age?
Goodbye, goodbye
to everything that never made sense,
to all the knots that only grew dense;
my repentance will be vengeance.
Half the time you crawl, half the time you are insane
but it’s not your fault that you wear chains.
Half of what you said, it was only a way to cope,
but soon you will turn to fight
the black man stalking you dragging his long white rope.
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