Recently, I was suffering from ridiculous allergies, but when I finally recovered I felt better adapted to living in West Virginia. Living in the hills is just so thick and dense that if you aren’t used to it, it feels like trying to eat a whole stick of butter with no bread. There is a sense that your future does not exist and your present can not be changed.
Coupled with that, is the black and purply feeling of death… or more specifically..
1. A black feeling of our human reality being sandwiched between so many other, non-human realities which cannot be understood, much less controlled.
2. A purple feeling that the whole of our life is just a dot in eternity, and even a dot in the larger picture of who we are.
That is my impression anyway, I doubt a single other person would agree with me. But I do think you have to run your furnace hotter here to avoid being swallowed up by feelings of futility and fatalism.
At any rate, this song was inspired by my newfound appreciation for West Virginia. After my allergies, I could see more of the value in accepting life as it is, rather than always trying to sculpt it into a shape of my choice.
Life
may not be real
Pikey what a thing to say
you know that you weren’t raised that way
And yet
sometimes I fear
God has left me so alone
a million miles from any home
To walk a road that has no end
The golden hay lies beyond the bend.
But why would we break?
Why would we cry?
In the end it’s only pain
we’ve known it in so many ways
I know
she felt it too
Remember her, that little bird
so soft we never heard a word
A hint of pink behind the door
and in the end a pile of feathers on the floor
Pikey, you know it won’t be long
Take my hand, I can feel their eyes
descending from the bluest skies
My gun
My iron bar
Life remember I was your friend
I knew that you had no end
Your fields were filled with golden hay
Three clouds they fly above then slowly drift away.
The sad story of a purple magician driven to suicide through harassment from the villagers, to whom he could no longer relate.
I see stars in the starry sky I feel stars in my brain When they came with sticks and stones I knew who was to blame…
Quick! Quick! Hand it to me- silver cup- Drink it down and shoot it up I don’t to want to cry. Last time when they came Swinging with their jagged canes I almost lost an eye.
To feel pain- okay! Okay to fall- But give me someplace to turn, some name to call.
I see stars in the starry sky I know why they shine. When I saw them march at night I almost lost my mind…
Quick! Quick! Hand it to me- my syringe I cannot afford to cringe; I must not feel pain. Closing on me in a ring If they see me grimacing They’ll fall on me like rain.
To feel pain-okay! Okay to fall- But give me someplace to turn, some name to call.
I knew all the stars in the sky I knew all their names They controlled the people Just like marbles in a game…
Quick! Quick! Fetch my needle and my thread Stitch my eyelids to my head- They must not see my eyes. They must never know the light Twisting in from Pegasi that Shines through all their lies.
To feel pain- okay! Okay to fall- But give me someplace to turn, some name to call.
To cut- okay! To bleed… Still I promise you, they’ll never see through me.
I see stars in the starry sky I stood in their light. They could see me flutter like a Moth against the night.
Quick! Quick! Fetch for me my special pill Hide the money and my will- It’s my time to fly. If I have but one regret It is that I’ve never met Someone to tell goodbye.
Alone to live- okay! Alone to die. Perhaps a hand waits for me in the sky.
A new edition to my collection of songs about relationships between men and other species, in this case a gatekeeper.
Gatekeepers are humanoid immortal beings about two thirds the size of a person who are able to open the portal between dimensions. This particular gatekeeper lives in the black world of outer space and controls the gate which leads to the world of gold. The gate is made of 2 brass doors swinging on hinges, about 10 feet high. Behind them lies a white mansion set on a yard of checkerboard grass. The gatekeeper herself can never pass through the gate. Like many immortals, she is free to move through time but bound to a particular space.
Her job is a lonely one, since not many humans pass through this particular gate. Why? Because they don’t have the balls to travel through a million miles of cold, empty blackness to reach the gold that lies on the other side. She has been watching this particular man, with whom she has become infatuated, travelling towards her for quite some time (you can see very, very far in space.) The combination of loneliness and his golden character has cast a spell on her.
Therefore, she is considering using her position of power to initiate a romantic relation, albeit a brief one, since his golden character necessitates that he must past through the gate. In addition, it must be a non-sexual one since gatekeepers, like many immortals, don’t really have genders nor reproduce.
However, despite her power over him, she feels it may be difficult to capture his attention, even for a moment. The black world of space is one of the hardest to pass through. It is cold, dark and empty, and years of walking through this world can numb the extremities and cause the blood to turn white. When the traveler finally does reach the golden gate and see the white house behind it, the last thing he will want to do is loiter with the gatekeeper. The last thing he will want to do is gaze into round starry eyes set in a jet black face.
Stars swim in the dark of night
Underneath sharks that bite
In between stands I prepared to fight.
Stars swim through the darkened past
Sharks eat bones; nothing last
I guard the gate through which you hope to pass.
But please stand with me
For just a minute more because I’m lonely
And please do not forget I hold the key.
If you touch my hand, I’ll be good to you
I’ll open up the gate and you can walk on through
I’ll bow my head, I know I’ll think of you.
Stars struggle to illuminate
Sharks grow tired beneath the gate
I think of you, your hands, your eyes- I wait.
I think of you- your eyes, your hands
Your hidden world, I understand, at best
I am a shadow to you, man.
But please stand with me
Let our shoulders touch because I’m lonely
And please do not forget I hold the key.
Let your fingers slide in between my own
I control the gate to your only home
I would like to feel your eyes upon my own.
Stars shine against the past
Sharks eat all the crumbs at last
I guard the gate through which you hope to pass.
Stars shine inside my head
In my mind you are my friend
I think of you, the night begins to spin.
So please stand with me
For just a minute more, because I’m lonely
And please do not forget I hold the key
I can feel it burning inside my hand
The golden door to another land
You will walk through, I will remember you man.
This airy song is probably not the best thing to publish at the heaviest moment of the year’s wheel, but still, here it is- a simple song about 5 sky blue friends.
They walk the road together;
they walk it side by side.
They hold each other’s hands;
they stretch out five men wide.
The sky stretched, too,
a flag of morning glory blue.
See the five of them
walk into the convenient store.
One of them buys the bread,
the other four wait by the door.
That’s what friends do-
they always hover near to you.
When they wander, when they roam,
they will hit the road together.
If one day they build a home,
they say they’ll live in it forever…
what a word…
so carefree and so blue, like a bird…
The five friends eat their meal
at a table that is round;
they never wince and cringe
to hear each other’s munching sounds.
But why?
Because these friends were dipped in sky,
their nerves never run dry.
The five friends walk the road
in matching jeans but different shirts.
They share a bag of snacks,
passing the bag both back and forth.
No concerns-
the five friends don’t believe in germs.
Five friends sit by the fire;
they listen to the music play.
One friend is asked to dance-
these friends are all too shy that way…
turning pink…
perhaps they could just sit and think?
The five friends seek advice
from a wise man at the church.
He says that friends are great,
but still you have to put God first.
And they agree-
but where is God?- He’s hard to see.
Is he a friend inside your mind?
Or could God be the sky?
The five friends vote on it-
the vote is five to none
that God must be the sky;
He shelters everyone,
so clear and sweet,
surrounding us with time and dreams,
surrounding us with space to explore;
that’s what friends are for.
Finally, a much needed song in which the King of the South defeats the King of the North in battle, or plans to anyway.
To live in a real life Stuffington’s Hall is a fantasy I dream of day and night- the coziest, stuffiest and most pompous home in the world, decorated mostly in shades of brown, filled with leather bound libraries, stone fireplaces, gleaming wood antiques owned by former presidents, and dark paintings of grumpy looking men framed in gold leaf. Or glorious paintings of triumphant generals crushing their enemies in battle.
Men, we will stand at the top of this hill; when we see them approach, we will swoop down and kill them. Their blood on our hands, we will lift them up high as the sparkling sun beams down from the sky.
Yankees they work hard, them Yankees they try, but November the 1st is the day that they die. Bless their sweet little hearts; rockaby in the grave. We will fight for the flame; and the flame we will save.
We are fire; they are ice- they will chill us no more. We will bury their bodies beneath the dance floor of Stuffington’s Hall. Please won’t you come, come to the ball?
Now there are two kings- there can be but one. He is King of the Ice; I am King of the Sun. He is sleek and so young; I dumpy and old. He has made it clear he wants my story to never be told.
From my leather bound books, he would smudge out the ink with his fingers in gloves made of synthetic mink. Though his men are alright (and they’re armed to the gills), we know God is with us- trapped in the nook of our frills.
So don your gray lace ladies, don your silk hats. Twirl round the fruit punch that bubbles in vats. Tweet, tweet so high- puffing like cotton upon our blue sky.
We are joy; they are tears. We are hopes; they are fears. It is us who predates them by hundreds of years.
Old fingers, bold fingers, gold fingers- me! I am the ruler of all that I see. And I see stars languishing behind their cold metal bars.
Old fingers, gold fingers, bold fingers- wait! Til they reach the valley, then don’t hesitate- swooping down in a wall, and then join me for a dance in Stuffington’s Hall.
I promised myself I would not write another song until I had something warm and tropical to sing about. I feel like a cold front is sweeping this country, filling people with piousness and righteous ideas. I am okay with a little righteousness, but once it reaches the point where people start to take pleasure in doling out justice I get nervous. I did not want to add any ice to the group mind.
Still, this Arctic song woke me up in the middle of the night and I decided to write it down anyway. Because the South is all about trusting in Providence, just as the North is about Self-Reliance.
We walk through the frozen mountains.
We wade through the icy stream.
We shine like the northern rainbow.
We blow like the icy breeze.
Am I real?
Am I real?
Kneel down to drink from the water.
Kneel down to drink from the stream.
I’m too thirsty to think about it-
I don’t care if it’s dirty or clean.
Am I real?
Am I real?
We lie upon a caribou fur.
We rest our eyes upon a ceiling of ice.
Silver needles fill my fingers and toes-
I start to sink into a paradise.
Am I real?
Am I real?
We work beneath the silvery sun.
We rely on our ancestry.
Sometimes cold overtakes my heart-
It floats beside me like another me.
Am I real?
Am I real?
I cut my finger with a silvery knife.
I tuck my knife back inside of my fur.
He licks my finger with an eager tongue-
Raw meat is what we prefer.
Am I real?
Am I real?
We walk through the frozen mountains.
We wade through the icy stream.
We are silver needles beneath the sky,
Dissolving into the Bering Sea.
You wanted to lie face down in a pool
They lifted you up; they wouldn’t let you fly
They thought that you wanted to die.
You waited for the train; you lay on the tracks
They came to arrest you; they wouldn’t let you fly away, fly away
They said you had to come back.
Knitting at night under the moon
In your mind is a bone; it flies through the sky all alone
That bone is you.
White bone on black sky, swimming through stars
Fly away friend, the whole world is ours
Spreading like vapor, slipping through cracks
The whole world is ours; fly away never come back.
Finally one day you escaped to the moon
Through a bottle of pills and you left a note saying goodbye
Do not follow me, please don’t try.
Not all of us fly, not all of sing
Like a bone in the night sky but you were a king
Stuffed in a jar til the glass had to crack
Now I’m happy for you and I don’t need for you to come back.
Because look at me now, how I stroll through the fields
The grass brushes my leg an electrical feel
Every blade is a song, every blade is a scroll
Oh, the things that I’ve learned! Oh, the things that I know!
Songs about forests, light pours through the trees
Rushing into the wanderer electrical green
Though he covers his eyes, the light seeps through his skin
He was prepared to lose, but now he is destined to win!
Songs about creeks where a man cools his toes
As the water flows through them he suddenly knows why
Why his friend said goodbye.
And other stories like these.
As you know, I love to read.
