Song of the Day… I feel like I’m walking… “Walk Like an Egyptian” by The Bangles, 1986 All the old paintings on the tombs They do the sand dance don’t you know If they move too quick (oh wayy oh) They’re falling down like a domino All the bazaar men by the Nile They got the money on a bet Gold crocodiles (oh wayy oh) They snap their teeth on your cigarette Foreign types with the hookah pipes say Ayy…
“Imitosis” – Andrew Bird He’s keeping busy Yeah he’s bleeding stones With his machinations and his palindromes It was anything but hear the voice anything but hear the voice It was anything but hear the voice That says that we’re all basically alone Poor Professor Pynchon had only good intentions When he put his Bunsen burners all away And turning to a playground in a Petri dish Where single cells would swing their fists At anything that looks like easy…
Sunday Morning Yellow Sky by October Project When the darkness falls like a curtain And the night ahead is a long and uncertain dream Beyond the loss and the hope of redemption At the broken heart of the city Where the hollow light of day never reaches in A man can break down and fall into pieces He will fall asleep like a baby And the unforgiving arms of the cradle Rock as hard as the face of the city…
I remember the primal anguish that is born out of the belief that God is the source of both love and pain. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve observed that the feeling toward the universe it engendered is very similar to that of a hostage, a victim of abuse, a prisoner. Instead of creating a subjectivity of love in freedom, of caritas and kindness, and peace, it seemed to create an obsessive and paradoxical longing and fear that felt so meaningful…
“Where words fail, music speaks.” ~ Hans Christian Anderson Those of you who know me or have followed this blog at all know that singing is a great love of mine. I sing out on the deck, sometimes softly and sometimes quite loudly. I beg forgiveness of my neighbors, but it’s necessary for my sanity that I do this. I’ve tried to limit this activity to the car, but I really need to be free to move, and to direct…
Once in a while, I let it go. I have to, or my thoughts would consume me. Instead, I unhitch a million threads, and float… and drift. Before too long, a path waves toward me, but I prefer to explore. For that you need a dose of the random. Open possibility is too vertiginous, but play is a vector of freedom. Only a judicious, homeopathic dose of the random…such is the contemporary life. Why not play in a field of…