A song about kings, as we approach the month of kings. Sometimes I think the whole winter is the time of kings, it is so solemn and intent on not letting anyone have fun. Plus, it is a time when the amount of money you have comes to the forefront.
Probably due to the fact that Pluto- the dark God of the underworld- has recently entered my House of Money, money has become a subject of interest for me. Not actually making it, of course. More like bringing it up in conversations to make people squirm. Nothing is more deliciously taboo than money, not even sex.
Why is money taboo? Well, when you are poor you can’t let anyone know, or they will realize you are powerless and treat you with less respect. And when you are rich, you can’t let anyone know or they will try to take your money. I find all of that incredibly exciting.
Another thing I love about money is how it allows you to perform simple tests to find out if others care about you (hint: they don’t.) People throw words of love at each other all the time, but how many will back up their words with cold hard cash? Of course, you have to be careful when running these tests, because there are people in the world who are truly generous and still don’t care about you. And some who are generous just long enough to hook their fish. But still, I think it is a good idea to ask your friend for $100 dollars every now and then, and if they say no, never talk to them again.
And now I am remembering all the times friends asked me for money & I said no. I always said no, because I hate to give people money… maybe this is not a good test after all. I am not greedy, you know. In fact, I doubt I have based a single life choice around gaining money (unfortunately.) But I am stingy. Once I get a dollar bill in my hand, I don’t want to let it go. And a true friend would never ask me to.
Money, gifts, and shiny balls… come to Julien now!!!
This song, which I wrote around a month ago, turned out to be prescient, since the following weeks have been spent uncovering secrets and sitting around crying because of them. Oh well. At any rate, I am now left with the feeling that I don’t want to be me anymore. At least not the suffocating me I have grown accustomed to. All I really want out of life is to live on the beach in a tiny pink shack and do psychic readings for people. And have enough money to buy t-shirts, scented soaps, and fish sandwiches. And to be able to swim through the ocean every day with my eyes open.
Would I want to do music? Maybe… I don’t know. Some parts I don’t like, like having to record it and upload it to a website. The process is straightforward and takes very little time, but still I seem to dread it. I am a technophobe, maybe. Plus, it is lonely, but the alternative is to sing and dance on a stage with people watching and that has a hollow feeling as well. Maybe I just don’t feel the need to share anything of myself with the world in the first place. What is the world but a big hollow ball? Why did I ever decide to “express myself” to begin with? I can’t remember what the point was…
When it comes to gold and kings
When it comes to killing things
When it comes to what we know
Stairs that lead us down below
Nightfall, falling away
Nightfall, come and play
Nightfall, will you help us slide
into the place where secrets hide?
All along, we travelled through a star encrusted sky
But did you ever know he watched you fly?
When it comes to giving things
and the happiness it brings
When to bravery and pride
Ribbons on our horses tied
Nightfall, falling away
Nightfall, come and play
Nightfall, will you watch us ride
into the place where secrets hide?
All along, we travelled through a star encrusted sky
But did you ever know he watched you fly?
When it comes to time and space
We remain in the same place
When it comes to killing me
Lift the knife and you will see
Nightfall, tumbling bone
Nightfall, velvet home
Nightfall, bury us inside
to reach the place where secrets hide.
All along, we travelled through a star encrusted sky
But did you ever know he watched you fly?
Although I’m not religious, there are at least two Gods I believe in…
1. A White God, * whom I simply call “God.” He is the man in the sky who hears our prayers and answers them, so long as they are not in conflict with our destiny or personal growth. But no matter what, when we reach out to him, he will respond with care and love. He is above all our friend.
2. A Gold God, whom I call “God the Father.” He is the watchmaker who created the laws which run the universe. There is no need to pray to him, because he has already constructed the universe to run according to the highest good of all. Plus, he is far away, standing outside the world as he watches it turn.
He does, however, contain vast reservoirs of intelligence and wisdom that we can tap into, and also the Virtues. Virtues are, of course, things like honesty, courage, kindness etc. But on the golden level, they are power sources built into the fabric of the universe. By tapping into them we release external forces as well as internal ones.
Basically, the Virtues are stars- shining above us from all directions- with some diametrically opposed to others (frugality vs generosity, for example.) When we embody a virtue, we unleash a powerful wind blowing us in that star’s direction. If we tap into the right virtue, one that is aligned with our destiny, we will experience this as powerful forces of synchronicity coming to play in our favor, helping us to achieve our purpose. But if we tap into the wrong virtue, one that is not aligned with our destiny, it can be a disaster, carrying us into a foreign life where our strengths are useless. Or worse still, blowing us into a hostile world where our gifts are liabilities.
This is why I have yet to tap into any virtues myself. I don’t have the self-knowledge to know if I ought to be jovial or sober, trusting or crafty. But one day I look forward to doing it. Who wants to slog their way through life when they could be blown swiftly away by forces beyond their control?
* Given the mood of the moment with everyone on the lookout for racism, I feel the need to point out that this God being white has nothing to do with “white people.” At any rate, he is not the “white” color of Caucasian skin, he is white like bones, the color of bones that all humans and animals share.
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.
Normally, when James asks me what a song is about, I tell him I don’t really know. But in this case it is clear- this is a song about a giant named Big Stuff who dreamed of having a parade thrown in his honor. He saved up all his money and gave it to a man who was supposed to make the parade happen. But instead, the man disappeared with the money and left Big Stuff feeling so dejected and humiliated that he sat in a near catatonic state, barely rocking back and forth in a rocking chair, until the next phase of his life began.
I know that gay and straight pride parades have been in the news recently, but this song has nothing to do with them, at least as far as I am concerned. Big Stuff’s story actually took place around 10 years ago, but it is only now that I am getting around to telling it.
Big Stuff- a real life giant with an endless appetite for the finer things of Life.
Purple lace, paint your face Wait for the cold rain to go away Today is your big day.
Candy sticks, pink balloons All of their eyes will be stuck to you Stuck with the sweetest glue.
Velvet boots, comb your hair Part down the middle then gloss it with gel Put some gel in your mustache as well.
In the mirror–look! What do you see? Could it be you? Could this day truly be
Big Stuff’s Parade, Big Stuff’s Parade Every gold coin that you saved, you saved for Your special day, proud and gay Shining the way that you knew you could This day is going to feel good.
Purple stripes on a pole The one that you’ll hold when they lift you up Onto your satin throne.
Caviar in your pants for you to taste When your dream comes true When every eye falls on you.
Look in the mirror and what do you see? Could it be you? Could today truly be
Big Stuff’s Parade, Big Stuff’s Parade Every gold coin that you saved, you saved for Your special day, proud and gay Shining the way that you knew you could This day is going to feel good.
But look around, Big Stuff, where is the man Who took your gold coins in the palm of his hand? The streets are still empty, no crowds have arrived No floats to be seen, no flags in the sky…
You were tricked! He took your coins, but the flags never flew The sun never came out, the crowds never gazed on you Now you’re rocking and rocking back and forth in your chair Rubbing the glossy gel out of your hair.
I was tricked! I was tricked! you mumble to yourself and for the next seven months you will say nothing else.
Big Stuff’s Parade, Big Stuff’s Parade He needs to learn that the world doesn’t turn Just for satin lace on his face Now that he’s bungled his one chance to shine Will Big Stuff find peace of mind?
42 years in a place where nothing shines
63 years in a world where nothing’s mine
I crawl; I beg
There’s a face up on the wall but he does not return my call.
Tell me God, what did I do wrong? I did everything you said
I organized my sock drawer and poured shit upon my head
Please don’t make me be the person to remind you
Please do not forget the people who defined you.
Everybody told me that someday I would see
You were just a taker; you took all your gold from me
Still I scraped myself on your stone
Threw my body on your altar and begged you to take me home.
Tell me God, what did I do wrong after 40 years of pain?
I cut myself so badly that my blood poured down like rain
Please don’t make me be the person to remind you
You should not forget the people who defined you.
You are a diamond in a world where nothing shines.
You’re my friend within a place where nothing’s mine.
I walked through the bright red door you opened up for me
Lay my heart upon my eyes; I did not want to see
The hell I paved in gold
Everything that I destroyed and everything I sold.
Tell me God, what did I do wrong? I was there for you each night
I bore the nails into my fists; I held the screams in tight
Must I really be the person to remind you?
You did not exist until the day that we defined you.
