no recompense

u get:
awfully motivated
on a plane
trip out
you think,
The Mystery
The Momentum
of a Journey
but these
are just mystical
words aggrandized
cheap wages
from the mouth
nothing like
playing music
to a bare room
or a room full of
people
and there is no harmonica playing
in hotel rooms
either
no conciliation
no recompense
for all them
wasted
years

the spyware & the rabbit

what sucks is having to negotiate with the spyware and the rabbit. the toolchest is the only one who know hows to farm. the embryo just wants to talk. and I am there like, do you even know keys, no you don't, there used to be a thing called a hardware store, you'd go and have them cut, but all you motherfuckers know is these cheesy magnetic swipe cards. and they don't hold a charge. oh, it's fun enought for a breakfast buffet, not quite enough for the metropolitan ballet. I'm glad I'll be in the desert

Be minor riff

that B minor riff
that apocryphal riff.
but hey aint they all
in this rock game, anyway

you will be hearing it soon. you will be alive to it soon.
all you need is the words and the images.
all you need is love
all you need is just a bit more space & time

(why not just write it here, you ask? because this ain't the space for it.
falls outside the purview of this blog's methodology, if a
blog can be said
to have a purview. or a methodology

this is where I write
when I am fillin up the Internet
with other things
technicalerratachattautilimatamadhatta)

[and the Internet said....what the Internet said...]

Ride, ride, ride goes the chorus.
Or rise, rise, rise
Or hide hide hide

He said, I'm gonna let it ride, ride, ride

She said, I can feel it rise, rise, rise

She knew she gotta go hide, hide, hide

It was a shame and a crime, crime, crime

the song is the song of a boy name of Roddy. 2 boys actually
the father and the son
and their mother, Vicky Scow

it all started in the 2nd grade
out in the field where the kids would play
and down the ledge to the railroad tracks
where the days all take what they don't give back

my new methodology for songwriting is to just envision the scenes and the story while practicing the riffs and progressions
then mumble/moan some lyrics
then type them out
then repeat

Really ought to take some time
Hypomania.
Hew that rhyme

Attention deficit disorder. ADD.
it just means you think too fast

the invocation
and the pseudonym self-absorbed

create them days

clarity-centric

clarity-centric
marches
out of hand
understand
master salacious
master clown
mister
hard to around you boy
well why don't you
you can
lay in now
lay low
a layover
Lord are you marching slow
in the calliope
alabaster disaster go faster Zoroaster
you lost your alibi
motion clown
a slain beast
underground motion sickness
thwarts me
the chords are rampant
latency
philately
clandestine open show
broadsword mystery

rage sage
rage sage
rage sage
rage sage

rage

a rhythm

a rhythm a rhythm everything has a rhythm

and this could be:
your table
your braindump
your blueprint
your map
your lyric dump
your kinda diary

whatever

2/2 time

in my head all day today why'd you it said
just like the bones of the hand let em roll out like dice
let em rule, like the shapes of the words and the sounds
of the words, the cadences of the words; there is no empty
cadence. nor coda. every winter is a coda.
there are cells and there are cells

file 313 is on again like clockwork because I say it is
like frost on steel like frost on steel
branded brand new burns like brandy that's a good burn there
just don't lose yourself underground

no

see that is where you go to find things

automatronic aural spectral lyrical: GO

Look at your hand there held before you in pre-dawn blue shadows levitating over faces past, faces gone not dead just ineffable as all the past must always be barring your quantum soul, which you can't exactly know. But as you lie in bed and weep a bit in your swirling thoughts and emotions you may choose: swirling pathos or greed and need; maybe not. How about glory. Don't deny it. You want it, you buy it. There you go, spectral, passing, shifting like the brilliant X-ray shadows of clouds, vehicles of air, blueprints for earthy blood and meat and gristle. Passing through Luna's light in the electrophotoscopic night, black grey and white. Our ancesters knew the meaning of metaphysical. Channel five thousand years ago, imagine what the colors must have been like, how resplendent, how clear, imagine the cool kiss of the virgin air, imagine the sunlight, and pure dew of night, and imagine the lightning of the soul, whatever you want, you can take it, look up, yearn, want, never wane, not yet wither and stop with dithering restless, can't you see that what you can't taste or see but what you sense is your hands in the skein drawing the threads, binding the strings and twining them into the rope, into the hope that is your lifeline, your heartline, your way up, your destiny?