Curious Cassandra

She scratched his arm just a little, like a bed bug. Gentle, almost unfelt. He sighed in his sleep. Under the surface she found a conversation between lovers.
“You exhale, I bathe myself in your tawny vapors”, said the woman.
“I stand at the edge of your skin and whisper a hundred things. My dreams are velvety gold. Yet, I wake up with the beast inside me”, said the man

Marveling at her discovery and eager to discover further, she placed one sharp fingernail in his chest and scratched a little harder. He moaned and turned onto his back, still slumbering.
“The beast is a function of you that I cherish beyond the realm of the illusory gentleman. When your animal expresses love and desire, it awakens mine. Honest and pure. The sophisticated gentleman is always too polite”, Said the woman
“Given that thought, I’d probably eat you if you were served up on a platter. Feel you, under your skin. But the problem is I can’t live you”, said the man

Putting her nails into the tiny chasm, she dug further. He winced but continued to sleep, imagining he was running but his legs were weighted. She stopped when she found the next tableau.
“This instinct is potent. As long as you carry me, I continue”, Said the woman, frowning sweetly
“I would carry you. On my back for as long as it’s worth. Human cries in the throes of passion belong in the animal world. But how do we sustain this state of intensity? I love you. I don’t want to tire”

She was very excited now. She scraped with all her might in the bloody cavity. His face paled but still he did not wake.
“You scare me my dear”, said the woman “but you invade my thoughts with such startling constancy. That wolf inside you scares me, taunts me yet haunts me”
“I don’t know if it will work, but it’s a cloud that has a thousand silver linings”, said the man “We could very well have a parallel Eden. Some sort of ghost town that lives with normalcy. As for the sleeping wolf, I’ve heard its cries and tried to overlook its light. I’m even more scared to think you’ve seen it already.

Ignoring the pulsing, throbbing organ, she pushed further and further till she found the last thread.
“Am I fooling myself?”, Asked the woman “Am I living in a sea of my own abstraction. That a simple question has meandered so shamelessly?”
“Yes” he replied. Slowly growing fangs, fur and claws and leveling with her throat”

She gasped at this gruesome final curtain, oblivious to the mess she had made on the sheets. Finally he awoke, in unbearable pain. “You wanted intensity in every minute of us. You wanted to see everything all at once. And now you’ve killed me”
She covered her face in her bloody hands and wept uncontrollably as he slipped away.

Post Ray Sunday

On this very lazy, tardy Sunday I sit re-discovering TYR. Tony Martin is an incredible vocalist. But Ozzy’s still the man. A case of being distinct overriding technique. Ozzy means more to me in Sabbath.

Watched “Ray” last night. Very good performance by Jamie Fox. Ray Charles was an incredible businessman. The genius is already spoken for. Art forgives its wayward human beings and their casualties. Art can be as ruthless as war. I came away with mixed feelings. Awe and disgust to be more specific.

I can smell breakfast. Cheesy eggs from the kitchen. Bless him.

Emotional Rescue

Behind every successful man/woman is a mastery of schmooze. Booze is an important schmooze lube. Kissing ass is just for the small fry with no vision. Tiny brown nosed little people playing tag. The Big Boys play a different game.

The more I interact with people in the entertainment industry here; I get an itch right between my toes. The kind that just drones and makes your eye twitch sometimes. Is this the world I have chosen to belong to? An Itchy, scratchy world. Have I really chosen?

Have an angle, a hook, bait. Reel them in and cross market. Sell your songs. Sing with soul. Sell your soul. Circles after circles after circles.

Here’s my current objective- to make enough money with my first album to make my second album.

It’s a conundrum. Write beautiful songs and pay due attention to muses. Then say beautiful things and pay undue attention to sleaze. The first part is infinitely easier. The songs become more maudlin with every step up and the art isn’t pure anymore.

I want a manager who will deal with the realities of the business. Won’t a Brian Epstein step up to my plate and protect me from this necessary parallel universe that my work travels through?

I had a dream that Ani Difranco offered me a record deal. I was thinking to myself as she smiled at me “Wow, Righteous Babe is an organization I would actually be proud of belonging to”... Should I have been dreaming of Sony Music?

I’m not whining. I will survive this industry. One way or another. Such is the nature of the beast and I will take it on.

As for audio post here's where you can get a song i recorded with my old band

http://www.geocities.com/planetclockwork/Presence.mp3

or

http://mp3.rsjonline.com/MP3/Clockwork%20Orange/Presence.MP3

Fashionistas and rain

When Gene Kelley was singing in the rain, he was alone and ecstatic. Lucky guy. Remind me never to take on a show at a high society party... even if it IS Tommy Hilfiger's spring/summer bash. Five songs into my set, my very capable keyboardist and i were bullied off stage by torrential rainfall. Risking electrocution i did one song all by myself at the insistance of the event manager. wet, soggy Bonnie raitt song. My Leather trenchcoat practically ruined.... tired...

Been away for awhile thanks to my ten day project which will end this saturday. I've spent them teaching a group of techies to sing for their annual intra-office show. 'tis a gruelling task. While most can actually carry a tune, overall they have no sense of time and its driving me nuts. The things we do for money....

Have another gig coming up Saturday evening with Boomsa. that should be fun.

More later. Sleep now....

...zzzzzzzzz...xxx.....zzzzzzzzzz