i never know what im gonna write
till i write it!
even that!
and even that!
whatta life this olde hippy foole be leading..
im sittin up in bed naked
(under a sheet so dont let yer imaginations
runnaway with ya)
all around the deafening roar of machines
air conditioners
vacuum cleaners
machines out in the street
pulverizing tenderizing the ungiving ashfelt
guys on the roofs busting up concrete
garbage trucks gasping n grunting
chimneys n exhausts exude poison air in a filthy hiss
fuck
i need the equatorial stars
the ipod goes on in its little speakers
robert fripps snake like guitar leaps into my room
enos ambiences merges with the symphony of new yorks machines
im on the 11th floor of the super 8 46 th street
its 10 41 the next day after the band im in
play a concert in a nice venue here called irving plaza
we have la hood join us, patricia hood
the greatest rocknroll harpist pluckin those heavenly strings
get your ass to s.f. if you wanna see her
cos thatll be yer last chance
shes a consummate performer
shes armenian, she coulda looked like that
and played like that 2000 years ago
you know what i mean fans
a timelessly talented strange little woman
and
she ironed my pants n sewed em up before the shows
patti thank you n see you in s.f.
(i noted your mistakes n yer pay will be deducted accordingly)
outside my window some hideously grinding machine
burrows into something
and it feels like getting a filling
big deal new york
with all yer this n fuckin’ that
you got no peace
i d rather a peaceful grove and the whisper of leaves
than all yer discount starbucked calvin klein art gallery
limousine boutique baloney
the noise pervades n permeates everywhere
the poor bastards who are working those hellish machines
strapped all day to fume belchin’ shudderin’ monster
this world has gone so wrong
so wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong
yesterdays events with the aeroplanes…
ah what fucking madness is this
which god ordered that?
who will this show?
sadness
hopelessness
inexorable hatred flowering from idiot misunderstanding
what about the innocents?
the children?
are we less than animals?
anyway
(deep breath)
(listen to the machines nevets, theyll cheer ya up)
im in new york
its ok
i dont care
im leaving soon for sellersville
unknown quantity
the others attended last nite aftershow party
nevets, why did you eschew that party
you know why, muse, that party is anathema to me
but nevets, its new york…
muse, i cannot insult you with the idle chatter n drunken bawling
i did my gig n i exited quietly
let others slap their backs n scream thru the booze n smoke
into their egos
let em laugh n drink n be mary for all i care
i walk the lonely streets of ny searching for my hotel
i go in a late nite deli n buy chocolate soy milk
oh nevets you wild olde rocker
mock me not o my muse this is my style
what do i care for the talk of men
i seek the heart n the depth of things
i seek the measure
i seek the real behind the facade
not mask after mask
veneer on veneer
then tell them nevets
tell them how you played your songs
tell them of the words that appear in your head
how your fingers pluck away autonomously
how the great weight of the bass becomes a feather
how you heat up and sweat gallons as the songs eventuate
tell them how the audience blurs
and your eyes fill with sweat but you dont care
and tell them how you drink red bull n jagermeister
to stop n go at the same time
and how you remember all those words
no you dont remember them do you
they unravel in my mouth, muse
you should know darling muse you put them all there for me
and my muse shall i tell them of the anaesthetic place
i go when the drums throb n the c ymbals crassh
and how i leave the room and leave this earth
and my only connexion is tim powles tic tic tic
on the hi hat
and how the piano notes open up memories that i fall into
how the guitars get into my ears n mouth
how my own bass registers low low down
so deep the notes pull me into the earth again
and how i opened my throat and my voice came sailing out
and i sounded just like…….me!
and i was happy to let it float around in that room
in the reverb n echo n delay n chorus
and the slurs n stops n mute palm ostinato
the slides the emphases the hammers the restraints
n pattis harp twinkling away in the stratosphere
a million miles from the elastic pulse of the bass
and i sing my fucking songs
about life
sweet sweet life
how strange this life is
this life we all be leading
YES
right now
you guys in the office
you kindergarten mums
you olde friends
you hungover wretches
you junk craving lords
you mixing it up engineeers
you sweet ladies with yer mysterious places
you ugly olde bastards with yer blubbery bellies
you darling kids who can still see the elementals
(aurora n evie)
you mountain climbers n window washers
you public savants n idiot winds
all of ya!
yer alive!!
sweet sweet life baby
love yer life
love other people
love yer enemies…yeah theres a trip
forgive people
theyre just human
be kind to animals
dont eat any meat under any circumstances whatsoever
you wanna know how i can strap onna bass n runnaround
a hot stage n drive 8 hours at 5 in the morning
and still get up at 7 and say
what the fuck is happening
and type out a blogg that deserves the ignoble prize
for littyrature
you wanna know where the words n music n energy comes from?
FROM NOT EATING MEAT!!!!!!!
you ready for it
you wanna vibrate higher?
you wanna transcend?
you wanna knock off songs in yer sleep?
dont eat meat
new york stinks of the cooking meat
ah you poor decadent fools
itsa gonna kill ya baby
its dead
do you ever look at something dead and think
mmm i wanna play around with that?
anyway
you carnivorous vultures…back to n.y.
it was nigh on solde out
we were slick n smooth
we gave em it with both accoustic barrels
and we blue those mothers away
we are one of the best rocknroll combos ever
to strum an f maj 7
im gonna piss off now
do some something
have a tepid weak shower
wash last nites charisma off my aching flesh
look my self in the mirror
nevets, are you man or myth?
this morning, muse
this morning…
im just a washed up olde rocker
in a skinny hotel
the maids a bangin at the door
“please you musta check out”
frippy n eno drone in the corner
another day
another dollar
another dollop of life
see ya in penisylvania
killer