The Black Forest

Random blaghness...

Until The Day...


I wrote a new song yesterday...partially inspired by my new instrument the Suzuki Omnichord OM-84 modified my Ben Houston at Folktek. I plan on writing more for this instrument!

Until The Day

A film of the ocean.
Television of clouds.
To think is to stop.
Look North but dream South.
There is no silence, just the illusion of being alone.

You can never turn it off when you find it together.
Until the day begins to darken.
I strike matches at the myth but it doesn't burn.
It illuminates.

Living in the world, but not of the world.
My stillness sleeps.
My stillness shakes
An opulent and gilded single-minded smile.

You can never turn it off when you find it together.
Until the day begins to darken.
I strike matches at the myth but it doesn't burn.
It illuminates.

My Weightless Feather Cloak...

I have my weightless feather cloak on. What is a weightless feather cloak you ask? I dreamt it. At the time I didn't know what the heck it was. I like the idea of it being weightless. Holding on to nothing, but connected. This is a premise that has stirred in me for a long time. Images of sandy hour-glasses spilling down...breaking them open to stop the sand, but even then we can't stop the sand from falling. I did this when I was 8 years old. My parents were getting a divorce and I had this toy hour glass. I thought that if I could stop time, I could stop the breakup.

It was a gold painted hourglass. The glass was plastic. Very hard to break. Nothing was going to stop me. Going to the garage and into my father's red tool box, I took out his hammer and slung it down. I broke it open and held the red magic-time-sand carefully in my hands. Some of it immediately spilled out, but it was okay. As long as I had some of it, I could stop it. An hour went by and my hands were numb and tired from the tenseness of my muscles. I suddenly realized I was not going to be able to hold on to it for very long. The very idea of holding on to anything for a long period of time seemed pointless. It was then I let it go. It felt so good. Letting go. Putting it down. Moments is all we have holding on to something. My parents are going to divorce and there's nothing I can do about it. I developed a faint smile. A relief. There can be pleasure in letting go.

5-MeO-DMT (5-methoxy-dimethyltryptamine) - I'm not really into drugs per se...weed and alcohol have been my only real experience up until this isolated compound found from a poison of a South American Bufo Frog was inhaled into me. *laughing* Typing this is hilarious, but the experience was quite sobering and has forever stained me. A good stain. We all need a little staining now and again. Let's just say, after my life changing experience, I have nothing against psychedelic astronauts or Burroughsian super-sticky sexed-up typewriters, though being a very tentative and respectful astronaut participant I find important.

This made me remember. Made me remember what we all know, and what we forget. We are connected. Connected to everything. We are bound together in a permanent making. Why bother hold on to what you're already connected to? These hands are a temporary illusion. Our bodies are but a vessel that will my golden plastic hourglass. I am romantic about the past, hopeful for the future and in Awe of the now. Awake. Though do not misconstrue being "awake" with G.I. Gurdjieff's idea.

Now...I stop. I freely say that I know nothing. These statements I've made are the closest I've come to a faith. A faith with no name... that I wear like a weightless feather cloak.

Orphans Left On the Island of Lost Songs...

I added an "Orphan" page a few weeks ago and I've been happily picking up my little forgotten ditties and have placed them in there. It's nice to let them out of the Miscellaneous Song Dungeon that have been mired in my deep dark dank tarn of a computer. One of the songs "Into My Heart", while the title sounds soft and cuddly, is rather cold and bristly...even sounding like Cady Truckee...a.k.a me. This has been my difficult quandry. Do I keep Cady Truckee and Christopher separate? Hell no. Fuck no. I have to merge my split self and this is the start of it. I can sing about love and cunts. Accepting this about myself has been slow and arduous...but I'm mending the pyschotic break into a shiny prism of dirty blue glass.

Eight Hours Too Soon...

4:32 AM GMT

Awake. Very awake and very sleepy. Time traveling by way of Virgin Atlantic, eight hours ahead. No one can avoid paying the Time Gods their due. No amount of Ambien, Tryptophan, chamomile tea, fresh ale, whiskey, foot massage, or Brian Eno's "Music For Airports" can help you pay the entire bill. Our payment for time travel is time.

I'm tippy-tapping in the dark with only the glow of my cell phone illuminating my hands and face. My little connector. My night-light of comfort and distraction. My tempter of high priced roaming data download charges. Sailing the dangerous seas of price gouge piracy. I WILL NOT USE THE INTERNET UNTIL I FIND FREE WIFI!!!!

I keep telling myself this. So far I have vanquished my little tippy-tappy-temptress from connecting to the buzzy beepy, flash of texts and social networks...but it's only been 13 hours since I rolled into London. I'm getting weak. When true daylight ensues, I will find my hook-up. My fix. By then I'll have the city. She will open up to me all her wonders and wherefore's.

Getting to know her scent again. It's been 6 years since we've been together. Since we've snogged. Her hair might have changed a little, and a new outfit, but she's like I remembered her. Gentlemen never tell though, so you'll have to glean your own tells and secrets. We have ours...and new love will be made in our fecund tryst so we can add to the length our paper daisy chain.

Giving it. Taking it. The Devil is not in the details, it's in the wind and I am a cloud.

I'll be getting my left-handed scissors out in 4 more hours...