Settler writer/musician, (leanpub.com/upsun) living where privilege meets precarity in MST country. she/her/they———– Novels: Midnite Moving Co., Upsun; Sweep Off Those Waves coming in 2020, Hair Sinister after that. ————- LAND BACK . @TheCorrection on twitter.
So this is for Paul, and Mike, and Tom, and Katie’s singing in the background, and it’s off my album Mama’s Got Skills (Katie named it), engineered by Gord Breckenridge. I think that’s possibly the drummer from Fleetwood Mac on the prerecorded drumtrack.
This song comes very close to being commercial. Most of my songs do not even skirt around being commercial, being out in that big ol’ left field.
You are the one I’m plotting crime with
The one I’m spending time with
The one my senses rhyme with
my crazymaking boy
You are my hero from a fable
My supper on the table
My ready willing able
my crazymaking boy
Everything you do just comes out fine
I don’t know how you do it
I’m just glad I’m living through it
Everything you say just comes out fine
I’m in some new dimension
I guess I’d better pay attention
You are the pin that burst my bubble
My vision going double
Another word for Trouble
My crazymaking boy
You are the one who brought me fire
The one who pulled the wire
My crazymaking boy
Bob Dylan’s New Year’s Day. Wrote this mostly on the subway on the way home from Dowker’s place, having spent New Year’s Eve there. This will be many years ago now, before 1985 most likely.
The song. Which I recorded on New Years Day, even if I made the blog post a week ago.
Oh I am a mote in a weary eye that only longs for sleep
I have asked my journeying questions and they don’t now seem that deep
At least I asked, I’m proud of that, and the memories I keep
Though they’ve lost the weight to wound me now, the power to make me weep
Bob Dylan is your bible and you’re ready with a quote
You do not listen for the echo of a sweet or sour note
Poet, sage or prophet, desert voice or vote
On this New Years Day he seems to me another wind driven mote
Peace is available upon demand but the price tag seems so high
Thought I’d something I could trade for it when the limit was the sky
Our grownup occupations have tripped us, you and I
And reality’s a leg hold trap, we’ll get free when we die
We’re all conscripts every one of us, but we act like we’re volunteers
Meant to be here somehow, and joking back our fears
We speak our lines with conviction that deepens with the years
As we take our cues and pay our dues, playacting with our peers
O my Muse is a jukebox, and she plays what I select
Background noise for the girls and boys who want to act and not direct
I look around, hoping someone nods, and the words had some effect
When you quote Bob Dylan one more time, the answers all connect.
So for 2021, this blog is going to change up a bit. There will be at least one drafted post that goes live every day. (I’ve started pre-posting awready.) The hope is that I will put together useful or historical facts or just … information that’s easy to find arranged by subject PLUS post a song every day.
Now this involves many different KINDS of posts; some will be PDF’s, some MP3s, some videos, but there will be a song a day. I thought about posting it to youtube, but…. it’s a toxic waste dump that I have virtually no control over. And yes, some of the song posts will be from previous posts, but there will be a particular category: Song a Day 2021
And then, if I have the energy, I’ll write about laundry and cooking and grandson goo and boring domestic shit and progress on my writing projects – that none care about but me.
The point is that I am going to highlight my lifetime of achievement because I’m tired of always thinking to myself that I haven’t accomplished anything in my life. Taken all together, why yes I have. I was autistic and had ADD and mental health issues the whole time, too.
I’m considering password protecting my content or at least some of it, and I’m considering moving the blog to a VPS, after non-definitive discussion with Jeff.
I’m also thinking about money and immortality, a lot, but it’s nothing bad. I just want to eat steak for a thousand years while I drink beer and write nasty shit about misogynist slurs like Jordan Peterson.
By the way mOm the cat poets are Lu You and Liu Zhongyin