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SHE AIN’T GONE GONE TO HEAVEN

10 Jun

Tara

They’ve been wasting most their time
Glorifying days long gone behind
They’ve been wasting most their days
In remembrance of ignorance oldest praise

lynching

They’ve been looking in their minds
For the day that sorrows gone from time
They keep telling of the day
When the savior of love will come to stay

BlackJesus

Tell me who of them will come to be ?

DrKing

How many of them are you and me

Farrakhan

Isolation
Exploitation

holocaust

Mutilation
Mutations

Rwanda massacre

Miscreation
Race Relations

Cambodia

Confirmation

Goerring

…to the evils of the world

Lyrics: Stevie Wonder

FUNKY DOLLAR BILL

28 May

The pusher, push
The fixer, fix
The judge acquits,
The junkie leads his life

WarholBuck3
Lyrics: George Clinton I presume. Image: The Warhol Estate

IN THE CLEARING STANDS A BOXER

1 Apr

NYalley

I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises

hobo

In the quiet of the railway station running scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know

homlessNYC

wishing I was gonegoinghomewherethenewyorkcitywintersaren’t bleeding me

oldtimehookers2

I get no offers, just a come-on
From the whores on Seventh Avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there

oldtimehookers

When I left my home and my family
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers

boxer

Lie la lie…

kettledrum

Lyrics: Paul Simon

THE SOURCE

1 Apr

I’m listening to this, reminds of someone who might be a friend.

I’ve got a little piece I made up, a sequence of melodies punctuated by a rhythm that’s not fully baked. I’m a white guy so the melody comes first then I add the rhythm. I played it this morning. It wasn’t bad. No fans, sometimes I get fans. Someone or other who’s been sitting quietly, listening. Sometimes there’s even applause. Fans are good, I like having fans.

But this morning no. And I didn’t deserve them. It wasn’t that I kept hitting the wrong note in the right key for evoking memories of mating cats. I didn’t, not too often anyway. It wasn’t that I forgot how to play it or anything, there was just something… missing. Something blocked. When I play well I forget myself, there’s no reflection. My mind is not on the task, it has surrendered to the task. There’s a flow that runs straight thru my heart out onto the keyboard and beyond. When I play that way, that’s when I get fans.

Does that make sense?

I don’t know how to play piano really. Haven’t done the work, not like with the guitar. I know hundreds of chords on the guitar, used to. I can transpose without much effort (not that transposition on the guitar requires much). But on the piano I’m proficient merely in the keys of Gm and C. And C’s, like, sooo hard on the piano, not. Still, composition’s a breeze on the piano. Select a melody. It’s not hard. Questions and answers. Dah-dah-dah; Dum. Dah-dah-dah; Dum. Dah-dah-dah; Dim. Dah-dah-dah; Dum. Dum-Dum-Dim; Dum. It’s stupid easy.

Turning it into something requires work tho’. Like coming up with a verse/chorus combo. Getting the lyrics right, striving for days to get the hook, the middle-8, the riff. Or maybe you start with the riff and it writes itself. I don’t know how it works. There’s a language but I don’t speak it like a native. I can’t just churn it out. I’ve only ever written one bit of music and it’s not arranged yet. I don’t have the gear.

But sometimes there’s a public piano where I play. Where I wrote it. There, some of the officials approve. It helps that Head of Security is a fan tho’ he keeps his distance. It hurts that my enemies are senior staff. What can I do? I don’t own a piano these days. And the time’s a little ways off when I’ll once again have a private place for music. It’s come as far as it can, it’s organized, memorized. Sometimes I play it.

And when I play it well I’m hooked unobstructed into the source. Something with a red-yellow glow. Something that’s not really there but actually very much is. Sounds like mystical hippie bullshit and it would be if I wanted to take it on a speaker’s tour: buy the book, buy the crystal pyramids, buy the magic dust and the moisturizer. Join the movement. No!

Fuck that! Anyone reading this, you have my permission to give me two twice in the back of the head I ever do something like that.

No. The source is my way of describing a feeling I hold to be important. And other musicians know what I’m talking about. When you’re in the groove. When you’re in the zone. Not just my music, anyone’s. In these moments you know the song you’re playing at the level of instinct. Like breathing.

This morning was not such a moment. Oh well, shit happens.

WHY DO BIRDS SUDDENLY APPEAR

19 Mar

Dreaming, dreaming of a girl like me
Hey what are you waiting for – feeding, feeding me

anorexiamirror

I feel like I’m disappearing – getting smaller every day
But I look in the mirror – I’m bigger in every way

Lyrics: Kim Dalton.

DID YOU EVER SEE A ROBIN WEEP?

12 Mar

hokusaibird

Hear that lonesome whippoorwill
He sounds too blue to fly

comet

The silence of a falling star
Lights up a purple sky

nighttown

I’ve never seen a night so long
When time goes crawling by

cryingboystory

And as I wonder where you are
I’m…….

DOPED WITH RELIGION AND SEX AND TV

5 Mar

mudgirl

And you think you’re so clever and classless and free

arsehole

But you’re still fucking peasants,
Far as I can see.