This is the song I wrote this week last year. Was a melody that I lifted from an old Bob Dylan tune, “He was a friend of mine.” In the original (listen to that here) I changed the phrasing and singing and chords slightly, but it was still basically that song. Same general topical idea too, just replaced “he” with “she.”
So I did something a little completely different for the re-recording. Think it turned out fairly well. It’s a little more in my own voice, which’s been easier to come by lately, rather than taggin along on the back of someone else.
The harmonic glut of conspiracy guilting the majority into believing fables and morality tails which only belong to the past around blank staring gas fires lit by helium lamps in disposable forest enclaves. Who knows why no one makes sense anymore and why no one holds anything dear to their heart? Do you have anything you hold sacred that ain’t up in the sky or ain’t living up at the North Pole?
Following the woven path the lady stands astride her horse and sighs at the sight of her civilization. She found it again after 7 weeks missing without anyone missing her. She was forgotten until she reappeared in a leopard-print bikini and blood-stained feet. Her masters had all moved on. Rolling in their proverbial mustard gas chambers. Giggling. Farting. Creating.
At least someone’s adding to the depth of the industrial world. Even if that means being on the verge of a criminal investigation or slaughtering the alphabets of foreign tongues. I’ve got no problem with that. As long as I don’t have to see it on my drive to my day job. As long as the stench don’t stink up my transmission fluid. I’ve got daydreams to drift off into. I’ve got websites to visit. I’ve got a paycheck to earn!
So just let the world sputter on in its revolutions. Let my feet rest on its shaking ground. Let me feel the swell from time-to-time. Feel a part of the swell, even. Then the tide can recede and the sands again can dry out for the wind to blow and whip.
This new one is probably actually two new ones. I wrote it last night and came up with the chorus first and filled in the 3 verses after that. I don’t know that they totally go together or fit in any way that makes sense, but it was getting late and I was tired so I just went with it.
Really there’s nothing in the song about bad habits. It’d probably be clearer if I listed my bad habits or made light of all of them, but I didn’t do that. Didn’t feel like putting myself under the microscope too much late on a Sunday night.
Well, here’s a new version of a song I recorded and put out one year ago this week, “Almost always (or most of the time).” Finally I had one to mess around with. I’d taken a break last year for about 2 and a half months because I just stopped writing. But I picked it back up this week and haven’t stopped again yet.
So, I rewrote a couple parts of this tune. The repeating chorus line is different and it kinda changes the way this song comes across. I like this one better, I think. It’s different, though, so it’s hard to compare the two.
Anyway, check out the original recording here and then you can compare the two. Let me know which you like better.
Swallowed up by the deep blue sea covering over all the landmass, all the graves, all the mountaintops lifting to the unbreakable sky. The blue fades into the blue. My car motors along. I’m a wealthy man, spending pocket change charged to my credit card on three-one-hundredths of a gallon of gas. Millionaires, though, don’t bother themselves with such pettiness. They have their millions to arrange. They don’t ever get crashed by a storm. They don’t ever survive marriages. They just move on to the next new pair of legs. They’re just like me. Except I don’t have a warm outer shell of sheet fabric and fat covering my brittle bones. I don’t have clots rummaging around in my blood veins. Mine flows free within the constraints of my body walls. I flow free within the constraints of computer systems and road maps. I’ll never leave the planet earth, my two feet always on or in the ground in some manner. Except when I’m dancing or jumping in fear. Or hurtling across the globe in a plane fuselage aimed at different destinations. Wherever I go, I guess there’ll always be a mugshot to be afraid of. Someone lurking in the black depths. Someone to lumber out of the seafoam. Someone to toss Easter eggs at my face with a sidearm pitchers stance. What’d I ever do wrong in my life? I’m just about as perfect as you are too.
Music Vomit 