8:36 p.m.||||2001-12-07
"Haiku D'etat, music for the people, who wanna get down..."
All right, I'm ready. Let's do dis thang. If ever there was a day when I've felt like a stalker today was one.
So. What do you think of this?
that was a beautiful street
a kind of improbable notion
you were such a shiny person
you seemed like you knew what you
were doing
i dunno why but i think that i'm
going down for a while
holiday's over when hell
freezes over
that was a beautiful street
so full of consequences
the kind where you knew your family
took on a new deal
i dunno why...
****
It needs work, it ain't done yet. The beauty of this song is that it is so simple it becomes hard to play. Everything I do is a waltz, essentially, mind you. This one goes: strum strum strum strum, strumma-strumma-strumma, strum strum strum, strumma-strumma-strumma. And the chorus is sorta double-time that. Now, here's the kicker: the verse is G G G G, c--c-c, G G G G, c-c-c, G G G G....and the chorus is D minor or seventh, minor I think, then D, then G seventh, I think.
****
So slow to warm - head toward a crowd
where - maybe they won't
notice you - too loud,
so long in the odds,
it's inevitable.
One way - or another I find
to keep on changing my mind,
I stayed - too long this time,
so long next time.
My worst isn't worth your words
of hurt and despair
but I'll meet you there -
....and the next part is embarassing so I'm not putting it down.
****
That one's full of D and a weird progression with a moveable shape, not a bar chord, and not G, or G 7th, and so, I couldn't explain it except to say it rocks, totally.
My first boyfriend used to say sarcastically, as was his wont, "meetcha there". My friend Gene gave me the change in the chorus which is nice but sickens me, because he's a better songwriter than I, especially guitar wise, and instead of helping me meet my own vision, which is inspired, he tries to overhaul. I couldn't care less about the simplicity of my licks because I am a rhythym guitar player, once removed from playing bass. I can do little leads but I can't sing whilst doing so...I love to write three basic parts and fill a four-track with afternoon coffee driven folk experiments. And I love to sing and play, sing and play. Sometimes. When I'm feeling it. I improv maybe ten melodies a day at least for my son's approval and enjoyment and I wanna sing, again, in a way that will set me free and validate this thing, this this burden of needing to write stupid songs and smear myself all around.
I started with five chords, then I learned bar chords, and basic runs, and then when I was done writing two chord songs, I wrote five chord songs, and I needed a band that I didn't get, and I went back to two, three and four chord songs. Gene's always like add more, add another. And I'm like "DO YOU NOT HEAR MY VISION?""AND SEE MY SOUND?" And I am rusty in addition to having a six month old kid who constitutes the reason for that.
I think lyrically like a haiku...but not. I usually find myself satisfied with two verses, short and sweet, that can't tell a story because they are too compact and often seemingly not related. Would that I could be verbose in the song composing arena. I have two words: Morissey, Costello. Woooooooorrrrrrddddddddddyyyyyyyyyyy. Lovely stories. Many Woooorrrddddss.
I'm a little loony, because I followed the most incredible dland drama - through my own discovery of it, to my suspicion of it's subtext, to it's admission, to it's end, where I cried, people...over the course of a whole day. My back hurts, my eyes burn. Look in rings...I don't wanna type in page breaks.
I never cease being shocked at how exhausting parenting is. I mean to say, holy shit.
So, I've spoken to you before of Juan, my friend and companion in things great and small and coffee and smokish. He is incredibly brilliant, a total wise-ass, able to drop the funny in ways so many of you, I know, would be able to appreciate. I speak to him of this diaryland, sometimes, as a deep and mystical experience, from which he might also benefit, given the right motivation.
He is also a tremendously spiritual person, who is an odd place when it comes to joining the ranks of the internet addicted. Alas, like me, he is also compulsive. To enter these doors might be to cast a new stone in the puddle of reprieve sometimes granted to those of us who cannot control certain impulses. (What's she sayin'?)
I'm saying, as I doubt the healthiness of this for my own purpose, I question what it could bring to him other than a brand new headache. Other than an avenue for writing, for the story-telling at which he is so talented, and a feel for a community which actually, hungrily might read his words...I dunno. He is SUCH a funny person.
He'd have to do this on my computer, though, and that would mean he'd put me out of business.
Ever heard of Lois? My joke with myself is that I am Toledo's own.
I also want to play music with Julio, who taught himself how to play drums in a week, I think, for the debut show of my friend's - all of them - band, which debuted one chilly halloween night in his attic....they turned out to be something to reckon with, indie-freaks. They sucked for maybe a month and then evolved into my band at the time's greatest contender for show dates. I used to skip my band practise and go to Julio's, plant my butt on his couch, and watch them practise instead. Good times. Except I couldn't be in their lousy band. Good band, I mean.
I let my mother in on my html experience (being careful not to give her my user name...omg) and mentioned that I sort of yearn to construct websites to infinity and today she e-mailed the itinerary for the related degree from a local community college, including the prices, and time frame. In the back - the front - of mind I wondered....does she intend to loan me some money? Because that would be fine....
Some of you guys have really sucked update-wise this week, just so ya know. I swear to God, I want at least ten of us to plan a trip somewhere together, mainly so that I don't feel as if I'm trapped in a fictional configuration of reality. I swear, sometimes....it isn't fair.
Ummm, I gotta go, to see a man about a babysitter. I might be back.
I'll always be back, eventually....perhaps the same could be said for you.Okay, now this is perfect, perfect, I say, because, in 1985, when I was still in high school, I had the perfect love of the Cure, and the perfect hairstlye to prove it!
Please do me a favor, will ya? Got to my blog and post a comment. Any comment will do. Even a hateful one. Just because. Because I will pull the plug. It's a good place to give me love, effortless, always there, always ready to recieve and to give...justify me. Please?