While living in Nashville I wrote a series of songs… 15 or so… about the Odyssey (by Homer) & this was the third one. I guess it relates to Telemachus coming into his own power & realizing how awesome he is.
On a personal level, hi! How are you doing? I am fine I suppose. Recently I have been trying to become more yellow again by sitting in front of a yellow light for an hour or so a day. It has me feeling a little out of sorts, but we will see if I can stick with it and reach the other side.
What will be on the other side? I am not quite sure, I just feel that yellow is a color I lack. While I am intelligent, I don’t feel yellow intelligent- the sort of down to earth intelligence that knows how to get from point A to point B on this space-time continuum. If you are yellow enough, the world is your oyster. And least I hope that is what I will find when I finally reach the Yellow World.
Here is a better picture of Patton, the new dog. The last one I posted was from when we had just found him, so he looked like a wild animal. But here you can see he is settling in well to family life.
It has been impossible to write on this blog recently, because I have fallen into wife consciousness.
Around a year ago, probably due to James’s inaccessibility, I started connecting my emotions to the faceless glob of possibility known as “The Public.” I enjoyed connecting with these invisible people on an emotional level and somehow felt they were my friends.
But then, around a month ago, a change of heart caused me to seek emotional fulfillment through James instead. This only led to my disappearance as an individual. After all, James is absorbed in technical things 99% of the time. Trying to connect with him by discussing feelings & relationship issues is a recipe for disaster (although he is great at helping me solve problems that don’t involve him).
Females connect by sharing negative feelings & problems. Men interpret this as criticism or a demand to fix something. So you open yourself up to receive empathy but instead get anger and defensiveness. Now you feel more needy and alone than before which makes you try still harder to connect. Before long it turns into a degenerative cycle with all your energy going into a circuit that returns pain.
Whereas with The Public, I can be more real. I can share feelings and always receive soft love in return- even if only in my imagination. The public is the moon- gooey, silver, magical, reflecting you back to yourself until you feel you exist.
But still- the thing about me is I am REALLY into being a wife. It is an unhealthy obsession. I don’t know how to give up on having a perfect ultimate connection and settle for something brisk, sporty and casual. But when you are too idealistic, it causes things to crash.
Plus, I just feel guilty about investing myself emotionally in any other direction. I feel guilty seeking fulfillment through writing a blog post or a song. It feels like I am giving up on love.
And wife consciousness makes it hard to express yourself anyway. While I am ok with making myself look bad- I sort of expect it- the idea of reflecting negatively on James feels like committing triple homicide.
And realistically there is little you can say beyond “Everything is Wonderful! I am so happy!” that doesn’t potentially cloud your husband’s reputation. If you say “Nice dicks, boys!” that could reflect badly on him. If you say “I hate my life- I am so miserable.” that could reflect badly on him. If you say “I love idiots!” that could reflect badly on him.
So I really don’t know what to do. As an artist, I have to straddle the crack between Stepford Julien & being real. Of course, James says he doesn’t want me to make him look good- he doesn’t care about that- but this is hard for me to believe. Making men look good is the whole reason society is fake, isn’t it?
If it was just women, we would be talking about our insecurities & failures all the time, but men- being soldiers- don’t do that. And so women- caring about men- become fake as a way of protecting them. That is why there are only Stepford *wives* & no Stepford singles.
If I was single, I could be transparent, but since I am married I must be opaque, like men are. I WANT to be opaque and fake to make James look good. As an expression of love. But I also need the moon juice that comes from transparency.
Even just writing this could make James look bad.
There is no way out.
I am doomed.
Ps. I hope I am making sense & there aren’t too manny spelling errors. My brain is pretty tired, due to the new dog, Patton, waking me up in the morning, while James’s schedule keeps me up into the wee hours of the night.
The new dog- Patton. I sort of wish I had named him Hazel because it sounds more vicious. But you shouldn’t switch beds midstream. He is a good dog but very demanding.
Originally the chorus was “I feel you growing like a lamp behind me,” but then I got paranoid that lamp could have some alternate sexual meaning, as 90% of words seem to, so I changed it to Light, just to be safe. No one will read anything seedy into pure, disembodied Light.
Open the shade- I know what is coming
The stars, the sky, the moon- they are all watching
Kidneys hurt- too hard to stand
Hello floor- it’s me again.
Down on the floor- I see him beside
His golden eyes- they shine they guide.
He can’t touch; he can’t do nothing to save.
Those are the rules and he is just a slave.
Give it just a little more time- I’ll know you’ll save me.
Though you are not my man and I’m not your baby.
Give it just a little more time- I know you’ll find me.
I feel you growing like a lamp behind me.
He is silent, he is strong and standing in his square
A pane of glass between us and his body made of air
Sometimes I will slump down on that glass and I will breath him
Till I’m weak and I am crying from believing that I need him.
He says- Stand up on your legs. Oh, no, no, no- I am too weak
And if I don’t crumble like a slut who will be there for me?
Because half of all these days I can’t remember who I am
I just look around and grab onto the first hand that I can.
Give it just a little more time, I’ll know you’ll save me
Though you are not my man and I’m not your baby
Give you just a little more time, I know you’ll find me
I feel you drawing like a light behind me.
When God is your witness please say you will vouch for me
No no not to say that I was good, nor that I tried to be
But please tell him that my leaves reached up like arms towards his sky
Tell him that my roots would suck so hard they made the earth grow dry.
Give it just a little more time, I’ll know you’ll save me
Though you are not my man and I’m not your baby
Give you just a little more time I know you’ll find me
I feel you drawing like a light behind me.
Well, I have explained this before, but I wrote this song while living in Nashville. My rule at the time was that every single song must have “making love” in the chorus. It started because I found those words somewhat icky, which then made me strangely attracted to using them.
Regardless of how it began, once you use words enough, all of their old connotations fall away & new ones develop which are personal to you.
It’s a bright blue day, it’s a horses’ parade, It’s the very first day of spring. And the men are tip tapping to the steeple bells as they shine through a golden ring.
And the ladies are swaying and they’re dancing and playing with their hair so long and gold, But every time a pony shakes his mane I grow cold.
You offer up a ribbon for my hair; I give you a frown and a shrug. Oh what about me? I also wanted to make love.
A pole is painted in bright red stripes, A tent in stripes of blue, And the horses got pompoms in their hair and shiny saddles too.
And every lady wears a little bouquet that was picked by a little man. But my daisies are crushed beneath the pony feet into the sand.
I need to find me a mountain so I can rise high above… Oh what about me? I also wanted to make love.
You wear a great big top hat, You ride a great big horse. You got a knack for politics and muscular discourse.
You got no need for You don’t believe in prophecy. You got no use for trifles, You don’t need me.
So put away the pompoms and the polka dots. Put away the big parade. All the men dressed up like fairies, cause fairies ain’t welcome here anyway.
Small things, little things, odd things, pretty things, All the theater and display, Cause you don’t like, don’t like, really don’t like fairies anyway.
You’re going down to the valley so low, I’m gonna walk high above. Oh what about me? I also wanted to make love.
