Flickr - moses namkung - Dan Deacon 2
He sings into the microphone and tries to look out over the crowd equally.  But she has a lasso on his eyes and he wants to wail the words only to her.  His guitar feels heavier in his hands looking at her.  He imagines her body in his arms, her arms – the strap around his neck.  His fingers hold the fret and feel her pulse.  His fingers strum the seam line on the side of her hips.

He closes his eyes and remembers the last time they made love.  It was the same morning she left him, blood on his hands and tears tattooed on his soul.  The bridge arrives and he opens his eyes.  The crowd expands and contracts like a breathing animal and has swallowed her entirely in the time he took to reminisce.    His guitar becomes a rifle and he wants to aim into the mindless mass of fans and avenge her.  But he just keeps scratching the magazine and gripping the barrel.  A sea of eyes openly adores him while he preaches love into their ears, wishes them all gone, wills the reappearance of just one.  Hate fills him and he can’t understand its origin.  But the intensity – he understands the intensity.

Photo by inturruptingcow

Simon, Garfunkel, Sly & the Family Stone Days

Sometimes a day feels like a conglomeration of Simon and Garfunkel songs.  It’s the sound of rainy fog, vacant hollows, and poetic harmonies that pour longing and a patient strife onto the table and unswept floor.  In between guitar strings, there’s an almost silence that gets eaten by another note, and another, until the song ends and a resonance purrs to completion.  The tune would be comforting, except in the end it gets snuffed out and those ignorant to its complexities fail to appreciate it, and don’t seek an encore.  Then the roadies (who think they’ve heard it all before) pack up the instruments and don’t think to tip the 20th waitress they’ve seen this year.

When that happens to you, don’t fret.  There’s always a  Sly & the Family Stone day around the corner!

i am the needle (August 1999)

like a scratch in a record
skipping back and back monotonously
the needle jumping, reaching for familiar
not by choice or preference
and certainly not for Fate

the needle’s destiny is to stay in one place
and let the vinyl run amuck
round and round
traveling ground
the needle never sees
but because the disk’s grooves
are spiraled it moves
closer and closer
to the center
to the core
where the song ends
until it gets lifted
and a new song begins

but scratches and rifts
throw the needle back
and it is forced to never again

i am the needle

(to be continued)

Overheated vinyl record

That’s one bumpy ride!