A butterfly gave me this song, a butterfly with a sheen auburn sliver running up her spine, and the cote d’azur shining the body of her wings, and framed with the color of knight at her edges, and as I look up at her I know with a certain ego and grandiosity that I am the frog, a frog far away, and looking at her I know that she is the giant cupcake, and we are the laughter, and the oceans are time, and the ants marching are the streets, and as the notes rise with the swimming and jumping we laugh at the thought of being all one, oh how much fun, to be all one.
pouring through the websites, tapping the keys to the keyboard and I can’t find what I am looking for, all the music in the world at my fingertips but nothing to inspire, my back is twitching and my eyes are blurred and the monotony of all the blog posts that look that look like all the blog posts are making me feel like a blog post and all the sarcastic synthesizers that are recreating the home for holidays, bored with life, bored with school, bored with all the food, bored with all the alcohol, bored with all of my money, bored with all the drugs kinda of feel to their Less Than Zero wet dream fetish time capsule music they record in their neon headbands and Lionel Richie mustache’s and Hall & Oates blazers makes me realize I gotta move…
I feel like i hear hear the ocean, smell the salt, the wrestle in my nose of early 60’s innocence and exploration, a sense of departure from what you thought was supposed to be and the moment you realized what could be and the muted colors feel natural winding up and through, look there’s Broken Arrow, Hi Neil, how much further to the party, the curb, the grass, the purple tree hanging like a canopy over the street and looking back over the shoulder for a wink at the flowers scattered like jacks, pick them up! steps over steps walking up to the Gehry design and in and down and up the levels back down to the smiles and the chatter and the french doors sprung wide open to all of this…
Frenetic energy coming from you to me, my thoughts wrestle with what to write next, perplexed, all of the excitement bottle up and ready, ready for what, engrossed in the spree of notes, and bangs and clangs and driving guitar and stops and starts. A song with commitment from the get go and never letting go, driving fast, driving slow, uh uh uh, yes uh huh yes, into the slow oooohs and oooohs, leaving me wondering but not confused, knocking at the door wondering which knock to use, go go go… it feels electronic, the pace electronic, the keys all over me and back to where I started in frenetic energy.
Drip drip the drain pipes click as the cat’s wander to catch a lick and the earth moves a little slower and I react a little slower and the gray stacks on top of the smoke and the silver twists through them like a pair of slick otters and the gutters open wide for a big drink and leaves and debris bask in the running stream and puddles gather begging to be smashed to pieces and to gather their wings and fly great distances and form new puddles and make new friends and reform and prepare for flight and pack for an unknown journey to the concrete to the lawn to a well worn cuff of the jeans and slipping through the market store floor waiting for the unexpected to walk through the door and thoughts tumble to all the math and questions linger about all the symbols and all that mysterious light that is hidden from my eyes begging to penetrate the coal skies and the rest and quiet and the calm and the slow turn of the sky and the beginning of the wind and the windy knocks on the door and tip taps on your window and wrestle with the trees and those drops begin to fall and…
Rainy Day Dream Away-Still Raining, Still Dreaming
With the remaster of The Stones Some Girls, I thought I would play a cut from the album with that Stones country twist and Bakersfield slide and all that Gram Parson kicked attitude and spit and country road wonder that makes you feel the bumps on the coutry lane and smell the dust in your nose on the road to the only stop light drugstore dime store country breakfast milkshake heartbreak. I have been watching the video dreaming about seeing The Stones in some 77 studio and thinking about those London boys wanting to be California cowboys and diggin Ronnie in those red pants and white boots and white butterfly collar caressing the pedal steel, Bill leaned up against the speaker with a wry smile and Keith in pink pants dreaming about his far away Strat and Charlie dead panned as ever while Mick tickled the ivories and thinking…. Cool!
Waking up to a thick layer of persisting gray skies with the life of a wax museum and the expanse of God’s vision, my thoughts turned to Led Zeppelin’s Led Zepellin III. As much of the album was conceived and written in mid-1970 at Bron-Yr-Aur, an 18th century cottage in Gwynedd, Wales, on a hilltop overlooking the Dyfi Valley. I would imagine that the lion’s share of the retreat was swallowed with charcoal clouds and electricity-free introspection. Walk down the country lane, hear it calling your name.
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire? Egg nog and a shot of grandpas wild turkey? Sounds like you are off to a nice start, but if you are looking to add a little street cred to your holiday party and want to impress that dude with the impressive looking mustache or maybe you have your eye on that gal in the thick black frames with the Santa hat twinkling eyes and twisted grin then scoop up this free download of hipster holiday cheer! You will baffle holiday guests with your style and sense of irony! Act Now!!
In the same vein as The Beatles Taxman throwing stones at the British Labour movement and their taxes, a bored and laissez faire dream and complaint which makes me think of The Stones lyric “The sunshine bores the daylights out of me” from Rocks Off, off of Exile on Main St, Ray Davies who made his start and name out of ratty, catchy garage rock takes a turn with a Lovin Spoonful bounce and Daydream. What is your sunny afternoon daydream?