a series of short stories, soundscapes & musical portals…
(drums: Garret Davidson)
i couldn’t breath
couldn’t sing,
didn’t know
it was dark
i was blind
felt the dusk
take my light
i was mean, hard, rude, bad, stuck up,
defense
tall walls
keep em out
fancy
pretence
you’re back in that place again
you can’t see anything
breath…
where have i been all my life
and how’d i get here
what’s it mean to survive
to thrive on your thirsts
lust for love
pay to be pure
endure the hear and now since you’ve come such a long way
why don’t you sit down
pray to your greatest fears that they may leave you ,
let you alone with just the love part,
none of that hate and shame ,
or prideful games
put your pretty penny in the wishing well
to feel that moment of hopeless hope whisp by and take your coin with it
is this a joke?
are you trying to build a garden
are you hoping to feel safe again
what is it you are savin’
it was hot
it was late
we were baked
couldn’t wait
half hearts in full proof drunk truth
loving lies
light shame and dark pride
where am i
i see the fire
smell smoke slowly rise
lost flame
no hope
i’m alone
you’re alive
where’d you go
why’d you hide
i’m aiming to build
you’re trying to die
you’ve taken that pill again
(that’s some true truth)
(hopin to feel again…)
why we lost
why you hate
don’t shame
don’t fake
this ain’t no game
no joke don’t play
make stuff make love
say your piece
have your way
dream your dream
feel hard then breathe deep
squirming in the seat,
doodlin’ on the page
giving breath to dreams
slippin sidelong and falling deep
into the halflife of a seemingly seam-free place of purity and peace
gimme blood
gimme wine
feed me lies
once in a while it’s ok
i can stay tonight if that’s fine
on trial,
here to testify
couldn’t breath
couldn’t sing,
didn’t think
i don’t know
what to seek
to fly free
why the hell were you so mean for
i was hard
it was late
it was hot
i couldn’t stop
baring pain
holdin out
calm down
before you drown
what’s been done is done
you lost your faith
you lost track
you can’t hear
and you won’t look back
it’s a blur now
hazey wammy flanger
semi phased
distorted waves
the only one thing i can’t seem to get straight is
which way is which and what is what for,
or why not why the whole wyrld
how to
who cares
who knows
i’m back in the place again
and i don’t see anything
breaking light
window pain fractals,
so close to being gone for good
your heart’s filled
open wide
you didn’t die after all
you didn’t wear down
you saw all the things you heard all the sounds
painful sweet and loud
fell off the cliff hit rock and stone,
lied to yourself now you lay broken
you’re not alone,
crying children hold you loving you
you’ve been found out
they point out the the sunrise and now you’re starting to cry
the thorn in your side is spilling your humours out onto the cracked earth and giving life to the seeds and sprouts
that’ll feed the mouths of bees and birds
who fly the good flight
it’s not over yet…
when will i be able to sing again?
i used to all the time,
i used to go to the river and belt like an ancient man in the elements
all alone
with god
naked,
the cold water dripping off his bare skin,
the enlightened state of not knowing what the far future holds
and then letting it out
a bellow
a deep song of love
not for any person in particular
a song of love of life echoing off the canyon walls and accompanied by the rivulets
the lapping of micro waves and whitewater haze,
the the sound of slow erosion steadilty carving he rocks he stands upon
he roars to a fever pitch on a hot summer’s morning
the birds and the bugs hold audience
they are not afraid
this is not the sound of a hungry man but a full man
full of the lifeness of love
will his greatgrand offspring hear the echoes of his cries?
it is certainly held in these rocks,
set in stone for generations from time immemorial
all pitch and no practice
no delivery just demonstrably deareness
one ear out the other
a confident presentation , painted up pretty picture of a ribbon tied shiny silver lined gleam
nothing but gleam
your hand cant touch it
it aint solid
just shine, glimmer, fancifulness
i’m opening up that door more and more now
letting in and out,
emotive rerout ,
tear channels and cry canals
laugh factories and scream rooms
who are the free of this world
chain-linked wrist watchmen who’r always watching out
find no peace but in fair moments of truth
wear their sun block
the light’s too bright
keep their doors locked
it’s cold outside
freeze the whole hog
thaw it out on a winter’s night in
meanwhile sleeping bag’s rot the flaked skin of unwashed sunburnt tough skin
it’s too thin, these walls need thickening
the draft is coming in
go die in my place
go sin in my name
i wanna be free from fear
but it crawls up to me in the middle of the night and cuddles tight
large waxy tropical leaves
veins visible from a distance, waving and throbbing in the humid jungle air
a low steady hum of life wafting from the foliage to the grassy meadow
a group of family and close friends playing ancient ball games as a mediary to express love for one another
this is what we work hard for
why we save up
stow away our nuts
stack our wood, fill our pigs
to feast in each other’s love ‘
but for an afternoon
play
the most invaluable currency
the driver of economies of scale, of power grabs, of political stunts, of entrepreneurial evndeavoring
work hard to buy play
secure a moment or two in this life to play in a jungle meadow with your people
what else is there to strive for
why buy a house a car a lawn a mower what’s it do
a fridge plastic stuff and confetti confecture frosting and cake too
all of that is just ice
the real meat is that moment of play
of shouting a good cry during a haircut
asking “why exist” in front of a fire on the beach
the notes and sounds flow through,
through and through
like a channel of water
electrified
neurons zap chemicals and tense the muscles holding me back
my back curls toward the keys
where is my mind
i couldn’t say,
if i had the strength i’d stay,
but i go on and on and on
universal language
jumpin and leppin
sometimes i stay up late,
possessed by the gods of music,
or it’s just god’s musical tendrils
they hook into the back of my neck like the creatures of avatar,
possessing me,
the boldy keeps me up and iv’e to make music,
read james joyce into the microphone over jams i’d done that day with my friends.
then i try to rest, lay down and veg out,
just sitting there and taking in all the bullshit,
staying up late late late into the wee hours doing nothing, biting off tomorrow’s energy,
i dreamt i was in vegas,
or a hwy stop simulacrum of it,
with folk who wanted to earn their tough work weeks,
months really,
spend all the money earned by fulfilling the wishes of those they don’t respect
to give into the manufactured desires of other worker bees that don’t know what to do with the surplus they’ve attained by playing the game
a big buffet
someone saw that there wasn’t as much of the good stuff left, so they violently filled their plate with the breakfast of the consumers in line behind them,
that’ll show em
i ate some junk too without giving a shit about the fellow shitheads behind or in front of me.
nobody here is clean.
i even rode my bike with no shirt on
right into the damn place,
luckily my friend was the host,
they felt uncomfortable about it because it might affect their ability to feast one day,
everybody is protecting their feast aren’t they?
i know i can eat off other’s left over feast if need be,
it’s free and it’s freeing.
i can walk away from this assembly line one day,
never look back kind of thing,
badge in the trash ,
apron stomped upon the floor.
i’ll be an inspiration to the one’s who still feel stuck and haven’t completely given over to their master. fear,
hunger,
scarcity. . .
we are out in the middle of the desert,
what’s sustaining us but artificial limbs,
replacing blown up fragments of nature’s pure children.
someone sent them off to somebody elses desert to blow fire upon each other.
don’t let them steal your buffet,
i broke the microphone in half,
didn’t even get to say what i was gonna say yet,
and that was too much for our friendship,
the host was too afraid to let someone else hijack their host post
i had to run, no choice unless someone were to steal my eggs benedict and waffles,
my rental car was smashed up against a trailer with a mortgaged boat,
it was dented,
which is fine for the goose but not the gander.
i had to make a run for it.
start the car don’t stall,
glasses on glasses off,
i don’t wanna see what ive done,
i jack one last piece of apple pie on my way out,
would i be american if i didn’t.
i love this place ,
can’t wait to get out of this desert and delight in this dessert.
it’s a moveable feast really,
i’ll be fine,
i know how to bottom feed, if need be,
i just do this for the fun of it at this point,
not trapped quite yet.
ive seen death,
i’ve known suffering,
it’s a dry waffle in the middle of the desert in a gas station
a brilliant mind experiencing the state of flow at eight in the morning and a hurt back
what is freedom
where’s my gun
i almost forgot that i run a dementia care facility
i just got the job today as a matter of fact i don’t even remember applying ,
being asked,
or why i would be getting this position in the first place,
but i’m not wasting any time questioning it.
there is a family in the front room and i need to greet them and assist them in their needs.
if i am gonna be running this place, i wanna do the best job, i don’t have time for existentialism.
people’s salaries are on the line.
are these nuns that work here? or nurses or both?
they need help building on-site housing for themselves.
i got you ladies.
i got a table saw and miter saw.
let me help you figure this out,
ive been wanting too.
will build to your specifications.
i forgot how we got here,
but i do remember walking through people’s yards and houses,
don’t know why i was there.
am i beong shutter islan’d,
Trauma’d,
am i living in a dreamscape and just need to wake up.
why would i need to awaken from such a dream ?
i get to build, i can be a good manager, learn new sills, make some money in the process.
will i get vacation?
i don’t actually care too much about the patients themselves,
sure they don’t even know what the hell is goin on, they probaby think they run this place after all.
daymaring ,
seafaring, through the ocean of their mind’s-being
swept away by a storm of images triggered by random associations,
so random that they’re destined in fact,
carl jung is up in the attic of this place pulling tarot for each of these unfortunate souls.
he’s on the payroll and he’d be the last one to go if the budget belt tightened it’s notches.
gotta keep these pour souls alive, that’s 5 K a month per soul.
jung works for nineteenth century swiss francs, so i can afford him with couch cusion change,
however, these bastards that work the front desk and complain every time someone drops in to see one of the unfortunate souls,
want a raise every week and will call it discrimination if they don’t get it,
we will get our robots soon.
i might even name the robots right after them out of spite
maybe one day this place will just be carl jung and the robots,
i could never replace him.
i would miss everybody though, and when my time comes, i’d regret the world i built for myself,
but these are the times,
only the best of us can ascend to the attic of a demented facility to incept daymares into the fragile minds of paying family’s parents,
so that they could feel like they’re doing the right thing,
since the walls here are beautiful,
since i greet them at the door with a smile,
since the robot workes seem so effcient an real and have real names.
they on’t know about jung,
they’ve lost their youth too,
or else they’d know. that’s why we won’t let kids in
they’d find out the whole scam and tear this place down to the ground.
oh it’s lunch time,
what was i just thinking about,
i’m being wheeled into the mess hall with all the other souls ,
how unfortunate,
they don’t realize that they’re patients here too…
everyone was thre from the hippy world,
with their guns, meat and no politics,
here for a good time to make music love and drama.
i’m just here for the music and they let me be me.
or at least they used to ,
when it was pleasant,
but now i’m on this new tip of moving past sweet melodies , predictable rhythms, stacked voices.
i start off with that to lull the listener into a sense of familiarity.
nature’s resonance,
harmonic happenings,
consonant curiosity,
a couple quirks are allowed here and thre.
we’re all open minded here after all right…
then i slowly introduce the confused chaos,
it hits me like a message from god, .
“fuck it up. “
“fuckit up to smithereens”
they say you can be you
be you!
be a channel fully open that lets in the tidal waves,
the lightning
the terrorists
the rape
the agony
the torturer
the praying manti eating their dads,
let in the gush of blood coming from an innocent child’s mouth dying of cancer for no apparanet reason,
they’ve heard the birdsong
they’ve heard a gentle stream,
they’ve even heard a distant rumbling of rain to come,
but they haven’t heard the crack of a fallen tree landing on a loved one
gasps of a dying breath who’s mouth was meant to atone for sins they’d committed on the ones they love most,
the sound of regret and shame ,
agony
it’s all part of Job’s tour of the universe,
it’s all part of the plan,
it’s time to hear that too.
we’re all open minded and open hearted here.
i let the light in through the crack because it is still light after all,
Job knows that,
i let it in hard,
nobody’s really ready for it but i have my surfboard ready to catch the choppiest wave that’s ever formed beneath me,
the power of the universe propels the notes,
i scream yell, grunt, bang on keys ,
writhe in the air on the floor
in their imaginations, i
slither and roar and bang out more keys,
its not random,
it’s beautiful love,
just the backside of it,
where the shit comes out,
i’m a professional asswiper after all
when i’m not letting light in through waves of music.
i’m doing compressions on forgotten melodies and shocking them back into life,
fibrillation.
the earthy nature hips make me purell my fingers from a plastic dispener afterwards and pretend they were ok with everything.
i’m on cloud nine and don’t believe in disease,
i mean, its’ there but i don’t want to purell it away.
my own mother was a shadow of herself,
old and decrepit.
did time just slip away,
gaunt face ,
drooping sad eyes,
standing up and telling us something important to her,
but all i could think about was how sad it was, .
nothing in between,
joyous,
vibrant,
radiant,
alive
and now this…
time slips away.
i’m here to fix problem after problem,
i can manage the challenges,
but seeing my own mother as a ghostly version of herself was too much and i start to cry.
i knew the day would come but i thought it’d inch up rather than appear.
but we are here,
here we are.
it’ll happen to me someday too.
someday i’ll have a daymare where i’m thirty five
out playing concerts,
running , swimming, having sex, making love, learning, growing,
looking forward to the rest of my life,
licking a chocolate fudge bar in the summer sun.
then i’ll wake up from the daymare, in a wheelchair,
ooh the pain in my back,
i had relief for that moment of daymaring,
my teeth aren’t in and i’m hungry,
where is my carer, do i have one?
where am i again,
is this the old folk’s home that i fancied myself to be the manager of…
did i accomplish what i was meant to,
did i become who i wanted to?
it is what it is,
this was destined,
i used to ride a motorcycle through the jungles of south america when i was your age~
you little whippersnapper,
get off your neurolink for once and taste the air.
but it’s polluted isn’t it…
i used to be able to swim in the rivers,
they’re vapor now aren’t they.
lots of little worlds 