Adam!
turn me over and sing me a song of sixpence
hearing voices, not seeing faces ... with the radio on
it's just me myself and I
driving between towns emoting, gushing
*hurt me, break me, **** me!*
at the top of my lungs
finding bars buried in backyards
on back roads of insincerity
birch bitten and chewed
logs wet and rotten
and still, chords neatly stacked in ordered rows
can you stand me on my feet?
back home
brushing my teeth yellow
biting my nails turgid, hoping she will come with me to a show
my state is of a lower-class shambling
hoping for a renewal
or rebirth
sweating on the train repeating God's name
gasping for air making people nervous staring
at their phones wondering if I am going to keel over and die
it's just me myself and I
that's right, write it out in long hand first, then go back and edit
(wishing to write like Tarkovsky)
comparing father and son - an unchecked exception
they were buried in separate coffins
one in France the other, in a timber cask
but won't I be
too?
I wish I could say, "we have a saying in my country" or "scripture says" or
"I'm lost without you" (I am and now found).
In ruins at the end of a day
building pigeon flap (or come what may)
ascending a scale of notes in a mirror of songs
behold an image
in a scale of descending notes at dawn.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 2:25 AM UTC
Adam!
turn me over and sing me a song of sixpence
hearing voices, not seeing faces ... with the radio on
it's just me myself and I
driving between towns emoting, gushing
*hurt me, break me, **** me!*
at the top of my lungs
finding bars buried in backyards
on back roads of insincerity
birch bitten and chewed
logs wet and rotten
and still, chords neatly stacked in ordered rows
can you stand me on my feet?
back home
brushing my teeth yellow
biting my nails turgid, hoping she will come with me to a show
my state is of a lower-class shambling
hoping for a renewal
or rebirth
sweating on the train repeating God's name
gasping for air making people nervous staring
at their phones wondering if I am going to keel over and die
it's just me myself and I
that's right, write it out in long hand first, then go back and edit
(wishing to write like Tarkovsky)
comparing father and son - an unchecked exception
they were buried in separate coffins
one in France the other, in a timber cask
but won't I be
too?
I wish I could say, "we have a saying in my country" or "scripture says" or
"I'm lost without you" (I am and now found).
In ruins at the end of a day
building pigeon flap (or come what may)
ascending a scale of notes in a mirror of songs
behold an image
in a scale of descending notes at dawn.
Зеркало (HD) / The Mirror - YouTube.
The Mirror of Time and Memory
Live in the house-and the house will stand.
I will call up any century,
Go into it and build myself a house…
With shoulder blades like timber props
I help up every day that made the past,
With a surveyor’s chain I measure time
And traveled through as if across the Urals.
I only need my immortality
For my blood to go on flowing from age to age.
I would readily pay with my life
For a safe place with constant warmth
Were it not that life’s flying needle leads me on Through the world like a thread.
Arseniy Tarkovsky
His song sounds rather like this:
A drawn-out "ohh-h-h-h-h-h," descending downward, almost like a sweet moan, followed by a series of about 7 or 8 descending notes, like a descending scale, fading slowly toward the end of his song. Thus:
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh
la
la
la
la
la
la
la
la
Judith Posted 06 July 2007 - 08:56 PM
