From somewhere behind the frontal lobe, LunaNina.com | Unconscious Mutterings brings you my take on:
Heist ::Lift
Hack ::Break
Dane ::Great
Stings ::Smacks
Monkey ::Man
Junkie ::Strung Out
Pumped ::Up
Brass ::Monkey
Fight! ::the Power
Vouch ::Safe
Should you and I want to discuss
the ins and outs of our belief
(how one way suits and others don't),
let's keep it to the point, and brief,
and leave those things like faith behind.
For faith and reason do not meet;
the one without the other fills
quite different needs: pure faith exists
to carry us between effects
for which we find no logic's cause.
And reason? That's the evidence
that each will use to prove their case
(and often, when intents diverge,
can point so many different ways
and then make liars of either side.
But you and I, unless we hate,
can talk about our firm beliefs;
and find perhaps some middle ground
where our perceptions may give way
to solid ground, instead of air.
But hate? What good is that to us,
if what we dream we can achieve
is something more than us and them,
beyond the blame we both should share,
some kind of balance, some small peace?
Let's talk, and leave such fools behind
that would become what they despise;
instead, let's listen for a while
and let our voices, strained with shouts,
take time to heal before we speak.
15 SEP 2008
Watching the news about Hurricane Ike and watching the water rise on the front door step, looking through some things I wrote immediately before and after Hurricane Katrina, I came across this piece that makes me think of the both Democratic and Republican national conventions.
No Shaman Left to Heal Our Tribe
for Jim Morrison
Come, dig the grave, but not too deep;
the eighties were a shallow time.
We spent a decade just to learn
how to maintain appearance's sake
and delve with questions, off-the-cuff,
in cocktail conversation bluffs.
Come, dig the grave, the shovel's mouth
will gouge the earth enough to serve
as depth-gauge for the swollen corpse;
besides, the scavengers we bred
in boredom need not work too hard
to find in us their daily bread.
Come, dig the grave; it's only death
that by necessity is born
and like a cancer spreads throughout
the tender tissue we have formed
to shield us from the sunlight's glare
and make believe there's nothing there.
Come, work the soil and lay the sod;
the garden must be fed anew
lest what fruit has escaped the rod
be left to rot by morning's dew.
What harvest plenty still remains
is just enough to clog the drains.
Come, dig the grave, but not too deep,
lest toil and sweat destroy our youth.
Let future generations weep
that they've no gravestone for the truth.
Besides, it's almost happy hour ---
we should arrive by our own power.
03 OCT 2005
OK, so here it is. The current list of songs by other people that I might throw into a set.
Ain’t No Sunshine
Almost Cut My Hair
Baby What Do You Want Me To Do
Back Door Man
Bartender’s Blues
Blue Christmas
Born in Chicago
Brown-Eyed Girl
Call Me the Breeze
Casey Jones
Cheap Thrills
Cocaine
Crazy
Crying Time