A song about a nun. I used to consider myself a nun, of sorts, though not in the spiritual or celibate sense. More in the sense of someone who practices restriction and self-torture (read more about it here.)
But now I am not a nun of any sort. I am a housekeeper. I make corn bread and other corn foods day and night. Corn is my life. It is the only world I know.
And in that way, I still relate to the feelings of the song. Limitation, confinement, repetition, Saturn.
“Yet in that dark street shineth the Everlasting Light.”
Because it is when life has become so still, so boring, so dull that you’re certain you’re going to throw up, that you begin to feel the Light that Lives behind Things shining through.
Slippers, wearing one of James’s shirts. I would like to dress her up in my clothes, but her torso is too large.
And for those who like lyrics…
I loved a man named Joe,
I loved a man named Joe,
but he became a confederate soldier & went to war.
la la la la la la
I became a nun; I became a nun
at the pink cross nunnery, the pink cross nunnery.
la la la la la la
Now every day I watch the sun & count my rosary.
Now every day I watch the sun & count my rosary.
la la la la la la la la la.
I used to say hail mary’s
for three years I said hail mary’s,
but then I stopped,
and now I count from one ten.
These days I count from one to ten.
I have me a husband now and Jesus is his name.
Don’t know what I lost with Joe; I just know what I’ve gained.
Don’t know what I lost with Joe; I just know what I’ve gained.
And Jesus is his name, y’all. Jesus is his name
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!!!
Stars that watch me from above
Stars that watch from within dreams
Everything I knew of love
Turned much darker than it seemed.
Oh God those stars around my head I let him
Lead me to a bed just like a golden flame, golden flame.
Fumble with my hands, I need something to help me
Stand so I can hold myself to the blade.
I never wanted to be anything like free
I only wanted something kind
But when you took me by the wrist that is the time I changed my mind.
Things that happen in the dark
In the alley down below
Where you’re not supposed to be
Where the good men never go .
But I must find the kitchen sink I need to have another
Drink this is no time to cry, time to cry.
Angels in the air we’ll gather for another
Prayer and then we’ll say goodbye, say goodbye.
I never wanted to be anything like free
I only wanted something kind
But when you took me by the wrist that is the time I changed my mind.
I read the book line by line
Men like women but not all the time
Because women travel in the dark
Women have no friends at all
We just take our greasy hands
Lay them right against the wall.
I saw a man upon the hill he tapped his hat to me
I smiled and that was my mistake, my mistake.
Angels can you stay I’ll need someone to
Pray upon my bones when they break, when they break.
I never wanted to be anything like free
I only wanted something kind
But when you took me by the wrist that is the time I changed my mind.
I only ever wanted someone who could feel me
Someone I could follow from behind
But when you took me by the wrist that is the time I changed my mind.
A not happy selfie. Are those taboo? Although- as I mentioned earlier- I am terrified of photos, the one exception is that if I am very upset I will take a photo of myself crying. I don’t know why. Pain witnessed is pain reduced, I suppose, and sometimes you have to be your own witness.
A video which reminds me that I should probably trim my hair, organize my kitchen & play my guitar more carefully, but no- these things will never happen.
I don’t really believe in female instrumentalists, for starters. I always thought I hated male instrumentalists as well, until I recently discovered David Rawlings & Stevie Ray Vaughn & both of them blew me away. Normally, I hate listening to people play guitar. What could be more nauseating than a pointless guitar solo followed by audience applause? But these 2 guys just have something inside of them that comes out through their fingers and it touches me, I don’t know where or why.
I noticed David Rawlings also uses the same pink capo as me. That is where the similarity ends, of course, but do I care? No. I don’t aspire to be something more than I am. I think the crude & rustic will have a seat right next to the skilled & refined at God’s table.
The hill was high, I couldn’t climb
though I knew you were there.
A world of green surrounded me
it stretched out everywhere.
So I got back in my car and drove
to try and find a home.
I thought of you, the whole way through
it made me feel alone.
I thought of you and of the field
with the hill that was so high.
A temple built to something
that lives only in the sky
Everything is always high
and always far away.
I tell myself I must never stop and
I will get there someday.
Many gods and many men
have lived upon a crest.
Though the clouds pass over all of them
it is you I like the best.
All these hills and all these gods
and each man has his own.
Except for me, a tiny breeze
still searching for a home.
A tiny breeze who when she flies
is cut down by the winds.
They slice my heart and splay it
like a butterfly and then
Then I can scale these hills, but even so
my shadow looms so small
that to you it was just the same as though
I was never there at all.
Big men shadow over me
there is no other way
than to watch them with admiring eyes
through a film of gray.
For me there can be no other way for me
than to lie back on the ground
and to let the dreams wash over me
until a home is found.
A home that could be anywhere,
a home so hard to find.
Oh God, but please let it be somewhere real
not somewhere in my mind.
Someplace real, someplace strong
mountainous and grave
nothing flimsy like a butterfly
with her wings upon your leg.
Everyone has gods upon
these hills where claddows fly.
Except for me, I have only you
and only in my mind.
I reached for you, but there was no use
the world was large and green.
It stretched out wide and endlessly
like the sky within a dream.
And who am I, but a dot so small
that no one else could see
as you passed me by invisibly
your shadow touching me?
As you passed me by just like a plant
pressed flat upon the ground
just a thing too small to be cared about
when hills are all around.
A song from a dream I had in which there were two hills- one that was really steep and I thought, well MAYBE I can climb that, but on top of that there was yet another hill that was practically straight up and down, and I knew climbing it would be impossible. But it looked so beautiful.
The hill was high, I couldn’t climb
though I knew you were there.
A world of green surrounded me
it stretched out everywhere.
So I got back in my car and drove
to try and find a home.
I thought of you, the whole way through
it made me feel alone.
I thought of you and of the field
with the hill that was so high.
A temple built to something
that lives only in the sky
Everything is always high
and always far away.
I tell myself I must never stop and
I will get there someday.
Many gods and many men
have lived upon a crest.
Though the clouds pass over all of them
it is you I like the best.
All these hills and all these gods
and each man has his own.
Except for me, a tiny breeze
still searching for a home.
A tiny breeze who when she flies
is cut down by the winds.
They slice my heart and splay it
like a butterfly and then
Then I can scale these hills, but even so
my shadow looms so small
that to you it was just the same as though
I was never there at all.
Big men shadow over me
there is no other way
than to watch them with admiring eyes
through a film of gray.
For me there can be no other way for me
than to lie back on the ground
and to let the dreams wash over me
until a home is found.
A home that could be anywhere,
a home so hard to find.
Oh God, but please let it be somewhere real
not somewhere in my mind.
Someplace real, someplace strong
mountainous and grave
nothing flimsy like a butterfly
with her wings upon your leg.
Everyone has gods upon
these hills where claddows* fly.
Except for me, I have only you
and only in my mind.
I reached for you, but there was no use
the world was large and green.
It stretched out wide and endlessly
like the sky within a dream.
And who am I, but a dot so small
that no one else could see
as you passed me by invisibly
your shadow touching me?
As you passed me by just like a plant
pressed flat upon the ground
just a thing too small to be cared about
when hills are all around.
Me, in my favorite activity, going for a car ride. Unfortunately, I don’t have a license, so car rides are a luxury. If I did have one, I would drive all day long. All my dreams include a segment where I am driving without a license & start to panic that the cops will pull me over.
Well, I didn’t have anyone who could hold a phone for me to take a video, so I had to try another way.
I don’t know what to say about this song so I will just put the lyrics below.
Hope you are doing well.
Stars that watch me from above
Stars that watch from within dreams
Everything I knew of love
Turned much darker than it seemed.
Oh God those stars around my head I let him
Lead me to a bed just like a golden flame, golden flame.
Fumble with my hands, I need something to help me
Stand so I can hold myself to the blade.
I never wanted to be anything like free
I only wanted something kind
But when you took me by the wrist that is the time I changed my mind.
Things that happen in the dark
In the alley down below
Where you’re not supposed to be
Where the good men never go .
But I must find the kitchen sink I need to have another
Drink this is no time to cry, time to cry.
Angels in the air we’ll gather for another
Prayer and then we’ll say goodbye, say goodbye.
I never wanted to be anything like free
I only wanted something kind
But when you took me by the wrist that is the time I changed my mind.
I read the book line by line
Men like women but not all the time
Because women travel in the dark
Women have no friends at all
We just take our greasy hands
Lay them right against the wall.
I saw a man upon the hill he tapped his hat to me
I smiled and that was my mistake, my mistake.
Angels can you stay I’ll need someone to
Pray upon my bones when they break, when they break.
I never wanted to be anything like free
I only wanted something kind
But when you took me by the wrist that is the time I changed my mind.
I only ever wanted someone who could feel me
Someone I could follow from behind
But when you took me by the wrist that is the time I changed my mind.
I have two problematic states I can be in. One is frozen, like a block of ice that can’t speak or move, and the second is evaporated like steam that will say or do anything. These videos make me feel self-conscious because they capture me in my icy state due to the presence of all the technology and lights. Technology is useful, but may be kryptonite to females.
I wrote this song in Nashville, as part of an album called “The Odyssey” which expressed my feelings of endless journeying through a dark world. As I’ve said before, Nashville struck me as a dark city, but that may be because I only went out at night. Having no money and little food can make the world feel darker as well. I lived on my own, but had zero practicality. When the electricity was turned off I had no idea why. I thought I was witnessing a supernatural event. Once- as if by magic- a person left cans of food at my door but I didn’t know how to open them. So I smashed them with a hammer and ate the pieces that didn’t have metal in them. I was an animal, I guess. How far I have come. Plus there was the darkness of the music industry which hung over the musicians like a shadow.
Many of the songs I wrote at that time can no longer be sung because they are so sexual that it would be embarrassing to someone with my current level of dignity. Sexuality is a language for desperate times, I guess, but not the language to use when you want to seem like a good neighbor. Or your husband wants to run for city council. Now dignity must always be first and foremost on my mind. “Stiff as a board” is my new motto.
Me, in Nashville. Then I was truly crazy, now I am practically President of the United States.
I have been hounding James for a while to let us move to the woods of Maine & live off the land, certain the only way I could find happiness would be to live a simple life as a lumberjack. And just like an answered prayer, it has turned quite cold and we have no heat in our house, giving me the chance to live out as least parts of my fantasy. The worst part of being cold, I think, is how your wrists freeze up, making it hard to do things with your hands like type or play guitar. The best part is that you never forget to cook. Instead, I hover around the warm stove all day, cooking up anything that can be made out of corn, beans, eggs, butter, sugar, and dandelions. Which is quite a lot, actually.
As you may know already, I am quite obsessed with corn- more as a spiritual entity than a food source- and I have a corn colored stool which I can place next to the oven, giving me a warm(er) spot to write or sing while corn sandies are baking or dandelion tea is brewing. So all in all, the cold life is not a bad one.
Sometimes I think about the relative virtues of poverty vs wealth. Do you? I mean, on the surface, it is obviously much better to be rich and perhaps that is all there is to it, but at the same time there are many valuable things which only poverty can create. I wonder how many of the negative feelings we have about poverty are based in reality, and how many are due to our collective imaginations absorbing the dreams and life goals given us by Hollywood.
Poverty can give you focus, humility, ingenuity, appreciation, and perhaps above all, the need to fall back on your own inner resources. How many rich people remove their own teeth with a pair of pliers? Additionally, since no one will respect you when you are poor, poverty forces you to mine you self-esteem from within. There are lots of movements now to eliminate poverty from our society which always seem to start off with the assumption that the poor are worse off than the rich. That is an assumption I do not share. From an astrological perspective, the rich can be said to be learning the lessons of Jupiter- ease, growth, expansion, generosity- while the poor are learning the lessons of Saturn- endurance, patience, faith and how to thrive within restriction. Sometimes when the rich want to help the poor, I wonder if they are merely projecting their own sense of emptiness onto someone else, in order to feel better about their lives.
I don’t think the poor should be pitied or helped- they should be admired and learned from. Most of all, we should stop making people feel bad or ashamed for living on a limited material budget, and stop treating it as a problem to be solved.
My change of heart about poverty came when I realized one day that life is really what you give to it, not what you get out of it. Because we all come here from a spiritual dimension, I believe, where we are kings. We do not need to be kings in this world, but what we do need is the opportunity to make something of ourselves. Poor people have the same opportunities to contribute to life as the rich ones. They are not less blessed, just financially thinner.
In some ways, poor people can contribute more easily, I think, because they have less to lose. They have no pride, no dignity that they must cling to, and therefore they can develop true integrity more easily. In a moment of time when everyone is clamoring to be respected by society, I think we have also forgotten how easily external respect can rot a person’s character. It isn’t respect that we should be seeking- much less demanding- instead we should be turning ourselves into someone that WE can respect, by aligning ourselves with our own guiding stars. Because we are only in this world for a short time. When we leave, we leave behind the approval or disapproval of the crowds. But whatever gold we have managed to weave into our souls will travel forward with us.
*
And now my fingers are too cold to keep writing. So let me summarize by saying, Poor people, you are awesome, always hold your head high. Your true treasure is stored in a vault in the sky.
I have to include this clip because it contains the song “Beer for my Horses” by Toby Keith, one of maybe 3 songs in the world that I like. What a man Toby Keith is, or at least pretends to be in this song. 🙂
This song is called “Old Guitar” which is strange because I hate songs that mention guitars in them. It is creepy- like a painting of a paint brush. I don’t trust artists that are so into art that they actually write songs about it. It feels masturbatory when artists set art too high on a pedestal. If artists are going to worship anyone, it should be the people who make it possible for them to pursue lacy ephemeral things- people like lumberjacks, soldiers, carpenters, farmers, moms etc. It is only thanks to these practical people that the ones like me can exist.*
Also, I sort of believe that- as much as possible- artist should try to be soldiers & lumberjacks themselves, not just sit around fingering a guitar all day. Otherwise, they are like cut flowers that don’t have much to draw upon.
