Like the string that brings the rain, you could feel him coming Like the rain was dripping down Overflowing for a while and no man could hold it They just watched it pouring down.
First his hands were on your face- maybe this is love? Then your head upon the ground With his shoe upon your face, time to close your eyes now Listen to the rain fall down.
Watch the window through the rain, hands upon your shoulders Watch the things you knew fall down First you feel a flash of pain, maybe this is love? Watch the world you knew fall down.
Pour your heart into his mind, read the figures in the wood There were things that you got right and some things misunderstood Watch for shadows that approach, darkened faces that draw close They’re the remnants of the fire; they’re the ones who love you most.
Like to watch the sky through lace, only for a moment You could fly away somehow Learn to watch the flow of days and the flow of moments Like the fear they’re dripping down.
Like to watch the sky through pain, only for a moment. You could fly away somehow Learn to watch the flow of days and the flow of moments Like the fear they’re dripping now.
I feel like something is off with my nerves. While walking down the sidewalk (in daylight), a jogger passed by saying “Excuse me” and I let a blood curdling scream rip into his ears. I didn’t mean to. He didn’t like it. Then a bicyclist rode by on the opposite side of the street, and I accidentally screamed at him as well.
Next, while standing alone with a candle in my hand, I suddenly smashed the candle as hard as I could against the ground. Glass flew everywhere & it broke a window too. (Oopsy!) I don’t know why I did it. My hand just moved faster than my brain could think. Now my recording room is filled with glass and James won’t let me in there since he is convinced I can’t clean it up without getting cut.
After that, I accidentally topped James’s pasta with a thick layer of salt rather than Parmesan cheese. And to make things more bizarre, I discovered I was wearing two pairs of shorts at the same time, one on top of the other. Somehow I hadn’t noticed.
Something is off. But what to do? I secretly tried cleaning the recording room and now my feet feel as though they are filled with glass though that is probably imagination. I have no paper left or else I would draw a picture of a man masturbating in a glass chamber, or maybe a picture of someone bleeding through the hands.
Many things have me unnerved at the moment. One is an incident from the other night. I was taking Slippers out & a car approached, slowing down as it came near me then parking. It gave me the creeps.
James came outside because he had gotten a bad feeling. He walked up to the car but they didn’t see him because they were looking towards me, with one man talking on the phone. He was telling someone that I had my dog with me. Once they saw James they zoomed off.
James thinks they were just random men up to no good and not looking for me specifically. But so many people have come looking for me in the past that I am a little paranoid. Just thinking about it makes my kidneys bubble.
I might be slightly disturbed by my little #metoo moment as well. The fact that none of the very liberal organizations, such as his record label, gave even a cursory response to my story (posted in reply to their tweets about his deep humanity) makes me realize the whole #metoo thing was completely fake. No one cares about sexual assault anymore than they ever have.
Not that I expect them to. Why should they care? This is their golden moment to sell records and selling records is their job- not social justice. But why do people have to fake care? I don’t think it is right to use social issues for personal elevation & branding, especially if you aren’t willing to put out when they land in your own backyard. It would be less confusing if people could just be honest about their true motivations. But why should they be? Wars were never won through transparency.
And what are values really, but the flags we wave to signal tribal affiliation? That is another thing that has been weighing on me- realizing the central role tribes play in human life while also realizing that I have no tribe and probably never will.
Tribes are everything though. Consider music. A musician’s value is judged by how much access they have to the tribes who run the music business. A performer at the Grammy’s is ‘talented’, even if you don’t personally like them. They have a recognized social value. They can trade on this value for resources & protection.
What makes the musical tribes- such as record labels- a little sinister is their efforts to convince people that they are a distillation of America’s best talent, and anything outside their glossy grip is not worth listening to. It is lower tier music that couldn’t make the cut. When in reality these record companies are just families- tribes- with the resources to buy lots of makeup for their members.
Once upon a time, when I thought getting a record contract was important, I submitted blank cds to them, because I had a suspicion the submission process was a sham (I already had experience with this sort of thing from my time in the art world.)
And of course, they all sent me back polite rejection letters, telling me that my music was not what they were looking for. So why lie? Because they need to pretend to be meritocracies in order to monopolize people’s musical imaginations. They need to pretend they have already searched out the “good” music so people won’t feel the need to search for themselves. This lie hurts music.
So, anyway, I guess feelings of mounting threats along with a growing awareness of my precarious position in society has me feeling on edge. Or maybe it is something else entirely. The problem is, when you are blogging with your actual name you are doomed to share only the most superficial aspects of your life. I wish I had thought of that from the beginning. I would have given myself the name Lacey Pendleton and she would do a complete Tell All. That would be paradise. But instead I am forever stuck in the gray zone, balancing an urge to express with a need to survive.
Oppossums have been showing up everywhere. Does that mean anything? This one is in the back yard. It is pregnant & you can see the curly little baby tails hanging beneath her stomach.
Oh dear… I wish I knew how to record more than one vocal track so I could have the sound of twins singing the chorus, but when you are a non-stem female musician, you just have to do the best you can & keep walking forward.
His eyes were blue, his eyes were pale The absence of a fire. Where the wind blew, there they went The absence of desire.
Peppermint, a hint of life Something pure and true. All around you like a kite There his blue eyes flew.
A piece of lace, a secret place No one knows where it ends. But all along he held your hand Just like a pair of twins.
His fingers were so thin and yet He held your little hand. He walked with you upon the beach A heart drawn in the sand.
The sky was flying like a flag Had you seen that flag before? A gust of wind opening a door.
A piece of lace, a secret place No one knows where it ends. But all along he held your hand Just like a pair of twins.
You stood upon the beach with him the gavel was put down. With rings upon your finger now The absence of a sound.
A piece of lace blew in the wind It was tied to a pole. The wind was blowing to the east The place where fairies go.
A piece of lace, a secret place No one knows where it ends. But all along he held your hand Just like a pair of twins.
This song was inspired by the zodiac sign of Libra. As I mentioned before, whenever I am feeling down I choose a sign of the zodiac to connect with and quickly it will cheer me up. I chose Libra, because it is the astrological ruler of lace, one of my favorite things.
It is probably dangerous to spell out for the world a list of your favorite things, but I will do so anyway and hope for the best. As I said, one of them is lace. I like to include a piece of lace in every song. It is a nice escape from my everyday life, which doesn’t feel lacy. My regular life is cornbread baked in a cast iron pan, so heavy I can barely lift it. But I dream of lace and one day I will buy a piece to keep forever.
So, at any rate, this is a list of my favorite things, but please keep in mind that by virtue of them being my favorite things I am also drawn to their opposites and to things which hit them at odd angles.
A song… I guess… about my love for men who are boring on the outside but shady* on the inside- like detectives… or maybe it is a song about my love for the gray clouds and fog that hang over West Virginia in the early spring. All I know for certain is that I wrote this song while thinking about the constellation Scorpio in a bathtub… sometimes when I am feeling down or lost I will choose a constellation to think about to cheer me up… and the moon was in Scorpio at the time, which is why I chose it, maybe. I was in the bathtub because it was the only bathing device in the house, the house being from 1907. However, a shower head has just been installed, so life is more normal now.
*Secretive, I mean. I secretly admire people who have that quality, because I usually end up spilling all the contents of my mind, whether I mean to or not.
You could be my dark man Stranger in the park man Standing in your trench coat flashing Stars above but somethings crashing down
You could be my shady friend
Standing where the street lights end
Shadows fall always behind you
No one seeks and no one finds you now
Clouds stretch so far away
Endless worlds of endless grey
Walk before me and I’l follow you
This road leads us to tomorrow, true?
Clouds takes shape but they always lie
We’ll get bored but we’ll never die
Lay your hand upon my head now
Lead me through the fog and dread now
You could be my shadow man
To offer me your white bread hand
Shelling peanuts with your finger
A dusty feeling I remember now
Life can be so many things
Sometimes swirling like a dream
Sometimes flat I’m trapped inside it
Close my eyes but they won’t hide it
Half alive but that’s okay
The other half is filled with gray
Eyes are reaching through the fog and lace
From another world I can almost place
You could be my answer man
A book to dull to understand
A slice of bread upon my plate
The rusty and forgotten gate to now.
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.
