Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Focus Song or The Worst Crime is Faking It.


This Modern Age has made dispensable all the things I believe in. Never giving up. The beauty of History. And ruled by Fear the masses swim as one. Into the bottom of their bowls. And there seems no place for someone who wants to stand and Face the difficult truths. Move on, we all say. You'll soon forget. You'll soon forget what you believe in your soul should never be forgotten. Numb thy pain, my fellow Cog, numb and run, and that ain't the One, that false and broken connection which has been so many times proven to simply more static on the line into your heart. And there will be more whiskey and more comfort and more forgetting. But this time. It won't be me. And this time I will sit beneath the stars and I will know, that believing one's own heart, against all This World, is not something to despair of, but simply laying the first stone in a True Path of one's own making.

So, in the meantime, I sing. And I sleep these cold nights gripping naught but Self Belief, and the thoughts of hands and skin and cries all fade behind me as I talk myself to sleep. It seems this heart is good for naught but comfort in the cold. And I hear people say they are worried for me, when in fact, it is I that worry for this sad, brave new world.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Monday, April 26, 2010


I am going to drive this weekend. And I am going to keep driving until the memories fade under lights, the lights turn to stars, the stars turn to wishes, and the wishes into Truths.

I am going to drive this weekend. And I will take all this nothing for company, and I will open the window when it rains, and have no direction other than Further Along the Road.

I will drive this weekend. And for a moment I will be free. And maybe, just maybe, when I turn Home, a small grain of Freedom will return with me. And I will keep it in my pocket to hold on to, when I need it the most.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Tonic Water.

Tortoise Hell.

I travel slow through time, swim currents familiar as the smell of a lover's skin. I am seperate. I cannot conceive how I came to be here. How I relinquished control of my new found future. Events blur in agonising repetition. Words are cast aside, expendable and here is my sorrow. That I was finally able to stand tall and in doing so made myself more the vulnerable. Strength is an illusion, and the sun sets each day on a mirage of Truth. I keep my guitar close. And the album recording date draws nearer. But I thought there was more to all this living. I thought never to hide my battered heart. I thought that to expose the realities was my personal freedom, that I might at least carry some form of Moral Code into the indecipherable chaos of people's hearts. Instead - I simply sit. And the warm red lips that meet mine are that of the grape and nothing more. There has been more hurt, and I allowed it. I dared to dream, and woke not with a start, but with another end. Though I believed the end had come and gone. That the beginning might have arrived. That I had the power to create my own universe. Which is the case, so long as I never involve another. Keep hiding, young man, keep hiding in between the bars of those songs. Stay still, stay quiet. Wait for the Stage, where you may bare your truths. But day by day, you are the tortoise. Do not leave your shell. Draw it close. And the grains of doubt which scratch inside you, will one day be washed away with the cold water of a new life. Focus on a time when you may rebirth yourself Tortoise. For one day soon you will become again Dear and Fox. Your wild wounded heart is close to home. You may once again run these Western Woods with Spring and Hope in your eyes.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Rain Song.

Everything is a mirror. The tension in the sky, the lights, the hope, the gold and black teeth, flashes of brilliance amongst the darkness, the absent spark, the beautiful truths, the walk home along a path where puddles of rain steam soft upon the hot asphalt. Is the ghost a shape of things to come? Or does it merely pass through the walls I have built, to chill the warmth of the fire which receives it. Flickering and dancing at the lost and lonely phantasm it burns, fueled strong enough now to weather this tin roofed storm.

There is water music pouring from me. A rain song. My arms wrap around myself as I splash home, neither up nor down, and the smoke from my cigarette curls behind me, to mark my trail for The One who lies in wait. Come find me, come find me, come find me.

I never dream anymore.

I simply close my eyes, and open them upon a new day.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Moon Song.

Blue Moon fell for my raging heart, as the dangers lay waiting in the dark.
Inside her candles burned as silhouetted sparks, and the rain drowned the bleeding of her heart.
Old roads that run from heart to broken heart, always a chance to just tear you apart.

Blue Moon ran from my aching heart, and





Broken, broken, like all the rest. Held down by visions of You. Take me, take me, I've failed the test.

I held on.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Monday, April 12, 2010

1)      I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost…I am hopeless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

2)      I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I'm in the same place.
But it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

3)      I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I see it is there
I still fall in…it's a habit
My eyes are open
I know where I am
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

4)      I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I walk around it.

5)      I walk down another street.