Saturday, January 18, 2014

Saturday Song Salute

Do you know what today is? It's okay if you've forgotten, it's been a long time. How about I remind you with.. a song! That's right, it's Saturday Song Salute, ladies and germs. For this salute I've chosen a song sung by a lady who's voice can be the rivets that hold a ship together at sea or the waves that crash that same ship apart. Same holds true for the song you're about to hear called L.A. Song. Quite honestly, I don't know if anyone other than Beth Hart could deliver this one as powerfully. It is the perfect example of a voice matching the mood that the lyrics set and the accompanying music just takes you right where you need to be. The piano part is divine, might I add. I'm a sucker for a great piano song and this one has that in spades.

Let's move on to the lyrics. What can I say except... WOW. She tells a story that many of us can relate to on varying levels. It's a story of a girl trying to find her place in an out of place world, moving through all of the usual suspects: drinking, running away, relationships. Yeah, how many of us have been down that road? I know I can unabashedly raise my hand. Life is hard and it can take an entire lifetime to figure out. During that process we may fall (or place ourselves) into situations that only allow us to fall deeper, but if we're on a path of learning and growing we get back on that train and head back to what we truly need. The girl in this song did just that, as have I in life. I wonder if I had heard this song eight years ago when I was packing my car full of clothes and hugging my family goodbye, about to leave Pennsylvania and head out west, if I would've paused and reconsidered. Music can be that powerful sometimes. People who say otherwise are being disingenuous.

Okay, enough with my words, on to the music. As always, this song needs to be listened to via a good pair of headphones or earbuds. Seriously, you want Beth Hart's vocals to be right there inside your head and soul. Please don't listen to it on your shitty laptop speakers, that would be like meeting your hero without brushing your teeth and combing your hair. Enjoy!

"L.A. Song"

She hangs around the boulevard
She's a local girl with local scars
She got home late, she got home late
She drank so hard the bottle ached
And she tried and she tried, and she tried and she tried
But nothing's clear in a bar full of flies

So she takes and she takes, she takes and she takes
She understands when she gives it away
She says

Man I gotta get outta this town
Man I gotta get outta this pain
Man I gotta get outta this town
Outta this town & out of L.A.

She's got a gun, she's got a gun
She got a gun she calls the lucky one
She left a note right by the phone
Don't leave a message 'cause this ain't no home
And she cried and she cried, and she cried and she cried
She cried so long her tears ran dry
Then she laughed and she laughed, she laughed and she laughed
Cause she knew she was never comin' back
She said

Man I'm gonna get outta this town
Man I'm gonna get outta this pain
Man I'm gonna get outta this town
Outta this town & out of L.A.

It's all she loves It's all she hates
It's all too much for her to take
She can't be sure just where it ends
Or where the good life begins

So she took a train, she took a train
To a little old town without a name

She met a man, he took her in
But fed her all the same bullshit again
'Cause he lied and he lied, and he lied and he lied
He lied like a salesman sellin' flies
So she screamed and she screamed, and she screamed and she screamed
It's a different place but the same old thing

It's all I love, it's all I hate
It's all too much for me to take
I can't be sure where it begins
Or if the good life lies within

So she said

Man I gotta get out of this town
Yeah and now I gotta get back on that train
Man I gotta get out of this town
I'm outta my pain
So I'm goin' back to L.A.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Club Music


I've ceased all wireless transmissions; have hardwired the lines between all the electronics and the mainframe of my heart. There are no more signals here, I'm pretty sure I eliminated them all. They were disgusting little creatures, invisible beams of sickness that crept through me at night while I slept. Now they are gone and I am left with an eerie stillness that can be felt if I hold my fingers out just right. At a soft angle, adjacent to the floor like this.

I still stand on aluminum foil every night before I sleep. It discharges the static freckles that litter my internal frame and make me self conscious with my own soul. It is shaped like a West Virginia golf course- the aluminum foil, not my soul. But both are worth playing on.

In the other room I have club music playing loudly and I am pretending there are girls on my sofa getting it on. They are still clothed, but not fully. If I walk out there and peer around the corner I would most likely see exposed breasts being fondled by the hands of the girl seated beneath the topless one. She is grinding herself against the one beneath; her skirt is riding up exposing her soft, eggshell white legs. I almost said eggs.

The bass from the music is thundering against the walls and I wonder if my neighbors hate me yet. They tend to leave bags of garbage outside their front door, so my music is more like a "fuck you" that I've patiently waited to deliver. I think I'll go turn it up and see what the girls are up to now.

Seventeen Seconds is how long it took me to do that.

The Ring Of Fire will not leave me alone. It comes more than it goes now, visits me in my sleep even. I'm beginning to wonder if the expanding universe theory is happening inside my head. I will make it a point to invite Neil deGrasse Tyson over after the girls leave and the club music has ended. I will politely ask my neighbors to discard their trash before he arrives. We will sit together and discuss my options. He will want to look inside my head. He'll bring astronomy equipment that will appear more menacing than it really is, and I will have to hold very still while he assures me it will only hurt a little bit.

Hold on, I have to piss.

My father met his real father for the very first time on his 66th birthday. He also met one of his brothers too. They came as a pair from wherever they live in New Jersey to meet my father after all this time. Two pool hustling Jews packing heat, is what they turned out to be. It seems I finally understand myself a little bit more. Dad too, he beat them both at billiards and sent them home with their bifurcated tails between their legs. Our family just got a little stronger.

I'm writing poetry again, but I can no longer stand the website where I've been doing it for the past 8 years. They've decided to make members either pay a monthly fee or force them to leave comments on other poems before they can post a poem of their own. What kind of socialist bullshit is that? I've been a paying member all this time just because that's how I roll. If I like something I pay for it. But now I no longer want to give them money and I am in the process of removing every poem I've ever written there, all 547 of them. It is a painstaking process that I do not love. I'm going to miss that website and all the people I've interacted with, it's a damn shame that the admin became a communist turncoat who will now suffer a miserable, agonizing death in the burning valley of Gehenna.

Fucking Hell,
I'm done talking.