Mind Eraser...

I had my mind erased by little green plastic men from outer space last night, or so I remember, or so I dreamt. Or so...ummmm...it is hard to say.

Mind Eraser

Got a mind eraser, "set to kill of phaser" again, my friend.
I'm a dream creator, defying laws of Nature again trippin'.

I fall down and then I wake up.

Saving all the monsters of plastic avocado green. Thorazine.
I'm the vinyl whispers of the 1970's machine.

I fall down and them I wake up.

A few light years away, a sky of linoleum
Going out just enough too far, space is the ocean
Supersonic polka dots bleeding fire
There is more than just one sun...

Wooly Life.

 

Reading my New York Times newspaper at my local caffeine dispensary, it was pointed out that a cute wooly caterpillar was taking a thousand little many steps towards me. I tried to take a video with my phone, but the video app wasn't working, (Fucking technology!) then even taking a photo seemed impossible. (Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!) Finally after restarting my phone I squeezed off one semi-focused shot. Then the little Wooly man got it into his head to walk across the threshold of the door to the shop. I got up, with my paper and gently moved him away from the door. Are you crazy Wooly?! You are gonna get squished!

So then he curled up in a ball, and I took him away from the door. Within a few minutes he was walking in front of the door again. (Fuck!) I winced as many people walking in and out just missed stepping on him. Amazed, I thought.... maybe Wooly isn't crazy. Maybe he knows what he is doing. I go back to reading my paper.

Minutes later, he is at it again, escaping death many times he decides to make his taunting journey across the threshold of the door for the third time. Behind the glass door I see an old woman with a cane making her way towards him. I am cringing...I see her taking many footsteps to go a few inches...and I hear it, the pop of her foot squishing Wooly underneath her tennis shoe. She continues on to the sidewalk, completely unaware or unconcerned heading towards the drug store for apothecary treats.

Fuck.

Wooly managed to dodge death until an oblivious, harmless old woman with a cane delivers the mighty Adidas blow sending him to the caterpillar calliope in the sky .

What does this mean?

Did Wooly want to die?
Was Wooly as oblivious as the old woman that killed him?
Innocent murder/suicide?
Was it my fault? Did I need to save him twice? Was even my place to do so?
Is I, Wooly, and the old woman accomplices in this death from above foot stomp?

I see Wooly's green guts slowly turning brown, his body is almost just a stain now.

I am sorry Wooly...maybe I will see you in the other side. We'll eat some leaves together and tell long tales.

Diving again...

Sometimes when you feel something isn't quite done right you feel the urge to do it again. Sometimes to leave it alone is best and to move on. I chose the former. To redo. I have attempted and failed in the past, but today I think I have hit it right. So...I can now move on and look forward into my dreamy abyss of my Black Forest for new adventures, monsters, magic, and a good steak with tater-tots and whiskey...

Violets and White...

Just been freakin' out for the past few days with psychedelic pop. It has been a strange week of German films, listening to so called Krautrock (Nue! and Kraftwerk) and the 60's band The Zombies. Sooo...ummm...I wrote this song, I had Matt Lynott throw down some old-school-one-microphone-drums and I forced Greg Friedman at gunpoint to come over and play bass. I could've done it myself, but it is more fun forcing your friends to play with you rather than complete masturbation with oneself.

I don't know what to think of the song, maybe that is a good thing, or?

Violets and White

Silver saucers of space echo omnipresent circles in the chrome high sky
Lips are like fists for the sexual transmitted knowlege of you and I

I'll be giving you viloets and white, whispering
I'll be giving you violets and white to change your mind

Realizing that I simply know nothing is a wonderful place to be
Skin of steely milk, for your air-conditioned silk is so honey-sucking chic

 I'll be giving you viloets and white, pistol-whipping
I'll be giving you violets and white to change your mind

Don't you see the stars? The stars will fall for us. You see, the stars,
The stars will fall for us. For us. 

Don't Shoot The Antenna...

Here is the before mentioned tune I hurriedly wrote before Matt Lynott and Sean Davenport came over last week, so we'd have something to goof around on. It came out so fast I don't know what to think about it. When you feel like an antenna rather than the creator, you don't feel too much like talking about it, just rather...here it is.