1. |
prelude 1
01:09
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2. |
Diorama
05:00
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Diorama
Up the granite stairway,
through the ancient doorway.
The pictures in the museum stare down.
Frozen in a diorama
prehistoric man builds a fire.
Plaster flames in a cave of paper maché.
Sort of life-like.
Diorama — Frozen ice age —
Diorama — textbook in tableau.
Locked in a darkened display case:
fragments of a moon rock.
Next to that, pieces of meteorite
that once fell to Earth
from some far planet
that exploded back when the caveman
first thought of painting his plaster fire.
It was lifted hot, white hot,
and brought here from its crater nest.
Back in the old diorama,
cavemen wait patiently.
Diorama — trompe l’oeil background —
hold still history — diorama
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3. |
My Contraption
03:25
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My Contraption
Here’s the plan for my contraption;
let’s build it now.
Clear a space on my face for construction;
my head is the foundation.
Just flip the switch,
engage the gears.
Pull this lever
then I’ll start perceiving.
Consciousness is my contraption;
it works OK.
If there’s a hitch or a glitch in its function,
it’s hard to say.
Plug me in.
Set me up and turn me on.
The collapse of my contraption
will come some day.
But for now I know how to spark connection
and how to keep it going
Flip the switch,
engage the gears.
Pull this lever
and start receiving.
It seems I’m trapped in my contraption,
but that’s just my perception.
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4. |
Every Bird
03:22
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Every Bird
Waiting in the wings of every bird
are memories that fill the hollow bone.
Flexible as flame or as the rain,
they find their way without being shown.
You can call it fate or instinct
or a sixth sense,
or a tumbling down, a failing of alternatives
that are too immense.
Birds’ eyes view what I can’t see and I can’t know:
Pterodactyls and the fractal form
and a lack of vertigo.
The truth, the proof, is incontrovertible.
I feel the muscle that pulls,
the muscle that lifts me higher up.
The truth, the proof, is incontrovertible.
Estimating lift and load, and wind velocity
while you’re in the air,
dodging the abyss like this, while falling into it
is more than I dare.
I’m not sure my wingspan reaches
quite far enough,
but I have a plan to tumble unrestrainedly
and see where I end up.
The truth, the proof, the rope and the noose;
the ruse, the roof and the floor;
the door, the don’t and the do;
the me and the you.
The grasp, the gasp, the grunt and the groan;
alone, again and again;
the bone, the rain and the flame;
nothing’s the same.
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5. |
Xs for Eyes
05:05
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Xs for Eyes
I’m back on my back,
legs in the air,
a pair of Xs for eyes.
In my word balloon
there’s just a question mark.
So you look to the right
and there’s a “meanwhile” caption there.
Then a city scene,
but seen from afar.
There’s a little window,
and that’s where you are.
Then you’re in silhouette
against the moon.
There’s a gun in your hand,
but this is just a cartoon.
With simple lines
the whole picture is clear.
Each smile and frown seems so sincere.
—
The next panel shows me
with a nervous smile,
beads of sweat on my brow.
And there’s a “meanwhile” caption next.
Then there’s you,
lit from below.
You’re scrawny and thin,
as if drawn by Ditko.
Over your head,
a thought balloon;
It shows you thinking of me,
but this is just a cartoon.
The panels are placed
in tiers on the page.
Read left to right
they form an ink and paper stage.
I’m cross-hatched away,
lines over-drawn —
inspiration gone stale.
Then you’re boarding a train,
then we see it arrive.
Then we’re back at my swoon,
and we see me revive.
We were far apart,
now you’re closer to me
since I told you my
secret identity.
—
It ends with a splash
on the final page:
the Earth floating in space,
and there’s a “meanwhile” caption there.
There’s a “meanwhile” caption there.
There’s a “meanwhile” caption there.
There’s a “meanwhile” caption there.
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6. |
The Past
07:18
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The Past
The present is fearful,
the present is fearful,
the present is fearful of the past.
The water is silver,
the sunlight is golden.
This moment’s the future and the past.
The words are unspoken,
their meaning is doubtful;
the facts are unfolding from the past.
My muscles are tired,
and I’m feeling sleepy;
chronology’s jumbled in my dreams.
The present is fearful,
the present is fearful,
the present is fearful of the past.
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7. |
prelude 2
00:24
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8. |
Damn Dreams
02:37
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Damn Dreams
Go ahead and laugh about it;
cry, cry, cry and laugh about it.
Close all your eyes, eye all the doors,
the doors that direct all your dreams,
your dreams.
Go ahead and cry about it;
laugh, laugh, laugh, and cry about it now.
Pull on your wings, wing it again,
Icarus toast, burst the damn dam;
damn dreams.
On a Sunday morning
breathe in through your mouth like you mean it;
sincerely exhale.
Go ahead and laugh about it,
cry, cry, cry and laugh about it.
When you’re all grown, groan all you want;
want all you bring in the brain valise;
dear dreams.
On a Saturday night
breathe in, breathe out, look around and say
in the darkness
let me have my dear damn dreams!
la la la…
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9. |
Cumulonimbus
03:52
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Cumulonimbus
Try to nail it down
with your sharpest noun.
Eyes saw, ears heard.
Keep it here;
make it a word.
Try to do the math
like a photograph.
Hold and explain.
Then is now;
make it contain.
cirrocumulus, altostratus, stratocumulus,
nimbostratus, cirrus, cumulus, stratus,
cumulonimbus…
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10. |
oh my god
04:37
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oh my god
Oh my god, is that really you?
Oh my god, is this really me?
I thought I knew you,
I thought I knew myself
Oh my god, is that really you?
—
Oh
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11. |
I Don’t Want to Know
06:07
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I Don’t Want to Know
As close as rain and rust,
like dust on shelves
we intersected, we connected
in entropy’s final wind-down:
passively, with a sigh.
I think what I think I must.
We place ourselves into the background,
while in the foreground
clutter, chores, and appointments
cushion the question why.
I love when the frame of my life collapses.
My ghost loves to look down from way up above.
No, no, yeah, I don’t wanna know
Yeah, no, yeah, no, I don’t wanna know
Yeah, no, yeah, I don’t wanna know
Yeah, no yeah, I don’t wanna know
Yeah, no, yeah, no, I don’t wanna know.
I turn my volume down,
you frown for me.
We’ve got a system with a ticking rhythm
making the moments march by, passively,
with a sigh.
I’d love to be held like there’s a tomorrow.
My ghost looks through my eyes
from way far away.
No, yeah, no, etc.
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12. |
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13. |
Drop By Drop
06:16
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Drop By Drop
Leave some room;
there’s always something more to consume.
Stay with me,
cool and free,
drowning in the sea.
The roof won’t want to get to know
the clinging, overwhelming weight of the snow.
Be my guest,
let me rest
this box of books on your chest.
More.
Drop by drop,
pound for pound
the accumulating increments
are adding up and adding up and adding up.
Yesterday,
and all the other days that got away
washed us ashore
exhausted and sore,
and still asking for more.
More.
Drop by drop,
pound for pound
the accumulating increments
are adding up and adding up and adding up.
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14. |
Noise In You
05:30
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Noise In You
I’ve heard that there’s a noise in you,
and I know that I’m noisy, too.
Composer John Cage, the sonic sage,
told of the time when silence rang.
Inside an anechoic chamber at Harvard,
as sound-proof a room as had ever been made,
a long, low drone, and another up high,
seemed to disprove the soundproof design.
But, he was told, the sound he heard was himself.
Low note: blood flow; high note: nervous system.
I’ve heard there’s a noise in you,
and I know that I’m noisy, too.
Out in the woods, by the lake,
far from New York and the noise it makes,
things still aren’t quiet yet, sounds still abound.
They bang in my head and they ring in my ears.
A long, harsh note, and some shrill ones up high,
fill in the silence with noise from inside.
Blood and nerves — and something more.
Please don’t leave me, then I’d be alone.
Please don’t leave me, then I’d be alone.
Please don’t leave me, then I’d be alone.
Please don’t leave me, then I’d be alone.
I’ve heard that there’s a noise in you,
and I know that I’m noisy, too.
I’ve heard that there’s a noise in you,
and I know that I’m noisy, too.
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15. |
This Time
04:07
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This Time
Fallen snow; fall in love; falling out of love; falling down;
fall and winter, spring, summer, and the fall.
Passing time; passing grade; passing by the place where we laid;
pass along the love so the past can pass.
Build a house; build a fire in the fireplace
this time;
watch the embers glow; blow into the fire.
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16. |
postlude
03:34
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David Garland New York, New York
Composer/singer/multi-instrumentalist David Garland has been steadily shaping songs in new ways since
1980.
"Like many great songwriters before him, Garland pushes the limits of acceptable harmony and dissonance, yet never at the expense of beauty. If it's not possible for popular music to reach the heights of the great classical masters, it seems no one has told David Garland."
--Sean Lennon
... more
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