These Days

Soundtrack “These Days” by Gregg Allman.

He said he’s now a Christian
Another poor excuse for me to scale
He sent me a letter with biblical quotes
Two thousand year old words laden with emotional quicksand
Everything neatly arranged into his boxes of good and evil
I wonder where I’d fit in—–these days

I miss that old friend, this new one no longer laughs at life’s foibles
His company makes our past feel irrelevant, like noticing dings on my car door
I’m reminded that time can be ruthless
Isn’t that just like me, turning the past over and over in my hands
Another shelf-life expired, I’m learning to throwout what’s soured
And this relationship has devolved, leaving a bad taste in my mouth

It took me a long time to get to this place
Sometimes it feels as though no “there” follows this “here”
Old friend, more shadow than substance
Everyone peddling their rendition of love
As if such things came with instructions and warranties

I went back to my fathers house
With him no longer living
That house is just dust and empty rooms
Like leaving a voice message on a dead mans answering machine
Pick up, please pick up, only the mumblings of a disembodied voice

I had to lose my soul, my mind, my self,
I had to lose my everything
To find a voice
The price of loving someone
Is equal to the pain that comes with losing them

Tao

Sound track “Beloved” Jesse Cook

After a million miles
It’s still running through you
A blinding light deafening a sky of jealous stars
We knew a round love in this world of flat earth-ers

Backyard tire swing, like a pendulum of gone by days
Pool chlorine mixed with honey suckles, the smell of summer
July laid out before us like a thousand unused Saturdays

Your cities are lonely
A careless milky-way evicted from time and space
Other people’s suns drenched in nothingness
Other worlds out of reach
Physics, another flawed human endeavor
Didn’t you know that the numbers never added up

Where’s the revolutionaries
Where’s our freedom fighters
An entire population of fools staring at smartphones
A generation of selfies, ego sponges

Angry, ignorant tweets, dissonant wind chimes
Where’s this generation’s John Lennon and George Carlin
Who’ll shame these fuckers
Hypocrisy is the breaking news
Truth has become negotiable
Climate change compromising happy endings

I’m the soundtrack of pissed off
Is everyone else drunk or high on recreational weed
Democracy a chess piece for the rich
Check mate, ponds against kings

Living in virtual bubbles
No longer “We hold these truths to be self-evident”
No more “We the people”
Wall street thieves and politicians
Who can tell the difference
Divisiveness is the cost of doing business with the greedy

Your birth was not an accident
Don’t let this one precious life play out like a sitcom laugh track
Be angry, fight complacency, believe in your power
To be about it, is the way

Undone Reverie

Famous Blue Rain Coat, Lenard Cohen.

Bring back
wandering and wonders

A child’s rain
A cloud’s smile

An avalanche
Of frozen dreams

That night at the lake
scent of campfire in your cloths

That slipping fear
Of days gone forever

And it’s always the same
In my bed of memories

I close my eyes and see
A spiral of life descending

Blue cars
Sing past my window

Pretend people
In fishbowl lives

Blood scrawled
love letters

February winds
Leave a hole in July

Standing so close
I smell your pain

Eyes so brutal
I’ll never blink

Is this really me
Is this really you

With rags of rage
I’ll undress you

One lie at a time
One life at a time

You’ll see me
In your worn midnight

Dry lightening strikes
Set wildfires in burning beds

I don’t know where I’m going
I’ve forgot where I’ve been

Seven turns
on a twisted highway

Listen closely
Hear the sound of your own song

And you said, so cavalier 
Offer up gods will
See things for what they are

Here’s to higher love
Are there scraps left for the likes of me

You’re the everything I wanted
Last thing that I needed

Did you know what you were doing
Because what you were doing
Caused me to choke on what’s never to be
Eternally incomplete, somehow find me there

And for a brief moment
You gave my madness worth
Like making love in your empty bed

Soft sigh, damp breath
Undone reverie, wet flesh

I have no one to hide from
Your ghost looks over my shoulder

This house of fractured mirrors
Broken pieces of me, pieces of you

Oh my god, so much older we’ve become
Sad in spirit, in this season of crucified saviors
Early December, look at what we’ve become
Hometown memories on faded polaroid holidays
And only the virgin snow knows secrets of buried yesterdays
When do old friends become strangers and ex-overs sad poems

This world will never tell us who to be
We’ll have to figure this out for ourselves
And then do our best to let go

Where I’m Going

When I wrote this tune I had the feeling that this is the kind of music you might hear as you stroll up to an old porch in the Appalachian Mountains.  And there would sit several fellas sipping on some moonshine and singing about death and glory of god. The song could use a fiddle, banjo and mandolin, but an acoustic guitar and vocal is fine too.  Dance like you’re handling a poisonous serpent in one hand and shaking a tambourine in the other—–Hallelujah!!!!!!!

 

Rutabagas and Wall to Wall Mirrors

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Do you ever just get tired of yourself?  I do.  I wake up sometimes and really want to make some radical changes in my life.  I want to be a better person. I want to start exercising, maybe even join a gym.  I hate gyms though, everyone there looks so fit and healthy.  When I exercise my hair looks like I just walked out of a tornado, the waistband on my sweatpants are all twisted and drooping revealing my boxer shorts.  My shirt is drenched in patches of sweat and I smell like an old wet dog.  The gym’s are narasitially plastered with wall to wall mirrors——Who’s that old guy stumbling about on the treadmill? Is that me? ——-Couldn’t be! ———Really? ———Pathetic!

And then I flirt with the idea of becoming a vegetarian.  It’ll be better for my over all health and I’d be reducing my carbon footprint by not eating flatulent cows.   There’s only one catch, I don’t care for most vegetables.  Whoever came up with the names for vegetables doesn’t understand the value of good packaging and marketing.  Who wants to eat something called a cumquat or a squash, or for that matter——-an eggplant? Eggplant is a misleading name, as there are no eggs to speak of in an eggplant.  I won’t even go into the name “arugula”.  It sounds like the name of a country in the middle east. At least put the product in a nice colorful box with a photo of the perfect veggie on the cover. Units that are not uniform in color, shape and size are to be summarily relegated to the dumpster. Stress the terms such as “natural”, “mother nature” and “pure”. Refrain from mentioning anything regarding pesticide residue, GMO’s, salmonella or chemicals used to create that shiny sheen on each unit.

Rebrand vegetables with new presentations and names.  How about renaming the “crooked neck squash” as the “Careening Yellow Swan”.  On the packaging include recipes such as “The Carmel Dipped Swan Of Paradise”.  I’d eat something like that.  But of course, I’d like to pair it with a glass of exotic red wine with a french name I can’t pronounce. 

Maybe it’s the change of season that’s got me in a funk.  The days are getting shorter and it’s rainy and gloomy out.  I wish I had a holy book to turn to when I’m feeling lost and alone.  Something like the Bible, the Koran, the Book of Mormon or even the goofy Scientology book.  None of them have brought me any solace or provided meaning to my life.  I’ve yet to find an owners manual or user’s guide to help me get my shit together.  I’m as lost and confused as I was at sixteen. At least then I had more time to figure things out. I still have no idea “What’s it all about?”.  I’ve pretty much given up on organized religion, political systems and the morning weatherman——-they’re all overrated propaganda.  I guess I’ll just have to get use to accepting the absurdity of life, death and all the B.S. that comes in-between the two.  

You probably have no idea what I’m ranting about, but that’s not your fault, I’m the confused crazed one.  You’re my surrogate friend with whom I share my secret fears and dark dreams. Hopefully I haven’t scared you off too.  Sometimes I feel like I’ve changed and grown a lot over the last fifty years, and then at other times I feel like I’m the same kid of sixteen waiting for my life to fall into place——it’s been a long wait and things tend to be spiraling towards entropy.  I’m somewhere between middle age and old and decrepit. I’m not sure what to do with the time I have left.  I do want to become a better person———compared to what or whom I’m not sure.  I suppose it’s the little things that help us all become more evolved human beings. Things like kindness, compassion and the capacity to laugh at oneself. Humor is nutrition for the soul. 

Here’s to carrots, treadmills and wall to wall mirrors.