paperclip equivalent

something from the USENET / Chatsubo Era-- september 2000

Seems kind of relevance with the tinkering I've been doing with "travesty like" programs.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

video space
blares
projected messages:

a clean mind is a terrible thing 
left unwasted
this is your mind 
on scrambled eggs

wipe away troubles
dispose of truely bad hours
use ISO-nepenthe insanitary wipes
the napkins of choice
used 
by the serially dimensionless
to give new meaning 
to words
and new reason 
to the functionally clueless

a white noise sky 
filled timed sequence
ashes of memories 
clogging 
eyes with tears

disconcerting
feeling
the escalator of progress
unmoving 
fixed in place
motion arrested 
by yesterday's belief

asked for love
could not find it
not on aisle 17 
where they stock
pre-packaged remedies

drifting 
truth precluded
information 
mechanics. 
large bore at range
fired
upon a hunter's arc

dead
immediately 
dark internal
matters 
explode 

the holes
left unfilled
by composite 
material displacement
fill with system coolant
system shut down sequence:
engage

death?
this is death?
subconscious 
condensate occurs
collapsing non-event
observationally
nearly absolute 
notational
zeroness
mass misdirection time
time misdirection mass
sequence mismatch
shut down halted

information free
contextless
data mote
floating upon a wireframe
notion

MAKE MILLIONS!
create 
paperclip / staple
intellectual property
analogue

property?
i possess properties?
all objectionable materials 
do

Not?
not
objectionable

spring works
wind down
jeweled
precision
swiss movement
most famous 
mercenaries

within 
a conceptual framework
never a random
thought

language is the paperclip of conceptual space

Da Frog Blues [I'm what the Princess got]

Completing the blues lyrics for 2004 is Da Frog Blues. It was first scribbled down on March 1, 2004 --  exactly 10 years ago. The poor frog in this case is so bad off he thinks he's a dawg that lives in a junk yard.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Da Frog Blues [I'm what the Princess got]

I live in a junkyard
They call me a dog
I live in a junkyard, baby 
They call me a dog
I'm what the Princess got
When she kissed the frog

All the toys broken
In my toy box
Yeah all the toys are broken
In my toy box
She love me so long and well
I got broken rocks

I'm an old fool
A fool for that girl
I'm an old fool
A fool for that girl
She turned an tripped me
It changed my world

I've played in the East
I"ve played in the West
There's one thing I love to play
That only my baby knows best

That's why:

I live in a junkyard
They call me a dog
I live in a junkyard 
They call me a dog
But I'm what the Princess got
When she kissed the frog

Smoke from Mexico

Here is one of the poems I wrote in 2000 which was included in the ACCAnthology Volume 1

Later I fed it to a speech synthesizer... [if you like that sort of thing... let me know I'll post a link to the mp3]

It's a cyberpunk in a small red capsule... a bit of free association and skewed plot...

A spoken-word by synthesized voice MP3 is available HERE

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Smoke from Mexico

Smoke from Mexico
Or maybe some Cloud from Bogata
or stolen memories from that desolate Lab
Outside 
Las Cruces, was it?

I don't really remember any more

I can't say what I want
Cos the memories are sealed

Yeah. They got to me.

It was not that hard.
If they want you
They'll get you.

Don't believe me?
Try to run when 
they've got your number.

The name is in the Database
The one you want.
She is alive.

They'll have erased me 
by the time you read this.
So don't come looking.
There won't be anything left to save.

I hear there is a shortage 
of major organic subsystems

never did like dealing bio-logics
didn't understand
how they could unravel a brain 
and reassemble it into a q-dot 'face.

Hear you're hunting him again.
good luck
Its the self that you don't know
that always spoils it.

You know that voice
you hear
there in the back of your mind 

the one that speaks to you
when you pick up the phone
and dial tone does not answer

the jarring sense that the escalator
should be moving
and it's not.

white noise.

the voice that sounds 
too much like the voice
you'd imagine Death to have.

A regen transformer
causes it to reverberate 
its well modulated ravings
like a long, long distance call
a hollow one-way rant

annoying beyond belief.

It's always *that* voice that tells you 
that you really bent over 
too far this time
this time they'll get you.

I know 
I'm rambling.
comes from having 
too much to think about 
and too little time

At least for now 
I can look out across 
the polluted water 
And see it 
see it rise like 
the life I have lived
Black, Billowing, Bellicose

I started there and I finished there.

What kind of life do you have
when it is only
a poetic fragment?
a snippet of code
easily rendered by an RNA sequencer?

What sense of truth is there?
The mathematics of billowing smoke
is more etherial and more beautiful 
that seeing the cloud itself.
But it can't be explained.

Why did I do those things?
Why did I leave you behind?

Look. 
Can you see the equation now?
I wasn't much of a Dad.
Hell I wasn't much of a human being.
but I left you where 
at least *I* 
wouldn't destroy you

The Smoke is changing to gray now
They've got some water to it.
I won't be here much longer
They'll come 
and that will be that.

What was that equation
Outside 
Las Cruces?

Or in the Cloud from Bogota?

A child?

A tear?

A sorrow I cannot undo?

I'd ask your forgiveness
but
The wind has changed 
I am finally lost
in gray
Smoke from Mexico

Punished

A piece of poetry I wrote due to a misunderstanding with a friend.

Sometimes history is an explanation of the present... but still not an excuse.


+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Punished

nose.
nearly to the wall.
not too close.
the nose is naturally oily.
it leaves a stain and you will be punished.
severely.

but

small boys can't stand in one place
small boys do foolish things
small boys get tired of standing
small boys get set up to be punished
because its their nature

so

I never learned
I always left a spot even if it wasn't there
I always did things
which made me wrong
because its my nature

yet

I've tried so hard and failed again
I  left a spot no one can see
Except in a hurt perceived or believed
A spot in a corner I did not wish to leave
but a spot is a spot

therefore

punishment is at hand
it doesn't feel any different now
than it did those dim long years ago
I've never pleased those I have loved - never.
So the spot won't go no matter how hard I try

still

this is neither unexpected
nor is it undeserved
so now I take the lashes with salt water
and scream in pain to an unlistening wind
for my shame and sorrow...

nor

Can I permit myself to look
In anyone's eyes for my shame
and so I disappear as friend now unmade
and hope that punishment will suffice to them
and their joy wipe away the spot

now

alone and ever again the fool
leaving marks where he has no business
feeling  inappropriate as ever
as stupid as ever
as sad and hurt as ever

so

one last piece of wisdom:
shoot poets at 50 paces
shoot lyricists at 100 paces
get assassins to take care of wise men
but forgive me for the spots I make. 

Ghost Writer

This was written in the fall of 1986. I was under treatment at the time for Major Depression. That of course is only half the story... a little more that a year later I would commit suicide in prison...

Yet this story [as well as I] have lingered. The story after all does have a message... It remains to be seen if I do.


+++++++++++++++++++++++

If I was to tell you the Truth, the WHOLE Truth, and nothing but the Truth so help me Joe, you wouldn't believe me, so that's the real reason you are reading this here rather than the front page of your local "Morning Gazette." Besides in fiction, there is Truth.

What better Truth is there than a fictional author telling a fictional story about his fictional god, AND having some innocent fun while getting paid for it?

Everybody knows how all of the schools of religion seem to be obsessed with the idea that "We know the Truth" and "We worship the only true God." 'Round here they call Him Joe Hova.His holy rolling rationalist devotees even have a holy day for Him, Joho Day, the holy day of the mighty, holy, and only rational god. His son is another story for another time.

If you are rational about it, you will see that their ideas, may be your own ideas, or even my strange preconceived notions of what the Creator is, looks like, or does is... irrational drivel. Think about the facts.

If God were so rational, the Universe would never have gotten started. The truth of the matter is that Joe Hova, in all of His radiant holiness, is NOT the rational, high mighty God sitting on a golden throne with a thunderbolt in one hand, a whip in the other and the fire of your damnation in His eyes. No, the truth is He's a little runt with a warped sense of humor. You don't believe me? I have seen Him. I know what the Truth is.

I can hear you snickering. Now you're saying that I'm crazy. Well, that may be so, but that has no bearing on the facts. I have digressed. Let me tell you what I know about Him.

He is a little man - about two feet eleven with a used Girope salesman's phony wide toothy smile. His nose is big and crooked. Big ears hang unevenly on the sides of His head beneath His closely cropped hair.

The afternoon I met Him, He wore the latest Calin Klevin semi- informal wear: a powder blue silk top hat with a bright red band propped slightly askew on His head, a pure white French pleated shirt, black pants, white spats topped over His glossy black shoes, with a bright phosphorescent green top coat with tails. The buttons of His jacket were obviously pure gold. He carried a platinum tipped graphite-composite cane".

"Wonder--full day, isn't it?" He exclaimed.

I looked around. I didn't see anyone.

He hit me in the shins with His one-of-a-kind cane. As the pain exploded in my head, I looked down to see Him smiling up at me.

"As I said before, Literu, a won-dar-ful day?"

"I don't believe we have met." I said through gritted teeth and painful tears.

"Of course we haven't, but that doesn't mean I don't know you.

Literu Litpinni, infamous writer of cheap thriller novels, pulp untrue confessions, and general all around loser. Bet you don't know that I know why you're standing on this bridge." He cheerfully replied.

"Well, I..." I stammered.

He cut me short by saying, "Don't bother telling me some piece of drivel about how you like watching the boats go by three hundred feet below you there." He gestured at the cold steel colored sea.

He continued with a smirk: "You're here, so you think, to kill yourself and end your dismal life."

"Well, I was actually more interested in..." I began to lie.

"Watching the sea hawks? Oh, come on, Man! If you're gonna lie, at least be creative!" he retorted and smiled His huge toothy smile.

"OK, Mister High and Mighty, what do you want?" I was pissed. Not angry, P-I-S-S-E-D. Being pissed is not rational, whereas if you are angry it's the same thing but dressed up in rationalized intellectualized emoting.

"I see you're pissed. Good. As for being High and Mighty-- However did you guess? You're good boy, real, good! As for what I want, well, I want to save your miserable soul and make you rich and famous. And, at the same time, I want you to tell My story."

"You want me to WHAT? Who the hell are you, any way?" I demanded.

"Joe Hova is My Name and Creation is My Game." He replied with a tight phony smile.

"What kind of a fool do you think I am?" I snapped.

"Is there more than one kind of fool." He paused with an All- Knowing smile, then continued with a not quite feigned benevolence,"To respond to your original complaint, I want you to write My story."

Thinking to myself, "I must really be crazy." I asked Him, "Why?"

"Because who better to write my biography than a someone who writes cheap novels?" He responded evenly.

I started to open my mouth in reply but stopped and thought for a moment about the great pompous pious pilgrim who was masquerading as His Holiness, the Right Reverend Archbishop of Pewksbury. I answered without further consideration, "You're right. Obviously I've got nothing to lose."

"Precisely. Let's get out of the wind up here."

He waved his cane. With a loud 'Pop,' we were in a high priced penthouse office where the windows looked out over....well, it's really very hard to describe. The best way to put it is that the windows looked out over Creation. All of it. As I looked out, I found that depending upon what I looked for, determined what I saw.

"Nice view." I observed.

"Goes with the job, of course. As I was saying before, you're to be my biographer and the pay is handsome. Please sign here." He said.

He offered me a pen and a large parchment which exuded the smell of legalese: that rankling dialect which only lawyers understand.

I took the pen and looked at the parchment and just as I suspected, it was covered with indistinguishable printing of indecipherable legal polyglotic declarations.

I looked down at Him and said: "Just how handsome is the pay?"

"Anything you want at all, except a few minor stipulations, as noted in paragraph 4231, sub-section B, last clause; otherwise, it's anything at all you want." He replied with plastic encouragement.

"Can I read this before I sign it?" I asked.

"Why, of course! I have all the time in the world." He replied with a giant smirk.

I began to read. And I kept reading. I think I must have read for at least four hours and I didn't even get to the end of the first sentence. It seemed to be getting longer even as I read. I finally gave it up.

"Doesn't this thing have any end?" I innocently asked.

"No." He said flatly.

"Oh. Why not?"

"I have to cover all of the possible situations which might arise from any of your work as my employee."

"Oh." I signed the contract wondering when I would wake up.

"Now, here is my story: I was. I am. I forever shall be." He proudly exclaimed.

"That's It?"

"Should there be more? Well, I suppose you can embellish it a bit." He replied.

I could not believe what I was hearing. "That's going to take an awful lot of embellishing."

He smiled one of His crookedest smiles and said: "You can do it, I am sure that you can."

"How can I tell All of Creation that God is a little runt with a sarcastic sense of humor. Besides, that bit about 'Forever shall be' has been used before. Some guy named Noah or Job or Sumsuch..." I responded.

"Nothing new under the sun and all that rot. Still a man of many talents such as yourself, should be able to come up with something of interest. Just think someday you could write a bestseller just like my last one." He grinned.

I thought for a moment then said sarcastically, "Right! As I recall it, most of the guys that were in that one died horrible deaths."

"Just so." He replied evenly, the slightest of smiles upon His lips.

"You mean to tell me that I have to die a terrible death?"

"Of course. How else can my creation know Hope, Faith, Love and Forgiveness? They can and will only see it by a willing sacrifice for those gentle ideals. You know all the sins and sadness that's out there." He gestured at the window, "You know how terrible it is."

"I won't do it," I said flatly.

"Sorry, Son. It is in the contract. Remember paragraph 4231 et al?"

"Bastard!" I cursed.

"Why...now that I think of it, you are right! I didn't have any parents!" He grinned a wicked grin. His expression softened then He continued. "Son, it's like this...if I were the terrible God that most of those kids out there believe me to be, I would not be in business very long.

"Sure, there ARE terrible things going on out there. There is great wickedness and soul wrenching sorrows. Yet even with all of those things, there is still Goodness, and Love, and Laughter,and Joy.

You can't have one without the other."

"If I were less joyous and more morose as some of you out there believe me to be, then all there could be or would be infinite infernal damnation. I'm a mathemythical mythimatical beast that lives loving, laughing, crying, birthing, and dying in ALL of my Creation." He paused and looked at me and I felt so small in His gigantic presence.

"Son...I laugh. As I laugh, I love my creation and it loves me. I love you, Boy. Even though you've done your damnedest to sin against me. Even though you doubt me, I am with you. Now you protest the idea of dying when just a short while ago you were standing on a bridge ready to jump? Tell me when have you really lived? Can't you see that death is only a transition from one form of creation to another? Haven't you heard about my Law of the Conservation of Energy? Nothing is ever lost; it's just untouchable in this world that most earth worms choose to live in."

I looked at Him and saw all of these things and more.

"OK. you win." I replied.

So I wrote His biography, _JOE HOVA: The Laughing God of Our Fathers_. It was a best seller, of course, just as He promised it would be. There was a lot of things that resulted from the publication ofthat book.

When "Pious Pilgrims" gathered, the book was burned; yet when the sorrowful read it, there was Joy. Joe popped in one day with a proud gleam and said: "Son, you're better than I Thought you could be, but the time has come for you to make the transition." 

"So soon?"

"Sorry, but I have other things for you to do. I have a job for you in my front office. I need your talents to take care of those things now. Some eon soon, I hope to retire and I think with what has happened, you just might have what it takes to run the whole show."

"What's the job?" I asked with some hesitation knowing His propensity for understatement."

"Oh, something, you're already quite good at doing. Don`t worry about it. You'll enjoy it."

I was still hesitant but he was right.

Later that day the outraged Pious Pompous Pilgrims, who claimed to be Joe's Only True Church, tore me, quite literally, to shreds. It was only natural that in time they made me the patron 'Saint' of authors.

I still do a lot of writing as you can see. I enjoy it and I have many best sellers out on the stands just now. How many? All of them.

What do you expect from a 'Ghost Writer'?" 

+++++++++++++++++++

Saying Good-Bye

A song from 1977... about a girl I loved and lost. It turns out that it expresses well any relationship that has come to its natural end.

I played this at my mother's memorial service in 2004.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Saying Good-bye

I guess I've said

All words can say

And Played all the memories

I can play

All that's left

Is to say good bye to you

And Sayin' Goodbye

Is always the hardest thing to do

We've had some good times

and a few that were bad

Sharin' the laughter

And the teardrops

When we were sad

I've enjoyed

All this time spent with you

But saying goodbye

is always the hardest thing to do

BRIDGE:

So dream your dreams

And smile your smile

And don't forget

all the while

I have loved you

And I'll always love you

Just as you are

The lights have all

Faded so low

And I guess it's time

For you to go

I'll always remember

Lovin' you

And that Sayin' Good Bye

Was the hardest thing

I've ever had to do.

Twenty Years

Here is a "Twentieth Anniversary Edition" of a song I wrote in 1994...

A tale of twisted woe.
A remembrance of regrets.
A song of sorrow
With no place to go

+++++++++++++++++++++++
Twenty Years

Twenty years I have traveled
And what have I got to show?
All the scars and sadness
from the things I did not know
Tucson in '74
Reno in '75 or 6
There are somethings you just can't do
and some things love won't fix

But the Song leads me onward
To where I don't know
The Song leads me onward
From the Great Above through
The Great below

Pueblo in '78
L.A. in '79
If things were lookin' good
It was cause I didn't read the signs
In '81 I left her,
In '82 was back in line
Ain't it funny how it happens:
You always return to the scene of the crime

But the Song leads me onward
To where I don't know
The Song leads me onward
From the Great Above through
The Great below

'85 was the betrayal
'86 was in kind
In '87 I walked through the gates of hell
To find I'd lost my mind
Dying there in the Darkness
Reborn to a life unknown
Was it I or a stranger
Who stole what he could not own?

But the Song leads me onward
To where I don't know
The Song leads me onward
From the Great Above through
The Great below


Released in '89
In '91 they let me go
The wounds that are the deepest
Are the ones I cannot show
I've been named, numbered and labeled
But I'm still not too well defined
Which comes from a lack of focus
And livin' locked inside my mind

The Song of Life leads us onward
Whether Infant, Saint, or King
Givin' us New horizons
And new songs for us to sing

'92 found us
And '93 made us one
Don't believe it when they tell you
There are new things under the sun
'Cos Love is where you find it
And Truth is what you Know
If you don't like the place you're in
Then pack your bags and go

Let the Song of Life lead ya onward
To where I don't know
Let the Song of Life lead ya onward
From the Great Above through
The Great below

So twenty years I have traveled
Got twenty years of tales to tell
I've seen the Gates of Heaven
And I've known the Fires of Hell
This tales got my Ending
You've got to find your own
Give my love to all you meet
And follow the path you are shown

Let the Song of Life lead ya onward
To where I don't know
Let the Song of Life lead ya onward
From the Great Above through The Great below

The Ship

This was another one of those vivid, waking dreams recorded on November 8, 2012 at 4:28 AM. The dream events are in the future. 

I do not claim any of this is real. I'm not a sleeping prophet... I just have one weirdly vivid waking dream imagination.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dream 6 - The Ship

Thursday, November 08, 2012

4:28 AM

We were out on the highway. Heading north along a two lane black-top road.   It was early afternoon on a blustery late fall day. The sun broke in and out of the clouds in the west but to the east there was a black thunderstorm which against all odds seemed to be slowly heading west down off the mountains . We were traveling north on highway 52 about 30 miles south of Magelena wide with mountains to the south, northeast, north and far west. 

It was then we saw the landing lights in the darkness of the thunder storm to the north east of us. We thought this to be very strange.  When the lights turned south in our direction heading down the arroyo which we were just crossing , it almost looked as if a Jumbo Jet had just turned  for a final  landing approach.

My assistant. Adele, asked if I would pull over so she could take a closer look. Thee was an abandoned ranch house and its out buildings just off the highway.

"Maybe this is one of the oddities you are always talking about."

Adele was highly intelligent, a clear headed thinker, and a "good girl" who had somehow adopted me as a 'father figure' which for the life of me I cannot understand .

 I pulled to the  side of the road. She pulled out her spotting gear and set it up.

After a moment she said. "Nigel, you're not going to believe this!"

"What? That some military twit is crashing himself on an endangered species' range habitat?"

"No.  Look! Tell me what you think."  She stood aside and I looked through the spotting scope.

I looked and focused the scope. "What the… That's not…"

I looked at her and she  looked at me expectantly.  After a moment I said. "It's not from around here. "

I pulled out my Comm and began to take a stream of still frame photos of the landing approach.  Each photo was automatically uploaded to my NodeSpace host. As it got closer, its unearthly appearance became clearer. It was  the size of a terrestrial "super-Jumbo" jets but looked like one of the blocky 'drop ship'  tactical transports from one of the old  science fiction movies.

"It's Alien?"

I nodded. "From the look of it, I'd say so…"

"But where is it from?" She asked pointlessly.

When it was about a quarter mile to the north of us at about 500 feet,  it suddenly turned to the west and began a vertical landing. We could see obvious combat damage to the ship's hull.

"Adele, I think we better get out of here."

"Yes."

I turned off the photo stream  while she stowed the scope. I opened the accelerator as  got on the road.  My Comm suddenly began ringing.  A voice only call. I answered.

"Yes?"

"Dr.Caruthers ? Dr. Nigel Caruthers?" The voice was of a young woman.  A whole series of impressions filled my head. Facts about the caller I could not possibly know. She was English, from the Midlands, highly intelligent, worked for an agency related to Terran Federation Military Intelligence, was military trained but had a degree in Anthropology,  loved rough sex and could be had if asked.  I cleared my  mind.

"Speaking."

"You have seen it?"

"Seen what?"

"We know where you are."

"And?"

"We have your photos."

"So?"

"Its not from around here. We have a team studying the photos.  Your clearance has been re-activated. We have transportation waiting for you at Highway 163. Which is about seven miles ahead of you."

"What about my assistant?"

"Arrangements will be made."

"What does  that mean?"

"You know the protocol when people see  things they are not supposed to see. She'll wake up soon at home and will not remember a thing other than she has been recovering from an illness. "

"Alright. I'll meet your agents in a few minutes." I cleared the connection.

"What was that about?" Adele asked.

"Who else? My ex-boss, The Government. They have transportation waiting for us just ahead."

She looked at me wide eyed. "Will we be safe?"

"They have given me assurances. It seems that the government does not know our visitors. And have asked for my assistance."

"You're going back?"

"They have not given me a choice."

We drove in silence for the few minutes  it took to get to the crossroads. We found a black MilSpec heavy utility transport  vehicle waiting. We provided identification and they politely collected our things. Soon we were underway headed south and west on

++++++++++++++++ fini +++++++++++++++++++++

I knew it was in New Mexico but I did not know exactly where. I knew that they were headed to The Very Large Array Radio Telescope  [34° 4'44.71"N  107°37'6.88"W ] which is 50 miles west of Soccoro, NM. So using  Google Earth I found the site where some of this takes place which is at the junction of Limestone Canyon and Highway 52 . For those of you who'd like to go look you'll find it here:   33°43'29.60"N  107°40'16.55"W

I've never been there.  I don't know anyone named  Nigel Caruthers or Adele. But I do [even now] remember portions of the dream. Especially the terror of the MilSpecs in the face of the unknown that picked up Caruthers. 

I suppose I could be a "Sleeping Writer". If so I'd like to develop the technique. These dreams go interesting places.

[Update]

I found out today that some where near the "Plains of San Augustin" is apparently an alleged UFO crash site that was in the same era as "Roswell". Amazing synchronicity.

Questions?

Comments?

Lonely Highway

This is the last song of the "Quintet for a One Way Street". Written in 1978. I was living in the suburbs of L.A. at the time. There are no tin roofs in L.A. -- its too hot... But strangely there are tin roofs in the place I live in South Carolina. Odd, eh?

Its a light Country rock song along the lines of Jimmy Buffet


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lonely Highway

A rainy day in Paradise
With a broken Heart on the way
Sometimes you know I feel it
Just like those sad songs play
Sittin’ here for Hours
Tryin to say what I mean
Bout where I’ve been
And where I’m goin’
And What I’ve been in between

Love is a Lonely Highway
When the love songs come to the end
Some times I’ve been lucky though
To lose a lover and find a friend
Oh to lose a lover and find a friend

Pushin’ Down the Pavement
Followin’ old dreams around
Through empty alleys and one way streets
Listenin’ to the sound
Of rain drops on tin roofs
And the moanin’ of the wind
Wishin’ I could find a lover
Who was my lover and my friend

Love is a Lonely Highway
When the love song comes to the end
Some times I’ve been lucky though
To lose a lover and find a friend
Oh to lose a lover and find a friend

Well I guess it’s time to be goin’
I’ve said all I can say
Boy (girl) you know I love you
But Our destiny is in the way
You got a girl (man) Who loves you
I got a dream to find
So what’s the use of stayin’ here
When we’ve already made up our minds?

Love is a Lonely Highway
When love songs come to the end
Sometimes I’ve been lucky though
To lose a lover and find a friend
Oh to lose a lover and find a friend

Yeah Love is a Lonely Highway
When it all comes to the end
Some times I’ve been lucky though
I lost you
But you’re still my friend


+++++++++++++++++++++

Happy Valentines Day!

Imaginary Skies

In 1978 I wrote a five part "musical poem" named "Quintet for a One Way Street inspired by the marriage of a young woman that I was acquainted. The poem consisted of five songs each in a unique musical genre:

One Way Street
Imaginary Skies
Star Dancer
Outsider
Lonely Highway

She wasn't a close friend or even someone I saw very often but there was something about her that made one think of  an Archetype... the "fairy tale princess" and then her polar opposite "the Evil Queen" and then the undifferentiated center "the innocent maiden"...

In Imaginary Skies each had a representation in my life at the time and so each of these Archtypes which were addressed in the lyrics..

I will leave it to your judgement as to whom I am speaking.

[UPDATE]
You can find a passable Mp3 recording of the song HERE
This was recorded as spoken word with music... all of which was

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Imaginary Skies

It's Heartbreak City
In the middle of the night
Flyin' thru a vacuum 
Lookin' for the light
That's hidin' some where 
Just behind your eyes
And beyond the dreams
Floatin' in Imaginary Skies

Just sitttin' here
I got my music playin
Trying to remember
What it was you was sayin'
Bout Love
And the warmed over lies
Consistin' of meaningless words
Driftin' in Imaginary Skies

It's time to go back
To the very start
Just for a moment
To replay my part
In that amateur play
On words and sighs
Staged in silk and satin
And Written on Imaginary Skies

There's Desperate silence
On this One way Street
Just waitin' for you
And my Dreams to meet
But its just a game 
For this tired dreamers eyes
Played out in sequence
Across... Imaginary Skies

+++++++++++++fini+++++++++++++++

comments?

The Perfect Stranger

While we're looking at old lyrics here is another...

in the early 1980s Larry Gelbart [the creator of MASH] produced a very short lived T.V. show called "United States" with Beau Bridges and Helen Shaver.

One of the episodes planted the seeds for this song... and as my first marriage slowly came apart the lyrics too slowly evolved and came together

+++++++++++++++++++++

The Perfect Stranger

I am the perfect stranger,
Look in my eyes...Won't you take my hand?
I can be your dream of me...
I can be your perfect man.
But being perfect means being no one,
That no one really knows...
Still I am what you want to see,
So perfectly...the Perfect Stranger.

You are the perfect friend,
Take my hand...Won't you take my heart?
You are the perfect dream for me...
You play the perfect part.
But being perfect means being no one,
That no one really knows...
Still I am what you want to be,
So perfectly...the Perfect Stranger.

We are the perfect lovers,
Look in my heart..Won't you take my life?
We are the only dream we see...
You are a perfect wife.
But being perfect means being no one,
That no one really knows...
Still we are what we want to be,
So perfectly...Perfect Strangers.

Here is the perfect ending,
Look at your life...Don't you know my name?
It was all a dream to me...
It was the perfect game.
But being perfect means being no one,
That no one really knows...
Still I am what I want to be,
So perfectly...the Perfect Stranger.

+++++++++++++ fini ++++++++++++++

Questions? Comments? Observations?

Goodbye to Childhood

You'll here me say this again and again: There is always a story behind the stories , poetry, and lyrics that I write. I started writing "poetry" and journaling when I was twelve. By the time I was fourteen I started writing lyrics. The oldest song I still perform was based upon a poem written in 1969 entitled "Store Window Reality"... it got updated several times over the years...  the last one being a "cyberpunk" rendition done in 2001 that used pitch correction software as a voice processor before it became popular...

So....

A long, long time ago... the fall of 1975....  I fell in love with someone... but it seems I was only a means to an end... I'm not sure what the end was for her but for me it was not so good. I suppose I wasn't at all mature enough for the real world. It was obvious to everyone else when I chucked everything and moved 500 miles to be with her. After two weeks she informed me I had to "go"... I returned home broken and for a month or so I fell into a black depression....

From the darkness emerged the following lyrics that covered the black hole of despair she left in my soul:

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Goodbye to Childhood 


chorus
Goodbye to Childhood 
and the dreams of yesterday
and goodbye to the dreamer
who got lost along the way
and goodbye to you my dear
I know you won't shed a single tear
but that's to be expected 
from a dream that disappeared

Now the house is burnin'
see the ashes fly
standin' out in the street
watchin' all the memories die
And the Neighbors all stand gawkin'
watchin' the fire burn itself out
as for me I knew the ending
there was never a doubt

A Policeman walked up to me
Says, "Hold it right there."
"Turn around put your hands behind you
You know the trial will be fair."
They called it murder 
a killin' in the first degree
but now the hurt is gone
and I am free...

chorus

They say I am crazy
and they locked me behind these walls
and sometimes i can hear them
when they walk down the halls
maybe they know the reason
why I did what i had to do
for when you destroy a man's dreams
you destroy his reason too

So Goodbye to Childhood 
and the dreams of yesterday
and goodbye to the dreamer
who got lost along the way
and goodbye to you my dear
I know you won't shed a single tear
but that's to be expected 
from a dream that disappeared

Loraine...
You disappeared.


+++++++++++++++++++++++

She never admitted she had done anything wrong. She never admitted that luring me into her world, using me, and then throwing me away was wrong. In fact she blamed me for being so hurt... Of course, I was not the first nor was I the last person she used. 

Even after all these years the hurt is still there.  I often wonder what my life would have been like if...  but it wasn't... and this hurt and failure became my first step down the path into darkness... 

comments?