The Secret of the Easy Yoke

The Trapeze Swinger

I gotta say,... this has to be one of the best funeral songs ever written.

Please, remember me happily,...

By the rosebush laughing,

With bruises on my chin,

The time when

We counted every black car passing your house beneath the hill,

And up until someone caught us in the kitchen

With maps, a mountain range, and a piggy bank...

A vision too removed to mention.

Please, remember me fondly...
I heard from someone you're still pretty,
And then they went on to say
That the pearly gates had such eloquent graffiti,
Like 'We'll meet again.'
And 'Fuck the man'
And 'Tell my mother not to worry'
And angels with their great handshakes
Were always done in such a hurry...

And please, remember me at halloween,

Making fools of all the neighbors,

Our faces painted white,...

By midnight, we'd forgotten one another,

And when the morning came, I was ashamed,

Only now it seems so silly.

That season left the world, and then returned...

And now you're lit up by the city.

Please, remember me mistakenly
In the window of the tallest tower call
Then passes by
But much too high
To see the empty road at happy hour
Gleam and resonate, just like the gates
Around the holy kingdom
With words like 'Lost and Found.'

'Don't Look Down.'
And 'Someone Save Temptation.'

Please, remember me as in the dream
We had as rug-burned babies,...
Among the fallen trees, and fast asleep
Beside the lions and the ladies
That called you what you like, and even might
Give a gift for your behavior.
A fleeting chance to see
A trapeze swinger, high as any savior...

Please, remember me, my misery,
And how it lost me all I wanted.
Those dogs that love the rain and chasing trains
The colored birds above their running
In circles round the well
To where it spells
On the wall behind St. Peter's
So bright with cinder gray, in spray paint
'Who the hell can see forever?'

Please, remember me seldomly
In the car behind the carnival
My hands between your knees
You turn from me
And said, 'The trapeze act was wonderful
But never meant to last'
The clowns that passed
Saw me just come up with anger
When it filled with circus dogs
The parking lot
Had an element of danger

Please, remember me finally,

And all my uphill clawing, my dear
And if I make the pearly gates
I'll do my best to make a drawing
Of God and Lucifer
A boy and girl
An angel kissin on a sinner
A monkey and a man
A marching band
All around a frightened trapeze swinger.

Wolves - Phosphorescent

Mama, there's wolves in the house.

Mama, they won't let me out.

Mama, they're mating at night.

And mama, they won't make nice...

They're pacing and glowing bright,

Their faces all snowy and white.

They bury their paws in the stone,

And make for my heart as their home.

They tumble and fight, and they're beautiful.

On the hilltops at night, they are beautiful.

Blazing with light, is the whitest and the tallest and the biggest one.

She's muscled and fine when she runs.

They're tearing up holes in the house...

They're tearing their claws in the grout

Staring with blood in their mouths.

Mama, they won't let me out.

Mama there's wolves in the house.

Mama I tried to put them out.

Mama I know you're too wise,

To wait until those wolves make nice.

Bearing Witness

I swore to miracles I have not seen,...

From ancient autographs I cannot read.

Though I reject it, I'm still tempted, I admit,...

But that's not what bearing witness is.

Too full of fear and prophecy to see

The revelation right in front of me.

So sick and tired of trying to make the pieces fit,

Cause that's not what bearing witness is.

When the gap between what I hoped would be and what is makes me weep for my kids,

I take a cleansing breath, and make a positive confession,

But is that what bearing witness is?

Though it may alienate your family,

And blur the lines of your identity,

Let go of what you know and honor what exists,

Son that's what bearing witness is.

Daughter that's what bearing witness is.

Boston.

I've been in Boston for three days now.

It's a pretty cool city, if you're into history, which I am,... or sports, which I'm not.

Ben Franklin was born here, and ran away from home at a young age to Philadelphia. Only then did he truly begin to affect the future. 

I visited the grave of his parents today.

Paul Revere never made it to Concord. All the stories we have heard about him riding through the streets screaming "The British are coming!" is a bunch of bullshit, designed to help us remember his name. He never made it there, but was instead captured by the British in a little field that I walked around in yesterday. They took his horse and his shoes and made him walk back to Boston. It was another rider that he recruited who actually made it to Concord and warned the Minutemen.

History remembers him incorrectly, but not unjustly. He did a bunch of stuff for the revolution, but mostly in the vein of orchestrating propaganda. He used words and engravings to make people pissed off at the British. He was a spin doctor. Not a man of action. He could make people think of something a certain way, and thereby inspire a mass response. Though dangerous, this is an admirable talent.

Samuel Adams, a leader of men, basically single-handedly started and maintained the American revolution. But he couldn't hold down a job. He couch surfed his whole life. Then he got killed, but his gravestone sure has a lot of nice things to say. He got everyone to start listening to the things that James Otis was saying before his brain-damaging accident, and was able to lead people without having to earn their respect the traditional way. I like that.

I don't really know why those specific historical figures and their stories seem to ring true to me, but they do.

Maybe some sort of latent feeling that I'm a fuck up. Some self-loathing instilled in me by teachers, pastors, and parents from my past,... and then mixed with a self-admiration and confidence. The knowledge that I have a contribution to make to the world, and unlike many others, I am well-equipped to make that contribution. 

OR MAYBE I PUT TOO MUCH INTROSPECTIVE THOUGHT INTO EVERYTHING.

But anyways, Boston is cool. If you have a few days and are looking for a nice little city to walk around in, you could do a lot worse than Beantown.

In other news, the Celtics and the Lakers are playing what might be the last game of the championship tonight,... and I'm in Boston. Carlo is in L.A. So just for the hell of it, I decided to send him hateful messages all night.

I need a drink, but I can't afford one.

I'm gonna go down and get some coffee on the connah. 

A Blog That No One Reads.

What is the point of having one, you ask?

Perhaps someday, I will know.

For now, here's a flyer from my first show with my band.
That no one will see.



Thanks for reading this blog.

UNDER CONSTRUCTION / TEST POST

I'm pretty sure I am going to start blogging again.

But I'm not done making this blog, so cool your jets.



What up test post.