Just wrote this song earlier tonight:

Just give up old man
the voices kept on saying
just give it up and don't try again

Stay down old man
there's nothing you can do here
you shouldn't even be awake

It's alright old man
there's no need to be stubborn
persistence wont help you out

Stand aside old man
the message they're conveying
but I can't take this lying down
can't take this lying down
can't take this lying down

They've beat me down
but I know what game we're playing
it's a question of complete control

But I'll rise again
ascend like a soaring phoenix
I'll rocket up and away

Have to try again
I can't be kept down forever
there's too much for me at stake

Revitalized
I'll keep on going forwards
cause I can't take this lying down
can't take this lying down
can't take this lying down


They broke down my door
and set my house on fire
with me sleeping in bed

But I at last awoke
in the midst of an infernal pyre
and couldn't take it lying down
couldn't take it lying down
didn't take it lying down
take it lying down
take it lying down

Always loved this song. Always seems to fit.

(Jack Lee)

I'm in the phone booth, it's the one across the hall
If you don't answer, I'll just ring it off the wall
I know he's there, but I just had to call
Don't leave me hanging on the telephone
Don't leave me hanging on the telephone
I heard your mother now she's going out the door
Did she go to work or just go to the store
All those things she said, I told you to ignore
Oh why can't we talk again
Oh why can't we talk again
Oh why can't we talk again
Don't leave me hanging on the telephone
Don't leave me hanging on the telephone

It's good to hear your voice, you know it's been so long
If I don't get your call then everything goes wrong
I want to tell you something you've known all along
Don't leave me hanging on the telephone

I had to interrupt and stop this conversation
Your voice across the line gives me a strange sensation
I'd like to talk when I can show you my affection
Oh I can't control myself
Oh I can't control myself
Oh I can't control myself
Don't leave me hanging on the telephone

Hang up and run to me
Whoah, hang up and run to me
Whoah, hang up and run to me
Whoah, hang up and run to me
Whoah oh oh oh run to me

Por mi corazón, te quiero infinito.


(Unofficial video by the La La La Human Steps)

If you want a lover
Ill do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
Ill wear a mask for you
If you want a partner
Take my hand
Or if you want to strike me down in anger
Here I stand
Im your man

If you want a boxer
I will step into the ring for you
And if you want a doctor
Ill examine every inch of you
If you want a driver
Climb inside
Or if you want to take me for a ride
You know you can
Im your man

Ah, the moons too bright
The chains too tight
The beast wont go to sleep
Ive been running through these promises to you
That I made and I could not keep
Ah but a man never got a woman back
Not by begging on his knees
Or Id crawl to you baby
And Id fall at your feet
And Id howl at your beauty
Like a dog in heat
And Id claw at your heart
And Id tear at your sheet
Id say please, please
Im your man

And if youve got to sleep
A moment on the road
I will steer for you
And if you want to work the street alone
Ill disappear for you
If you want a father for your child
Or only want to walk with me a while
Across the sand
Im your man

If you want a lover
Ill do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
Ill wear a mask for you

I have a wish, that some night my door will open and my dreams and their measure reenter my life, however I'm not an uncurable optimist and I know that sometimes hope is futile, however painful that may seem.
My life, as of late, has been the surrounding flame, the insane scream of that roaring pyre, the warm nest of Heliopolis.
This metaphor clawed into reality last Saturday morning and I was blessed by a rare stroak of luck, for if not I would've burned down to a cinder, cremated whilst still breathing.

I do not know if this is of my own devices but this will be the end of that flame, for now I must soar, hopefully not to retake the cycle cause I don't think I could handle it at this point in time.

I wrote an emotion on my new acoustic guitar, just a little something to remind me what I need. My heads full of ideas, I just wish I could fish out the good ones.
This is a little ballad about a man and his feelings. Hopefully recorded soon.


Ashes:

I've been smoking cigarettes
in a kerosene soaked bed.
Just trying to figure out
what's happening in my head.

A man can take a hint,
but that old saying is still right
A man ain't worth a shit
if he goes out without a fight

If you knew how I feel
If you knew how I feel...

At least I gave it all I had,
I tried to fix where I went wrong.
But I'll never win this final jig,
without you, I'm just not strong.

Well now I've burned away
all these memories and pain,
Measure of my dreams,
will you smile at me again?

If you knew how I feel.
Do you know how I feel?

Well baby, dont be afraid to comply
cause it's a crazy old world and I'm still too young to die.

I've been reading magazines
they all tell me that I've lost.
The games over
don't worry about the cost.

A man can take a hint,
but that old saying is still right
A man ain't worth a shit
if he goes out without a fight.

Just have this song stuck in my head.


Like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.

Like a worm on a hook,
like a knight from some old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.

If I, if I have been unkind,
I hope that you can just let it go by.
If I, if I have been untrue
I hope you know it was never to you.

Like a baby, stillborn,
like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me.

But I swear by this song
and by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee.

I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch,
he said to me, "You must not ask for so much."
And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door,
she cried to me, "Hey, why not ask for more?"

Oh like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.

If I should fall from grace with God
Where no doctor can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath the sod
But the angels won't receive me

Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

This land was always ours
Was the proud land of our fathers
It belongs to us and them
Not to any of the others

Let them go, boys
Let them go, boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

Bury me at sea
Where no murdered ghost can haunt me
If I rock upon the waves
Then no corpse can lie upon me

It's coming up three, boys
Keeps coming up three, boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

If I should fall from grace with God
Where no doctor can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath the sod
But the angels won't receive me

Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

'tis November dear children.

Around this time of year everyone has a birthday, if they're fortunate enough to have been born around this aspect towards the sun.

I myself had a birthday, a fortnight ago in mere hours, which was the measure of my 26 laps around this glowing ball of burning hydrogen and other inflammable gases.

It does not say how old I am, not how much I've achieved, but only how many times I've spun around this globe.

I couldn't count out all the names of people I know that have their knot tied near this place in the rope we've got around that incandescent behemoth we dance around, about this time, when the sun is farthest from my rock in the middle of the ocean.
Born in darkness, we live in the light of our minds ever forth to the unknown until we untie or sever our lifeline as to mark the position where we shuffle off this mortal coil.

It is not the number of laps that we go around. It is not the number of knots we weave our string around to entwine with this ever broadening rope, the kaleidoscope mundane. It's not that red.

It's not using a neon thread or a theremite one, ensuring ones presence to be seen around the rope. It's not being wound so tight as to stifle the girth of the rope, the measure of which your co travelers cannot get their strings around. It's not that gold.


It's what intricate measures we use to twist our selves amongst the garbage and the flowers.
It's the shadows of the over-encompassing numbers of string around us, shielding your eyes from the light.
It is enjoying the silence and the solitude amongst the multitudes.
It's that black.

A Malevich's Square.

All that you have in this world is the darkness behind the eyes.
Keep it under your control and don't be afraid of the dark.

On the other side of the dark is a movie.
Try and enjoy it.

Irate situations lead to irate consequences. This I know to be true.

Sometimes, rage is borne in silence, by others in raconteur commentary.
Sometimes it will be a blood curdling scream of rage.
Sometimes it's just resentment.
Sometimes it's to the point of tender, raw and bloody madness.


Other times it's just malodorous people annoying you.

Usually. It's the impotent notion that sometimes your greatest gifts can be your biggest curses.


It's a sign of weakness to some but a great force to others.

Our endeavors to rise from the ashes may be hard, but perhaps this is just the calm before the storm, our cataclysmic ascension?

But who are we to be so irate?
There are those that are born under the sun but never see the light of day.

We are oblivious to others when we realize the nature of our cosmic journey.
There's only the wet darkness behind the eyes.

Out of this blackened universe of soot.
These ashen remains of a funeral pyre.
We must take off and burn again.

Van Gogh writing his brother for paints
Hemingway testing his shotgun
Celine going broke as a doctor of medicine
the impossibility of being human
Villon expelled from Paris for being a thief
Faulkner drunk in the gutters of his town
the impossibility of being human
Burroughs killing his wife with a gun
Mailer stabbing his
the impossibility of being human
Maupassant going mad in a rowboat
Dostoyevsky lined up against a wall to be shot
Crane off the back of a boat into the propeller
the impossibility
Sylvia with her head in the oven like a baked potato
Harry Crosby leaping into that Black Sun
Lorca murdered in the road by Spanish troops
the impossibility
Artaud sitting on a madhouse bench
Chatterton drinking rat poison
Shakespeare a plagarist
Beethoven with a horn stuck into his head against deafness
the impossibility the impossibility
Nietzsche gone totally mad
the impossibility of being human
all too human
this breathing
in and out
out and in
these punks
these cowards
these champions
these mad dogs of glory
moving this little bit of light toward us
impossibly.

~^~^~^~^~







Now that's what I call a good poem. -JM

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A song I started writing back in 2001. The lyrics were only completed last Monday. This is our performance last Friday.
They are as follows;

There isn't much to say,
Wouldn't matter anyway,
Y' made up your mind and that's the way things are.
I wont be with you today,
I wont paint your world in gray,
I can't stop the crash of falling stars.

You can blame yourself,
cause there's no one else,
that made this decision,
It's bound to hurt,
when you desert ,
your own emotions.

No matter what you do,
It all comes back to you,
The cause of this is you, and never me...
Now I must try,
To leave my tears un-cried,
And you can go away now, you're welcome to leave.


Tame yourself,
cause no one else,
had an inkling suspicion.
That you'd leave,
All that we've,
Put into our delusions.

Theres no one left to blame but you.
Painful, cause it's true.
I wish I'd been a part of your dreams,
but life and you had other schemes.

There's nothing left to say,
Couldn't say it anyway,
It's your fault and that's the way things are.
Pack and go away,
Don't come back again,
right now it's best you leave and please go far.

You can blame yourself,
cause there's no one else,
that made this decision.
It's bound to hurt,
when you've deserted,
all of your emotions.

(Maack/Maack)