The void inside November 01, 2014

Saturday, November 01, 2014

I dress up each time in my mind

A carved out face with fixed smile

I don’t always believe

The sawed teeth of the carving knife

Still evident on each deep slice

A candle lit inside of me

Making my eyes glow

Filling the empty space inside

I hope each time to fill

With something more substantial

To replace the substance removed

Not love or lust, but existence

The day to day of it,

That face that is a real face

The heart that does more than tick

A life that is more than a jack a lantern

Propped up to scare kids

As they come to my door for trick or treat

We living our lives with fixed expressions

Actually believing there is nothing else

When there is always so much more

Out there just beyond our finger tips

Something to fill the void inside

email to Al Sullivan

Astray October 26, 2014

The soft air kissed my cheeks

As I stroll here this cold morning

In late October, the end of season

As haunting as Halloween,

Filled with ghosts and goblins

Of a life I never meant to lead

The misdirection of misplaced steps

We take when we meant to go

In another direction, and yet

No so misguided as we believe

As we are shaken from those

Early morning dreams when we

Imagine the worst and come to realize

That our steps lead us not so much

Astray but rather where

We were meant to be,

And accepting the path

We find ourselves on

Is the hardest part of being alive

And yet, the most fulfilling.

In the silence Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Rain drips down the wooden fence

Leaving dark scars on its face

As the trees lean over waiting to change

This pre-color time of year

When we ache for change to come

Cool air swirling around us

With just enough hint of summer

To remember it

I hear the voice of winter

In the distant rumble of surf

And in the altered sound of traffic

And the sudden quiet

Of end of season brings to the seashore,

These things stand out against

The usually hectic soundscape

So that they seem loud

When they are not,

Our lives are like that,

Loudest in the lulls,

When we can hear ourselves thinking

The way we hear the tick of a clock

Always there, but never obvious

As we search for meaning,

No more nor less than they ever were,

The ghost in the machine

The moving parts

We do not wish to know about

But get consumed with

When all else falls silent.

email to Al Sullivan

Echoes October 25, 2014

History repeats itself inside my head

Like echoes in a canyon

Long after the initial shout

Losing at last what the shout was about

And so we read into what we hear

Imagining what it is we felt

When we let the fell words fall,

And translate that which we thought

We said into what we need said now

Feeling from it what we need to feel,

Not exactly what we felt at the start,

Thinking the whole time

How nothing has changed

When everything always does,

And when we shout again

Our new shout falls on ears

We know might never hear

What is we actually said.

email to Al Sullivan

The right combination

August 10, 2014

He puts two hands on her

And feels her tremble

Like a flower with each

Delicate leaf vibrating

And wet with morning dew

He can taste just by touching

His fingers reaching deep

To places the rest of him

Aches to go

And she is all eyes and mouth

Beneath his face

So his breath breathes

Her breath,

And his gaze sees only

What she wishes him to see

And like a boy trying to find

The right combination to a puzzle

He works his fingers to see

What he can unlock

And make those eyes

Open up to him,

So he might reach into her place

He cannot reach now

Without her permission

Oozing April 30, 2014

April 30, 2014

The chill rain covers my face like a cold sweat

As I struggle to make my way through the park

Named after the man who made the city of my birth,

Limbs just alive with buds ready to burst

Sagging overhead, the tip of each dripping

Bits of clear liquid and reflect some deep

Drip going on inside of me

This is always the best and worst of the year

For me, a time when change intrudes

And forces itself on me, consuming me

Making me ache inside and out,

Pressing itself against me, chest to chest

So that I breathe in what it breathes out

And so that we linger in a perpetual dance

Neither of us can escape, nor want to,

Regardless of how we penetrate each other,

My breath steaming by the time I reach

The gap at the other end, and my hips

Aching from the effort, leaving me

As if I have been stung by bees

That have yet not emerged for the season

With the stinger still deep inside

Of me – oozing.

email to Al Sullivan

Fotomat

June 20, 1982

Chrome and steel

Shine in the sun

Bright pages

Of the photo album’s

Tender spots

I stand

The heat passing

Through me

The camera is my eye

Light

Confused

Defused

Transposed

This is a picture

For some future

Day when we

As elders

Look

Infused with memory

Lines squiggle

Baby on the lawn

Black & white

Always lines

Linear

Horizontal

Vertical

The pattern

Of this existence

Is beyond all words

I paint it

With camera

Letting the baby

Make the strokes

The sun hotter

As I crawl inside

This black box

And press myself

Upon the film

Shaping the liens

Like a sculptor

Easting away

The darkness

With light and illusion

There is no baby now

No Portland

Just this image

Which imagines me

The shutter swished

Like a guillotine

Slicing away reality

Like a slice of bread

In elder years

The illusion is strange

We forget the journey

The nail scrapings

On the walls of this box

The way out

We wee

The lines

That linger

On the reprint

Call Martin -- actor doing one of my monologues

Actors from time to time use some of my monologues. This one did a demo using one of them and sent me the link

Call Martin: Demo

Flowers and other pickable weeds

April 4, 1980

I am not the man I should be

I am not the song that echoes in the morning

With the rising sun, the settling dew

And crisp unfolding of pedaled flowers

Reaching for you

I am instead a weed, pickable on

This weary earth, but not especially grant

I am for you, if you’ll have me

I’m for me, when you’re gone

Yes, the Sunday chimes ring out

Preaching their own sad song

But mine is different

I am not the man I could be

I am only a heart beating, two eyes

Blinking, and a smile,

Simple and fine

Rising like a weed

For you

Frank Q sessions Part 4 (last)

This part has two songs with me and Frank, with me singing and playing guitar.

shirt

Won't be denied

Break of Day

blowing in the wind

Fairy Stories

No expectations

Frank Q sessions part 3

I didn't sing lead to songs much back in those days, but like with Ringo, they let me sing some. This group includes one. There are a few more later that night

Piere

C Moon

Tuesday Afternoon

Give me an A

Horse with no name

Lola (sort of)

Will the circle be unbroken (me & frank)

Frank Q sessions Part 2

These are more tracks from the session at Frank Q's house

Honey Pie

Horse with no name

Saw the light

Cuddly Toy

Day Dream

This boy

Urine

Musical sessions at Frank Q's House (1973) Part I (links repaired)

This is pretty typical of a recording session we did over the years. This one was recorded on reel to reel then to a cassette. these are often incomplete songs with tons of banter that got worse the more we smoked. I cut most of the banter, but left enough to get the flavor. These and some I'll post later were done in Frank Q's parents living room in 1973

Find the Cost of Freedom

Bang a Gong

The end jam

Words of love

All my love'n

Jam

Louise

Frank's Cabaret set

This is a set I recorded of my best friend Frank during his cabaret days. He is the reason I mourn the loss of any artist. We teased him about his show tunes stuff, but as you will see his voice was huge. 

Cabaret

Every Street is a Boulevard

Got to be me

You were only fooling

What a fool I am

Hello Dolly

On the Street where you live

Songs from around 1980

These were on a tape together but may have been recorded at different times. This is a rough version of Dancer, while Woman of a Different Breed and Love of Mine are from earlier in the late 1970s

Helpless (cover)

Dancer in the Sand

Love of Mine

Woman of a different breed

Late 1999s music recordings (some covers)

Not sure exactly when this was recorded, but it has to be after 1995 since Formerly Joes is about remember Frank Q after his death. 

Moonlight Mile

She keeps a three story house in the back of her car

All along the watchtower

Formerly Joes

1990 session

These are more recent recordings made at some point during the 1990s. I'm not sure where.

Love is the answer

Man of the Hour (newer version)

I don't love you

Boulevard

Freezing Mile (new version)

Electric sessions: 1982 Passaic with Hank

These recordings were made over several days in 1982, some with Hank, some without, but all with a significant amount of drugs

No it isn't

Hey Hey

Eat Right

Capsule

Age of Man

Pinball

There's something coming over that hill

Old Passaic apartment sessions: 1983

This is an odd collection of songs -- some using a tiny casio. Freezing mile has a terrible sour chord in it, and Man of the Hour was supposed to be our hit single. Several of these were written in the 1970s such as Easter

Easter

Man of the Hour

It doesn't take a mountain

Freezing mile

Closet heroes

I never thought I could be your man

This is a song I wrote in the late 1990s or early 2000s, don't know when the recording was made. But it reflects a new way of playing chords with more movement in them.

I never thought I could be your man (music link)

I know you

This was written in the mid-1990s but I don't know when the recording was made

I know you (musical link)

Ghetto Passaic Sessions: 1985

These were edgier material and we jammed a lot. You might say these are how I become John Lennon for a day sessions

Hey There

Texas

Don't know (jam)

So Tired

Passaic sessions: 1975

These are four of about a dozen songs we recorded in the uptown Passaic apartment in 1975. We're still looking for The Cave Man song and Tommy and his Buggy. These sessions got me tossed out of that place because we made so much noise

She wants to be a lover

Holding on

Bus Stop

Lady Midnight

Al needs a cigarette

This is from a session in the early 1980s, a pink floyd like song about what it means to crave a cigarette when stoned.

Al needs a cigarette (music link)

Sunset eyes (the jam)

This is the last song from the 1976 Montclair session and it is a pretty straight jam

Sunset eyes (Music Link)

Cold, Cold eyes

Yet another song from the 1976 Montclair jam

Cold,Cold eyes (music link)

It's Raining

This version I still like even if it is very flawed from 1976 Montclair jam

It's Raining (music link)

Every Day and Night

This is another song from the 1976 session in Montclair.

Every Day and Night (Music Link)

Please tell me quick when you say good bye

This comes from the same session. I think I tracked the vocals, trying to show Hank the sound I wanted. I was looking for a combination Dylan and Everly Brothers -- recorded 1976

Please tell me quick when you say good bye (music link)

I want to know

This is a very early version of this song -- I think I was showing Hank the song. He may be on the harp. I think Garrick is on base. I was still trying to figure it out. Recorded in Montclair rooming house 1976

I want to know (music link)

Osgosh (sorry, Frank Zappa)

This is a recording from the summer of 1973 done on a cheap tape recorder with a condenser microphone. I don't know what we were on at the time, but I wish we still had some. Clearly influenced by Frank Zappa

Osgosh (link fixed) (Music link)

I have a little Froggie

This is a musical poem that Pauly and I made Hank recite while we played the music. 

I have a little froggie (music link)

I have a little Froggie
He loves to sniff the glue
He follow me to school one day
I don't know why he do

This bitter bit

The icicle

Drips on my lips

And I lick

The cold and bitter

Taste winter brings

A flavor of reality

I dread yet cannot

Get enough of

As if knowing

In my genes

That after this

Frigid bit

I will once again

Get to lick

Spring’s rich

honey,

the warmth of it

warming my bones

even as I sip

this bitter brew

like cold tea

waiting for the sun

to warm and sweeten it

this bitter bit

part of all that is.

Drip of time

This moment

This drip of time

I count drop by drop

Some like honey

Lingering sweet

At the tip of my tongue

Others like bitter fruit

I can’t wait to drip

But lasts just as long

Until both expire

And feed my desire

For what once was,

This drip, drip, drip

From a faucet

I fear to shut completely

Not knowing

What comes after

The dripping has stopped.