if ever i nEed a song to sing....

Not Another Minute (Without You)

Dear God
Where are you in my life?
Where am I? In the light?
Or deep in shadow? tell me now, Oh Lord
God
My heart is near to breaking
In the pains of my own making
Touch me now, Oh Lord
I can't take another minute without you

Dear God
Do you love me even still?
As when I was in your will?
Or was I ever? tell me now, Oh Lord
God
The emptiness is killing me
Like harps hung in the willow tree
Touch me now, Oh Lord
I won't last another moment without you

Touch me Lord
Fill me with your Holy Spirit
By the blood of your son,
Oh sweet Jesus, please be mine
Touch me Lord and let me know that I'm still loved
Wash me clean from all the sins I bear
Let me feel your presence everywhere
But especially, Lord, heal my soul

Dear God
Must I spend my lifetime weeping?
Pray my soul that you'll be keeping?
When my last breath is spent? tell me now, Oh Lord
God
I want to spend my whole life loving you
Free of guilt and shame~ just loving you
Touch me now, or when it pleases you
Restore my soul, I beg of you
Touch me now, Oh Lord
I can't take another minute...
No, not another minute without you


ELAshley
030512.031842.6

A song... in the vein of ...Roland Orzibal's Mad World ...dark and despairing. Or perhaps not so dark... something along the lines of Twila Paris or Michael W. Smith? I'm still working out the melody.


 

all my hEroes are going to ground

David Thomas "Davy" Jones
Dec 20, 1945  -  Feb 29, 2012

I spent much of the mid to late sixties in Spain, but I remember how delighted I was at just 9 years old to discover, upon returning to the states, that television in America did not feature endless reruns of Roger Ramjet, and the Adventures of Rocky & Bullwinkle. All of a sudden there were real Saturday morning cartoons like Johnny Quest, Scooby Doo, Here Comes the Grump, H.R. Puffinstuff and, of course, The Monkees.

I loved the show, loved their only movie Head, and even loved waxing nostalgic when MTV ran constant reruns way back when MTV was actually "Music Television." In that much simpler time, there were records on the back of cereal boxes; The Archies, Jackson 5, Josie & the Pussycats, Bobby Sherman, & The Monkees. I remember asking my mom to buy Honey Combs Cereal just to get the Monkees' Valleri. The quality was crap, but come on! Music on the back of a cereal box? What could be cooler than that to a 10-year old?

Years later, I remember an interview I saw with Davy Jones some years after the Monkees' reunion during which Davy spoke about how hard and lean the years were between the end of The Monkees and their reunion. He said, and I paraphrase, when you have money and fame, when you're on top of the world, everyone want to give you money. But when you're out of the limelight, you can't even get a bank loan; no one will give you anything, even if you really need it.

That bit of interview has stayed with me; mostly because it's a sad epitaph to our culture of celebrity.

In the end Davy Jones landed on his feet, and I love him for it. He leaves behind a wife and four daughters, and three band mates. His last performance was a solo gig on February 19th, in Oklahoma.

David Thomas "Davy" Jones

Just last August, when I was turning 51, Davy himself was quoted as saying, somewhat prophetically, "I used to be a heartthrob, now I'm a coronary." Oddly enough, he died on Leap Day. And, as Davy was himself a consummate joker, I feel free to add my own sad quip... He was kind enough to die on a day we won't have to think about more than once every four years. 

But that's not true. I'll remember him every time I listen to a Monkees CD, or watch (for the umpteenth time) the movie "Head," which I must say lives up to its billing in the film's intro... These guys were a class act, and never took themselves too seriously.



From the intro to Head:


"Ditty Diego - War Chant"
 [Listen]

Well? [Mike]
Are you kidding? [Groupie]
Hey now wait a minute! [Mike]

Hey hey we are the Monkees
You know we love to please
A manufactured image
With no philosophies

We hope you like our story
Although there isn't one
That is to say there's many
That way there is more fun

You told us you like action
And games of many kinds
You like to dance, we like to sing
So let's all lose our minds!

We know it doesn't matter,
Cause what you came to see
Is what we'd love to give you,
And give it one, two, three! 

But there may come three, two, one, two
Or jump from nine to five,
And when you see the end in sight
The beginning may arrive!

For those who look for meaning,
And form as they do facts,
We might tell you one thing
But we'd only take it back

Not back like in a box back
Not back like in a race,
Not back so we can keep it,
But back in time and space!

You say we're manufactured,
To that we all agree,
So make you choice and we'll rejoice
In never being free!

Hey hey we are the Monkees,
We've said it all before
The money's in we're made of tin
We're here to give you more!

The money's in we're made of tin
We're here to give you...

Goodbye, Davy. It was all in good fun. Thanks for all the memories, and may God grant you peace and rest, and comfort to family and friends, and fans worldwide.

Because you were such a big part of our lives growing up, we are all Monkees now.

twenty-seven, dung bEetles, & epitaphs

What do Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Brian Jones, Kurt Kobain, and now Amy Winehouse have in common?

The number twenty-seven... the age at which each of them died-- Welcome Miss Winehouse, you have been unceremoniously ushered into an auspicious, albeit rare, company.

Have you ever seen video of a dung beetle pushing a ball of poop around? That little ball of shit is this particular beetle's lifeline. It defines who and what this particular insect is.

Now look at the above names; members of the 27 Club. Each of them was pushing their own ball of crap around, and in the end that ball of crap is what defines them. Some will naturally protest that and say it was their music which defined them, but I would have to argue against that point. And here's why...

Music is what they did; they were good at it, and are famous for it. They each made a name for themselves because of it, and made-- or were in the process of making --enough money to change their individual paradigms. But none of the above mentioned 'artists' were able to stop pushing the shit that defined what they thought of themselves. The reason I put it this way is I've been there. Drugs defined who I was for a time-- an addict. I was, of course, much more than that I was an artist too... still am, but back then drugs colored every other thing I did-- just as it colored everything the 27 Club did in their own lives.

'Drugs' was the ball of shit I pushed around. It was the ball of shit they pushed around. But unlike Sisyphus, they weren't 'chained' to the futility of rolling that ball of shite up the hill. Had they only opened their eyes to their own sense of self-worth, they could have abandoned that ball of crap and moved on, and, in all likelihood lived to a ripe old age with many accolades to their name. Now, in spite of their talent, 'overdose' is the one accolade that will color every other accolade they managed in their short lives.

For myself, I managed to see that ball for what it was... when I was twenty-seven. I've been rid of it for more than two decades now.

Amy Winehouse, like every other member of the 27 Club, is now rid of that ball of shit too. But what separates me and Amy Winehouse, aside from fame, fortune, and good looks, is I managed to walk away, and the name I carry today is untainted by the ball I shit I pushed around. Unfortunately, like all the other members in that sad club, her name will carry with it the unfortunate addendum *drug addict; died of an overdose.

That's a very sad legacy to leave behind, and a poor epitaph to the talent she had on loan from God.

May HE have mercy on her soul.

robots... all is not full of love

Perhaps the strangest music video I've ever seen. I've been a fan (of sorts) of Bjork for years but I never thought to search out a video by her until today. My reason for the search? I'm trying to compile a list of songs that contain the word 'robot' or 'android' within the lyrics.

My list so far:

1001001 - Rush
Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots - Flaming Lips
Mr. Roboto - Styx

Strangely, Bjork fails to make the list, despite her best visual efforts.

Stranger still, Bjork is pretty hot as a robot... not so much in real life.

---

Afterthought ...[11:40am]
Bjork tends to mumble and draw out whole words over long vocal runs so...

All Is Full Of Love

You'll be given love        You'll be taken care of
You'll be given love        You have to trust it

Maybe not from the sources        You have poured yours
Maybe not from the directions        You are staring at

Twist your head around        It's all around you
All is full of love        All around you

All is full of love        You just ain't receiving
All is full of love        Your phone is off the hook
All is full of love        Your doors are all shut
All is full of love        All is full of love!

All is full of love... a nice enough sentiment for those who are in love, surrounded by love, enveloped by love... but what does it mean to the homeless? the hungry? the lonely? the dying? God is love, the spiritual embodiment of love; for some, this is enough. But look at the world. I mean REALLY look at it. All is NOT full of love. It's filled with the longing for love. For those who don't wish to look deeper, this, I assume, is enough.

The world is in love with provocateurism-- lesbian robots fondling and kissing each other. There is something very wrong with the world.

...

I actually love this song. I just didn't know there was a video associated with it. I almost wish I hadn't found it. I say 'almost' because despite my distaste for the imagery, I am human and drawn to it, nonetheless, by both fascination and lust.

pithy rEviews

Sucker Punch
viewed: 040211

Anyone who's seen the trailers? That's pretty much the movie, in terms of action. The creators chose not to tell you that there was another dark, depressing, less visual facet to their film. Nor did they bother to inform you that it is this other facet which propels all the action. Without the part you didn't know about, the rest falls apart.

As a whole, the movie is ultimately tragic; a Romeo & Juliet without a Romeo. You know how it's going to end in the first 8 minutes. They tell you. So don't be surprised or ticked off when it happens. But it's this knowledge that keeps you rooting for Baby Doll. You want her to win. You want her to escape her fate, but with the final rap of a small hammer it's done.

Sucker Punch succeeds very well in this respect; the investment you make in wishing her well. Another plus in Sucker Punch's favor is the music-- forget the art and color, you already knew that was in there. But the music! Specifically, White Rabbit (originally of Jefferson Airplane fame) by Emiliana Torrini.

She totally owns this tune. Before Emiliana all we had was Jefferson Airplanes cheap two-and-a-half minute, albeit great tune. Truly great. But Miss Torrini's version, clocking in at just under 5 minutes 10 seconds... modern, embellished, loud and explosive, is worth the .99 cents I spent to download at Amazon. Jefferson Airplane ends White Rabbit abruptly with little fanfare, leaving you wanting more. It's a shame it took 40 years for someone to explore the lengths to which Jefferson Airplane could have taken this iconic tune.

You may have heard Sucker Punch described as 'eye-candy'. Well, it is. The whole thing, not just the hookerishly-clad chickies. Even the depressing parts. And that's about as negative I can be. Would I buy this on DVD? I haven't decided yet.

But I am pleased with my music download.

of the light and dark of our musical drEams

I'm glad someone else has noticed this as well; that song lyrics have drastically changed since I was a lad. Not simply in quality, but in simple beauty as well. What follows may not be a fair comparison [it's not] because even the seventies had some silly lyrics, but I'm finding it difficult to believe 70's lyrics were as vapid as this 2010's example...




















To be fair, there are some fine lyricists today, but has anyone noticed how dark [and stark] music has become? What I remember of the 70's was a far more light-hearted feel to music. There was some darkness, but it was mostly overpowered by a bright lightness that has all but disappeared today. Much of what you hear today sounds dark and gloomy... as if our children have awakened from the dreams in which we've chosen to stay.

Now, Kashmir is, admittedly, a dark tune; the lyrics are lofty but the tune is brooding, to say the least. On the other hand, Like a G6 is upbeat. So take your pick. For me, Like a G6 makes absolutely no sense.

It almost feels as though the Law of Entropy has wreaked itself more quickly upon the imagination of modern music, than on the rest of the world. For if, in 35 years, we've degenerated from Kashmir to Like a G6, is their any hope at all left for intelligent, soul-stirring music?

e's songs

I've been listening to The Flaming Lips lately; and this is important-- the album, I mean. It's the sound and feel. I began thinking about a story I'm writing and began to think about it in terms of musicality. So with Fight Test in my head, I quickly hammered out lyrics for my story-based, Flaming Lips inspired, song...

Where You’ve Gone

[1] What happens to the soul
As it moves through the door
Does it know where you’ve gone
Can it feel you anymore
‘Cause you’re here to stay
Until you find the way
Did you know where you were going
Before you stepped through the door

Can heaven find you should you die here?
Does it even know where you’ve gone?

[2] How does it feel to know
He can’t hear you where you are
You’re not merely lost in space
Nor circling a foreign star
If Universes were city blocks
Would you have considered their locks
Crossed the street without thought of a key
Would you have thought to bring a key
Before you stepped through the door

Can heaven find you should you die here?
Does it even know where you’ve gone?

[Bridge] How did it feel when the door closed
And you knew something important was gone
Did you ever think you could ever miss
What you casually took for granted

[3] If universes were city blocks
Would you have considered their locks
Crossed the street without thought of a key
Would you have thought to bring a key
Before you walked out the door

Can heaven find you should you die here?
Does it even know where you’ve gone?
Does it even know where you’ve gone?


ELAshley
113010.114316.1
Revisions:
120610.041450.6

Listening to The Flaming Lips’ Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, and considering my own novel in the works, it’s said that emulation is the greatest of flatteries.

So what do my lyrics mean? They're derived from some of the philosophical questions asked in the story I’m writing. I don’t have a melody as of this writing, so here’s hoping the music also flatters my aforementioned muses.

e's tuesday covers

An absolutely amazing cover of Rush's Subdivisions, by Jacob Moon. This is the musical standard to which I, as a guitarist, am striving toward.

a new song to clEar the air

Here's something new to clear my spirit of last weekend's miasma. There is enough disease in my life already without allowing those events permanent residence in E's museum of recollections.

Sheer (She Loves Me)

Sheer. She is. She walks
Naked and the walls tumble down
Sheer. She moves. She smiles
My senses beginning to drown
And the tears in my eyes
Burning lines in the skies
Oh, how beautiful she is ~ to me
And I wonder how she
Ever came to love me
But I long ago stopped asking her why

Sheer. Her heart. Her love
Transparent her desire for me
Sheer. Her touch. Her kiss
There's nowhere else I'd rather be
Than right here in her bed
through the long years ahead
Oh, how beautiful she is ~ to me
And I wonder how she
Ever came to love me
But I've left all my wondering unsaid

Cause she loves me
And that's all I need to know
She loves me
All I ever need to know
Is that she loves me
Standing right here
Sheer

Sheer. Her eyes. Her look
I'm naked in all my designs
Sheer. Her hand. In mine
Soft neath the heavens entwine
Our lives love and laughter
All the dreams we run after
Oh, how beautiful she is ~ to me
And no more wond'ring how she
Ever came to love me
In her eyes I've found the answer

...And it's as simple as

She loves me
It's all I'll ever need know
She loves me
It's all that I'll ever need know
Cause she loves me
And that's all that I need to know
It's as simple as she loves me
Standing right here
Sheer


ELAshley
041210.101536.1
Immediate revisions:
041210.102530.1
041210.104126.1
041310.082334.1

I've got a melody with this one. I'll work out the chords at lunch.

One day, despite my previous declarations, I'll have to get around to recording some of this stuff.


Ciao for now, everyone. It's time to get to work.


Oh! I have no idea who that woman is. God willing, I'll know someday soon.

what's listening to E, and vice versa

E doesn't care much for smoking, especially women who smoke; in anyone it's just the craziest ugliest thing to do, but that's neither here nor there cause I like this song. Like it lots. Perhaps it's the melody, which is very easy on the aural planes, or maybe it's the sentiments of love and the comparisons of adorations to the simplest complexions.

Here's why I like it so much...


40 Dogs (Romeo & Juliet)
-Bob Schneider

Well if I spell it out, if I get it out,
Will you hear me when I tell you about
What I have to say, before it gets too late?
It's not as easy as I said it'd be,
But there’s something right about you and me,
Something right about you and me.

Well you’re the color of a burning brook,
You’re the color of a sideways look from an undercover cop in a comic book
You’re the color of a storm in June,
You're the color of the moon.
You’re the color of the night, that’s right,
Color of a fight - you move me.
You’re the color of the colored part of The Wizard of Oz movie.

We're like Romeo and Juliet,
We're like 40 dogs, cigarettes,
We're like good times that haven’t happened yet but will.
And I can tell you where we're gonna be
When the whole world falls to the sea:
We’ll be livin’ ever after, happily.

All the boys taking you for granted,
Tell you what they want with their eyes all slanted.
I don’t like the way they look at you,
I don’t like the way they talk to,
I don’t like the way they talk to you.
I wouldn’t let 'em talk to you like that.

Put 'em up high, reach for the ceiling.
Tell them that I'ma walk, damn it, I'm real,
And it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we’re stealing -
Anything to get more of this feeling

You take the high and I'll take the low,
We'll get there before you know.
We ain't got no time to waste,
We got too much life to taste.

We're like Romeo and Juliet,
And 40 dogs, cigarettes,
We're like good times that haven’t happened yet but will.
And I can tell you where we're gonna be
When the whole world falls to the sea:
We’ll be livin’ ever after, happily.

Sometimes you remind me of a moonbeam,
On the ghost of a moonbeam out on the beach,
Down by the coast, slip into Manila,
Like the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Come out tonight, come out with me, baby.
We'll throw the careful into the crazy,
Turn the sky black into a sky blue,
Turn the close shave into a hoo-hoo.
What I say is true, make a fire, gotta burn a few,
Make a fire, gotta burn a few,
We can do what we want to do.

We're like Romeo and Juliet, 40 dogs, cigarettes,
We're like good times that haven’t happened yet but will.
I can tell you where we're gonna be
When the whole world falls to the sea:
We’ll be livin’ ever after, happily.


It's a free download at Amazon.com (as of Feb 17, 2010)

my own personal midlife crisis: doomed to solitude

To reiterate. Every thought, image, and response has a musical connection. Some songs resonate more than others, and that is where the "soundtrack of one's life" meme is rooted. But some songs resonate more than others. For me, I can recite that litany of songs which truly, madly, deeply reverberate through my soul, on a single hand.

Pain, or so it seems to me, is the foundation of genuine worldly beauty. Beauty is an expression of defiance against that which would crush us, would we but allow it. There is nothing remarkable about a straight line-- a straight line is unremarkable in a forest of conformity. But curve that line... well then, that's something new altogether. Where pure pleasure is the straight line, pain then is the curve.

Take Celtic music for instance, or the vocal stylizings of groups like Ladysmith Black Mambazo. Cultures which have experienced oppression and suffering sing with a heart that seeks to rise above the pain... whether they realize it or not-- the pain creeps into their musical expression, and however straight-lined their words, their vocals and instruments speak in curves.

And so here I am, long story short, to the point of my own life's soundtrack, and one song from that one hand that has reverberated through my soul for thirty-four years. I've made mention of it here (or elsewhere... I know I've written about this song somewhere), but at the risk of appearing unduly obsessive I return to Yer Blues by the Beatles.

Why bother mentioning it all? Well, I came across a review of the song online and felt compelled to comment upon it.

First the lyrics:

Yes I'm lonely. Wanna die
Yes I'm lonely. Wanna die
If I ain't dead already
Woo, girl you know the reason why.

In the morning. Wanna die
In the evening. Wanna die
If I ain't dead already
Woo, girl you know the reason why.

My mother was of the sky
My father was of the earth
But I am of the universe
And you know what it's worth
I'm lonely. Wanna die
If I ain't dead already
Woo, girl you know the reason why.

The eagle picks my eye
The worm he licks my bones
I feel so suicidal
Just like Dylan's Mr. Jones
Lonely. Wanna die
If I ain't dead already
Woo, girl you know the reason why.

Black cloud crossed my mind
Blue mist round my soul
Feel so suicidal
Even hate my rock and roll
Wanna die. Yeah, wanna die
If I ain't dead already
Woo, girl you know the reason why.

Depressing, right? Suicidal, even? But why? And why does it resonate in my soul? Well, here's one reviewer's thoughts on the song:

For all that chatter about The Beatles predicting the band members' solo work, only two of its Lennon tracks would be of a piece with his Plastic Ono Band, arguably the defining post-Beatles disc. One is the muted, tender "Julia"; the other, the searing, spooky "Yer Blues"...

Following in the grand blues tradition of women doing wrong and leaving a man in pain often simply by leaving him, Lennon seethes in heartbreak. But his introspection (call it his utter self-absorption) turns the misdeed inward, and the song focuses on his reactions rather than whatever wrong she supposedly committed. This is not a revenge story, or an attack on an unfaithful woman. This is instead an attack on the man who, through some or many unspecified flaws, doomed himself to solitude.

—Charles Hohman

And this is the key phrase, for me:

This is instead an attack on the man who, through some or many unspecified flaws, doomed himself to solitude.

This is about what one feels about himself, not what someone else has done to him. And I reckon this speaks as much about my life as it did, perhaps, about his... Lennon's.

I remember a task I set for Mary Angel as her sponsor into Iota Gamma's "Little Sister" program; circa 1983. It was common for the brothers to set an impossible task for their charges, and I, thinking myself clever, asked Mary Angel to bring to me the lyrics to my favorite song, giving her only one clue... "My father was of the earth."

I thought I was clever, but I was outdone by an intellect far cleverer than my own. She called my little sister and asked what my favorite band was. Easy! she was told-- The Beatles. It then became a search for which song held that particular line. Now this was 1983; no PC's worth a flip, no Google, no world wide web to really speak of, so my sister begins to play all my Beatles albums, song by song, until they hit upon a winner.

Mary Angel was NOT pleased by the song I called "my favorite." Not pleased at all. But without going into too much detail-- long story short --I gave her no context so she had no way of knowing why that song, as tragic in tone as it is, was my favorite. And truth be told, I never considered the reason myself till much later.

As a young child I was constantly uprooted and thrust into new situations, new schools, new friends... new bullies who saw in my stuttering reason enough to make my life more and more miserable. I learned very early to simply keep quiet and not draw too much attention to myself.

So here I am years later, 21, maybe 22 years old. I've asked out the moderately attractive Kathleen Tremblay. I've picked her up, and taken her to a party. While there she pretty much dumps me and begins making out with someone else. I leave. Without her. And I go to a place I routinely frequent when I wish to be alone. It's a small but long pier on St. Andrews Bay.

It's dark. Only a sliver of moon in the sparsely clouded night sky. I take out a knife. Put it's tip to the right side of my chest and slash downward. And a second time, but without much enthusiasm. I throw the knife out to sea, stagger back to my car and drive home. I'm covered in blood so I take a shower. Excruciating pain! I bandage myself, and go to bed.

How do you tell your family you did something like that to yourself? I couldn't. I told my father I was attacked on the beach.

There was no trip to the hospital. Just a jar of sulfur to pack the wound to keep it from getting infected. What I got was one big ass scar, and more isolation from people I considered friends. The scar was quite noticeable for many years, but has since faded. The memory however has not, nor do I expect it to.

This was not an attack on the girl who broke my heart but was instead, "an attack on the man [myself] who, through some or many unspecified flaws, doomed himself to solitude." I attacked myself for some unknown, unseen, unfathomed flaws that kept me single, and without friendship or intimacy from girls.

Here's one major distinction between my own experience and that of the song in question. I was not suicidal-- I had absolutely no intention of killing myself. Had that been the case I could have easily pushed the knife straight in. Instead I slightly dimpled the flesh of my chest inward and swiftly sliced down... not in. I did not want to kill myself. What I wanted was to externalize the pain I felt in my heart.

And so this is my fear... my own personal midlife crisis... that I am doomed to solitude; that I will never find love... never share my life with a woman who loves me.

* * *

This song resonates with me. It didn't before that evening. Nor did it resonate for many years after. But today, after years of swimming in the soup of "some or many" of my own "unspecified flaws" it has come to carry a great deal of weight in the soundtrack of my life.

I am 49 years old, and still Solitude Standing. I've waited twenty years for a woman to say "yes" to marriage only to realize at last that she doesn't wish to marry anyone, let alone me.

So I'm moving on. Suicide was never an option... has never crossed my mind-- it's simply not who I am. But I'd be a liar if I said I didn't suffer a modicum of despair over having reached the heliopause of 50 and still single; having wasted the last twenty years on someone who chooses not to love or be loved.

What is left for me to do now? Accept what is and move on. And never give up looking for someone who will love who and what I am in spite of who and what I am not.

There. It's out. Welcome to my midlife crisis.

i'n not a big fan of the stones, but...

Jagger appears to have been an easy client to deal with...

What would it be like to have a reputation so stellar as to allow others complete confidence in your work?

e's wEekly brain dump

Here then is a Haiku. One I wrote years and years ago-- and not particularly good but apropos given my direction with today's post...

music lifts my heart
from a deep pit of ashes
the remnants of death

I can't speak for anyone but myself but music does a great number of things for me, which is why I find so much meaning and context in my life through music. I began this post in the afternoon, and returning late in the evening, Huckabee on Fox covered the same material. It would seem that research has been done into what kind of music soldiers have been listening to to get into the kind of mindset that allows them to enter combat... to set the mental-stage for 'kill or be killed'.

Music then, it would seem, is a multi-faceted muse. To some she brings fire, to others she brings resolve, to some inspiration... and to others?

Meredith Brooks wrote a song called What Would Happen that, though it got little airplay, is the best tune on her hit album containing the more popular tune, Bitch. What makes this song so provocative (and no one's saying Bitch isn't provocative) are the questions it raises. And with them that fear co-mingled with lust everyone experiences at some point in their lives.

What would happen if we kissed?
Would your tongue slip past my lips?
Would you run away?
Would you stay?
Or would I melt into you?
Lust to lust?
Spontaneous - ly combust?

First time I heard this song I thought, 'Whoa! What's this chick doing in MY head!?' The verses were uniquely her experience, but the chorus... it's universal. It's primal, and it speaks to every heart whether it beats in the chest of a man or woman. I keep a list of songs I deem perfect for sex, and this one ranks pretty high.

Now, knowing my penchant for assigning people to songs, and songs to people, do you think I've assigned this particular song to a particular person?

* * *

I spent the bulk of late afternoon and evening watching TLC, watching the super-morbidly obese struggle to survive the milieu they've staged for themselves. At the last was a return visit to David Smith, the 650lb virgin-- sans 400 lbs --and his struggle to navigate the world he spent his entire life watching from the outside... looking in, as it were. I'm nowhere near as over-weight as David was-- a loss of eighty pounds would see me at my target weight. David had to lose 400. I only have to lose 80.

I have the same problems he does, socially speaking (though for different reasons), and I only need to lose 20% of what he lost-- I too am learning to socialize. No, I haven't spent the last ten or fifteen years in a flesh cocoon or morbidly obese proportions, but I have spent the last thirty-three years in a different kind of cocoon.

* * *

To quote another great tune... by The Moody Blues:

I'm looking for someone to change my life
I'm looking for a miracle in my life
And if you could see what it's done to me
To lose the the love I knew
Could safely lead me to
The land that I once knew
To learn as we grow old
The secrets of our souls

And at 49, I wonder if I'm running out of time.

they live in middletown...

I'm tired, I tell you. Tired.

Even the simple task of buying everything on the list-- and nothing more save pineapple and bananas --gives rise to her bitching.

That's all I need to hear-- Hello. Goodbye. Disconnect. Retreat to here...

I'm tired, I tell you. Tired.


Here's a bit of verse... apropos to the moment.

It's understood
By every single person who'd be elsewhere if they could
So far, so good
And life's not unpleasant in their little neighborhood

And now I find I've been put into a Rush mood. Not for the uplifting lyrics of much of their music, but for Grace Under Pressure, to my mind the darkest of their albums.

Were I a brave man. I'd of pulled the trigger years ago. But I have more faith than I have anguish.

What happens to the dreams we're too afraid to seize hold of?

Dreams flow across the heartland
Feeding on the fire
Dreams transport desires
Drive you when you're down
Dreams transport the ones that need
To get out of town...

...They dream in Middletown

And from Richard Marx...

We used to walk down by the river
She loved to watch the sun go down
We used to walk along the river
And dream our way out of this town

I feel a leaving comin' on.

where E is..

...is where I now am. I can't think of anything better to label it than 'midlife crisis'. There is an anxiousness, a depression, a cacophony of emotions and angst that I can't shake... an emotional malaise that threatens to sweep everything away, pushing inland like a psychic tsunami. I can't believe how depressed I am right now... I just want to cry...

But what would that solve? It wouldn't make me feel any better... the pain would still be there. I would still be tired. I would still be lonely. I would still be unfulfilled...

I would still be unfulfilled


As is my wont I am listening to a song, over and over and over and over again.

Andrew Gold, 1978...

Passing Thing

Slowly sailing leaves
The children of the trees
Evicted by the wind
And can't return again

Young girl by a stream
Has lost her younger dreams
Her childhood will end
And won't return again

'Cause it's only a passing thing
It's only what time will bring
Though we are together thrown
We're all alone
We can't go home

And you only have a heart
To see that only love guide you

I am just a man
Following my heart
Following a flame
That never stays the same

                    ...

'Cause it's only a passing thing
It's only what time will bring
Though we are together thrown
We're all alone
We can't go home

And you only have a heart
To see that only love can guide you

Okay. I will write some now... off the top of my heart. It won't be as good as Andrew, but maybe it will be good enough...

Who Loved Me (And Let Me Go)

Oh how I miss you
How I miss your loving arms
How I miss the thought of you
The very sight of you
Who loved me long ago

Oh how I cherish you
How I cherish the memory of soft skin
Cherish the very thought of you
The very warmth of you
Who loved me then let me go

When all of this is done
When the world is gone away
Our world beneath a dying sun
My heart and soul written in the stars
Forever of you will say
How you broke my heart
Tore my soul apart
Left me to wander
A stone skipping cross
The blacknesses of time

                    ...

Oh how I desire you
Desire your long forgotten kiss
How I desire the memory of you
The very picture of you
Who loved me but let me go

When all of this is done
When the world is gone away
Our world beneath a dying sun
My heart and soul written in the stars
Forever of you will say
How you broke my heart
Tore my soul apart
And left me to wander
A stone skipping cross
The blacknesses of time

Oh how I weep for you
For all of time mourn you
Desire you
Miss you
Cherish you
Sweet Mary Angel
Oh how I love you

ELAshley
111709.064430.6
No matter how bad it is, I will not revise it. Ever

Who is she you ask?

She is the ideal. The kind of woman I will never see or meet again. She is the very image I look for in every woman I meet... and have always been left disappointed.

But it's only a passing thing, right? this 'midlife crisis' of mine?

Tell that to my heart.

happiness is a warm guitar

HiaWG [act 1] is a simple enough riff but it's been slow going. Perhaps I expect too much. After all, I've only given it about an hours worth of practice in two days. Then again, it could simply be slow going because I'm set in my ways. I've been using a 4-2-3-1 pattern, near exclusively, for over thirty years, and despite the fact that I've developed variations of that pattern which allow me to express beyond simplicity, I am still "stuck"-- I shouldn't use that word since I have begun in earnest to break away from from the 4-2-3-1.

But... trying to vocalize this other simple pattern is forcing me to retrain. Muscle memory will take care of it, but it will take a few days to get it smooth, a couple of weeks to get it without thinking about it.

* * *

Trying to learn from two different guitarists... no, make that three... is proving difficult. The Beatles are simple, but different from what I'm used to. Richard Gilewitz is also simple, but he's taken simplicity and developed a new complexity-- this is pretty much where I am. I have my own style, my own simplicity turned complexity, yet despite this feat I wish to play as others do.

And speaking of complexity, Lindsey Buckingham is so simple it might as well be an entirely new language. He's simple, but fast. And I've resigned myself to the truth that his live version of Big Love is beyond my ability. Some songs only their creators can perform-- or a very few others, and I am not among the lucky few.

But I do all this to break free of long, ingrained habit. Which is a fancy way of saying I've been lazy. I've come to realize if I want to fly, I must first break free of Earth.

What is it Seal sings toward the end of Crazy?

In a world full of people, only some want to fly,
Isn't that crazy?

Yes. It is.

e's wEekly brain dump

A number of things. First.

I went to see her this afternoon. I hadn't had a chance to speak with her [and that's a very particular distinction...'speak WITH her'... not 'TO her'] since our lunch last week. And what she was wearing... goodness! I tried very very very hard not to look at the swell of her small breasts [the kind I very much prefer] at the bottom of her plunging neckline. I worried so much over it I think I spent an inordinate amount of time looking her in the eye. And stammering. ...more than I am wont. She is so beautiful. But I remind myself, both then and now, I am not chasing her in that way. I have no right to considering my circumstances. What I am interested in is getting my feet wet-- and learning to interact with attractive women. It has been decades since I last attempted to schmooze my way into a fair lady's good graces.

And she's amenable. She interested in having lunch with me, perhaps a movie. But romance is off the table. I made sure of it at the outset.

I know, I know. Kick me! I deserve it.

But then again, she may not even be ready herself for the kind of advances the baser me would make. And I owe it to both myself and her to be a gentleman.

* * *

Last night, aching from every joint, muscle, and connective tissue, I still found it difficult to drop immediately off to sleep, which is unusual for me. I generally drop off before two songs have passed on whatever CD I set to play. I'm sure I'm not alone in this, but since I was 16 I went to sleep with the radio on... and this was PRE-CD. Back then it was either the radio or the turn-table. And now, 36 years later, I find it more difficult to sleep without music than with. Anyway, in times like this I'll do one of three things. I'll practice a bit on the guitar, and let music (there it is again) easy whatever tensions I've built up during the day. Or I'll read a book. Usually I don't make it past one chapter, sometime no more than a page or two. Or, I'll dig out a notebook and pen and begin to write. What follows is what I did last night before starting up Gerry Rafferty's North and South...


Laying to Rest What Bears Repeating

Laying here
Body stretched naked and aching
Trying to slow the beat of my heart
Trying to chase a melody
To corners dark
Putting it to bed... Dirt to Dust
     Insistent beat to the slide of steel on steel
     To soft tapping like raindrops on the frets of my guitar
Putting her to bed
That I might do the same

My neck aches
Feet throb
It's hard to imagine I have reached that age
I feared at ten
     feared at twenty
     feared at thirty
     come to accept at forty-nine
I wish only to sleep
And sleep long
I wish only to dream
Close my eyes
Shut off thought
Sleep
Dream
Rinse
Repeat
And when I get to the bottom
I go back to the top of the slide
When I stop and I turn
And I go for a ride
Till I get to the bottom
And... return to the end
Of another day
Body aching. Naked and stretched
Across the universe
Struggling to erase the pains
Of another day
Wishing only to close my eyes
Shut off thought
Chase sleep down long corridors
And dream...
Rinse and repeat
And like a glutton
Return for yet more

Rinse

Repeat


Rinse



Repeat

* * *

I'll note here that I am a Beatles fan, and so Helter Skelter slipped itself in as did Across the Universe. Also 'putting to bed' the melody refers to Richard Gilewitz's 7-minute acoustic masterpiece Dirt to Dust. I've been listening to it for the last several days... over and over and over again.

* * *

Lastly. Last night I finished my new banner... 'and everything e'. I chose words that have significance in my life.

• 2 Lines of lyrics from different songs
• Places I've lived
• Characters I've written
• Books I've read
• Subjects that interest me
• And, I believe, a number of things that speak to why I am who I am

It's a dark banner, but it has meaning. More on that later.

* * *

She and I will have lunch again next week. I'll struggle yet again to NOT think of her in romantic terms. I'll likely NOT struggle with sleep, but I'll write, I'll play. And I will sleep. And continue to make sense of where I am and who I've become.

And that concludes this weeks brain dump...

Ciao, for now.

I have to post the poem at my poetry page before crawling into bed.... still haven't decide what CD I'll set to spinning.

on the hEels of...

stuck on a groove

I've been listening to the same song for several days now. Over and over. Had the iPod set to repeat. Can't say why, exactly. All I know is it felt right, so I listened... perhaps a hundred or more times. I do know this though, there's been a lot of heavy things on my mind so perhaps this song got me through. But I have moved on. I've reengaged 'shuffle' and other songs have begun to play. Still. It makes me wonder why I do this. It happens more often than you might think, but never for 5 days solid.

Here's a link to the mp3. It's a free download.

They Don't Know
-Tracey Ullman

proof that birds are sEcretly composers...

Birds on the Wires from Jarbas Agnelli on Vimeo.

If you're interested in the TAB for this bit of musica, I've place my transcription here.