Home

Step softly now
See their hooded eyes
Keep us close at hand
You may need our quick advice.

But everybody’s watching you
They got a lot to say
Just keep their words within a jar
We’ll open it one day.

After all
Life was never meant to be your home.
Life was never nothing but the road you chose to take.

Step softly now
Feel the hidden hand
Through the bushes it extends to you
The outline of a man.

Then he says “Hide! Duck!
Back up against the van where they can’t see you
Crawl over to the shadows where we’re waiting
For we may be the only ones who need you.”

After all
Life was never meant to be your home.
Life was never nothing but the road you chose to take.

And how do you feel now?
Standing on your own
Like a column made of fire
A feeling that you could be quite alone?

Move swiftly now
Don’t believe you have a friend
They just like to watch you trip and fall
They’ll push you down again.

So quickly run back
Into the alleyway where they can’t see you
Press up against a tree and we will be there
Perhaps we are the only ones who need you.

After all
Life was never meant to be your home.
Life was never nothing but the road you chose to take.

Download: Home

Following Fire

Following fire, half-deranged by desire
Like a zombie I walk through the night.
Every dark alleyway, every car breakaway
Leads in my fantasy somewhere so bright.

Reason, morality- never my gifts;
I had the gift of belief.
I light a fire for you, filled with desire for you-
I know you see. I know you see.

Fire in the sky if you let him come by
I will pay you back for all that you’ve given me.
Pay you with blood, it’s the ruby of God,
I will open myself to you, please!

Following fire, melted down by desire
And the star that I follow is hope.
Making me pay like a knife every day-
I know you won’t, I know you won’t.

Lighting a candle for you every night
Cause I know you are drawn to the flame.
I see your spirit a butterfly flicker-
You won’t cause me pain, you won’t cause me pain.

Fire in the sky if you let him come by
I will pay you back for all that you’ve given me.
Pay you with blood, it’s the ruby of God
I will open myself to you, please!

Lighting a fire, half-deranged by desire
And the stars that are drawing me high.
Thinking of you, like a fire you can burn away
Hands on my throat, lay down or die.

Holding my finger right next to the candle wick-
Strong is the thing I must be,
Just until I can draw you to my flame.
You won’t hurt me. You won’t hurt me.

Download MP3: Following Fire

Frayed Nerves

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.

David Berman of the Silver Jews- Grabbing them by the Pussy


Although I wasn’t familiar with his music, I read about David Berman in a UVA alumni magazine & a friend of mine told me that he was famous & living in Nashville, so I thought that was cool and invited him to play a show with me.

He showed up with a little posse and a smoke machine, since- rather than singing- he wanted to recite poetry with smoke blowing behind him. I remember feeling sorry for him, standing on the stage with smoke blowing behind him, as though the need of a smoke machine made him pathetic somehow.

It is usually a bad sign when I feel sorry for someone. Clinton, Weiner, Epstein, Weinstein- most sexual predators trigger pangs of pity in me and I don’t even know why. Crossed wires, probably.

And then of course, feeling pity for a man makes me feel guilty, since I imagine men don’t want to be seen as pitiful, which causes me to twist my mind into a state of deep admiration, just in case they can sense my thoughts. I always feel responsible for boosting men’s self-esteem as though they are little boys and I am their nanny. If they look stupid, I feel pain.

Anyway, after the show he walked up to me where I was sitting on a stool and stuck his hand up my skirt real fast and grabbed me on the flesh at which point animal consciousness took over and I started kicking him. There were at least six people watching, but maybe more.

I don’t remember what happened after that except that one of his posse was trying to calm me down and make sure I didn’t call the cops since, as he said, Berman had a beautiful wife at home and this would break her heart etc etc. Berman too was a troubled man with a heart of gold and they would make sure to straighten him out. He also said what Berman did was really really bad which was useful information for me since on my own I might not have figured it out. After all, my husband was one of the people watching and I don’t recall him saying anything about the incident or being particularly concerned.

(Which, in retrospect, makes sense considering that he got me to marry him by grabbing my crotch as we were zooming down the highway on the way to what I thought was a spiritual retreat. Then he said I needed to marry him because sexual contact outside of marriage was wrong.)

All in all, the Berman incident didn’t loom large in my mind. If it hadn’t been for the posse member talking me into not calling the cops (which I wouldn’t have done anyway, considering that I had a supernatural fear of police plus no concept that forcing hands into privates was a crime) I might not even remember it. It just seemed to blend into the general spirit of the time. I even sent Berman a Christmas card afterwards. How embarrassing.

But for some reason, a few days ago, I was telling my current husband about it, and he wanted to beat Berman up, so I googled him and found that he had hanged himself a couple weeks prior. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it all. My husband said he wouldn’t be surprised if someone had offed him.

And then I was reading the articles about his poetry & music which all seemed to agree that above all, David Berman was a symbol of goodness and decency. Maybe he was, who knows? Goodness & decency have always creeped me out.

*

P.S. Though I always considered this incident to be quite minor, with no impact, in some respect it (along with other incidents) maybe did have the stereotypical impact on me.

I assumed I was basically asking for these things, considering I was wearing a skirt and also a lace camisole on top of my polo shirt. So I reconsidered my clothing choices.

I assumed I was pretty much asking for it by singing songs about mating with rabbits and making love to plants and fathers. So I tried to tone down the sexual content of my songs which (as a Scorpio) just meant writing less in general.

I assumed I was pretty much asking for it by hanging out in slimy bars at night. So, it *possibly* played a role in my decision to stop performing.

I assumed I was pretty much asking for it by interacting with males so much in general, although that couldn’t be helped since they made up the bulk of the music world. For a long time, I tried to avoid interacting with males at all to avoid giving the impression that I was a pervert.

But I don’t know. I am just thinking about this now for the first time. For some reason I never really thought about it until I found out he was dead.

Sexual Fantasies- Messages from Another World

Sexual desires & fantasies share the symbolic language of dreams. They are chock full of information, but not usually to be taken literally. I divide them into two main categories:

1. Generative Fantasies. Generative Fantasies lead you *towards* something that is supposed in your life. The most obvious example is feeling lust towards the person you are meant to marry.

Other sorts of Generative Fantasies:

  • Decoys. A Decoy is an object of desire designed to lead you into another world. Perhaps you lust after a person who lives in another country and this compels you to travel there. Perhaps they are part of a club or social circle you are meant to join and they draw you towards it like a magnet. Maybe they live in a fantasy world that you are also meant to inhabit. In any case, once the decoy successfully draws you into this new world, your attraction to them should cease.
  • Mirrors: A Mirror reflects a piece of yourself or your destiny that you need to pick up. Perhaps they are rich and pompous and you are meant to become that way. Perhaps they are a professional clown and you are meant to be one too. Once a person internalizes the relevant aspects of the Mirror, the magnetic pull of the individual should cease.

2. Degenerative Fantasies: Degenerative Fantasies are based on wounds from the distant or recent past.  They have a compulsive quality and can be destructive to pursue, since they lead straight into the darkness one is trying to escape. In general, they are designed to release negative feelings like shame, anger, fear, sadness, humiliation, weakness, dirtiness etc. Degenerative Fantasies can be triggered by current events that peel the skin from old wounds.

The key to navigating these fantasies is recognizing that they do not reflect a desire, but rather an anti-desire. They are a desperate urge to release an inner demon. If examined carefully, a person will find that the stimulating aspect of these fantasies is an exact replica of the feeling or trauma they are trying to release- though possibly in a symbolic form. Once a person gets to the bottom of this message, the desires should release.

*

And then of course, there is regular sexuality based on reality and not fantasy, but I would feel like a pervert discussing that.

All I really want to convey is that sexual desires & fantasies are no product of biology, but rather messages from the spirit world (in the case of generative fantasies) or (in the case of degenerative fantasies) messages from the subconscious.



 

Checkerboard of Night

Following your footprints through the checkerboard of night
Guided like a lantern by the moon’s uncertain light
Oh I…. an animal that bleeds for you
Oh I… a spirit of the air.

Once I crossed the checkerboard to find a golden ring
Hidden like a promise in the pocket of a king
To the line where only pines remain
All the men afraid to kill had dropped out of the game.

First a flame appeared upon the ocean
Then a message flashed upon the wall
Please don’t tell me nothing has been broken
That’s just to say it was never there at all.

Walking through the dark world where the moon still rules the sky
Everything I wanted came & then left me behind
Oh I… a spirit seeking blood from you
Oh I… a spirit of the air.

Shadow of a sword appears within a silver creek
Could it be a knight and not another king I seek?
Someone who can bring the blood from everywhere
Spreading it like glory through my hair.

First a flame appears upon the ocean
Then a message flashed upon the wall
Please don’t tell me nothing has been broken
That’s just to say it was never there at all.

You were strong & wealthy & your made me feel alive
Everyone was made to kneel; I never had to hide
Oh I… an animal that lived with in your shoe
All the golden dreams I had they came from you.

First a silver light falls on the ocean
Silver men line up against the wall
Please don’t tell me nothing has been broken
That’s just to say it was never there at all.

Fog, Obsessions & Magic

Every time I write a song I go through a predictable process.

First, there are days of anxiety where I wait for the right moment to ask James for help with recording & uploading. Due to his odd hours & catastrophic stress levels, days or weeks may pass before I get up the nerve to ask him.  He likes to help me, of course, but I still feel guilty asking for his time when he is always run ragged & juggling grenades.

(The past 2 years he has mostly been in the cryptocurrency field. If you like trading cryptocurrencies, visit his site: www.whalewarz.com)

Eventually, I get the song posted. Then I enter a fog. Who am I? What am I doing with my life? Within a day or two, the fog leads to a new obsession that I am sure will be the answer to everything. The obsession lasts for a few days or maybe weeks. Then I enter another fog. What the hell have I been doing? Sometimes I can hardly remember. Why did I paint everything green? What was I hoping to accomplish?

At this point, I return to being my regular self, tail between my legs. The self who doesn’t need to control the universe, but just wants to collect pink things & scented soaps. Maybe write an occasional song.

I am going through that second fog right now- where the obsession lifts and I wonder what I have been doing. This last obsession was with reading books on magic written prior to the 1700s. And while it was somewhat interesting, eventually the patterns of the books began to clash with the patterns of my brain until I just didn’t feel like myself anymore.

The books were what I would call “occult.” Which (to me) means harnessing spiritual powers to create change on earth. The occult has masculine, religious overtones that don’t sit right in my stomach. Fathers, hierarchies, magic squares, solemnity & robes- these are the things that belong to men.

Then there is witchcraft, of course, but I am not womanly enough for that. Long flowing dresses, pools of naked women, bubbling cauldrons, turning men into frogs- witchcraft is only for earth mothers or lesbian teenagers.

Luckily, I believe that between the higher world of celestial magic and the lower* world of earth powers, there is a third world where magic resides. A world so ordinary it does not appear magical at all. Maybe I will tell you about it sometime. But right now I have to cook dinner. I hope all is well in your secret existence.

A shopping spree from when I thought orange was the answer to everything. (But still could not help picking up some browns, since I have this obsession with brown despite the two of us having nothing in common.)

A shopping spree from when I thought green was the answer to everything. But, once again, I could not resist grabbing a few brown bowls as well due to the funny feeling they give me.

Threes

Hold me by the wrist.
Hold me to the ground.
Watch the world it flies
Spinning round and round.

Tell me what you know.
Tell me everything.
Pressed into a box.
Pressed into a ring.

See clouds that fly.
See them flying free.
That third one is I-
Do you recognize me now?

Their reflections fly
Flowing down the stream
Round my ankles I
Need you to release me now.

In the mirror there,
I saw you again
Like a foggy man
Close behind me then

Pressing into me
Your two hands were tied.
We’re in this world now
Like the square it binds.

Catch a bird that flies
Slice him into three.
Like a man he dies-
Do you understand me now?

Capture any bird
Capture anything
The relentless claw-
Do you understand me now?

When I heard your words
They were only sounds
Tying up my brain
Filling it with brown.

And my heart was tied
Like an animal too.
Our words weren’t the same
How could I explain to you?

Something isn’t right.
Something spinning wrong.
Shapes are scratching now.
Not where I belong.

Every cloud that flies
Breaking up in threes
Meaning something dies
Do you recognize me now?

DownloadMP3: Threes

A Sign (Video)

Talk to me, angels, you know I will do what you say.
But time’s running out and I can’t take the bad things away.

Hooked to his fire hose, I’m pounded by night and by day.
Send me just one star- I promise you I’ll break away.

Palm of my hands is a sign
Stretch my arms out
You’ll place your hands in mine and we’ll fly.

So many stars and they seem to shine every which way.
Head in my hands, I can not understand what they say.

Every time he comes, you know that I kneel down to pray.
I saw you shining the last time that he made me pay

And you saw me
What did you do?
No, not a thing
Did I mean nothing to you?

But a sign, give me a sign.

Every road leads to a new road that seems just the same.
Your hands are silky, they’re gripping an ivory tipped cane.

Stand at the crossroads, you stare past me without a glance,
Angels and stars they abandoned me- now I’ll give you your chance.

Dark of the night
Will you love me?
Could I be yours?
Could we be happy and free?

Like a sign, give me a sign.

A Sign

Talk to me, angels, you know I will do what you say.
But time’s running out and I can’t take the bad things away.

Hooked to his fire hose, I’m pounded by night and by day.
Send me just one star- I promise you I’ll break away.

Palm of my hands is a sign
Stretch my arms out
You’ll place your hands in mine and we’ll fly.

So many stars and they seem to shine every which way.
Head in my hands, I can not understand what they say.

Every time he comes, you know that I kneel down to pray.
I saw you shining the last time that he made me pay

And you saw me
What did you do?
No, not a thing
Did I mean nothing to you?

But a sign, give me a sign.

Every road leads to a new road that seems just the same.
Your hands are silky, they’re gripping an ivory tipped cane.

Stand at the crossroads, you stare past me without a glance,
Angels and stars they abandoned me- now I’ll give you your chance.

Dark of the night
Will you love me?
Could I be yours?
Could we be happy and free?

Like a sign, give me a sign.

Download MP3: A Sign