Archive for Rock & Roll

Elvin Bishop’s “Fishin'” (Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in country music, Lipstick Shamaness, punk rock, Rock & Roll, Spirituality & Religion, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 30, 2010 by alphabetfiend

This is my first Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel since my return to Cream Scene Carnival. The night I slipped back in, after posting my first new piece, I went out for another one of my dark highway drives. I listen to late-night fm and come up with absurd destinations. A pitch-dark dog park. The pink neon of the nighthawk diner that sells egg custard pie by the slice. A bundle of brand new socks for my RobotBoy. Sometimes the dogs join me, hanging their heads out the window and surfing through the cool moon-sticky breeze.    

I give myself over to the Radio Gods.

They unwind me from my bandages and wash my open sores with a warm sudsy cloth.  

 The Robot doesn’t care for radio.

Why, he wonders, would a grown ass person, with advanced tastes and an extensive music collection, ever choose to be at the mercy of radio again? 

His dial stays at NPR.  But never for long, not when I’m around. Cause I am an omen-seeker and as an omen-seeker, I worship the randomness of radio. I love that jolt of joy & recognition as my hand jumps to the volume dial. I love being suddenly enveloped in old skins. If the 80’s band “When in Rome” comes a-tinkling with their one hit — The Promise — then I’m 15 again and falling in love with Anthony Castro.

What does RB say of that?

He says, “Promise me I’ll never have to hear that shitty song again.”  

Radio is my own cosmic jukebox… colliding with the cosmic playlists of others. I often turn to radio for comfort and for guidance.  

Charlie Daniels once sang about "Elvin Bishop sitting on a bale of hay...he ain't good looking but he sure can play"

When they played Elvin Bishop’s “Fishin’ ” at 3:23 am, the tune clamped on my barbed hook like a cartoon carp. It was the only choice for today’s Punk Rock Gospel.

Elvin’s right. We should be spending our Sundays doing whatever makes our spirit soar or whatever brings our weary hearts some peace. For some of us, that involves a church with song & sermon. Others look elsewhere for their song & sermon. They don’t need pews and gory stained glass to make their symbols resonate. That’s what the Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel is all about …. it wants to celebrate that elseswhere, it wishes to be that elsewhere.  

Elvin Bishop’s elsewhere is a quiet creek side spot:

I got me a nice little spot picked out down there on the crick.
Boy, them perch is bitin’ like crazy. Yassuh. Powerful. 

I’m goin’ fish-fish, fish-fish, fish-fish, fishin’.
I’m goin’ fishin’… hook, sinker, an’ line.
I said, fish-fish, fish-fish, fish-fish, fishin’….

Now some folks say that fishin’ on Sunday’s a sin.
If a fish bite my line on a Sunday, I’m gonna reel ’em on in.
Believe I’ll take ’em on home, fry ’em up good an’ have a ball

Cause I don’t see nothin’ wrong with fishin’ on Sunday at all

We ought to all go fishin’, want to have a nice time, fish fish fishin’… hook sinker & line….

I’ll take my pole an’ my jug down to the river,  set up on  the bank.
Every time the fish start to nibble, I’m gonna take me another drank.
  

Speaking with church choir modesty, Bishop said,

“My voice is very plain. It’s better suited for Blues. It’s been good for me, because it’s made my songwriting strong, because to really get over with a voice like mine, which is not a thrill in itself – the quality of the voice – you have to have a strong story and really good words to capture people’s imagination.  (Songfacts.com interview with Bishop.)  

Wish I Had One-na Dem Willy Braids

Posted in country music, Dork Alert, Fame & Celebrity, Goof & Glamour, I Heart Tricksters, Lipstick Shamaness, Mythos, punk rock, Rock & Roll, Spirituality & Religion, Star F*#ker, Style & Fashion, The wisdom of the universe, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 29, 2010 by alphabetfiend

D’you hear the news about Willie and the missing piggies? Yep. He snipped ’em. Willie without braids? What is the world coming to?

 I had a dream around the turn of the millenium, amid all the doomsday mumbo jumbo, that the world was coming to and end… except that it was more of a Michio-Kaku-style metamorphoses or Fred-Allan-Wolf-type transformation. Like Wolf’s idea that the universe has been expanding ever since the Big Bang but will start shrinking eventually and… yea, anyway, back to Willie. In the dream, my friend Rita (a talented psychic) had a pub, where she’d called a special meeting for people who were supposed to help “save the world” (more like guide the world through its rebirth.) Rita was a fine hostess/bar-maid, taking drink orders & zipping around the pub in a pedal surrey with a fringe awning. (Real life Rita, in true shamaness style, was a childhood victim of polio. So my un-consc’ gave her a more fittingly glamorous wheel chair.) The pub had a frenetic bustling energy as people summoned their muster and opened their third eyes. Willie called the meeting to order. I wasn’t surprised to see him with the conch.

Whether savior or city-icon, this is BIG news here in Austin. In our neck of the woods we consider Willie’s smooth nape to be our business.

There was some initial speculation that Willie took to the say-lon so that he might save the gulf with a crimped contribution to the hair boom project. Thank Goof that wasn’t true! Don’t get me wrong, I used the hair booms as an excuse to take my baby wookie to the groomer and I felt righteous doin’ it. Hey, wookie’s  are fur-bombs.

I even have an appointment to see my own stylist next week cause well, we all gotta do our part.

I wanna believe in the whole hair boom thing and I kinda do. But it hasn’t been implemented on the gulf although I hear they’ve had luck in the past. I didn’t want Willie to have cut his braids for some bullshit thing we’re doing just to make ourselves feel better and justify wookie grooming.

The best reason for Willie to cut his trademark tresses is because that’s what Willie wants. Which was the case. I suspected as much. Long hair is a pain in the arse. I saw that infomercial guy on 60 minutes a couple Sundays back and he said he’d love to cut his stupid ponytail but can’t ’cause,  like sex, ponytails sell.

No matter. Willie’s the Big Kahuna whether he’s got braids or not. I’m supportive. Chopping off one’s locks can be an act of freedom.

I only wish that I could have just one of the famous plaits. I’d attach it to the end of a whittled birch limb, joined by a cluster of cardinal feathers and ribbons like kite-tails. I’d bathe the whole gris gris in silver glitter & Eshu spit. It’d be one hell of a talisman — capable of big and small majicks.

Willy! Gimmee gimmee!

If not to further my power as high priestess of tom-foolery, if not in sacrifice to the Saint of Red-Headed Step-Children, then it should go to The Country Music Hall of Fame. Or even the Smithsonian. Can I hear an AMEN?

Willie looks like he joined the cast of Gilligan’s Island but he’ll be much more comfortable in the heat of the Texas summer.

I wonder if Willie’s piggies tried to cry wee wee wee all the way home….

Two Gracelands — Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel

Posted in Lipstick Shamaness, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 14, 2008 by alphabetfiend

“And my traveling companions are ghosts and empty sockets, I’m looking at ghosts and empties but Ive reason to believe that we all will be received in graceland.” — Paul Simon

elvis_vid_grindarna_till_graceland_jpg_w300h281

Every time I’ve ever driven through Memphis I’ve made sure to have this song Q’d up and ready to go. Then I push repeat like 10 times at least. It’s just so great. It’s about a city, it’s about Elvis, it’s about God, it’s about heavan. It’s about the way those things blur for some of us… rock & roll redemption. It’s about a state of grace. It’s about suffering and yielding to life. It’s about love & losing love. It’s grief and it’s healing. As if all that weren’t enough it’s also a really great travel song and goof knows I love one of those.  

The first time I ever heard Willie Nelson’s version — “There is a girl in Austin Texas who calls herself the human trampoline” — I was in a Tennessee truck stop en route to Texas. I was moving to Austin actually so I was en route to becoming “the girl in Austin Texas”.  It was one of those magical moments where you feel saint-touched… a nod from the gods… ancestors saying yea, keep goin’, you’re on the right road to the right place.

Graceland

The mississippi delta was shining
Like a national guitar
I am following the river
Down the highway
Through the cradle of the civil war
Im going to graceland
Graceland
In memphis tennessee
Im going to graceland
Poorboys and pilgrims with families
And we are going to graceland
My traveling companion is nine years old
He is the child of my first marriage
But Ive reason to believe
We both will be received
In graceland

She comes back to tell me shes gone
As if I didnt know that
As if I didnt know my own bed
As if Id never noticed
The way she brushed her hair from her forehead
And she said losing love
Is like a window in your heart
Everybody sees youre blown apart
Everybody sees the wind blow

Im going to graceland
Memphis tennessee
Im going to graceland
Poorboys and pilgrims with families
And we are going to graceland

And my traveling companions
Are ghosts and empty sockets
Im looking at ghosts and empties
But Ive reason to believe
We all will be received
In graceland

There is a girl in new york city
Who calls herself the human trampoline
And sometimes when Im falling, flying
Or tumbling in turmoil I say
Oh, so this is what she means
She means were bouncing into graceland
And I see losing love
Is like a window in your heart
Everybody sees youre blown apart
Everybody sees the wind blow

In graceland, in graceland
Im going to graceland
For reasons I cannot explain
Theres some part of me wants to see
Graceland
And I may be obliged to defend
Every love, every ending
Or maybe theres no obligations now
Maybe Ive a reason to believe
We all will be received
In graceland

*************************************************************************

“LOOK OUT FOR THOSE NODS FROM THE GODS, Y’ALL,” sez the girl in Austin Texas. “Cause I’ve reason to believe that we all will be received.”

storyville-ect-226

There is a girl in Austin Texas who calls herself the human trampoline and sometimes when Im falling, flying or tumbling in turmoil I say Oh, so this is what she means. She means were bouncing into graceland. — as sung by Willie Nelson

“Jesus is Friendly” sez Christian Ska Weirdos

Posted in Dork Alert, Rock & Roll with tags , , , , , on December 12, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Once I tried to run, I tried to run and hide but Jesus came and found me and he touched me down inside. He is like a mounty, he always gets his man. And he’ll zap you anyway he can! — Sonseed

Cha Cha forwarded a link to this crazy Christian ska band Sonseed and damn if them singing about their good friend Jesus doesn’t make me shiver a little. Shiver and giggle and then shiver again.

Watch his mouth… it’s eeriely hynotizing… wow… how freakin’ bizarre…

He taught me how to pray and how to save my soul, he taught me how to praise my God and still play Rock & Roll.

I have no doubt that Jesus is a cool dude and a great friend and I’m sure he touched this guy real deep down inside but he sure as hell DID NOT teach him how to rock & roll.

He loves me when I’m right, he loves me when I’m wrong. He loves me when I’m quiet and have nothing to say. He’ll love me when I’m perfect if I ever get that way!

The Make Up’s “Save Yourself” (Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in Goof & Glamour, SPOOKY KABUKI, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 2, 2008 by alphabetfiend

“I was frozen baby, cold to the touch, limbs from other bodies, I didn’t look like much, I was nothing baby and my blood was cold til you put your mouth to me and blew right out my nose. I was just a body until you gave me life and now I walk the earth… you’re my Dr. Frankenstein, oh yea.” — The Make Up

 

Creation, transformation, resurrection. Second chances, new life. Being saved. Saving yourself. Betwixt our birth and our death are countless itty-bitty births and do-over deaths. We bloom, we wither, we bloom again. Our existence is filled with entrances and exits. We hover in silky cocoons (regrouping, rethinking, investing, in wait) and then the itch between the shoulder blades — a surprised unfurling! The cocoon cracks open and we emerge with wings like Frida paintings. This REANIMATION is the persistent miracle of human experience. The hurt and the heal… a progression of spirit.

“If I’m alive now then I was dead, though like a stone unbothered by it. Staying put according to habit.”  Sylvia Plath

“I wept because I had lost my tears and I was not yet accustomed to their absence.” Anais Nin

“Hopeful as a lizard pulling clean from an old skin.” Barbara Kingsolver

” ‘Oh my god’, she cried, ‘I never knew what it meant to be real! I never let the sweetness or the horror or the dignity penetrate my brain.’ ” James Douglas Morrison

“There was preserved in her the fresh miracle of surprise.”  JDM (Yes, the Lizard King.)

The above quotes may be slightly off, a word here or there, as I have plucked them from my 4am brain. By now they are practically prayers… I’ve carried them for 20+ years as though they were the secret to the universe. Each letter a bead on my pixie stick rosary, each word a bone in my girl-body spine. They are MINE. Please appreciate what I am sharing. The recipe for my prize-winning ee cummings “eyes big love crumbs” cookies. I am letting you sleep in my luxurious bed — with me in it, taking up voluptuous room. We snooze bum-to-bum and dream of clouds shaped like raucous church organs. I am letting you hold the golden compass; you are stroking the orangey-pink pelt of my fox familiar. I have stocked the freezer with cherry jubilee. I am lulling you to sleep with my krishna chant; your bedtime story is the dream I’m already asleep & dreaming. Listen! The Make Up is ROCKING a dark smoky club; the stage flickers with hypnotic illuminations; Ian writhes and testifies! We dance in the rhythmic hive, the crowd abuzz, and I let you (why I hardly know yee!) grind your soft-pulse-stiffening against my ass of greedy proportions. DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM HOLDING IN MY HAND? I am offering you a sequin mer-scale plucked from my tailbone, the edge jagged from once it laid, crusted with DNA. If you were a hoodoo huckster, you could perpetrate some voodoo violence. But you would never be so profane. Safe from cruel eye curses, the sacrosanct flesh-rind of my fish-femme sacroiliac.

“Why,” you may ask, “is all that worth this goddamn much to you?”

Because!!!!!

We are all unbothered stones who recognize the magnitude of our death once suddenly alive. All cried out and cringing in the new light, with headachey eyes that flooded & keened until all that was left was life. Again. Anew. We have all called out with a great A-HA! as the mystery comes into focus. We have all sworn to never lose the profundity of that moment. But it blurs as it must — midwife to the A-HA! Above all things, I have lived to be that girl of continuous surprise. For that extraordinary seizing BONK! to be preserved in me. A yellow canary named “Eggyolko-ono” in my rib cage — a JOLT! of snapping flapping feathers. As a girl wonder, adrift and alive, all my aspirations fall under that umbrella which — POP! — has just opened with a dandy’s flourish.

This shit is SPOOKY KABUKI, it’s the very essence of Punk Rock Gospel. The Make Up even describes their sound as “Gospel Yea-Yea.”

 

The Make Up– totem band for an Alphabetfiend! A carnie-queen lipstick shamaness circus freak! Hell yea! Let’s undulate! It’s a glam saint rosary rock speaking in tongues writhing snake-handler deep south baptist punk psalms sound…. oh yea-yea ya-ya.

Discord Records testified to the band’s spirited synergy:

Make-Up’s performances have been characterized by the freneticism, catharsis and spirituality of what can only be described as GOSPEL MUSIC. They are a total departure from the boring pantomime of rock ‘n’ roll as we know it, inflicting a sublime theatre on their audience which resembles a baptism, or perhaps an orgy. Their ‘singer’ is typically employed as a lead-chanter, while the others perpetrate a rhythmic drone on the subjects of their “Rhythm Hive”.

a fresh puff of powder, a smear of cherry gloss, a coat of black mascara… a new look, a new start, a new way. Transformation is the order of the day with The Make Up’s Rock & Roll HOLLER. HELLO!

“When I see you again, I hope that you have been the kinda person that you really are now.” Sly Stone

If You Have Ghosts, You Have Everything (Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in Goof & Glamour, I Heart Tricksters, Intuition & Gut Intelligence, Mythos, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 26, 2008 by alphabetfiend

“If you have ghosts, then you have everything…. You can say anything that you want and you can do everything that you want… one never does that… In the night, I am real. …I don’t want my fangs too long…. The moon to the left is a part of my thoughts and a part of me is me.”

These strange words, a mad shaman’s chant out of the speakers — volume LOUD — and into my atomic self… “eye” at the essence/energy level. This was a hymn from the church I’d been waiting for. This was reckoning & rock n’ roll at once. This was the theme to the soundtrack of my life. NOT one of those songs that I came to love. I loved it on first listen — in my bones, in my molecules, in the depths of my mind. If you have ghosts, you have everything. I had been waiting all of my days and nights to hear that song. I still shudder at every listen. It is my anthem. It is the mantra which saves me, its odd sequence of words spirit me off to my truest place. Where it is all okay. Not just okay but gorgeously fortunate.

Roky, my coyote in the dark piney woods. He howls. Pine cones float in the moonlight as organic odes to Tanuki and Kitsune. The coyote says “This was the life you wanted. How lucky you are to be haunted.”

If you have ghosts, then you have everything.

These spirits that clamour, who are they? Why are they here? What do they expect? They leave omens everywhere, valentines in the path of days. Instructional pamphlets? They are here because they adore you. You are who? The “universe’s darling”???  Who told you that? You have won their gaurded hearts. The telephone rings (Dad called it the “cosmic phone”) and the voice on the line is the voice you were longing for. The scarab in Jung’s window will knock with more frequency should he see that you too have twitching antennae. Ah, to talk about what this song means to me is almost impossible! When the effect it had was to scatter me like seed while condensing. How can it feel this way? It reminds me of Alice with the Drink Me bottles and the Eat Me cakes. I am ENORMOUS! Crowding, pressing, filling up. I am tiny. A nanotech hologram of all that I am, a portrait of Dolly Parton etched on a grain of basmati. Practically invisible, wholly infinite.

I am simply being forthright when I say that this song means the WORLD to me. Is there anything more in the world than this?

If you have ghosts, you have everything.

I have ghosts. More and more everyday. I feel their presense at the tips of my shoulders. I dream of complex impossible machinery and blame them. They are always watching, wondering. What now brown cow?

Some people point to their scars and say, “See! I have lived! I took the leap!”

Others point to frown furrows. “I have suffered. My heart has broken in a million places.”

Then to smile lines. “I have grinned. I have beamed. I have known joy, I have brought joy.”

I point to ghosts. They are the proof of a life lived on the curled up smoky edges of existence like burnt paper. They are testament to …. willingness? …. courage? … awe? … curiosity? … wonder?

If you have ghosts, then you have….

  • an open mind like a a wind-whipped hallway. Where is the wind coming from? It just comes.
  • a hungry heart. Skulking in the dark, turning over every rock, nibbling velvet moss, barky twigs, souls unlike your own, souls akin, a lover’s skin, a friend’s soft spot.
  • made allys amongst the gods, the totems, the sky, the dirt. Unlikely connections bind you to the hearts of others forever. Your allys fight for you with fervor and loyalty. They defend you against haters. When you are injured, they gather you up in cloudy limbs and carry you to a bed of soft thistle.
  • loved, you have loved to love, and that they are loved is no secret to those you love. You have grabbed their cheeks or pounced on their goodness. You have pointed out their attributes and celebrated their quirks and their quarks. Even their molecules feel handsome. You don’t withhold kindness. You take liberties with love. You lay it on thick.
  • been loved, always, and with such enthusiasm! They love you fully and fiercely. Even death cannot change the love they feel for you. It is more than emotion, it is a morphic field. It all gathers there, all the love that you’ve ever been given. All the compliments filed away, all the talismans built from origami & feathers, all the tokens of affection. And so many keys to so many hearts on a ring that clangs in your pocket. Lucky lucky lucky to be so loved.
  • you have found members of your tribe, recognized them, summoned them, exalted them, comforted them. SHOOK THEM.
  • not just people loved and lost but selves, moments, ideas. Pets. So many layers of being like tissue paper glued over glass. Illness, experience, dreams, injury, heartbreak, love, longing, learning. All the things that contribute to the complexity of your being.
  • had an unexplainable unduplicated drug like any other … wine, hallucinogens, tobacco, soda pop, sex… none of it compares to the ephemeral solace of the spirits that carry you, ferry you on a raft of peach skins, banana peels, orange rinds. You float on the current of time, space, electricity, wonderment. You crack the pod and lick the shell. The doorway swells with feathery light. You swallow the bulb and become a bulb. Incandescent.
  • no need for long fangs. No need to take, rape, steal, beg. If it’s not willing, you don’t need it. Hate is not welcome in your heart.
  • a glow-white lightning bolt of SPOOKY KABUKI, theatre of synchronicity, dance of the Mindellian demon. When the audience laughs, just bow. Whether they are laughing at you or with you, it doesn’t really matter. When you stutter or miss your cue,  you are Pee Wee Herman who meant to crash his bike into a rose bush. They will appreciate how you stop to smell the roses. Should you mangle a line just tie your mustache into a bow like your mouth is a gift to the world.
  • your toe in the water while the wave has its toe in you.
  • EVERYTHING.

This beauty is my next tattoo, but rather than dearlings the spirits will be foxes.

 
These three pieces are by the mind-boggling Miss Van who has captured my soul as well as my skin. Hopefully her brilliant renderings can help to translate my urgent over-wrought gobbledygook. When you love something the way I love this fucking phantom-tastic Roky Erickson song, your brain turns into a dollop of whipped cream. In the struggle to grab the meaning from its swirling vortex of importance, the writer looks like a hack and a zealot. So please, please, forgive my words, excuse my raving mythos. Just look at these masterpieces by Miss Van. Just LISTEN to Roky, my coyote guide, our city-shaman, our genius mad man who was spirited home to us at last.
 
What God is to Goof, amen is to Aha! God=Goof. Amen=Aha! Goof+Aha= if you have ghosts, you have everything. Fur reals, y’all.
 
Thank you for tuning in/turning on to this special SPOOKY KABUKI edition of the Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel Blog.
 
AHA!
 
 
IF YOU HAVE GHOSTS
 
If you have ghosts you have everything
If you have ghosts you have everything
if you can say anything you want
then you can do anything you want
If you have ghosts then you have everything

one never does that
one never does that
if you call it suprise there it is
the moon to the left of me is a part of my thoughts
is a part me is me
one never does that

In the night I am real
in the night I am real
the moon to the left of me is a part of my thoughts
is a pert of me is me
forever is the wind is a part of my thoughts
is a part of me is me
in the night I am real

I don’t want my fangs too long
I don’t want my fangs too long
the moon to the left of me is a part of my thoughts
is a part of me is me
forever is the wind to the left of me is a part of my thoughts
is a part of me is me
I don’t want my fangs too long
if you have ghosts, then you have everything.

 

Halloween Party Playlist: “Evil Jack” by The Frogs

Posted in SPOOKY KABUKI with tags , , , , , , , on October 24, 2008 by alphabetfiend

If, like me, you’ve been putting a truly horrific Halloween playlist together then you may want to include a few songs from “My Daughter The Broad” — an album by The Frogs that looks like a demented Little Golden book. And sounds like one too.

Unfortunately, I have this album in my CD rack but not on my Halloween playlist. Wah!!!  I did mine through playlist.com and my must-have song wasn’t on there. I could kill! My spooky juke just isn’t the same without the hilariously eerie “Evil Jack.”
 
Evil Jack
Ahh
I don’t mind a livin’
without a heart,
I like fucking people over
for a fucking start
I like to kill

Nobody gonna tell me what to do,
I’ll… I’ll bite you black and blue
and later on when you’re bleedin dead
I’ll be laughing right over your fucking face
I’ll be pissin on your grave
I’ll piss on your grandmas too

I’m evil!
I’m evil, jack

I don’t have no
no confessions
I got no concience
I’ll take lives
as..as..if..if..as a bum would eat bread and butter
I’ll take a life
as a bum would take a swig from a bottle of whisky,
That’s how i take your life missy
I’m evil jack

There was a priest who once tried to have a talk with me
I wouldn’t listen!
There was a priest who once tried to have a speach with me!
I’ve got news for him
he’s dead now!

I’m evil, jack
you better… you better… keep a look out behind your back,
Because i’m e-v-i-l-j-a-c-k jack
I got no hang-ups about nothing
I’ll take a life,
I’ll.. i’ll take more than a life!
I’ll take… life over death!
No you won’t after you meet me!

I’m evil jack,
You may as well have a heart-attack
It’s better than going when I
The way i’ll get ahold of you…
The way you’ll go,
I’ll let you know
I’m evil, jack!

 
Peek in on my All Hallows playlist. I hand-picked over 100 songs from a variety of genres. Let me know if I missed any of your favorites.

Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel — Tom Waits “Way Down in the Hole”

Posted in Music & Life & Sundays, Rock & Roll, Spirituality & Religion, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel with tags , , , , , , on October 19, 2008 by alphabetfiend

If Tom Waits were the reverend of some kind of backyard avant garde church, I would totally haul my ass there every tuesday at midnight. (You know that’s when services would be.)

Amen that, preacher man.

**If you haven’t watched HBO’s “The Wire” yet go thee and rent season one on DVD. So good. Like a book on TV.” “Way Down in the Hole” is the theme, with different performers every season.

Punk Rock Gospel Blog: Hedwig’s “Origin of Love”

Posted in Art & Culture, Cinema & Filmmaking, Feminism (Shades of Gray), Friendship, Goof & Glamour, I Heart Funny Femmes, I Heart My Love-Tribe, I Heart Tricksters, Intuition & Gut Intelligence, Movies & Movie Stars, Music & Life & Sundays, Mythos, Psyche & Sexuality, Rock & Roll, Romance & Relationships, Spirituality & Religion with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 12, 2008 by alphabetfiend

We are always finding something once lost or newly discovered… some elusive idea, fragment of self, new friend, old friend, tribe member, ally, totem, trickster, co-inventor, muse, fellow hero, soul mate.

On the look out, always.

Origin of Love

When the earth was still flat,
And the clouds made of fire,
And mountains stretched up to the sky,
Sometimes higher,
Folks roamed the earth
Like big rolling kegs.
They had two sets of arms.
They had two sets of legs.
They had two faces peering
Out of one giant head
So they could watch all around them
As they talked; while they read.
And they never knew nothing of love.
It was before the origin of love.

The origin of love

And there were three sexes then,
One that looked like two men
Glued up back to back,
Called the children of the sun.
And similar in shape and girth
Were the children of the earth.
They looked like two girls
Rolled up in one.
And the children of the moon
Were like a fork shoved on a spoon.
They were part sun, part earth
Part daughter, part son.

The origin of love

Now the gods grew quite scared
Of our strength and defiance
And Thor said,
“I’m gonna kill them all
With my hammer,
Like I killed the giants.”
And Zeus said, “No,
You better let me
Use my lightening, like scissors,
Like I cut the legs off the whales
And dinosaurs into lizards.”
Then he grabbed up some bolts
And he let out a laugh,
Said, “I’ll split them right down the middle.
Gonna cut them right up in half.”
And then storm clouds gathered above
Into great balls of fire

And then fire shot down
From the sky in bolts
Like shining blades
Of a knife.
And it ripped
Right through the flesh
Of the children of the sun
And the moon
And the earth.
And some Indian god
Sewed the wound up into a hole,
Pulled it round to our belly
To remind us of the price we pay.
And Osiris and the gods of the Nile
Gathered up a big storm
To blow a hurricane,
To scatter us away,
In a flood of wind and rain,
And a sea of tidal waves,
To wash us all away,
And if we don’t behave
They’ll cut us down again
And we’ll be hopping round on one foot
And looking through one eye.

Last time I saw you
We had just split in two.
You were looking at me.
I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar,
But I could not recognize,
Cause you had blood on your face;
I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.
That’s the pain,
Cuts a straight line
Down through the heart;
We called it love.
So we wrapped our arms around each other,
Trying to shove ourselves back together.
We were making love,
Making love.
It was a cold dark evening,
Such a long time ago,
When by the mighty hand of Jove,
It was the sad story
How we became
Lonely two-legged creatures,
It’s the story of
The origin of love.
That’s the origin of love.

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