Saturday, November 27, 2004

i've heard there was a secret chord
that david played, and it pleased the lord
but you don't really care for music, do you?
it goes like this
the fourth, the fifth
the minor fall, the major lift
the baffled king composing hallelujah

hallelujah, hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah.

your faith was strong but you needed proof
you saw her bathing on the roof
her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
she tied you to a kitchen chair
she broke your throne, she cut your hair
and from your lips she drew the hallelujah

hallelujah, hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah.

maybe i have been here before
i know this room, i've walked this floor
i used to live alone before i knew you
i've seen your flag on the marble arch
love is not a victory march
it's a cold and it's a broken

hallelujah, hallelujah,
hallelujah, hallelujah.

there was a time you let me know
what's real and going on below
but now you never show it to me, do you?
and remember when i moved in you
the holy dark was moving too
and every breath we drew was hallelujah

hallelujah hallelujah
hallelujah hallelujah.

maybe there's a God above
and all i ever learned from love
was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
and it's not a cry you can hear at night
it's not somebody who's seen the light
it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.

hallelujah, hallelujah
hallelujah, hallelujah...

Rufus Wainwright/Leonard Cohen/Jeff Buckley

rain and red brick.

somewhere there's a landing with a sliver of moonlight that divides the light from the dark on nights when you feel like the cold could freeze your soul and you'd shatter the moment you moved.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

wicked game is either a burning piece of retribution after a particularly scalding encounter with love (lust?), or a terrifyingly real essay on the condition of human love. Because if you're going to stand there in the pouring rain, with a bouquet in your hand and the ink of that poem you wrote going all runny on you telling me that this kind of love doesn't always involve an element of lust, then i reserve the right to sit on my porch, drink chai, and smirk at you.

there's something about that word...wicked. if evil is a mind bent out of shape, then the wicked are actually twisted in some sort of wire hanger orgy of right angular wrongness.

it's strange what desire will make foolish people do...

the jury's still out. but it does make you want to sit there and listen to it over and over and over again..

almost forgot: prado, driving to hot n spicy, pakola, 3am, at a particularly appropriate moment in life, the universe, and everything.

Friday, November 05, 2004

kody sat down on the avenue
he tapped his feet,
to the humming of the highway
he watched the light shine down on the broken glass,
and thought
i don’t got no reasons, yet
there it is and there it was
it was clear to all of us
we kept this hat of broken dreams
and we pulled them out, when we needed them

so please hand me the bottle,
i think i’m lonely now
and please give me direction,
i think the hurt set in
and i don’t feel nothing

there’s a squeak hinge down on the back gate
it lets us know if he comes around
i don’t sleep that good anyway
if you’ve never heard that silence, it’s a
god awful sound

i don’t feel nothing, no i don’t feel nothing
there’s nothing to feel good about here

don’t much get down to the avenue
i could drive,
but it takes so much to get there
don’t get off all the broken glass,
the cadillac scene,
i’ve seen a lot of good things die and i’m
in an over emotional way..

matchbox twenty

funny how words can take you back to suffocating heat through the window, a/c always broken, driving past the sindhi muslim chowk, haiders, fantasizing about mango milk shakes, turn right, take it past the bridge, halfway there, you've got two more songs before you arrive, close your eyes.

this album is history. the notes carry heavier meaning..and up until this evening i didn't even know what each song was called, but i'd swear they were the soundtrack to my life.

i think that the truth is going to hurt
and i dont know why you couldn't just stand with me,
couldn't stand to be near me,
when my face don't seem to want to shine..cause its a little bit dirty,
well don't just stand there.
say nice things to me.
cause ive been cheated, ive been wronged
you, you don't know me,
well i can't change that.
she said it's cold outside, and she hands me a raincoat,
she's always worried about things like that.
she said its all going to end, and it might as well be my fault.
she only sleeps when its raining,
and she screams, and her voice is strained..
she says baby..its 3am, i must be lonely,
she says baby...i can't help but be scared of it all sometimes.

the clock on the wall has been stuck at 3 for days & days
i wonder what it’s like to be the rainmaker,
i wonder what it’s like to know that i made the rain,
i’d store it in boxes with little yellow tags on everyone,
and you can come and see them when i’m
when i’m done.

i wonder what it’s like to be a super hero,
i wonder where i’d go if i could fly around downtown,
from some other planet, i get this funky high on yellow sun
boy i bet my friends will be
they’re stunned.

straight up, what did you hope to learn about here
if i were someone else, would this all fall apart
strange, where were you, when we started this gig,
i wish the real world, would just stop hassling me