Fresh off a winter of buried nuts and long naps,
the furry little beast with cute, tufted ears
has come down off his tree to sit next to the bike path
that runs between Jamaica plain and the rest of Boston.
A path I battled a flat tire on for an extra hour on my way home last night,
in search of my bed
only to find myself deserting it not 4 hours hence
to repair my broken wheel
and hurriedly retrace my path back to a place
I sorely did not want to be.
Here the tiny creature waits,
watching a lone walker several hundred feet away before turning
and eyeing me with his glossy pupils.
My thoughts stared him down
willing him to leave our meeting till another day
but instead he crouched,
and waited until I was near parallel with his position,
adjacent to this pavement now bumpy from the tree roots
burrowing beneath it.
Suddenly he sprung!
Out onto the path and directly into my turning wheel,
reeling around and colliding again with my foot,
then scampered off to safer foliage.
There's no art in that.
He's just dumb.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
The Blues
(Sung - minor blues)
It's just a short term memory, I don't remember no one
It's just a short term memory, I don't remember no one
Come clouds come winter, I won't remember the sun
[change, major blues, uptempo]
I woke up this morning, and nothing seemed alright
I woke up this morning, and everything seemed wrong
You've been on my mind
(Spoken)
They say that slavery was mother to the blues,
an infant torn inch from a dark womb by oppression and loss
in a birth so painful as to make a race cry out in Harmony.
They say Hate was the father, a strict patriarch that disciplined regularly,
using a whip to carve quarter inch reminders into aching backs
just to be sure this child never forgot how to moan.
I disagree.
(Sung)
I woke up this morning, and wished it was the night
I woke up this morning, and wished it was still the night
It's easier to hide when I can, turn out the lights
(spoken)
They say you must be depressed to sing the blues
They say you must have given up on life,
They say you must be beaten down, trod upon,
and so forsaken that you have given up hope,
with nothing left to give but the story of your pain.
I disagree.
I disagree because I believe that Love is the mother of blues,
the mother of music, mother of us all. The Love of yourself,
of hands and skin, of neighbors and family,
of Nature, of god, of Life, of Life,
The love of Life.
Love is our mother and although father may dwell in anger
we know it is every child's destiny to rebel against their father.
The Blues was born adolescent,
and like adolescence every sentiment has more meaning in the blues.
The sweet taste of honey, the sting of the it's maker,
your sweetest kiss, the sting of it's maker
are amplified in by love
into a celestial experience only people can understand.
(Sung)
In every joy, the memory of pain
In every loss, the promise redemption
in every sorrow, the search for love
(spoken)
The blues is a story of a people
and it is ever watchful, waiting for the next chapter
You see, us people, we're forgetful.
When you are stung by a bee, how quick are you to recall the sweet taste of honey?
When your mother dies, how long until you recall the way she tickled your belly as you laughed and squirmed away to hide,
waiting for her to come and pick you up against your half-hearted protests?
The next time you fall in love, how long before you remember what is to lose something truly dear to you?
We are forgteful, We are short term
but the blues is long term,
and the blues do not forget.
The blues remember, remembers because we can not.
Remembers the smile you had when you struck out on your own for the first time because you didn't need all that crap your parents put on you
Remembers the tears you cried when you found yourself hurt and alone, struggling to find an identity you felt comfortable in
Remembers every single person who didn't follow you out of dodge
The Blues remembers your first love, your first hate,
the first time you ever embarassed yourself in front of a crowd
and how we all told you to wear a belt with those pants.
The blues remembers that though summer's green and yellow whisper love poems in your ear
Winter's grey embrace will soon shut out every sound but that of your heart beat.
Though we may forget about
the blood ran hot, the blood that ran cold,
the blood that was property and the blood that turned
blossoms of hope into strange fruits plucked before their time
The blues does not.
All I'm sayingis, it might behoove us to remember
to ask every once in a while,
and let the blues to remind us.
(sung)
I woke up this morning
you were on my mind
I woke up this morning
you've been on my mind
I've been sleeping with the dreams
you never left behind
I woke up this morning
Just to see the suns first light
I woke up this morning
to watch it chase away the night
I believe,
yes I believe
that everything will be alright.
It's just a short term memory, I don't remember no one
It's just a short term memory, I don't remember no one
Come clouds come winter, I won't remember the sun
[change, major blues, uptempo]
I woke up this morning, and nothing seemed alright
I woke up this morning, and everything seemed wrong
You've been on my mind
(Spoken)
They say that slavery was mother to the blues,
an infant torn inch from a dark womb by oppression and loss
in a birth so painful as to make a race cry out in Harmony.
They say Hate was the father, a strict patriarch that disciplined regularly,
using a whip to carve quarter inch reminders into aching backs
just to be sure this child never forgot how to moan.
I disagree.
(Sung)
I woke up this morning, and wished it was the night
I woke up this morning, and wished it was still the night
It's easier to hide when I can, turn out the lights
(spoken)
They say you must be depressed to sing the blues
They say you must have given up on life,
They say you must be beaten down, trod upon,
and so forsaken that you have given up hope,
with nothing left to give but the story of your pain.
I disagree.
I disagree because I believe that Love is the mother of blues,
the mother of music, mother of us all. The Love of yourself,
of hands and skin, of neighbors and family,
of Nature, of god, of Life, of Life,
The love of Life.
Love is our mother and although father may dwell in anger
we know it is every child's destiny to rebel against their father.
The Blues was born adolescent,
and like adolescence every sentiment has more meaning in the blues.
The sweet taste of honey, the sting of the it's maker,
your sweetest kiss, the sting of it's maker
are amplified in by love
into a celestial experience only people can understand.
(Sung)
In every joy, the memory of pain
In every loss, the promise redemption
in every sorrow, the search for love
(spoken)
The blues is a story of a people
and it is ever watchful, waiting for the next chapter
You see, us people, we're forgetful.
When you are stung by a bee, how quick are you to recall the sweet taste of honey?
When your mother dies, how long until you recall the way she tickled your belly as you laughed and squirmed away to hide,
waiting for her to come and pick you up against your half-hearted protests?
The next time you fall in love, how long before you remember what is to lose something truly dear to you?
We are forgteful, We are short term
but the blues is long term,
and the blues do not forget.
The blues remember, remembers because we can not.
Remembers the smile you had when you struck out on your own for the first time because you didn't need all that crap your parents put on you
Remembers the tears you cried when you found yourself hurt and alone, struggling to find an identity you felt comfortable in
Remembers every single person who didn't follow you out of dodge
The Blues remembers your first love, your first hate,
the first time you ever embarassed yourself in front of a crowd
and how we all told you to wear a belt with those pants.
The blues remembers that though summer's green and yellow whisper love poems in your ear
Winter's grey embrace will soon shut out every sound but that of your heart beat.
Though we may forget about
the blood ran hot, the blood that ran cold,
the blood that was property and the blood that turned
blossoms of hope into strange fruits plucked before their time
The blues does not.
All I'm sayingis, it might behoove us to remember
to ask every once in a while,
and let the blues to remind us.
(sung)
I woke up this morning
you were on my mind
I woke up this morning
you've been on my mind
I've been sleeping with the dreams
you never left behind
I woke up this morning
Just to see the suns first light
I woke up this morning
to watch it chase away the night
I believe,
yes I believe
that everything will be alright.
Studying (a flo)
STudy flo
My head's been cracked open and
things keep falling out
someone suture me up
and stem the flow of doubts
that cut into my confidence
evidence that providence
lost faith my seed will sprout
Stuck back in the corner to small for a home
3 walls 4 racks and a case of beer incase my dome
so many people ask for smiles and paper I seem to favor
but I just want peace, quiet, books,
I just want to be left alone
Friday Sunday Thursday Saturday
could've been my choice, could've been my voice
while your boys been out causing problem I've been earning a check
checking the rhythms of varied sound systems
use my eyes, use my ears, I can read what's been written on walls
so sugar salt the rim and be sure that it glistens
for when the limelight hits to chase that taste - listen
It's been a long night, I find it hard to concentrate
I'd rather procrastinate and listen to my roomates
fuck off and fuck around with nothing better to do
than drink, get high and assassinate my chances
of falling asleep in the near future
It's a long night ahead
My head is cracked
Give me sutures
My head's been cracked open and
things keep falling out
someone suture me up
and stem the flow of doubts
that cut into my confidence
evidence that providence
lost faith my seed will sprout
My heads been cracked open
things keep falling out
someone suture me up
and stem the flow throughout
a time of misery
that follows me a history
of Hillary's and pills that be
manufactured at distilleries
all working to box you in
and I want- out
My head's been cracked open and
things keep falling out
someone suture me up
and stem the flow of doubts
that cut into my confidence
evidence that providence
lost faith my seed will sprout
Stuck back in the corner to small for a home
3 walls 4 racks and a case of beer incase my dome
so many people ask for smiles and paper I seem to favor
but I just want peace, quiet, books,
I just want to be left alone
Friday Sunday Thursday Saturday
could've been my choice, could've been my voice
while your boys been out causing problem I've been earning a check
checking the rhythms of varied sound systems
use my eyes, use my ears, I can read what's been written on walls
so sugar salt the rim and be sure that it glistens
for when the limelight hits to chase that taste - listen
It's been a long night, I find it hard to concentrate
I'd rather procrastinate and listen to my roomates
fuck off and fuck around with nothing better to do
than drink, get high and assassinate my chances
of falling asleep in the near future
It's a long night ahead
My head is cracked
Give me sutures
My head's been cracked open and
things keep falling out
someone suture me up
and stem the flow of doubts
that cut into my confidence
evidence that providence
lost faith my seed will sprout
My heads been cracked open
things keep falling out
someone suture me up
and stem the flow throughout
a time of misery
that follows me a history
of Hillary's and pills that be
manufactured at distilleries
all working to box you in
and I want- out
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