A Sinking Feeling And Hope

Well, sir, I went to bed with the blues and I woke up feeling just fine. I've already set the clocks ahead and the ghosts in the house are confused. Me? I'm thinking- "You guys are having trouble with the concept of manipulating made-up time while I have to struggle with the concept of ghosts?"

Come this next record, I am going to make up for not writing in waltz time enough. 

Maybe I'll hold out for happy songs, too. Probably can't have it both ways.

                                     

All The Kings And All The Queens

If my memory ever begins to fade, I hope it starts with the bad ones. Maybe it's already rolling. I seem to have mostly sweet memories. I'm pretty sure that some bad things have happened. I mean, let's face it, I've been here for a good, long time.

Nobody has come back from the dead and, as far as I know, nobody has come back from the future. Those concepts make for fine religions and movies. Seems queer, somehow, that it's so hard to keep the mind tethered to the here and now, doesn't it?

Maybe if I were better company, I would enjoy spending so much time with myself.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.

To A Higher Or A Lower Standard

Everybody needs somebody to watch over them. Some of us rely on angels. Angels, like ghosts, I suppose, exist when you believe in them. Everyone needs a raison d'être, too- a reason to exist, to live.

As a tongue-tied, socially awkward, rambling, would-be Lothario, I have struggled to express my intentions. In a more perfect society, I would not have been allowed, by law, to flirt. Date. Dance. Certainly not marry. I have witnesses for you, character references. 

Poets may offer to tear out their hearts. Throw themselves over cliffs. My offers ring just a little too true. Heck, I scare me! 

Of course, I'm harmless but a few miles makes all that a little more clear and a guardian angel's work doesn't rely on geography. It's all done with wires. Smoke and mirrors. Love.

                                     

Wrapped Around My Finger

I've read about the smell of pennies but I don't really know what pennies smell like. It occurs to me slowly that I have spent way too much time worrying about this kind of thing. Worrying about anything, now that I think about it. Maybe I've run out of things to worry about.

All I really want is to lie on a fancy daybed, sip green Kool Aid, and listen to Little Richard. Maybe Duke Ellington. Maybe mango shakes. White Russians.

Who am I kidding? I'll be fretting about something before the sun goes down. That's what I do. I worry.

Mostly, They Don't Think Of You At All

Mired in the muddle of their own drama, most folks haven't made room for you in their dreams. Maybe another reason not to take any of this life too seriously? Could be that you really are the one that got away. Doesn't much matter if it never occurs to them.

Life is full of these mean jokes. If your god's not a real joker, maybe you're not paying attention. Maybe you've got the wrong god. Don't blame me. I don't even work here.

Ambition and art both run north and south. They don't intersect. If you sing for fame and fortune, I'm sorry. Sing for all the same reasons that the birds sing. Love makes the world go 'round but gravity pays the bills.

   

                                      

Keep The Change

The loose rubies I keep with all the broken glass in the solarium. It all sparkles but it's been years since any of it brought me real joy. These are the days when I'm reminded that I know too much.

Oh, I'm not particularly intelligent. I don't pretend to be wise. The nature of mankind, however, revealed itself to me over donkey's years. Kindness and truth, always in short supply, have become exceedingly rare.

Now, don't bring me any religion that's not centered around laughter. Don't trust the guru who doesn't smile. You don't have to get the joke, my friend. Laugh at another one.

Don't wait for love. Love.

                                     

Flattened By Force

Do you suppose that I write what they don't want to be obstinate or do you think that this might be the best I can do? I have a faint memory of a geometry test in the eighth grade. Our entire grade was to be based on a final exam that consisted of drawing blueprints of a home that we designed in class. I drew an igloo. We hadn't covered circles. 

Mr. White failed me. I thought it was a pretty good igloo.

My heart goes out to the women who have ignored me. I would like to tell you that I have good intentions. Truth is, I've probably not had many intentions. I hope I have been kind.