Rose. She likes the feel of your nose. She knows that everyone knows her, chose her, sigh. Brown. You like the feel of the ground. To feel it blow all around you, down you, sigh.
Don’t let me slip through. Don’t let me walk invisible by. I am Nature; I get you high.
Green. Too many places unseen. Too many footsteps behind you, bind you, why? Stray. Seek everything far away. Don’t let nobody scold you, mold you, try.
Don’t let me slip through. Don’t let me walk invisible by. I am Nature; I get you high.
Burn. Too many pages to learn. Too many pages to follow, swallow, sigh. Strive. You always fought to survive. You always fought them to conquest, multiply.
Don’t let me slip through. Don’t let me walk invisible by. I am Nature; I get you high.
In the woods they eat their cake
I dare not move now, move now; I sit in wait
I draw my knees up to my chest
Because I know the foods that they like best.
In the woods, they sip their tea
Their eyes dart back and forth so casually
They make their jokes at my expense
They know I’m somewhere somewhere, behind the fence.
IIIII
The night has come. The trees are black.
Do I feel fingers, fingers upon my back?
I need to run- but where to go?
Animals are the only world that I know.
IIIII
They’ll never leave; they’ll never lie
Their yellow teeth, by design
I need to run, but where to go?
Animals are the only world that I know.
IIII
They play their games upon their boards
They toss their heads, they’re growing bored.
Their weight is shifting upon their seats
I know that I should run but I also need to eat.
IIII
They’ll never leave; they’ll never lie
Their yellow teeth, by design
I need to run, but where to go?
Animals are the only world that I know.
James & I are preparing to move to a 1907 four square house in Charleston West Virginia. There are many reasons I am excited about this.
The house was built when Teddy Roosevelt was president. He is my favorite president since the teddy bear was named after him, and I also admire his stout personality and physique.
I love Charleston. I think cities tucked between mountains with rivers running through them are the prettiest, especially when the river is crossed by blue bridges.
I like the philosophy behind four square houses. In their time, they represented a rejection of showy refinement and European sensibilities in favor of something practical, hardy, and uniquely American.
I am glad the numbers of my address add up to the number one. My former addresses have always added up to three. According to numerology, living in a Number One house helps you to be more of an individual. This sounds good to me, because I have definitely become whatever the opposite of an individual is. I don’t even feel like a specific person. Just a loosely knit pile of air moving through space.
My obsession while living in Hurricane has been redecorating my apartment in different color schemes. It has been disturbing to notice the extent to which my patterns and interests change along with the colors, as though I have no inherent identity of my own, but am just a reflection of the walls.
Of all the color schemes I tried, my favorite was probably light pink with dark purple accents. I felt more myself in this configuration. The only downside was being slightly lazy and obsessively reading tarot cards for hours each day. Still, I learned a lot, especially about dreams. I learned that dreams are not so much windows into the inner self, as spyglasses through which you can know the things that other people are hiding from you. And if you take the time to look, you will find that people are hiding a lot from you.
So, back to being a number one. Why don’t I feel like an individual with a specific personality of my own? I don’t know, it may be a product of living in isolation for too long. Perhaps with no one to be your mirror you lose a sense of what your own face looks like. Of course, I have James, but- in addition to being a hard worker- he is a man of few words. Most of our conversations consist of me asking him a question and then smelling him to find the answer. Or that is how they use to go anyway.
Nowadays, I mostly know what is going on with him through physical sensations. For example, he will be at the office and all the sudden my stomach will start jumping up and down so I know he is upset about something. Or my head will start swirling and I’ll know he’s having trouble concentrating. If I suddenly feel like throwing up, I can be certain someone just touched his sandwich with their artificial fingernail. He hates that.
This sort of communication has limitations though. Normally, I only know what emotions he is experiencing and have to rely on him to fill in the details. Sometimes, there will be numbers flying around in the feelings, but I am not very good at understanding what numbers mean yet. For example, I might get a sudden headache surrounded by black number fours. What does that mean? I have no idea. Also, there are a few emotions I routinely get mixed up. A form of emotional dyslexia, I guess. For example, I have always mistaken suppressed rage for passionate love. This led to much confusion in the beginning of our relationship, when I would burst into to tears because I suddenly “knew” he was dying to make love to his Uncle Eddie- the lime green feeling in the air was unmistakable. And why did he fall in love with the mailman every time our mail was delivered to the wrong address?
Recently, I was struck by a desire to become friends with the planets of our solar system. I wasn’t sure how to go about this, so I drew the symbol for Uranus on a piece of paper & placed it beneath my pillow at night, intending to think about it while sleeping. To my surprise, the symbol itself emitted a palpable energy filling my chest with an electrical feeling. And the next morning, I received the greatest shock of my life, a shock so great I lost total control of my bladder and bowels despite being in a public place. For several days, I could neither sleep nor eat, which was a first for me. Time lost all its shape and 12 hours could go by in what seemed like 12 minutes. I spent… I don’t know how long… a few weeks or a month crying nonstop. The reality I thought I had been living in seemed to have been destroyed and I wasn’t sure what reality I was living in any longer. Very slowly though, my mind started to make sense of things and eventually the shocking new bits of information assimilated in my mind to form a reality even more stable than the one which preceded it. Looking back, just a couple months later, I don’t even see what the big deal was. Why should it have come as a surprise at all?
At any rate, this is a song about the planet Uranus. In astrology, he is said to rule events- good or bad- which take you completely by surprise, and I have to say he lived up to his reputation.
The Jar
The avant garde a show you’ve never seen to tap the jar of homosexuality
Into the night upon electric wings a sodomite and all the organisms that he brings
Go far man fly through the jar like a free man be who you are
Fluorescent lights he turns away from you into the night to drink that mountain dew
The lightning rod upon his limousine a smile and a nod all the things I’ve never seen
Go far man fly through the jar like a free man be who you are
I walk on shaking legs my mind is hypnotized balancing on wooden pegs all the things I’ve never tried
To chase a star to search in darkness for that door another world I don’t believe in anymore, man
Fly through the jar like a free man be who you are.
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.
