Please believe me I know all about squeeze cheese and crackers and there is something to be said
about a lobster giving you his head and in the morning you wake up and everything is red
you can’t recall whose legs were spread but you know its not butter youre tasting in your mouth
it’s the sour sound of regret and you may say that im naïve and yeah that would probably be true
this is what I said and this is what I did
but this is what was meant by both
my actions and my lack thereof…
climbed down to the ocean to drown and try to memorize
the words she spoke before I lost my mind...
my grip on reality is fading fast my grip is slipping as they laugh
their lipstick that lipstick sick lipstick lightning flash
and I know they do not exist I know I know I know
my beautiful friend all I ever wanted was one last kiss
one last chance to say nothing for hours and just fall asleep
in your heart
forever asleep; a victim of the undertow
In this storm I have become an angels and my wings are fire breathing lungs
I taste the world as it melts on my tongue
I think I can touch your face tonight
If I keep going than I just might walk off the edge of the earth
To the river to the river to deliver a message of love to the cosmos
I will keep falling forver and be haunted by your ghost
This chance to be free to believe to know whats inside of me
This wine I breathe this song I sing
Im drowning im drowning
Somebody come and pick me up
Anybody… anybody see me floating in need of something to wake me up.
Cmon comn put on a little make up!!
Me: So, here is the opening line of the paperback edition of Angel Fire.
‘IT MIGHT be useful,’ said the rich womanly voice, ‘to model me as your
guardian angel.’ - I believe this is what you asked about for the holiday cards?
Boss: No, I meant the one
with the witch, not the angel.
Me: Witch Fire? (mumble to myself - yeah, more like Bitch Fire) I don’t think it exists – but if you want me to, I dunno
there is Practical Magic, um
Boss: That’s it, that’s it -
now tell me that one.
Tuning into a local radio station, I'm feeling slightly self-conscious upon realizing that I should’ve played a(n?) Heart song. This truly was an oversight on my part and I sincerely
hope everyone accepts my thoughts on the matter. It must be noted that I prefer lyrical
questions such as, “is it cloak and dagger, could it be spring or fall?” to
anything else in the world. I mean, it is these existential inquiries that have confounded
human minds since the beginning of time before time immemorial.
...or, do they know me too well. Now, I am aware that all good conspiracy theories begin with the
word “they”, but it turns out, there are not many songs
with the word ‘heart’ in the title, which I would not have assumed to be the
case. I would like to dedicate the following to Ms. Justice Ginsburg (from the Justice League) recovering
from surgery today and as I imagine is presently watching Downton Abbey and taking
shots of Jack whenever someone speaks with a British accent. Cheers!
Yes, only too well; recall
that a wise man once said, “very, very frightening”. This is not your mother’s ghost story (which one
would that be - The Ghost and Mrs. Muir?),
but this is still your personal tour guide here with you now only
this time wearing a kilt; one of the long ladies ones if you will. Now, feast
your ears on some traditional piping from the mad plaid estate aka Scotland.
Hello, this is your sky
captain who will be wearing Chelsea boots (deal with it) on your personal music tour of all of
Western Europe. Now on to England where all I know of this place is from The Avengers circa '65-68, particularly
the episode where Mrs. Emma Peel and Steed go to that quiet airport and the
first sound is the rattling of milk bottles on the back of a lorry. Did it have
something to do with war ghosts?
Fact - A Madonna song was the
first song I danced with a boy to if you don’t count ballroom in phys ed where I might have fox-trotted or waltzed around with one in the school basement. And you apparently thought I couldn't even leave my house for the 12’ stacks of
early 90’s fashion magazines that would fall down on my head.
I like how it has just come to be called The Opera Song, because well, as that They Might Be Giants (not that one) song once expressed so eloquently, "youth culture killed my dog and I don't think it's fair". Now, this might be the best song you are going to hear all day.
And so I said to lighten
the mood, “well I’ll tell you what - I certainly do not want to live in a world
without pumpkin cookies and grey angora bunnies named Fido.”
And
you said – actually, I don’t remember, I'm terribly self-absorbed. It might have been something like, - maybe we can just run away - again you were so serious all of the time.
I left the room, came back in the room and asked, “so, have
you read any good memoirs lately?”
Sessions in basements in Buffalo. New York ink and daggers and shots in the dark - I drive all night just to get where you are, where you are - where are you little love? That old time voodoo that you do so well has cast a living spell on me and now I'm floating off into a movie that I've watched too many times.
This song... keeping me from exploding from all the feeling and emotions inside my soul right now. Sadness, anger, and a huge amount of sugar sprinkled with vermin...
they have stormed the castle we built and now it is time to call in the exterminators...
whomever they may be. i remember driving all the way to Ohio just to fuck your brains out...
the problem with that is afterwards you were no good for conversation... slurring your words and saying things like "where are the children?? where is the coffee??" i had to explain to you twice that things just do not happen that way... coffee is not just made in a pot it has to be harvested, it has to grow... but you wanted instant gratification after i had drove eight hours in the freezing cold just to see your face... maybe you werent so compassionate afterall... maybe you were just a slut and i dont have time for that in my life... farewell christopher columbus.
on a sidenote i later found out they do make instant coffee... and yes you still are a slut with the voice of an angel. (and a soul so dark and haunted that i drank my coffee black)
Sampson: Gregory, o’ my word, we’ll not carry coals.
Gregory: No, for then we should be colliers.
Well, I don’t need to tell you what this all leads to…Lust,
love, open garden gates and through which pale light the shattered window
breaks, as seen in the film go through that glass darkly and wear a cocktail
dress all purple and sparkly.
All the world rejoices, for deep in the darkest space, where I am often lost and find myself accident prone, there is a small object that appears to be a "solid moonlet". NASA's Cassini Solstice Mission discovered it living near Saturn's F ring. They named it "Mittens".
You always whispered, you never really had a voice to say anything and be heard
everybody thought you were mumbling, just slurring your words after having too much to drink
now we are here in silence and i'm on top of your grave wanting to make love to your spirit
wanting to see your smile wanting to know wanting to have wanting to hold you in my arms
one last time... i know everything will be alright like bobby says no woman no cry
we must keep moving forward even as tears fill our eyes...
as the city turns to mourning, will the leaves continue to fall??
not sure what i feel right now... sadness can't possibly explain it all
I specifically asked you what your favorite color was and you said - I think you said it was blue - and I was so ready for you to ask me mine, but you went with, "what's your favorite movie scene" and caught off guard, mumbled something about the montage of kisses from Cinema Paradiso, because, I don't know its good, maybe if I had more time I would respond differently. You see, I was so ready to reply that I had two favorite colors...
Sometimes it's about no justice no peace and society not really knowing where any body is from and shouting about how it does really know you or maybe that there is no you. Come to find, come to find just can't leave the 90's behind (how hard I try, I try).
The last time we went out together to hear music we stumbled into the Bourgeois Pig for some memories, gimlets, beer, coffee coffee and coffee - for an early morning ride back to Kansas City. We pretended we had a convertible when we rolled all the windows down and sang out all the songs from the stupid radio because - CD player broke - tape player broke - hey it was an old car but a fun night.
You told me the reason you didn't continue with your fantasy of becoming an astronaut had everything to do with a recurring dream that you have and that you were told is a common one. You feel as if you are waking up in the morning when an elderly woman in the room is holding you down and you can't move. It is called night paralysis or something. Why this prevented you from being a space man is a mystery to me. Then, I said, once, but really just once I had a dream about hand towels; they were not my towels, were hanging in someone else's bathroom and I didn't recognize the place.
You said we were lovers and it felt pretty strange
To watch your head explode home home on the range….
Watched the deer and the antelopes playing the piano
Singing a song like we shared the same feeling through different veins
The same blood dripping from the ceiling with no need to explain
This moment was golden so we carried it to the store
The man behind the counter gave us 2 dollars and not a penny more…
Seemed like forever but it was only ten seconds long
The perfect riff the prefect time for a punk rock song
But then we needed some piercings… and a nose ring
Needed a strap on I wanted a ding a ling
I wanted to know what it felt like to be
A buffalo in a field; knowing someday I’d be somebodys meal…
Are you hungry?? Horny?? Need a fix?? Just one fix??
“Never trust a junky”
“the secret to time travel is to leave behind funny and outdated notiions such as sanity.”
“Sanity does not exist… one does not simply dream up a flux capacitor while practicing voodoo
No you have to be insane.. you have to be totally fucking fruit looped out of your mind…
I mean what the fuck is a flux capacitor anyway??”
We are all mad here and I only write what I have dreamed… my reality is too exotic for words.
I could write volumes on all the tens 9’s 8’s 7’s and twelves I have had sex with
when I was younger and more vulnerable to the pleasures of my flesh, but what's the use?
“These days I prefer to have sex with souls.”
(Sounds like something Dracula would’ve said had he had the time
to think of it before the sun rose upon his skin…)
“haha johnny boy!! You may be bigger than Jesus but I am bigger than Count Chocula!!”
leave with no feeling in my bones
i'm going home; my golden throne where i am king
farewell to the messy sea and the messages inside the bottle
a cry for help i don't want to believe; i can hear them breathe
you can close your eyes right now and go to sleep
you are free you are free
to drown yourself in your own sorrows
free to walk off my bed and onto the floor
free to wake up feeling sore
free to scream at the top of your lungs
to feel the snowflakes as they melt on your tongue
to live your life as if you'll always be
through the water in my eyes i can see
the sky is blurred flourescent
as i begin my final descent...
From one of our many conversations where you thought you understood and loved me, but then only wanted to kill me - and so you said that the reason I ever heard of this is because of The Darjeeling Limited and I said yes and that I was introduced to Lola on a Family Ties episode. Your eyes flashed a green/red color
I gave you the lines of a man dead by twenty five, It went on like "St. Agnes' Eve - Ah, bitter chill it was. The owl for all his feathers was a-cold; the hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass" the lines drip with lust, love, death, visions of saints and virgins falling asleep in hopes to meet their first true love. Drawn to this innocence and a tale as old as time we forget that only animals are truly innocent and the hunters come out at night.
I recall the Gorey poster you had in your hall. A is for Amy who fell down the stairs. B is for Basil assaulted by bears...and it went on and on until all the little children were overcome by some fate or another. And I now want to make a short film of this, maybe a musical. Across the room you start An American Werewolf in London, it is a good thing I can so easily be distracted, what havoc.
You played a slow voiced song, simple and absent. I remember how we talked of visiting a foreign land. A car speeds a few blocks away but everything else is quiet this evening. Good dreaming weather.
Too many nights where our mother moon was nothing more than a neon sign reflected in a mud puddle. Or as luck would have it, as we tried to escape for London, the plane got stranded in Detroit - were I left you and for all I know you are still on that landed plane in the Michigan airport. Me? I never made it to London either.
Stage Direction: Musically, la la la mwa mwa mwa plays the soft viola..."Midnight, not a sound from the pavement - has the moon lost her memory? She is smiling alone. In the lamplight the withered leaves..." what the hell, why oh why is this person singing a song from Cats? I find the attraction like a hemorrhaging fever, irresistible at 103°, magical as we go higher and higher
fight you for your heart; fight against all the reasons for running away
stab you in your chest one last time i am relieved; to make sure the blood comes
you're such a classic psychotic headache medicine trickery; i am a clone
screaming do me do me do me take me to your bright lights so i can breathe
too young to forget what was happening, too numb to dumb to dazed and confused
your lipstick fades from the mirror as i bend the spoon
tomato soup tomato soup tomato soup
breaking your world in half
the monkey laughs; the monkey laughs just to see himself coming undone
wet from an evening beneath the stars...
he thought himself to be a train;
left a stain, left a stain, left a stain.
On a lighter/brighter highway (Lite Brite Way or Rainbow Brite Viaduct) a great person once noted it may be easy being green after all, however it is not easy being blue-green algae.
I had forgotten much of you until this morning -You are your own person, a walking dead-eyed version of an original bad seed, or "just somebody that I used to know", but I'll call that one station in New Jersey and they may take a request, And we can drink and recall a few of the things we had in common. What is your number? Where is my phone?
I-90 crossing Buffalo, we talked of everything from Disney-world-land to Ivy League rowing (idea for boating team name 2 Live Crew) and we drove along and a song came on and the only line you sang was "lie to me if you will, at the top of Barringer Hill, tell me anything you want...". And as I recall I always told the truth, but decided why not +lies=danger>fun, non?
Once upon a dark and stormy city pretty much every scene in the movie "Devil" was happening in real time and I thought it would be nice to hear the non-muzak, non-Caribbean version of Black Hole Sun, just this once. I know, crazy!
Fun Fun Fun on the best coast until I left and landed in the city that (I think sometimes sleeps) and I was in a friend's sister's apartment in Chelsea and thought of how I might dream big. Audition 1: "I have a feeling we're still in Kansas, Tonto" - "Man that's the wrong line" - "Oh, what the hell". If you look out on the horizon, the amber waves turn into oceans of memories...
You said that it was an important moment in your life, and I knew that this was true and that I would be watching from the sidelines for your fame. When I left, I scribbled a poem down in my journal, some British one I think, but all I can make out, "beauty, midnight, vision dies"...yeah, so what are you doing tonight?
The wellspring of youth keeps flowing on and on, it is television and art and film and pop music and lifestyle and literature and food and drink and that overwhelming conclusion"that is not it at all, that is not what I meant, at all". I said don't call me, and you didn't, I'll live
And a poetess describes eyes "like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves" and I thought of that crisp fall California evening where, yes there was a chill in the air, but it was cool because there would be no winter to speak of.
