Astronaught

one of my favorite songwriters, Amanda Palmer, from her unreleased album "Who Killed Amanda Palmer." This is a powerful performance. It defines my mood.




is it enough to have some love
small enough to slip inside a book
small enough to cover with your hand
because everyone around you wants to look

it is enough to have some love
small enough to slip inside the cracks
the pieces don’t fit together so good
with all the breaking and all the gluing back

and i am still not getting what i want
i want to touch the back of your right arm
i wish you could remind me who i was
because every day I’m a little further off

but you are, my love, the astronaut
flying in the face of science
i will gladly stay an afterthought
just bring back some nice reminders

and is it getting harder to pretend
that life goes on without you in the wake
and can you see the means without the end
in the random frantic action that we take

and is it getting easy not to care
despite the many rings around your name
it isn’t funny and it isn’t fair
you’ve traveled all this way and it’s the same

but you are, my love, the astronaut
flying in the face of science
i will gladly stay an afterthought
just bring back some nice reminders
and i would tell them anything to see you split the evening
but as you see i do not have an awful lot to tell
everybody’s sick for something that they can find fascinating
everyone but you and even you aren’t feeling well

but you are, my love, the astronaut
flying in the face of science
i will gladly stay an afterthought
just bring back some nice reminders

yes you are, my love, the astronaut
crashing in the name of science
just my luck they sent your upper half
it’s a very nice reminder
it’s a very nice reminder

and you may be acquainted with the night
but I have seen the darkness in the day
and you must know it is a terrifying sight
because you and i are living the same way

This November

a musical musings of my mood.
sounds sort of like a 1950's love song.
capo on 5, c-am/c-am-dm-g
rinse, stir, and repeat.



Last summer, your blue sheets were endless
and time then was timeless
As we laid in love all day

And then last spring
in those pictures from your old school
Where we spun in the sand
On the shoulders of the city

And still last winter,
When Christmas crashed in corners
Or Millstone and Baltimore
You were there the whole damn day

But alone here in my room
I just sit and check my phone
Knowing no one would be home
Because of last fall

We fell out of bed together
and I lost me altogether
And I think that you did too

And, I know that picture of me
I gave to you last summer
Hangs there no longer
Above those wide blue sheets

Because the room would just get colder
If you saw over her shoulder

And I know three months have been a blur
But try to remember how things were
And how they still can be

And when you go out to the local marquee
To see who is saying how sweet love can be
Remember the good times and say that you know

That she can never be me.

Fertilizer

It’s so cold tonight. Even the squirrels are chattering their teeth together; they’re huddled up, worried about frostbite so much more than me. They perch on my shoulders and I have nothing to do but think. I wonder what it feels like to be them. To exist in order to gather, to copulate, to procreate. I don’t have such meaning in my life. I just stand here, offering shelter to anyone who needs it. I guess you could say I’ve become a bit of a doormat over the years. I simply sigh and sway whichever way I need to. I bend and contort, trying to fill my proper place in the canopy. Let some sun in here, keep it shaded there, always thinking. Thinking of everything around me. Everything that works ceaselessly, running in natural cycles on instinct and circumstance. Clockwork. The doves call out in the morning, the bats come out at dusk. Everyday. Clockwork. I simply stand and listen. I can’t say anything back to them; I can’t do anything really, except hold these denizens on my shoulders. What would they do without me? Someone would fill my place sooner or later. I’d turn into the dirt that feeds my replacement. I would be destroyed, not only in body, but also in the collective mind of those who ‘loved’ me. Sure, they’d miss my comfort at first, but they would soon forget. They would adapt and alter their clockwork lives to better suit their agendas. And I would be underfoot. Tell me. If a tree falls in a forest, would anyone hear my cry?