Tuesday, August 21, 2018

Scarecrow Song

Once I saw an angel caught in a web of confusion
I used my wisdom scissors to cut her free.
She flew down to me and whispered her confession,
and now I'm stuck in the web she left for me.

A man walked by I could tell he had no eyesight,
the blind man turned and said "I could see just fine".
"I'll cut you down from your troubles only after midnight,
but to do it for free well it would be a crime."

Seasons pass and hungers grow as is certain,
the sun never ever shares it's light with me.
I was sentenced here by kindness and deserted,
by the very same angel I helped set free.

Then one night I heard her voice through the darkness,
she heard me singing about my woes.
"I'll help you if I find you through this emptyness,
but I can't see you for my eyes are closed."

She called me an angel as she clawed through the darkest night,
to find a burning arrow to light the sky.
She had no scissors and so hope was a dwindled light,
but she continued until her hand found mine.

"Angel will you tell me how all of this came to be?"
"Miss I'm no angel just a lonely scarecrow."
She said nothing as she pointed to my back leading me
to see two giant wings and a glowing halo.

So now we sit as stone statues of antiquity,
an angel holding hands with a scarecrow with wings.
Forever forgotten forsaken by those who can't see,
forever forsaken as they never will believe.

Sunday, August 5, 2018

Against the Sense

There is only one person.
There is only one heart.
There is only one
One time. Smile. Kill.
One act. One of each.
Family. Effect.
One end. One joy. One good and the love of good.
Only one under many skies.

Saturday, July 21, 2018


We keep more than we remember, and in fact we keep it all and store it deep within and under the "identity", which floats on the surface of our self like seaweed does over a colorful coral reef. We keep it all, ingrained into our structural integrity, absorbed by our cells through a tender type of osmosis that’s not at all violent in its raw, obscured efficiency. Those twin conquistadors, time and experience, are liquids which are completely absorbed by the heart and mind; and our bodies, not only containers of these murky fluids, are the reflections of the weight of the two. Measured by memory and fueled by hope, there is an inherent value we are all born with which either dignifies or blasphemes these phantoms we collect, and its organic judgment, which can show no mercy nor benevolence, is reflected in our lives by our bodies and on our status as the price to pay for the gift of having been created.

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

A Child in Court

"I prefer to make snap judgements with little or no information. My opinion is founded on impulses which are entitled to irrevocable rights. As a result, there is not much I can admit to not knowing." 

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

Townes Van Zandt - Rake analysis


I used to wake and run with the moon
I lived like a rake and a young man
I covered my lovers with flowers and wounds
My laughter the devil would frighten
The sun she would come and beat me back down
But every cruel day had its nightfall

- This is quite evident; an old beast who is nostalgic for wild times gone. If we take the moon and night as symbols of mystery and transcendent passion, and juxtapose them with the day, which would be self-awareness, doubt, and mortality, this song is much easier to profile. Larger, stronger than the devil, he lived as a rake - collecting experiences into piles of a divine and meaningful life.

I'd welcome the stars with wine and guitars
Full of fire and forgetful
My body was sharp the dark air clean
And outrage my joyful companion
Whisperin' women how sweet did they seem
Kneelin' for me to command them

- The line full of fire and forgetful is probably the most revealing in this song. Forgetful of what exactly? Full of fire, full of vitality and will - the feeling to be overtaken by the current of a destiny. But forgetful? Maybe forgetful of all the small insignificant things we hold onto; identity, opinions, hurt and trauma. Forgetful of a past seamed by pain and confusion. Whether right or wrong, outrage, a popular feeling nowadays, is only possible in the perceived clarity of some truth. And this truth he has is validated as women bow before him. Forgetful of the things which murk his mind and righteousness.

And time was like water but I was the sea
I'd have never noticed it passin'
Except for the turnin' of night into day
And the turnin' of day into cursin'

- The conceptual reality of time is 2 dimensional, flat, easily bypassed when aware of larger realities; the flow of it demands focus when living in the world of men. But he obviously chooses to get to the point of it, meaning he felt so much in tune with the vibrancy of life that time has been properly minimised and put into its rightful place. But then night turns into day, energy begins to wane, doubt resurfaces, probably the truth of his loneliness - and all he can say is “Fuuuuccckkk!”

You look at me now, and don't think I don't know
What all your eyes are a sayin'
Does he want us to believe these ravings and lies
They're just tricks that his brains been a playin'?
A lover of women he can't hardly stand
He trembles he's bent and he's broken
I've fallen it's true but I say unto you
Hold your tongues until after I've spoken

- These verses are aimed at the world of men. He knows he’s different, the eyes of people around him reflect his solitude. These people shoot words at him intending to rupture his glory, and since he is sensitive, naive enough to believe people are like him, he considers what they say. They tell him his visions are psychological, perhaps he needs to see a therapist. They tell him he is crazy. He considers what they say; this breaks him because they don’t exercise love through support.

I was takin' my pride in the pleasures I'd known
I laughed and thought I'd be forgiven
But my laughter turned 'round eyes blazing and
Said my friend, we're holdin' a wedding
I buried my face but it spoke once again
The night to the day we're a bindin'
And now the dark air is like fire on my skin
And even the moonlight is blinding.

- The experiences he raked up fill him with a pride that only he is a witness of; a true rebel, he revolted against the entire structure of what has been built by others. This pride satisfies the need for definition and purpose, but it is impossible to maintain. Like Icarus at his highest point. Townes decided not be a hypocrite, and to go as far as he could into what romantics dream of. But like Icarus, he found that all those dreams are as insubstantial as clouds. He thought he would be forgiven for this mistake, but we keep, collect, and judge ourselves off of every experience we have (even if we seem to forget them). Excessive living creates the highest highs and the lowest lows  proportionate to each degree, and when the new season of his life comes, the binding of day and night, of truth and reality, of the feeling and the world without heart - there’s nowhere to recover. The system dawns, enlightening mysteries, and the life-loving feelings he remembers he once had only serve to remind him of his failings to maintain them. This hurts, and he can’t tolerate this new truth. The moonlight now illuminates the limits he never knew he had, and unless he adapts to what he now sees, he will suffer as cursed as he once felt blessed.