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Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Hurricane, West Virginia Uncategorized Yellow, Gold, Kings, Fathers, and the Sun

Testify

 

A Night to Remember

I see you smiling in your gold frame, baby, but I always turn away my eye.
I see the chief out with his gold star shining, but he knows I’ll never testify.
I won’t testify.

People ask me all the time now how are you doing when they know I’m never gonna say.
They all heard me screaming on that black night, baby, but they only turned and walked away.
I won’t testify.

You can’t go waiting too long little baby or you know the fingerprints will rust.
You can’t go waiting too long little baby or the bones are gonna turn to dust
I won’t testify.

I walk outside of your apartment building, baby, and the gall starts to fill my throat.
I pray that God will burn it down to the ground, but as for me I’ll never rock the boat.
I won’t testify.

I keep my eyes down on the sidewalk, baby, because everybody makes me cry.
Every sweet smile is just another fucking person who will stand there as they watch me die.
I won’t testify.

I see their little fingers lifting up the blinds and their eyes peering eagerly.
I know they’ll stand there, they’ll never lift a hand when they see the man come for me.
I won’t testify.

Anybody who stands up to the man is gonna be the one to take the blame.
I lay your gun out on my living room mantle right next to your picture frame.
I won’t testify.

I walk at night out with a big stick, baby, but I know it won’t keep bad away.
You always said that when the man’s out to get you he can always find another way.
I won’t testify.

I asked the officer now how can I help you, when you know I can’t recall a thing.
I only saw a hand swing out of the darkness and the flash of a diamond ring.
I won’t testify.

I got some secrets that I wouldn’t mind sharing, but there ain’t nobody I can trust.
They talk so sweet with all their big eyes smiling, but it’s evil covered up in crust.
I won’t testify.

I try to tell myself to myself to go to California and to rearrange my style of hair.
It used to seem like such a big world, baby, till I found out that nobody cares.
I won’t testify.

I cry at night over them white bones, baby, but I always let them to turn to dust.
I lay your gun out on my bedside table, then I only sit and watch it rust.
I won’t testify.

 

Download Mp3: Testify

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The N-word and Free Music

Hopefully, I won’t write anything with political overtones from now on. That is the problem with politically charged subjects- the overtones. You can’t say one thing you do mean without people hearing a dozen things you don’t. Don’t believe in global warming? Well, you must hate women. Think George Bush’s paintings are cute? You probably think gay people are going to hell. James was recently called a “disgusting racist” because he doesn’t like the extremely white senator Elizabeth Warren. Politics is like a distortion pedal; simple ideas get turned into horrendous cacophonies of meanings.

For example, one opinion I hold but would never share, based on what people might deduce, is my feelings about the dreaded “n” word. It makes me shiver to think of people being fined $20,000 (even black people!) for saying one of the most popular words in pop music. How does treating a word like a monster help the human race? I have heard people say that this one word must remain taboo until the end of time, that it’s horrible connotations can never be erased. But I don’t think that is nature of words. It is their nature to forget, to shed the nastiest of associations with ease. Words are like clouds, shifting and changing, they never stay the same. See the cloud that looks like Hitler? Give it a moment and it will turn into your mother. Likewise, let a word blow around and its meanings will transform.

But I understand when people don’t want the tragedies of the past to be forgotten. I’m not a “let bygones be bygones” sort of person myself. I just don’t think that words should be turned into memorials- that is what stones are for. They record the past and honor it, long after humans have tired of remembering. I would suggest building as many statues and monuments as it takes to honor the suffering caused by racism and make people feel balanced again. But words are for change and fresh beginnings. They should always fly free.

That is why I also believe in free music, free books, free on-line education. I think it would be magical for every last piece of content on the internet to be completely free of charge. The greatest library ever created! Of course, I’m now using a different meaning of the word free, but really, is a heavy price tag all that different from a heavy chain? Is the expense of education really that different from a fence that keeps the “lower” classes out? Does it actually behoove the human race to put a price on goods which can be infinitely multiplied at no cost to the creator?

People are always worrying about the impact free content has on writers and musicians, but before thinking of them, I’d rather think about all the people in the world who have barely enough money to fulfill their material needs. Why should they have to choose between new music and a new sweater when they could just as easily have both? Free content could enrich the world both immaterially and materially. Which would be a great thing, because, financially, life is strained enough. We have to pay just to have place on this earth where it’s legal to stand. Money for taxes or you’ll go to jail. Money for food, money for water. How refreshing that we can still drink our fill of air for free! How nice would it be if music and literature were just like air, there for the taking, no strings attached? I’ve always thought that the emotional health of a society is closely linked to how much free stuff it has to offer. Not the intimidating “free” services of governments and charities, but truly free things, which are shared just for the joy of sharing.

But what about the musicians and writers themselves? Don’t they deserve to be paid for their efforts? I guess so. Still, I wonder… what would happen if every musician knew, up front, that they would never see a penny from their efforts? Would this be bad ? Or good? I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be the death of music. People don’t expect to make money from sex, and yet they keep going. Even sex addicts manage to find other ways of supporting themselves.

Sometimes I wonder how compatible art is with capitalism in the first place. Capitalist art is profitable, popular, pleasing. Whatever good or bad appetites exist in society, capitalist art will be there to satisfy them. Whatever values and ideals we share, capitalist art will be there to capitalize on them. I suppose American Idol-type shows are a good example of capitalist art with a little democracy throw in.  Surely a vote is a good way to determine what has value. It worked for Jesus, right?

I think of art as energy, which- like Jesus- comes to us from a different world.  A subtle, ethereal impulse that will one day sink down into the heavier aspects of our culture to change the way we think and dress, the food we eat, the wars we wage. But in the beginning, it’s just a little picture, a story, a song. In essence, art is a new way of looking at things. New perceptions which gradually lead to new possibilities. Before the airplane comes the fanciful dream of flying.

But is it reasonable to expect something so strange and delicate to fend for itself on the streets, to fistfight its way to victory on the free market? Should art have to win the approval of the crowd or else, like Jesus, be crowned in shame? Should art even have to bear the burden of supporting it’s creator?

Many of our culture’s great artists did not support themselves, financially, with their work. Emily Dickinson was supported by her parents, Van Gogh by his brother. Thoreau worked at a pencil factory, and Henri Rousseau at a toll booth. William Carlos Williams was a doctor. Artists can always make money in other ways, or else be supported by others. Why not reinvigorate the ancient ideal of patron, for example?

Still, if artists DO want to make a living from art there are zillions of ways to do it without charging the listener. I once read a book about people making a very expensive expedition across Antarctica who paid for it by removing little chunks of their butt meat along the way and selling them to scientists who were studying the effects of extreme cold on muscle mass. Painful, but still, a win-win situation. Or maybe artists could be sponsored by corporations, the way athletes are.

But to be realistic, whatever the future holds, it can’t be much worse than the current situation. Out of the many musicians I have met, I can’t think of one who makes their living from selling CDs/MP3s. Most of them lose more money than they make. Meanwhile, they are still gearing their work to appeal to the very market which will never support them, losing both money and integrity in one fell swoop. Adding insult to injury, they are made to feel that their lack of financial success reflects the worthlessness of what they are creating. If only they had as much to offer as Bono, they would be living in a castle as well. So, if art was no longer expected to make money, perhaps they would be no richer than before, but at least they wouldn’t have to live with the shame of being a failed human being. They could seek new, internal forms of validation. This would lead to more meaningful art.

Just as capitalism motivates us to make money, it can also discourage us from pursuing other sorts of goals. But we shouldn’t let this happen, because a society in which every person’s goal is to make money will be a very poor society, spiritually and emotionally. I think we should have all sorts of people working for free- not just musicians, but also scientists, do-gooders,  inventors, and more. We need inputs uninfluenced by the market to create a vibrant amount of diversity. In the end, of course, this could only work if the people who do make money wanted to use some of it to freely support others. But I think people would enjoy this. After all, who would slave over a roast turkey if they had to eat it all by themselves?

 

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Feminism and Me

Feminism is not something I resonate with. Had I lived in the 19th century, I would probably have been a feminist, and if I lived in a Muslim country, I might be one as well. But in 21st century America, where women already have the same rights as men, the idea of getting still more “rights” feels a bit threatening. I don’t want any more rights, especially when these rights seem to entail having a job, paying half the rent, joining the army, lifting heavy boxes, and being fascinated by science. I would rather just decorate cookies and leave the extra rights for somebody else.

In a way, I like where gender relations stand at the moment, how ambiguous they are. I don’t want to go back to a time when women were expected to wear high heels and have dinner on the table when their husband came home (if such a time existed), but I also don’t want to go forward to a time when women have all the pressures and burdens of men on their shoulders. Is there another alternative?

Do you ever think of a nation-state as a living organism? I do. And sometimes I feel that feminism represents our nation’s desire to have all of it’s population involved in taxable labor, and all of it’s population available for the draft, in order to double it’s power.  After all, equalizing men and women was always a big focus of communists movements. It meant that no one was exempt from the government’s needs and desires.

Regardless, it is hard for me to see feminism as anything other than a social engineering campaign “encouraging” women to embrace more masculine aspirations. And it hard to see, in a nation already overflowing with masculine aspirations, how funneling more humans into the rat race will make life better for anyone. Do we really need life to run faster and harder, with no one sitting on the sidelines to watch and reflect? Do we really want more lawyers and fewer homemade cookies?

I can see why women don’t necessarily want to stay home and bake cookies, though. We are a nation of masculine values and we respect masculine qualities much more than feminine ones. In the movies, the “strong” female characters tend to be rocket scientists who love to shoot hoops on the side.  A “good role model for girls” means a female who puts her career first and rapidly rises to the top. The external self, competing and receiving awards, is placed high above the internal, subjective self.  The “office” is the place where you can fulfill your potential. Home is a place to recover from the office, a place where you’ll rot if you linger too long.

To me, women represent the home, and the home represents the inner self. Many aspects of feminism make me feel that the inner self is under attack, being urged to spend more and more of itself seeking external validation. A society can’t tip too far in the direction of the masculine without becoming mechanical, robotic, unable to reflect or decide what has value. Life becomes a game, a game we can never stop playing even when it ceases to be fulfilling.

Sometimes I wonder what it means to be a woman. I think of all the women I have known, mean and aggressive, sweet and kind, cunning and malicious, nurturing and caring… what do they all have in common? So far I have thought of only one thing. They all like to decorate. Maybe cookies, their home, hair, greeting cards, scrapbooks, makeup, flowers, clothes, weddings and theme parties… I have yet to think of a female who doesn’t get a bit giddy when given the chance to express herself aesthetically. Some like to knit, and some want to glue rhinestones to their phone, but they all want to make something pretty. Selecting new towels for the bathroom, making fuzzy teddy bears to hang on the Christmas tree- I like to think these are powerful and important actions, little magic spells that vibrate outwards, setting a course for the future, travelling back in time to rewrite history. In my fantasy, women are the magicians of humanity, and men have traditionally protected them for a reason- because they are valuable.

*

Now I’d like to get petty for a moment, and list some of feminism’s current sentiments which I do not share.

1. Some feminists are concerned that preteen girls tend to lose interest in math and science.

Good for them, I say! If they are losing interest in math and science, they are probably gaining interest in other subjects, like art and literature. That is the way life works- we all bend towards our own sunshine. In my opinion, the real problem is believing math and science are more important than the subjects girls tend to favor.

2. Some feminists are concerned that women account for only about 5% of the CEOs of Fortune 500 Companies.

This seems like a reason to celebrate! After all, what percentage of humans truly want to devote their life to climbing the corporate ladder? If there are fewer women at the tip tops of these ladders, it could be because they have more opportunity to escape from the pressurized, regimented lifestyle that so many humans feel trapped in. Perhaps this is a sign of chivalry- husbands gallantly allowing their wives to climb down from the punishing ladders while they stay behind to toil.

3. Some feminists are concerned that women are discouraged from being bossy.

I wish! But unfortunately, mean and bossy women are all around me, showing no signs of discouragement. Take a moment to think back through all the people you have known, and- if your life has been anything like mine- you will realize there a quite a few more bossy women in the world than there are bossy men.  If women are being discouraged from bossiness, it clearly isn’t working.

4.Some feminists seem to equate female empowerment with promiscuity and self-objectification.

In my women’s studies classes, for example, people would empower themselves by entering “hot legs contests” and that sort of thing.  Why do I think this is a bad idea? Because it makes you attractive to the worst sort of men. Some say it’s always flattering to be found attractive, but I disagree. Humans are attracted to all sorts of things- from dead bodies to men’s butts. To feel good about yourself because a sex predator finds you gorgeous is a dangerous habit. Same with being a slut. Sluttishness gets a bad reputation, because it puts the slut in physical and emotional danger. Could it be a decent lifestyle for the Indiana Jones, bungee cord jumping sort of female? Maybe. But generally, people get hurt.

5. Some feminists believe, when a rape has been committed, we should believe the victim.

In this case, I would like to agree, because look around- victims are frequently punished for speaking up while their perpetrators go on to win golden medals of honor. Ugh. But, once again, look around- some women are tricky. And playing the victim is the psychopathic female’s most common method of attack. A rape is like a murder, we have to dig and peer behind the curtains until we find the real truth. We can’t safely assume anything.

6. Some feminists (like Russell Crowe) do weird things like stick the words “#he for she” on their heads with post-it notes.

At first I felt flattered by this. Wow- Russell Crowe likes me! I even imagined myself calling him to borrow twenty dollars in a time of need. But then again, he is also on the side of every cruel and malicious female who ever walked the planet. I imagined one of them calling him to say he shouldn’t give me twenty dollars. And so he didn’t.

*

Still, I don’t want you to think of me as someone incapable of feminist sentiment. I don’t like it, for example, when women in movies are portrayed as empty shells with nothing living inside.  I even stage my own mini-feminist riots by writing these movies one-star reviews on Amazon.

At the same time, being portrayed in a devaluing light isn’t always a bad thing. When people cast us in a positive light, it is all too easy to wallow in that blissful glow and develop the deadly habit of sourcing our self-esteem and self-image from the outside world. When people demean us, at least it makes it a bit easier to cut loose and go our own way.

In the end, I guess I don’t really believe in changing the world. The world is a burrito-  try to change it, and you’re just going to end up with an enchilada, a chimichanga… maybe some soft tacos. What’s the point? But if you become yourself- then you are bringing a new ingredient to the table. And eventually, new ingredients will lead to radically new dishes.

 

 

 

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Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

Hi! How are you? Sorry I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been fine, thanks. I decided to write this blog post to you, because I can’t think of anyone else to write to. Usually, I write with a person in mind, someone I feel the need to connect with. But recently, I haven’t been able to envision anyone. No one seems real to me. A world full of paper dolls.

Paper dolls only on the surface, though. Underneath, people who are busy, engaged, trying to better themselves or take care of their families. Not people who need to know my feelings about the color gold. I can’t envision anyone in the whole world who needs to know my feelings about the color gold.

So why blog at all, then? Especially when all I really want to do is to redecorate my desk in shades of orange and find out what happened to Europe after the fall of Rome.

GodBecause I have to. There is this red light that wants to flow through my body, but it will only flow if it can form a complete circuit. Right now, it is blocked in my thymus gland and will only complete itself if I open up my mouth and let words out. If I don’t do this, there will be no red for me. I will have to live out my life as a bloodless vegetable sucked dry of all it’s colors.

Still, I don’t really want to say anything. It feels like opening my mouth is just an invitation to be attacked and ridiculed. I would feel more comfortable just trying to be nice and quiet and only speaking to flatter those around me. When I was a teenager, I decided to make complement bombing one of my life strategies, which basically meant whenever I was around a mean or threatening person I would try to sing their praises in such rapid-fire speech that they would be unable to get a word in edgewise. I would spend hours before encounters imagining all of a person’s praiseworthy attributes. It could be exhausting, but was somewhat effective, like throwing a constant string of steaks at a lion. I would still get bitten, but not as frequently.

It could have been a better strategy, though, for someone like my husband James, who is adept at lying. Some people, it seems, can wear one face to themselves and another to the world without becoming confused. I admire those people. But for me, the worst part about flattering people, is that I truly hypnotize myself in the process until everyone I meet takes on a godlike magnificence in my mind. James reminds me of this sometimes, when I fawn over him with praise he feels is undeserved– “Look at the arches of your feet- they’re so beautiful, like swans. Mine are like rusted canoes.” (I usually throw in a little insult to myself for contrast. That always seemed to make my parents happy.)

But, there is definitely a price to pay for pleasing others at your own expense. It bleaches you of all your prouder colors, the reds, yellows, and golds. It makes your hands and feet cold, and turns your face into a lifeless mask. It sucks the blood from your heart and brain and eventually turns you into a catatonic moron who can neither think nor feel. That is the eventual price of being a sycophant.

On the other hand, those who do stand up for themselves also have to pay a price and sometimes it is severe. Being scorned and shunned, stabbed in the back of your hand with a fork, forced to kill your own puppy, sometimes being killed yourself… things can get sadistic when people are intent upon breaking down your will and you refuse to let them. Who can say if being a fighter or a flatterer is the better choice? Sometimes the fawners live to see another day when the fighters don’t.

The confusing thing about life is that it feels like love and goodness should be all-powerful, and yet, whose observations prove to them that this is true?

From what I can figure, Heaven is that place where love, beauty, and justice rule absolutely. Hell is the place where power and force rule absolutely. Earth is the place where the dark forces of power are blended with the shimmering forces of goodness to produce strong and durable materials that couldn’t exist otherwise. Materials like gold, which is stockpiled in Heaven, but only produced here on Earth, from the pure intentions that are constantly subjected to trials and tribulations.

On Earth we are forced to never lose sight of love and dreams, for when we do we die inside. But we are also never allowed to let go of practicality, selfishness and cunning, for when we do, we die outside. Having to keep our grasp on these two fluctuating polarities, which are sometimes in harmony and sometimes in conflict, gives rise to whole generations of strong and beautiful alloys, which, I like to think could not be created otherwise.

But it is hard work to always keep one foot in heaven and the other in hell, so sometimes we deal with life by releasing one of these poles and becoming either too good or too bad in the process. Bad people can sometimes be quite effective in a practical sense, since they can streamline all their choices to maximize personal gain and self-aggrandizement. But the trade-off is being forced to live in an internal world that is harsh, barren, and brutal. And if they ever want to leave their inner hell, there is a long road of pain and remorse in front of them.

But releasing the dark forces and aiming to be too good is equally treacherous. It is like living on a diet of jello. You end up weak and insubstantial, lacking a mind or will of your own. Eventually you become an instrument in the hand of evil-doers.

Which all comes back to why I feel I must write. Because I’m the sort of person who, under stress, lets go of the dark forces and levitates upwards into a world of unicorn fantasies. Whereas every time I open my mouth and utter words, I merge more and more with everything that is complicated, imperfect, and heavy. After all, nothing I say will be exactly true, nothing I express will quite capture what I think or feel, I will certainly end up misrepresenting myself, alienating people, being criticized and ridiculed, and lying tangled on the ground in a heap of contradictions and funny feelings. But in the process, word by word, I will take on mass and become real. I will earn my red stripe, and eventually that stripe will turn to gold.

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Earth, Pink, Mothers, Love Hurricane, West Virginia Music & Songs Uncategorized Yellow, Gold, Kings, Fathers, and the Sun

Sober


PompousThis song was inspired by my ongoing realization that the grumpier and more serious you appear, the better people treat you. The heavier and darker your clothes, the thicker your glasses, the more sour your expression, the more intelligent people think you are. And the more intelligent they think you are, the more likely they are to come to your aid in an emergency situation (even better if they think you’re rich.) We all know that when animals are in trouble, the amount of effort people put into saving them depends completely on their weight. The whole world joins forces to save a trapped whale, but when a fruit fly languishes in a glass of water, nobody sheds a tear. So in life, you gotta seem heavy. You got to try to be that whale.

 

Sober

Let me be the one who is sober,
Unconcerned, responsible and older.
Sneering at their childish plans,
Disgusted by their sticky hands,
Weighing down their dreams like a boulder.

For in this world never believe that
it’s safe to be terrified or go soft inside
for we’ll take it all
we will all watch you fall.

I used to think a smile would make them love me,
But it only lifted all of them above me.
The wiser man would wear a frown
That drags the other person down,
Cause when they’re down they see the glory of me.

For in this world never believe that
it’s safe to be terrified or go soft inside
for we’ll take it all
we will all watch you fall.

I used to float like a happy bubble in the air;
They smiled at me, they watched me pop without a care.
While the ones who frown are carved in stone,
The ones whose hearts are filled with bone,
They’re the ones we always repair.

For in this world never believe that
it’s safe to be terrified or go soft inside
for we’ll take it all
we will all watch you fall.

People say that happiness is a butterfly
Who abandons you, who flits away when it’s time to cry.
Drive the sluts out from your fold-
Bitterness contains the gold,
Bitterness contains the glue
That binds hearts to you.

 

 

Download MP3: Sober

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Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Earth, Pink, Mothers, Love Hurricane, West Virginia Music & Songs Sky Blue, Ether, Flags, and Fairies Uncategorized

Best Friends Forever

 

 

Mommy

 

 

Download Mp3: Best Friends Forever

 

you bought me candy and you held my hand
and we walked, just the two of us, there on the sand
and we watched the horizon so far away
and i smiled- i knew it would all be mine someday

but then when you left the horizon turned flat
it was an empty line, who wants to waste their time chasing that?
and all the dreams were shadows that left the world colder
and the future was only a place to get older and die

death was everywhere behind every smile
it fueled the people’s dreams, they drove mile after mile
but i stood there, just waiting for my time to run out
tousled by the purple sheets blowing about

in a wind that came from somewhere, but from where no one was sure
life was just a riddle then, so pointless and obscure
that no one even tried to answer it, they just drove faster in their cars
wanting to go anyplace as long as it was far

from the place they were born, a birth they could not even remember
memory was a flashlight, a tiny handheld ember
that we used to move forward, but never to look back,
while behind us a presence grew so ominous and black

and in front of us we were certain we heard footsteps descending
we knew they were death’s feet, heralding our ending
for i’d seen my own mother slide like a child into his robes
so we focused with exclusion on the things we could control

studiously shining our little lights on tombstones
memorizing names that belonged to the bones
and at times i would lie down and dream i was dying
i’d close both my eyes and watch purple flags flying

thru a sky with two moons and my hands would grow colder
would my mother recognize me now thirty years older?
would we walk again, the two of us, on a beach in the sky?
would i feel hope again when i found a world where you don’t have to die?

or would death be there, as well, would he slide through the curtain
a jack in a black box who makes pain so certain
when he scoops out the fruit and then leaves me the rind
until i’m clawing like an animal for a way to feel full inside

when you were here, i was here, i occupied this place,
but now my heart is stretches like an ache throughout space
i look everywhere to find you, people tell me to let go
but i see their eyes shine with a demonic glow

i will follow you, i’ll follow you, i’ll fight through the veils
we will meet again, i don’t know where, but please let your trail
lead me outside of time where we can hold hands forever
and i can dream again, knowing we’ll be best friends forever.

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Hurricane, West Virginia Uncategorized

The Golden Sun in the Center of the Universe

Ever since the initial exhilaration of living someplace new wore off, I have found myself rather depressed in West Virginia. It is just so green here. I cannot even see a slice of sky from my window, only walls of green from trees rising up the side of a mountain. Being green probably sounds wonderful, but to me, green is the heaviest color- dense, dark and difficult to digest, like a solid stick of butter with no bread. Heavy things, things that are difficult and thick with no bubbles, have always been my weak point in life.

Julien in the Walmart parking lot.
Me, exploring Walmart’s parking lot.

In New Hampshire, the conversations I would overhear, tended to revolve around movies, restaurants, politics… airy, impersonal things. Here, it is mostly thick and sticky gossip, or else ironing out the details of Jesus’s Millenial Reign. Football, faith, and family are all that really matter here, and it isn’t clear to me how I can be a relevant part of that picture. Plus, I miss the ocean.

So, about every 36 hours I get so depressed that I can neither move nor stop crying, which will provoke James to drive me out to one of my favorite parking lots (yesterday it was Walmart). I tell him what I am feeling, and invariably he shows me a new way of looking at the situation, which causes the depression to evaporate almost instantaneously, giving me the energy to get out of the car and explore all of the parking lot’s interesting nooks and crannies. It is strange, how quickly even the heaviest feelings can change in response to seeing things in a different light.

Which has really underscored for me how much our feelings reflect our thoughts. And our thoughts- these seem to reflect something even more rarified, which I would call our spiritual perspective, our core beliefs about life. What is life? What is its purpose? Is it guiding me? Is it forever? Does it want the same things for me that I want for myself? And so on and so forth. Mostly we go through life answering these questions only subconsciously, but still our conclusions form the basis for all our other thinking.

But how can we know the true nature of life? It isn’t really something which can be determined by our intellect. But I think we have faculties which go beyond our intellectual, emotional, and physical ones, even if these faculties are not always acknowledged by our society. On some level, we KNOW what life is, and we KNOW who we really are. But too much confusing feedback from the world can cause us to doubt this part of ourselves who knows.

There is, I think, a golden sun in the center of the universe, whose light feeds our minds with truths about life and our place in it. If we shut our eyes to this sun, the world grows dark and confused. We strain our minds, trying to find reasons to feel good about ourselves, we strain our emotions, trying to stimulate them towards happiness, and we strain our resources, burning through them to fill the emptiness.

If I had to name this sun, I would call it The Future. In a way, I think our most important spiritual belief may be the idea that we are immortal beings living in eternity. Without this, the future can never truly be bright, and without a bright future, happiness is impossible. Without eternity, there is no true love, no true meaning, and no true growth. Without eternity, there is no reason to believe that the universe loves us or that we have much value at all. But with an infinite future, all set-backs are temporary and all gains have infinite value. Relationships take on a new dimension, and we can set the most lofty and profound goals for ourselves. If I could change one thing about our culture, I would change our belief in impermanence to a belief in forever, because I think this would cause us to honor the golden things that really matter. And on a personal level, I wish I could regain the feeling of timelessness I knew as a child. Because when time ends, peace begins.

 

Categories
Hurricane, West Virginia Minerals, Mountains, Crystals, Ice, and White Music & Songs Plants and the Emerald Kingdom Red, Soldiers, & Fire Uncategorized

Tongues of Fire

 

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.

Rainbow Horns

 

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.

 

Download MP3: Tongues of Fire

 

Categories
Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Hurricane, West Virginia Music & Songs Sky Blue, Ether, Flags, and Fairies Uncategorized

Flags on the Rail

 

A Pirate Wedding

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

Download MP3: Flags on the Rail

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

I am the bone.

 

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.

 

Skin Man feels exuberant in his swamp, with his prisoner, beneath the moon.

 

Download MP3: I Am the Bone