Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Hurricane, West Virginia Music & Songs

Cards and Slots

 

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 SlotsMan in Orange Shorts

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.

 

Download MP3: Cards and Slots

Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Hurricane, West Virginia Music & Songs

Born to Fly

 

Born to FlyGood Bye

Trees green, pillowy grass
Bottle in your hand- fill up my glass

Stones pressed into the dirt
I am not hurt, I am not hurt

Violet clouds and mountains high await me
I’m a feather any wind will take me

Everyone is afraid to die
But something tells me I was born to fly.

Wrap me up in cellophane
Hit with a hammer; I love pain

Dip my feet into the pond
Life goes on, life goes on

Clouds they swirl and sunbeams twirl above me
There’s a world where everyone will love me

Clouds will rain and I will cry
But something tells me I was born to fly.

Everybody hangs on so carefully
Standing hand and hand in a line
Can’t they see there’s nothing, nothing that surrounds them but time?

Sunbeams sparkle and shine
Rainbows swirl in my wine

Blankets soft forming a nest
Down on the ground; time for a rest

Birds they sing and bells they ring around me
Fairy fingers have already found me

Birds in every blue sky cry
But something tells me I was born to fly.

 

Download Mp3: Born to Fly

Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Hurricane, West Virginia Minerals, Mountains, Crystals, Ice, and White Music & Songs Uncategorized

Bone to Bone

 

It looks like I succeeded in writing a relatively happy song that doesn’t include death or murder, but still, somehow bones managed to work their way into it. I really do wish I could write a song without mentioning bones, but apparently I can’t. Before bones, it was ice and people dying from hypothermia. Why the obsession with uncuddly white things? I don’t know, but hopefully I will grow out of it.

I have been learning a little bit about bones recently- dinosaur bones. I was trying to celebrate the dullest time of year (I mean that as a complement) by learning about the most boring thing I could imagine, which for me was dinosaurs. But I have to say, once I knew a little more about them, they no longer seemed so boring. What I like most about them is how they opened my mind to larger cycles of time- deep time, as paleontologists call it. It’s a refreshing antidote to the “shallow time” perspective of our culture, which encourages us to see each decade as a major historical epoch.

 

Bone to Bone

People say you are the dark oneMy Bone
dim and dusty, cold and hard one
dry and scaly skin
blood so sour and thin
draw the curtains and let our time begin

Bone to bone now
in a dark room
press your forehead to mine
let the world resume

let them stick to their ways
I will come out changed
I will speak my mind and I
won’t care what they say

People tell me you’re a creep
you tell me people are sheep
I believe you will outlast them
watching from your mountain so steep

Your room so dark and blue
the whole world is a shadow to you
your bones they bear the lines of
every tooth that sank into you

Claw marks across your arm
why did they mean you harm?
you with a spine so straight that I
I cling to your arm

Outside the winds derange, but I
I will come out changed
I can feel your bones upon me now
so cold and so strange

Let the vinegar spill out
let it roll down your chin
let me hear your blackest words now
let your long long story begin

Nights in the jungle survived
you are the one who came out alive
dipped in blood you walked back home
so thin but swollen with pride

Your blood in my veins, I
I will come out changed
I will laugh at all of their words
I won’t care what they

Your hand on my hand now I
I can see through your eyes
all the chains were only shadows
all the flags were only their lies

The imprint of your bones
like an angel to follow me home
you will always be beside me
blood to blood and bone to bone.

 

Download Mp3: Bone to Bone

Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Hurricane, West Virginia Music & Songs Yellow, Gold, Kings, Fathers, and the Sun

Hunt for Me

 

Hmmm… I just realized that 72% of my recent songs have been about death, 31% about sadistic murders, and the remaining ones mostly about people being beat up, kidnapped, or chased. Time to seek professional help or is this just normal Scorpio behavior? Next week I will try writing happy songs, maybe.

 

Hunt for Me

Smile, smile, smile, smile
Sin, sin, sin
You were born the king of our town
I will bow, I will bend.

Two, two, two stars collide
Please stay warm upon your throne now
I will run I will hide.

Ladies in silk
Wanting to adore you
Laughing at your jokes
Kneeling on the floor for you
Look at your life, a page of fantasy.
So please, don’t hunt for me.

Dad knows best
Watch me kneel down and beg for forgiveness
Watch me stand up to the world and confess.

Gold and lace
Everything I have will be piled at your feet
Please don’t chase, please don’t chase.

Look at me crawl
Scratching at the dirt now
Look at me fall
Ripping up my shirt now
Rolling in mud, pig for all to see.
So please, don’t hunt for me.

Run so far you always follow me
Shadows so dark they always swallow me
I can make sure that no one ever loves me
I can make sure everyone’s above me

Run so far but tripping on the black lines
I can hear you say I’m running out of time
You knew it was all a big lie
Licking on your lips, because you love to watch things die.

Please no blade
No dogs die, please no rabbits,
Just humiliate, please humiliate.

Your smile is warm
Only sun, only summer
Please no storm, please no storm.

You can take some snips; I won’t try to mend me
I will tell the people never to defend me
I will tear myself apart for all to see.
So please, don’t hunt for me.

 

Download MP3: Hunt for Me

Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Hurricane, West Virginia Music & Songs

Knife

 

Knife Lyrics

Knife Lyrics continued

Download Mp3: Knife

Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Hurricane, West Virginia Uncategorized Yellow, Gold, Kings, Fathers, and the Sun

Testify

 

A Night to Remember

I see you smiling in your gold frame, baby, but I always turn away my eye.
I see the chief out with his gold star shining, but he knows I’ll never testify.
I won’t testify.

People ask me all the time now how are you doing when they know I’m never gonna say.
They all heard me screaming on that black night, baby, but they only turned and walked away.
I won’t testify.

You can’t go waiting too long little baby or you know the fingerprints will rust.
You can’t go waiting too long little baby or the bones are gonna turn to dust
I won’t testify.

I walk outside of your apartment building, baby, and the gall starts to fill my throat.
I pray that God will burn it down to the ground, but as for me I’ll never rock the boat.
I won’t testify.

I keep my eyes down on the sidewalk, baby, because everybody makes me cry.
Every sweet smile is just another fucking person who will stand there as they watch me die.
I won’t testify.

I see their little fingers lifting up the blinds and their eyes peering eagerly.
I know they’ll stand there, they’ll never lift a hand when they see the man come for me.
I won’t testify.

Anybody who stands up to the man is gonna be the one to take the blame.
I lay your gun out on my living room mantle right next to your picture frame.
I won’t testify.

I walk at night out with a big stick, baby, but I know it won’t keep bad away.
You always said that when the man’s out to get you he can always find another way.
I won’t testify.

I asked the officer now how can I help you, when you know I can’t recall a thing.
I only saw a hand swing out of the darkness and the flash of a diamond ring.
I won’t testify.

I got some secrets that I wouldn’t mind sharing, but there ain’t nobody I can trust.
They talk so sweet with all their big eyes smiling, but it’s evil covered up in crust.
I won’t testify.

I try to tell myself to myself to go to California and to rearrange my style of hair.
It used to seem like such a big world, baby, till I found out that nobody cares.
I won’t testify.

I cry at night over them white bones, baby, but I always let them to turn to dust.
I lay your gun out on my bedside table, then I only sit and watch it rust.
I won’t testify.

 

Download Mp3: Testify

Categories
Hurricane, West Virginia

Self-conscious Man

Self-Conscious Man

Categories
Hurricane, West Virginia

A man and his hand.

Hands or Weather

Categories
Hurricane, West Virginia

The 3 Friends

The 3 Friends

Categories
Hurricane, West Virginia Uncategorized

The N-word and Free Music

Hopefully, I won’t write anything with political overtones from now on. That is the problem with politically charged subjects- the overtones. You can’t say one thing you do mean without people hearing a dozen things you don’t. Don’t believe in global warming? Well, you must hate women. Think George Bush’s paintings are cute? You probably think gay people are going to hell. James was recently called a “disgusting racist” because he doesn’t like the extremely white senator Elizabeth Warren. Politics is like a distortion pedal; simple ideas get turned into horrendous cacophonies of meanings.

For example, one opinion I hold but would never share, based on what people might deduce, is my feelings about the dreaded “n” word. It makes me shiver to think of people being fined $20,000 (even black people!) for saying one of the most popular words in pop music. How does treating a word like a monster help the human race? I have heard people say that this one word must remain taboo until the end of time, that it’s horrible connotations can never be erased. But I don’t think that is nature of words. It is their nature to forget, to shed the nastiest of associations with ease. Words are like clouds, shifting and changing, they never stay the same. See the cloud that looks like Hitler? Give it a moment and it will turn into your mother. Likewise, let a word blow around and its meanings will transform.

But I understand when people don’t want the tragedies of the past to be forgotten. I’m not a “let bygones be bygones” sort of person myself. I just don’t think that words should be turned into memorials- that is what stones are for. They record the past and honor it, long after humans have tired of remembering. I would suggest building as many statues and monuments as it takes to honor the suffering caused by racism and make people feel balanced again. But words are for change and fresh beginnings. They should always fly free.

That is why I also believe in free music, free books, free on-line education. I think it would be magical for every last piece of content on the internet to be completely free of charge. The greatest library ever created! Of course, I’m now using a different meaning of the word free, but really, is a heavy price tag all that different from a heavy chain? Is the expense of education really that different from a fence that keeps the “lower” classes out? Does it actually behoove the human race to put a price on goods which can be infinitely multiplied at no cost to the creator?

People are always worrying about the impact free content has on writers and musicians, but before thinking of them, I’d rather think about all the people in the world who have barely enough money to fulfill their material needs. Why should they have to choose between new music and a new sweater when they could just as easily have both? Free content could enrich the world both immaterially and materially. Which would be a great thing, because, financially, life is strained enough. We have to pay just to have place on this earth where it’s legal to stand. Money for taxes or you’ll go to jail. Money for food, money for water. How refreshing that we can still drink our fill of air for free! How nice would it be if music and literature were just like air, there for the taking, no strings attached? I’ve always thought that the emotional health of a society is closely linked to how much free stuff it has to offer. Not the intimidating “free” services of governments and charities, but truly free things, which are shared just for the joy of sharing.

But what about the musicians and writers themselves? Don’t they deserve to be paid for their efforts? I guess so. Still, I wonder… what would happen if every musician knew, up front, that they would never see a penny from their efforts? Would this be bad ? Or good? I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be the death of music. People don’t expect to make money from sex, and yet they keep going. Even sex addicts manage to find other ways of supporting themselves.

Sometimes I wonder how compatible art is with capitalism in the first place. Capitalist art is profitable, popular, pleasing. Whatever good or bad appetites exist in society, capitalist art will be there to satisfy them. Whatever values and ideals we share, capitalist art will be there to capitalize on them. I suppose American Idol-type shows are a good example of capitalist art with a little democracy throw in.  Surely a vote is a good way to determine what has value. It worked for Jesus, right?

I think of art as energy, which- like Jesus- comes to us from a different world.  A subtle, ethereal impulse that will one day sink down into the heavier aspects of our culture to change the way we think and dress, the food we eat, the wars we wage. But in the beginning, it’s just a little picture, a story, a song. In essence, art is a new way of looking at things. New perceptions which gradually lead to new possibilities. Before the airplane comes the fanciful dream of flying.

But is it reasonable to expect something so strange and delicate to fend for itself on the streets, to fistfight its way to victory on the free market? Should art have to win the approval of the crowd or else, like Jesus, be crowned in shame? Should art even have to bear the burden of supporting it’s creator?

Many of our culture’s great artists did not support themselves, financially, with their work. Emily Dickinson was supported by her parents, Van Gogh by his brother. Thoreau worked at a pencil factory, and Henri Rousseau at a toll booth. William Carlos Williams was a doctor. Artists can always make money in other ways, or else be supported by others. Why not reinvigorate the ancient ideal of patron, for example?

Still, if artists DO want to make a living from art there are zillions of ways to do it without charging the listener. I once read a book about people making a very expensive expedition across Antarctica who paid for it by removing little chunks of their butt meat along the way and selling them to scientists who were studying the effects of extreme cold on muscle mass. Painful, but still, a win-win situation. Or maybe artists could be sponsored by corporations, the way athletes are.

But to be realistic, whatever the future holds, it can’t be much worse than the current situation. Out of the many musicians I have met, I can’t think of one who makes their living from selling CDs/MP3s. Most of them lose more money than they make. Meanwhile, they are still gearing their work to appeal to the very market which will never support them, losing both money and integrity in one fell swoop. Adding insult to injury, they are made to feel that their lack of financial success reflects the worthlessness of what they are creating. If only they had as much to offer as Bono, they would be living in a castle as well. So, if art was no longer expected to make money, perhaps they would be no richer than before, but at least they wouldn’t have to live with the shame of being a failed human being. They could seek new, internal forms of validation. This would lead to more meaningful art.

Just as capitalism motivates us to make money, it can also discourage us from pursuing other sorts of goals. But we shouldn’t let this happen, because a society in which every person’s goal is to make money will be a very poor society, spiritually and emotionally. I think we should have all sorts of people working for free- not just musicians, but also scientists, do-gooders,  inventors, and more. We need inputs uninfluenced by the market to create a vibrant amount of diversity. In the end, of course, this could only work if the people who do make money wanted to use some of it to freely support others. But I think people would enjoy this. After all, who would slave over a roast turkey if they had to eat it all by themselves?