Only October

Only October

The suddenness of rain
awakes me from my afternoon
my heart and mind contained
I'll step into the water soon
it calls me by my name
I follow through the open door

so beautiful yet solitary
is this what it feels like to be alone

a bitter winter chill
coniferous and candy canes
the sidewalk holds me still
to watch the passing of the sun
and swallowing my guilt
I stand in shelter from the rain

so beautiful yet solitary
is this what it feels like to be alone

blinded by the square lights
enchanting and demanding me
I'll do the waltz tonight
then turn and dance the minaret
no longer seeing their eyes
I'm dancing now just to forget

so beautiful yet solitary
is this what it feels like to be alone

red eyed lullaby

the guilty party kneels on tainted marble judges floor
and fills the bucket full of fearing for the hangman's chore
and though there's no remorse that's true another man will fall
and not by crime he stands on gallows tall , but choice is all
his head jerks back and stares oblivion in the eye

This is my red eyed lullaby
a song sung in the dead of night
because time runs out in the day
and through it all there's no respite
for the dirty dead drugged up for the fight
their bones held up by chemicals
and tucking in their spilling guts
they circle round the living ones
with all their red eyes burning up

dandelion daisy deadly lines of tempered iron
a little hand is all that reaches through the summer sun
and though the fiancee really has no reason now to die
she reasons not, but pushes said boy tripping to the side
her head hangs low and stares oblivion in the eye

a blood caked brow and bloodshot eyes enclose the bloodstained mind
though this death not glorious this life not sweet enough to find
he still thinks of her as the fever courses through his frame
o'er trench he turns and steps in faith as bullets rip his flesh
his face goes cold and stares oblivion in the eye

the cold pavement stones were receptive to the noonday sun
as all the mockers mocked in harmony the blessed one
he passed the seat of triumph undenied and sneering kings
and at the hill where death must have its fleeting victory
he raised his head and stared oblivion in the eye

vicious circle of dance

A short thing I wrote about a week before I left on my trip, but never finished the last line. I'm not sure what meaning it has outside of its original context, but it feels like it should be the... thing... that thing that you might put before the beginning of a book... I forget what it's called, but lots of good books like LotR and Haroun and the Sea of Stories have them and if I write a book about dancing I'd use it... because the whole idea of dancing is absolutely fascinating... not even joking... seriously... I mean have you even ever stopped to think about it for very long... like not even thinking about the idea of 'is dancing right or wrong', but thinking about why we dance... like seriously who was the first person to move their body in a certain way and say "this is dance because it is beautiful" or "this is dance because it feels good" or "this is dance because I'm free" or "this is dance because it's controlled movement"... this piece is about the latter approach to dance. it's an intro to something much bigger though... definatly an intro.

the vicious circle of dance
propagating with every turn
of the heel or click of the man's
shoes on the steel
floor, dashing to sand
all of the pieces of the broken hearts
gathered to watch the spectacle
of legs and lies and broken body parts

home

I have this great idea for this epic song, or epic album maybe, but I've been thinking about it and have decided to hold off on writing any of it until I'm a little better on the guitar and more importantly have traveled a bit. if the whole buying a month train pass and just traveling thing works out that would be ideal because i want to explore the concept of home as that's something I've really been wrestling with. I'm not really sure anymore where my home is and it's really confusing because in one sense my home is in Burnaby where I grew up and family is, but then in some capacities that has stopped feeling like home and Ft. Langley and trinity has replaced that and that feels a lot like home, but there's also a big hunk of me up in Kelowna and i might even move up there if I can find a good job up there so I'm really confused as to which place is my real home. and then to complicate matters, it seems like none of those are really home and what if home isn't so much a physical place, but it's to do with the people I'm with. Also, even more frightening than this is the concept that I could actually have no home or I may never find where my home is. today however, as I was biking back to my house I had this sudden revelation. of course none of these places feel fully like home because none of them are my home. not even the road is my home or even in the company of friends. my home isn't even in this world, but in heaven. to use a Platonic and Augustinian language, I have a piece of eternity in me and i will never be fully satisfied until I am returned to eternity, making eternity is my home. so I think I'd like to write a whole album of songs exploring the concept of home and bring it round to this with the final song and make the whole thing fit together. however (although I sometimes don't) writers should write from their own experiences (or at least it makes writing much better) and I should like to at least look all over North America and see if I can find a home down here or find out what home is before I come to a conclusion... I can't just come to that conclusion with my mind. I have to actually physically discover it. writing should be done the hard way. that's all, except that I'm working on an awesome song, but I've got writers block. the other week nothing could really stop me, but this week I'm having a lot more difficulty (which is a good thing). peace, love, and good vibes.

pipe smoking professor

ok paintballing

though i must be going to work in a couple of minutes, I will blog. today after work I'm coming home and then leaving right away for the Okanogan to do some paintballing with the Kelownites. should be fairly awesome and I'll get like almost three whole days up there, and a couple of days off work. Kelowna is like my third home. my first being in Burnaby and my second being in Ft. Langley. that's all, kindof short but i gotta go. bya.
park ranger

shredding and trains

well I'm goin back to memphis dadadadada doum doum doum doum tweedlededleeeydeedydaaaayy daeyyyyyyywriiiouw dodadodadooda daa ddddaaaa.
live white stripes music is pretty sweet and awesome and should be listened to. mad shredding solos that kick your head. I should go to new york because in new york awesome things happen. also i should take a train to new york and maybe work on the train for monetary gain for the paying of loans or the spending of money in the big apple. and then i can meet the big cheeses that run everything like wall street and stuff and see people play music in real life in groovy places that i can dig. also the train will be awesome. i have busboy experience, they should hire me. they should hire me like the moon should be made of cheese that can be eaten. actually then it would smell all the way to the earth place and that would suck, especially if it was blue cheese because the moon is sometimes blue. this has been a rad blog with words and no information other than I am awesome and deserve to be hired by train companies. if you know any train company people tell them to hire me.

pipe smoking professor

normal escapism

Normal Escapism

the escapism of the normal life
righteous indignation for all lies
loveless sex for the freedom like
and a murdering hand for the ties that bind

and I don't give a damn if you saw it on the tv
i saw it on the street and it's eating at me
and i don't care if it's a movie star romance
I've loved and been loved and it's nothing like this
and if you tell me once more that you're not free
I'll walk out this room and leave you to see
that life's not right when it's just a collage
of others lives through a camera lens

there's a crowd of witnesses that I can see
but not a bloody one is speaking to me
they whisper in turn each to your ear
but what they're saying I just can't hear
and I've a cloud of witnesses behind me too
I'm not immune to the fellow complication
but none of them tells me just what to do
and that's just what they're doing to you