Another day to drown in sound
Arms open, legs still, no struggle
I just drink it in then
I breathe it in then
I sink to the source
Where vibrations toll new tones
And I was Quasimodo, rope in hand
Ringing bells louder than the life I live
Sound pushing waves of air into me
Knocking me over, shaking my guts
I couldn't hear the sound of my own laughter
Or the screams of my ears bleeding
And I was lost in space, doomed to die alone
In silence
I did not realize silence could be deafening
A vacuum pops the only thing breaks is
I stopped talking to myself yesterday
I was driving myself insane
And I believed all music was from God
As He said
He would comfort me with songs of deliverance
And I may have been fooling myself
But I believed God was in all music
I still believe that
Open the gates of heaven, the first song I hear
Will be the best song I ever heard in my life
Peter will ask me what I think and I'll tell him
Then he'll tell me it's the weakest track on the record
"Wait until you get to the middle"
That's how I'll know I'm in heaven
from Bipolar Confessional
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Monday, November 10, 2014
For the Doubter
Thomas
Behold My side
Stick your hand in deep
Explore the spear's wound
Feel it
Touch it
Squeeze it like slick, glistening labia
Reach in further
Grab hold of whatever you can
And
QUICK!
Pull it out
You can have it
I don't need it
Enough of generic songs about simple things easily understood. Let someone else bring the good vibes. I wanted to ask the eternal questions. I wanted to float some possible answers by you.
from Bipolar Confessional
Behold My side
Stick your hand in deep
Explore the spear's wound
Feel it
Touch it
Squeeze it like slick, glistening labia
Reach in further
Grab hold of whatever you can
And
QUICK!
Pull it out
You can have it
I don't need it
Enough of generic songs about simple things easily understood. Let someone else bring the good vibes. I wanted to ask the eternal questions. I wanted to float some possible answers by you.
from Bipolar Confessional
Friday, November 7, 2014
Written 28July99
Y'know, I'll probably regret saying this, but my job's not so bad (cashier at Love's convenience store). I meet a lot of different people everyday and have gotten to know a few regulars (to the meager extent that I WANT to know them).
I mean there's the old guy who works at the mill and buys a quart of beer every day. He's one at of at least a couple who if I don't see them once a day I think something is wrong in the world.
And Officer Keogh, who is the best cop they've got, I think. He's from New Jersey and for awhile I was saving all the New Hersey quarters I got for hem and he'd buy them from me. Being from Jersey it's only natural that he's a Springsteen fan. He was in the military before he became a policeman. He buys between 7 and 10 packages of Rain-Blo bubble gum every few days. You know that's the gum that's real good for blowing bubble but the flavor doesn't last for very long.
And Bradley, a Catholic guy probably a few years younger than me,. He usually comes in the store at least twice a day and he always buys 2 or 3 quarts of Busch beer. He drinks it on ice because, he says, his heroes, the Kennedys, drank their beer "on the rocks". He keeps saying he'll come hear my band play bur he never does and probably never will. I've a strong suspicion he's a casual stoner, but not sure. If he ever shows up to a gig I'll find out.
And of course there are those I cringe to see coming through the doors. Like the bizarre mentally ill (schizophrenic, I believe) fellow who buys a shitload of sweet cakes, chips and junk food, then goes outside and EATS THE WHOLE DAMN LOT. And I'm talking a couple of bags full! One time he paid wish $16 in quarters. God Damn that was a pain in the ass. He hasn't been in the store in awhile and part of me wants to believe he's wound up in Ward 53.
There's this motley crew of 4 Indian teenagers that I can't stand. They never buy anything and I'm sure they're stealing candy (no hard task that). They know I'm suspicious of them, that I watch them closely. One day the ringleader got pissed when he saw I was working. I'd just bet they have a real robber's holiday when Latisha or Tammy's working.
But enough! I don't even want to think about those morons. I wanted to write about something that happened today.
This lady had just put fuel in her car and she came, bellied up to the counter and said, "I'd like a sausage biscuit and I've got gas".
Man, I wanted to say "That sausage biscuit won't be good for that, will it?"
Hardy har har.
I mean there's the old guy who works at the mill and buys a quart of beer every day. He's one at of at least a couple who if I don't see them once a day I think something is wrong in the world.
And Officer Keogh, who is the best cop they've got, I think. He's from New Jersey and for awhile I was saving all the New Hersey quarters I got for hem and he'd buy them from me. Being from Jersey it's only natural that he's a Springsteen fan. He was in the military before he became a policeman. He buys between 7 and 10 packages of Rain-Blo bubble gum every few days. You know that's the gum that's real good for blowing bubble but the flavor doesn't last for very long.
And Bradley, a Catholic guy probably a few years younger than me,. He usually comes in the store at least twice a day and he always buys 2 or 3 quarts of Busch beer. He drinks it on ice because, he says, his heroes, the Kennedys, drank their beer "on the rocks". He keeps saying he'll come hear my band play bur he never does and probably never will. I've a strong suspicion he's a casual stoner, but not sure. If he ever shows up to a gig I'll find out.
And of course there are those I cringe to see coming through the doors. Like the bizarre mentally ill (schizophrenic, I believe) fellow who buys a shitload of sweet cakes, chips and junk food, then goes outside and EATS THE WHOLE DAMN LOT. And I'm talking a couple of bags full! One time he paid wish $16 in quarters. God Damn that was a pain in the ass. He hasn't been in the store in awhile and part of me wants to believe he's wound up in Ward 53.
There's this motley crew of 4 Indian teenagers that I can't stand. They never buy anything and I'm sure they're stealing candy (no hard task that). They know I'm suspicious of them, that I watch them closely. One day the ringleader got pissed when he saw I was working. I'd just bet they have a real robber's holiday when Latisha or Tammy's working.
But enough! I don't even want to think about those morons. I wanted to write about something that happened today.
This lady had just put fuel in her car and she came, bellied up to the counter and said, "I'd like a sausage biscuit and I've got gas".
Man, I wanted to say "That sausage biscuit won't be good for that, will it?"
Hardy har har.
On Water
The man who walks on water
Understands gravity's pull
The murky liquid ripples and hangs
On the feet of the bravest of sailors
His courage falls him
The lightness of being
Takes on the weight of the world
If not for the outstretched hand of example
He would sink to Leviathan
from Bipolar Confessional
Understands gravity's pull
The murky liquid ripples and hangs
On the feet of the bravest of sailors
His courage falls him
The lightness of being
Takes on the weight of the world
If not for the outstretched hand of example
He would sink to Leviathan
from Bipolar Confessional
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Incident in the Pixie Band
A pixie marching band took their show on the road. 17 tiny horn players and a drummer with a button for a snare. Across the water they walked, regimented in three lines, playing "Has The Day So Quickly Ended" to the rhythm of water splashing on their finely cobbled pixie shoes. Tireless they moved forward across an entire ocean seeking the comfort and solitude of Icelandic shores. Unnoticed by the many captains of the many ships they slipped by, their music nothing more than crickets chirping or the ringing in their ears.
It was a long journey and they never stopped playing once. Seven hundred and seventy-six songs they had in their repertoire and they played each one at least twice as days turned to night and the cycle would need to be repeated for several days until they reached their destination. Every pixie musician in the band had every one of those songs memorized and you could call the tune at any time day or night and he or she would pick up his pixie instrument and play it note perfect. Not a single mistake.
Legendary songs of pixie lore, like "Call The Wild Dogs to Anglicize", "Too Many Curtains" and "Fill Your Cup With Salty Seltzer". Popular pixie songs all pixies knew, like "Bertha You're a Hard Act to Follow", "Dropped My Horn in the Bay of Pigs", "Livestock", "Ain't No One Answerin' the Phone" and "Drop Yer Pillow, Samuel". Sacred pixie songs celebrated their common faith in the one true God, like "God, There Ain't No Other God", "Our God Sails the Seven Seas" and "God Help the Fool Who Fools His God". Pixie drinking songs, "Bottoms Up", "Can You Hear the Weeping Warm Beer?", "1-2-3 Let's All Get Drunk", "Pixie Drinking Song" and "Hustle That Swill".
A lot of songs. A lot of moods. A lot of reasons to go home to Iceland, as if they needed any besides the food.
The pixie band was pushing three-quarters of the marching journey across the ocean when Big Jim Pixie turned around and scolded Billy Joe the trombone player.
"Bill, you clumsy bastard!" barked Big Jim. "You just about hit me in the back of the head with that goddamn trombone slide! Do I have to tell you what I'm going to do to you if you actually graze me with that spit-drippin' thang?"
Billy Joe, typically soft spoken, was not having any of this.
"It was a flying fish that whisked up 'gainst the side of yer noggin, not my slide. If I was of a mind to bean you with this here slide you'd be rubbing the back of your head right now and you'd be so shook up you wouldn't even know it was me that done it."
"You sure do talk tough now, don't ye?" asked Big Jim, reluctantly realizing that it could well have been a flying fish but not yet willing to let the trombone player off the hook. "Don't make me turn around cuz if I do you are going to be in the market for a new trombone."
"That's a well may be, Jim-Jim, but the hand that holds the pen that signs the check that pays for it is going to be yours. Let that stand as a natural fact."
If there's one thing in the world Big Jim didn't like being called it was Jim-Jim. Billy Joe was always calling him Jim-Jim because he knew it bugged him. The pixies in the company had all used variations on his name when referring to him in the past - Jimbo Johnson, Johnny Jimson, Little Jim Big Jim, Jimmy Jolson, George Jimson, Son James the Ham Chef, Carl Jim Has Been, King James Version Abridged, James Wainright Teller, Jim the Traitor, Jim the Christ Killer, Jim the Destroyer of the World, Jim the Enemy of the Known Universe - each one of these appellations rankled him but none so thoroughly as the simple Jim Jim that Billy Joe would call him.
"I ain't payin' a goddamn cent, trombone player."
"Then you ain't breakin' my trombone, Jimmy Jack Jehosaphath."
"Don't test me, you may have to arrest me."
"I'll bring you a file so you can get out of jail, Jim Jim".
"Well that's mighty white of you, pixie. Now what are you gonna do if that spit valve was leakin' and you got some of your nasty ebola saliva on the back of m'neck? You gonna come visit me in the hospital?"
"I might. But then again I might just wait and come visit your grave when they put you down."
"Joe, if we weren't still marchin' I swear to almighty God I would turn around and beat you so bad they'll be countin' a man short when we finally get home."
"Jim Jim, them's fightin' words but you ain't never fought nothing no tougher than the urge to fart in public. You ain't gonna do no permanent damage to me nor my trombone here. So why don't you put your money where your mouth is or keep that mouth shut?"
Big Jim turned around and hit Little Joe hard square between the eyes. He heard and felt bone crack. Joe looked stunned. He'd never call that mean son-of-a-bitch Jim Jim again. No, never again because he hit the water hard and sank down as the band marched right over him, most not even noticing.
Jim looked for as long as he could then turned around and proceeded to march the rest of the way to Iceland.
"Don't call me Jim Jim," he said, speaking only to himself.
Then he heard a voice in the back of his head. It was loud enough to be heard over the music and the waves and the ocean breeze. It was HIS voice, but he had no control over it whatsoever.
"Jim Jim."
"Jim Jim."
"Jim Jim."
...and so it was Big Jim, whose trumpet playing had practically defined the style of this particular pixie band, lost his mind, eventually taking up residence in a Reykjavik sanitarium screaming every night, keeping up the attendants and making things worse.
"Little Joe Jangly Hops! Come here you bastard I got a lollipop for ya."
"Joe Joe Deathgrip Toenail! I'm gonna light your mama on fire!"
"Little Joe Clamfry, somebody took a shit in your bed!"
On and on he went until the people in the kitchen stopped giving him bananas. Then he stopped for awhile.
But only for awhile.
It was a long journey and they never stopped playing once. Seven hundred and seventy-six songs they had in their repertoire and they played each one at least twice as days turned to night and the cycle would need to be repeated for several days until they reached their destination. Every pixie musician in the band had every one of those songs memorized and you could call the tune at any time day or night and he or she would pick up his pixie instrument and play it note perfect. Not a single mistake.
Legendary songs of pixie lore, like "Call The Wild Dogs to Anglicize", "Too Many Curtains" and "Fill Your Cup With Salty Seltzer". Popular pixie songs all pixies knew, like "Bertha You're a Hard Act to Follow", "Dropped My Horn in the Bay of Pigs", "Livestock", "Ain't No One Answerin' the Phone" and "Drop Yer Pillow, Samuel". Sacred pixie songs celebrated their common faith in the one true God, like "God, There Ain't No Other God", "Our God Sails the Seven Seas" and "God Help the Fool Who Fools His God". Pixie drinking songs, "Bottoms Up", "Can You Hear the Weeping Warm Beer?", "1-2-3 Let's All Get Drunk", "Pixie Drinking Song" and "Hustle That Swill".
A lot of songs. A lot of moods. A lot of reasons to go home to Iceland, as if they needed any besides the food.
The pixie band was pushing three-quarters of the marching journey across the ocean when Big Jim Pixie turned around and scolded Billy Joe the trombone player.
"Bill, you clumsy bastard!" barked Big Jim. "You just about hit me in the back of the head with that goddamn trombone slide! Do I have to tell you what I'm going to do to you if you actually graze me with that spit-drippin' thang?"
Billy Joe, typically soft spoken, was not having any of this.
"It was a flying fish that whisked up 'gainst the side of yer noggin, not my slide. If I was of a mind to bean you with this here slide you'd be rubbing the back of your head right now and you'd be so shook up you wouldn't even know it was me that done it."
"You sure do talk tough now, don't ye?" asked Big Jim, reluctantly realizing that it could well have been a flying fish but not yet willing to let the trombone player off the hook. "Don't make me turn around cuz if I do you are going to be in the market for a new trombone."
"That's a well may be, Jim-Jim, but the hand that holds the pen that signs the check that pays for it is going to be yours. Let that stand as a natural fact."
If there's one thing in the world Big Jim didn't like being called it was Jim-Jim. Billy Joe was always calling him Jim-Jim because he knew it bugged him. The pixies in the company had all used variations on his name when referring to him in the past - Jimbo Johnson, Johnny Jimson, Little Jim Big Jim, Jimmy Jolson, George Jimson, Son James the Ham Chef, Carl Jim Has Been, King James Version Abridged, James Wainright Teller, Jim the Traitor, Jim the Christ Killer, Jim the Destroyer of the World, Jim the Enemy of the Known Universe - each one of these appellations rankled him but none so thoroughly as the simple Jim Jim that Billy Joe would call him.
"I ain't payin' a goddamn cent, trombone player."
"Then you ain't breakin' my trombone, Jimmy Jack Jehosaphath."
"Don't test me, you may have to arrest me."
"I'll bring you a file so you can get out of jail, Jim Jim".
"Well that's mighty white of you, pixie. Now what are you gonna do if that spit valve was leakin' and you got some of your nasty ebola saliva on the back of m'neck? You gonna come visit me in the hospital?"
"I might. But then again I might just wait and come visit your grave when they put you down."
"Joe, if we weren't still marchin' I swear to almighty God I would turn around and beat you so bad they'll be countin' a man short when we finally get home."
"Jim Jim, them's fightin' words but you ain't never fought nothing no tougher than the urge to fart in public. You ain't gonna do no permanent damage to me nor my trombone here. So why don't you put your money where your mouth is or keep that mouth shut?"
Big Jim turned around and hit Little Joe hard square between the eyes. He heard and felt bone crack. Joe looked stunned. He'd never call that mean son-of-a-bitch Jim Jim again. No, never again because he hit the water hard and sank down as the band marched right over him, most not even noticing.
Jim looked for as long as he could then turned around and proceeded to march the rest of the way to Iceland.
"Don't call me Jim Jim," he said, speaking only to himself.
Then he heard a voice in the back of his head. It was loud enough to be heard over the music and the waves and the ocean breeze. It was HIS voice, but he had no control over it whatsoever.
"Jim Jim."
"Jim Jim."
"Jim Jim."
...and so it was Big Jim, whose trumpet playing had practically defined the style of this particular pixie band, lost his mind, eventually taking up residence in a Reykjavik sanitarium screaming every night, keeping up the attendants and making things worse.
"Little Joe Jangly Hops! Come here you bastard I got a lollipop for ya."
"Joe Joe Deathgrip Toenail! I'm gonna light your mama on fire!"
"Little Joe Clamfry, somebody took a shit in your bed!"
On and on he went until the people in the kitchen stopped giving him bananas. Then he stopped for awhile.
But only for awhile.
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