One of my favorite parts of living in West Virginia is driving through the mountains at night listening to religious sermons on the radio. Yesterday, the sermon was about the Millennial Reign of Jesus, which begins when the Saints of Tribulation rise from the grave and begin their march up the Mountain of Olives, where Jesus will be waiting for them along with a white unicorn. On this mountain, Jesus and the saints will arm themselves and prepare for the battle ahead, which involves casting most humans into hell (but only AFTER turning them into immortals, so that they will suffer till the end of time) and imprisoning Satan deep in Cetarez- the Mariana Trench of Hell (where he will live for the next one thousand years, until he escapes for the Final Battle.)
While I’m not sure I completely agree with the preacher on what the future holds, I do like it that people’s minds are open enough to entertain such fanciful possibilities. And I like the idea that the very essence of reality could suddenly change in the blink of an eye. I tend to assume that the basic laws and shape of the universe will remain as they are- but what if they won’t? What if the people of the hills are right, and this is the seventh day of reality- the day when God rests- but soon his day of rest will end and all of hell will break loose? Although, personally, I would prefer a less violent eighth day, when Jesus returns to right every wrong and turn the earth into Teddy Bear World.
You learned to live in a world of dark blue People walk by but they never touch you You learned to live in a world of role play People mean things that they never say
Hold on to your mask, keep on walking fast Soon the door will open and you’re gonna get past
Just keep walking to the river; just keep walking through the night You’ll see the door begin to form inside the morning light
Big ship flying out of this world Big ship flying out of this world
You learned to see in a world of rainbow Spend your day shopping for a set of new clothes Cold cold rainbow behind them big smiles Chills down your spine when the needle slides
Slip inside your veins and it’ll be too late for you Soon you won’t remember what you came on earth to do Could you slip inside your mind and make a corner just for you Maybe leave behind a symbol of the things you need to do
Big ship flying out of this world Big ship flying out of this world
You learned to walk in the world of today Scrub, scrub, scrub off the memory You learned to walk in a world of touchdowns High-five when another ship goes down
You know you’ll never make it if you don’t begin to run Do you want to trade forever for a tiny bit of fun And is it even fun or just another style of pain Do you ever wonder why your loss is someone else’s gain
Big ship flying out of this world Big ship flying out of this world
Give them three noes for every one yes Never apologize and never confess Run from the people who think that you’re strange Run from the people who say that they’ll change
People never change, but their ships go down You don’t want to tie your mind onto the wisdom of this town You know they’ll never make it, you know their ways are wrong You got to keep on running to the ship where you belong
Big ship flying out of this world Big ship flying out of this world
gold and green, hard and round favorite son, toast of town bathe in wine, soak it up slip inside golden cup
soaking up the golden sun seeking smiles from everyone life is laughter, life is fun seeking praise from everyone
for your fire for your flame golden face, golden smile, golden name they will see just how happy you are you are the sun, you are the way, you are the daystar
you’re no fool, you know the fluff is the child of darker stuff nameless men, blackened faces shoveling in darker places
underground, never done shine no light, see no sun when they emerge on creaky knees you will be the star they see
it’s your fire, it’s your flame golden face, golden smile, golden name they will see just how humble you are you are the sun, you are the way, you are the daystar
in your stomach something churns late at night, acid burns clutch your stomach, clutch your wife you deserve a happy life
fix your stomach, fix your self mommy’s picture on your shelf you are smart, you are good you will burn the ancient wood
for your fire, for your flame golden face, golden smile, golden name they will see just how lucky you are you are the one, you are the sun, you are the daystar
You’re all alone now, nothing changes Snow blows and it rearranges Time froze into winter cages Try to settle in.
Cold air through an empty earhole Brain cried its last tears so many years ago Fur hat is a symbol of a world that’s never been.
But you hear stories of cinnamon cloves Fingers thawing over ovens and stoves Copper kettle that whistles and blows Dogs that wag their tails when you walk in.
Dream World, sleeps in a box at night Seed World, hidden from every light Need world, nothing to do but hang on.
Dream World, why can’t I breathe? Because you’re in the ground; it has things that you need, But love is all around; you’re only a seed so hang on.
Night falls when nobody sees you Might be death when nobody needs you Limbs freeze when nobody feels you Life continues on.
The spring will come, yes, but not for me I’m sure Streams that freeze won’t bubble anymore Ice glued to a frozen door won’t welcome anyone.
But you’ll hear stories of cinnamon cloves Clouds of licorice clinging to clothes Sun shining over tea towels and doughs Arms of baking bread when you walk in.
Dream world, sleeps in a box at night Seed world, hidden from every light Need world, nothing to do but hang on.
Dream world, why can’t I breathe? Because you’re in the ground; it has things that you need But love is all around, you’re only a seed so hang on.
Brains shut down and spirits die Souls dry up when they never cry But hearts keep beating cause they know the answers lie in time.
Dreams sleep in the frozen ground Pink dots lost in a world of brown They can’t be seen or make a sound but their ears are open wide
And they hear stories of cinnamon cloves Candies smothered in ribbons and bows Flowers blooming in well tended rows Arms that squeeze so tight when you walk in.
Dream world, sleeps in a box at night Seed world, hidden from every light Need world, nothing to do but hang on.
Dream world, why can’t I breathe? Because you’re in the ground, it has things that you need, But love is all around; you’re only a seed so hang on.
When at last the autumn came, he was wishing that the summer would still remain the leaves were crackle and crisp, flaming, exhilarating but still the same he didn’t feel quite ready yet, he didn’t feel quite ready for the sound, the earthly crinkle that would snap and crunch each time he laid a footprint down.
What beat to make, he wondered, what sort of rhythm should I impose once all the leaves are gone too many clear cut lines will be exposed, where will I lay the silence, where the tinny tap and leaden thud, is this a dream or must I actually know bad from good?
* Leaves fall, animals grow thick hair apples sway on the trees you, sir, will spend the fall on your knees.
Pumpkins, squash, persimmon and cranberries, autumn’s sword can be kind, kneel down, fly away in your mind. *
All his life it seemed, green leaves had swirled around him like a smoke languid fruits that dangled there for him to eat if he felt so disposed, leaves that dappled light swelling in an air as thick as butter made it seem alright somehow to say one thing and do another.
Time was a blob then, it never held him at gunpoint and made him choose, he could make various gains, never needing to select a battle to lose, and any loose ends could be scattered round the forest here and there making him less than eager to see the things that autumn would lay bare.
*
People said he was handsome, but he wasn’t really sure how they could tell green leaves controlled the light, they twisted it just like a magic spell he’d been in love so many times, so many people took his breath away sometimes leading to intimacy, still he dreaded to see them when the autumn came.
How could he laugh it off then, when soon his eyes would see so very far things long forgotten coming starkly into view from his own yard, he hadn’t really meant to lie, it was just the dappled world he was a part of is it justice to try summer’s child inside the court of autumn?
This is a video James made with his helicopter. I like it because it captures the hovering feel of the song. Plus, I like the scenery of West Virginia. It is so green here that sometimes I get green overload. My new hobby is walking around parking lots, in fact, because their crisp flatness provides a nice contrast to the the crazy, plant infested hills I am usually contending with. Plus, the parking lots are beautiful, because they are surrounded by green mountains in every direction. In addition, they are interesting, because the average parking lot contains about 3 gambling establishments, all of which have names like “Nel’s Coffee” but inside they are filled with slot machines. People here like to gamble, I suppose. They also like Jesus, family, sports, guns, and exercise.
My favorite thing about these mountain folk is how friendly they are- it is hard to buy a bottle of shampoo without finding out what a stranger had for breakfast. And if you have anything you’d like to get off your chest, the person in front of you at the gas station will be happy to listen. If the mask of New England is to appear high-brow, moral, and intellectual, the mask of West Virginia is to appear down-home, simple, and guileless. But I have already been here long enough to realize this is just a projection- the people here have just as much guile as they do anywhere else. Sometimes, I feel truly shocked by the amount of guile humans have- would it be possible to overestimate how tricky and deceptive we are?
Just last night, for example, I discovered that a friend who died a couple year ago, actually faked his death! But why should I be shocked, when my own favorite book in high school was “How to Disappear and Never Be Found” a book about how to fake your death and assume a new identity?
It is hard to blame people for being deceptive, when it can feel like the whole world is set up to punish people for telling the truth, and to reward those people who claim to feel what they don’t feel, to think what they don’t think, and to be something they aren’t.
Ever since I left New England, I’ve felt a touch disoriented. After a couple years in New Hampshire, my life started to gain a clear and singular focus- to escape the cold, dark world of the Yankees. But now that I’m in West Virginia, the meaning of life seems more vague. It’s sunny and warm outside, the biscuits are big, cheap, and fluffy, the people are friendly (and to my surprise they actually DO say ain’t and decorate with confederate flags), and yet… at the same time, here I am all alone in a big white apartment, no friends or connections, nothing to do, nowhere to go… it’s as though I’ve left the North, but the North hasn’t left me.
So I took a good look at the man in the mirror, and decided that I need to become a warmer person. Which is why I have to give up ice cream. The thing about frozen treats is, once I start eating them, they take me to a strange head space from which it impossible to stop. James will drive me to four different McDonalds in a row, so I can get a cone at each one without seeming weird. Then I will fill the entire freezer with a selection of ice cream bars, ice cream sandwiches, ice creams, and popsicles, which I will eat continuously until the very last one is gone. Which might not be so much of a problem, if I wasn’t such a cold person to begin with. It only takes a few servings until I start shaking with the chills, and after a few days of this, I am so cold I can’t leave my bed, but just lie there convulsing under an electric blanket. Obviously, this is no way to build the Fire Within. So from now on, whenever I want ice cream, I’m going to drink hot chocolate instead. Because chocolate is passionate and fiery and people who eat lots and lots of it are less likely to get murdered. Which brings me to another addiction that I must give up.
Which is watching murder mysteries. The pattern is pretty similar to the ice cream- once I start watching murder mysteries it becomes impossible to stop. I have to watch five a day, and I start to feel more and more afraid of being murdered until it interferes with my ability to function in life. Last night, for example, I couldn’t sleep because of a tapping sound which I was convinced was the tapping of a spoon that somebody wanted to use to remove my eyeballs. Ugh, I am freaking out just remembering it! But the point is, I need to stop watching these movies that keep me frozen in fear, and watch heart warming comedies instead. Comedy has never been my favorite genre- who wants to be the idiot laughing their head off as someone creeps in the window to murder them? But if watching comedies can melt the giant glacier that my life has become, then I am going to do it.
So, anyway, this song is sort of related to my craving for fire and heat, because it was inspired by the spirit of the tropical ginger plant, whom I imagine as a warm, brave, and wily man, one of the many justice spirits I like to believe are roaming our world.
Ok… well, I suppose this is a song about the pirate Blackbeard.
I first heard this song (in my head) five years ago while walking along the banks of the Ohio River in Owensboro, KY. But the next day I returned to Louisville and was working in my garden when I heard another song (this one about flower fairies) set to the same melody. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to write two songs with the same melody, because I dreaded the moment someone would say, “Hey, those songs have the same melody.” I was playing open mics around Kentucky, where the presumption was that you must suck, or else you wouldn’t be playing open mics, you would be dancing on a golden stage. So, I was feeling a little sensitive, and to avoid potential criticism, the Blackbeard song was buried and forgotten.
Until yesterday, when I heard it again, and decided to write it down, because if God can write multiple songs set to the same tune, then so can I.
So this is a song about Blackbeard. I have written a number of songs about people on boats, although I don’t know why. I have no interest in boats in real life. I also write a lot of songs about soldiers, and even gay love between soldiers, although once again I have no idea why.
But, I suppose the world of the unconscious is different from this world and the meaning of things aren’t the same. In this world, my favorite activity is shopping for scented soaps, but I will probably never write a song about that. Nor would I write a song about how much I appreciate special people in my life. That would be weird and nauseating, not to mention bad luck. Songs seem to come from a world that is upside down and backwards to this one. Their ways are not our ways.
Well, this is my first song written and recorded in West Virginia. I thought maybe I’d end up writing gospel songs, but I guess it didn’t turn out that way… And now is the hard part where I have to say something about the song I have written… so, I suppose this is a song about me… being held prisoner by a swamp monster. What else can I say? Sometimes I find it so hard to write these posts, because I feel I lack that core identity and sense of self that makes it possible to project oneself forward into the world. When I try to search for my ego, that warm sun within, all I can find are cake crumbs in a void… as though there once was something there, but someone ate it. Which in a way is what this song is about… a person’s light and sense of self dissolving through being held prisoner too long.
But, you know what Bruce Springsteen says, “Everything that dies, someday comes back.” If you leave it sitting on the counter long enough, a crumb WILL one day turn back into a cake.
