solitary howl
growling trial chill ridden
tightening chest and pain
behind one eye
stress reduces
jelly legged machismo sulking
regression completion
seeking seclusion revolved by a reflection
churning bowel Elvis hip
flipping tripper gripping imaginary handrails
rising heat to hot spit gurgle
sweat breaking head spinning grasping
grinning

Want you please speak to me in the 60's
In far out psychedelic rhymes
Take a ride beside the blacklight
On the Velvet Underground

Wake me up with the Strawberry Alarm Clock
Serving incense and peppermints in bed
Fixing a hole where the rain gets in
As the 60's flood my head

Walk with me through Asbury
With a flower child in hand
Listening to the groovy tunes
Of Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band

Hang out with the hippies
Before Monterey goes pop
As they fly like butterflies
At the moment the acid drops

Want you please speak to me in the 60's
In the innocence of peace and love
Back then we all had our share
But is there ever really enough?

Watching all the strings fly by
Look at all these knots I tie
Indifference, give it a try
More present than love

Watch as the world flies by
Watch as the doves take dive
Hit the ground in an instant die
A life summed up

You a flower pushed through dirt essentially birthed a soft-skinned element You a flower leathery hide many times died many times died You a **** through concrete grinnin a wayward seed in cracked walkway spinnin with everything else with everything else you turn catch sun and shade again and again and again grinnin and grinnin again and again you turn and turn give birth and die give birth and die while spinnin and spinnin and the world flies by and there you lie lost seed in concrete crack grinnin deep and deeper

I've got
many ways
to say no to you

but instead
watch

as I slam
the door off
it's hinges

feel the vibration
that's no

moving on

let's find an image
a metaphor that says
I love you

something
cliche

a rose plucked
crushed
into oil

bottle broken
potion spilled
all over your finest
blouse

I love you


© Whit Howland 2019

Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from France and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the Internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Berlin.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Brooklynites in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered eighties.
But I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge, but I was there.
I was there.
But I was there.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1974 at the first Suicide practices in a loft in New York City.
I was working on the ***** sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Daft Punk to the rock kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
I used to work in the record store.
I had everything before anyone.
I was there in the Paradise Garage DJ booth with Larry Levan.
I was there in Jamaica during the great sound clashes.
I woke up naked on the beach in Ibiza in 1988.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody. Every great song by the Beach Boys. All the underground hits. All the Modern Lovers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Niagra record on German import. I heard that you have a white label of every seminal Detroit techno hit - 1985, '86, '87. I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your computer out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Yaz record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitars and bought turntables.
I hear that you and your band have sold your turntables and bought guitars.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records? This Heat, Pere Ubu, Outsiders, Nation of Ulysses, Mars, The Trojans, The Black Dice, Todd Terry, the Germs, Section 25, Althea and Donna, ****** Harrassment, a-ha, Pere Ubu, Dorothy Ashby, PIL, the Fania All-Stars, the Bar-Kays, the Human League, the Normal, Lou Reed, Scott Walker, Monks, Niagra,
Joy Division, Lower 48, the Association, Sun Ra,
Scientists, Royal Trux, 10cc,
Eric B. and Rakim, Index, Basic Channel, Soulsonic Force ("just hit me"!), Juan Atkins, David Axelrod, Electric Prunes, Gil! Scott! Heron!, the Slits, Faust, Mantronix, Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines, the Swans, the Soft Cell, the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics.
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want