Hurricane, West Virginia Minerals, Mountains, Crystals, Ice, and White Music & Songs Uncategorized




You were sweet, you were goodCornstalk Girl
Picking up the coins that they dropped
Trying to give them back just like you should

Fall fall fall fall fall fall fall fall
Fall fall fall fall fall through a hole
Nobody knows, nobody knows where you go

There was a hole inside your bone
it made it easier to be alone
cause you could fly
or at least you could try.

Strange ideas knock on your door
You tell them nobody’s home, but you not sure
Is it your mother there dressed like a hag
Maybe a brick of gold deep in her bag

Turn turn turn turn turn turn turn turn
Turn turn turn turn turn to the sky
People say they find the answers there
or at least they die dying to try

There a hole inside your bone
the strangest things come inside when you’re alone
and you would tell them all to leave you alone
but you don’t know which ones belong-
Where is your home?

Heart-shaped footprints deep in the snow
Step by step up the mountain side, places you will never go
Cause you were born born born born born like a birdy to fly
or at least you were born born born born dying to try

sweet things sing with tulip voices
electro shock you have no choices
animals walk in a strange parade
inside your head: what feathery dream are made

a soothing sound deep in your ear
says don’t tell a soul dear- this will be your year
you’ve waded through hate, you’ve waded through fear
now just wait for the rainbow to appear

fade fade fade fade fade fade into night
dreams invade invade your brain
filling it with good and bad light

There is a hole inside your bone
it makes it easier to be alone
cause you can fly
or at least you can try.


Download MP3: Fenestra

Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Hurricane, West Virginia Music & Songs

Cards and Slots


James says it is important to write some kind of introduction to a song, to help people understand it. And while I agree with him, it is not really possible for me to do so at this time. Because… whenever I write in prose I feel that I end up channeling some strange personality not my own. Sometimes I call this voice Mr. Pompadou and other times Mr. Belvedere, but at any rate it is horrifying to imagine that someone might mistake this voice for me.

A person’s writing voice is partially, I suppose, a reflection of who they imagine their audience to be. I imagine people reading this who are intelligent, but also close-minded and hostile. Therefore, Mr. Belvedere comes out as a protective measure.  Nobody could be mad at a man like him!


Cards and SlotsMan in Orange Shorts

Cards and slots, drinks and dots,
dropping more things than you got
forms a rift, continental drift…
essential things float away in the mist
and you are pissed.

But if you want to play the blame game you know
it will only be your name on the list;
still I insist
you reconsider all the evidence.

Lost in time, lost in sea, lost in space…
a man was born who never had a face;
they all say he doesn’t exist,
but they can’t explain the pain that emits from his wet kiss.

Is it amiss to be sad, to be mad
when you think of the things that you missed…
and yet you should always remember this:

That you were placed in this space
because you are the man with the gift,
to bringing light into the heart of the pit;
flying high- the blackest soil provides the greatest lift,
the deepest dose of nutrient.

Half the time you fall, half the time you are in pain
but it’s not your fault that you wear chains.

Half of what you said only made your heart lose hope,
but its not your fault that there’s
a black man stalking you dragging a long white rope.

Valentines just in time
twist your brain to form a rhyme-
tell her that you love her the most…
say that you’re about to explode!
(Knuckles crack crack, echoing inside your abode,
but as the tensions rise there are things you must know.)

Is a friend in need the type of friend you need-
what about a scratch for your back?
a feather you can slap into your cap?
cause it stalls in your craw that nobody never gives back.

A thousand faces laugh from their seats-
you’re the only man on the stage,
trying not to fly into rage, and you wonder…
were you that dumb at their age?

Goodbye, goodbye
to everything that never made sense,
to all the knots that only grew dense;
my repentance will be vengeance.

Half the time you crawl, half the time you are insane
but it’s not your fault that you wear chains.

Half of what you said, it was only a way to cope,
but soon you will turn to fight
the black man stalking you dragging his long white rope.


Download MP3: Cards and Slots