Songwriting Confidential #71

SONGWRITING CONFIDENTIAL 71.

FIVE TO THE NORTH IN THE BROILING HEAT
SWOLLEN AND RAGGED DELIRIOUS FEET
ABANDONED AS BIRDS IN THE ARCTIC FREEZE
CRAWL IN THE BLAZING SAND ON THEIR KNEES

FOUR TO THE EAST IN A KILLER TYPHOON
FURIOUS WINDS ASSAULTING THE MOON
BATTERED AND PUMMELED BY FLYING DEBRIS
RAPED BY THE SCOURGE OF A DERELICT SEA

THREE TO THE WEST IN THE MOUNTAINS OF DEATH
MAULED BY THE PEAKS WITH ICE IN THEIR BREATH
CANYONS OF MALICE, GORGES OF WRATH
NO WAY AROUND, NO WAY TO PASS,

TWO TO THE SOUTH WHERE THE BANDITS ROAM
STEALING THE MARROW OUT OF THEIR BONES
NAKED AND HOMELESS, SET ON BY BEASTS
DRAGGING THEM INTO THEIR DENS BY THE FEET

ONE TO THE STARS EMERGES ALONE
WITH DIAMONDS FOR EYES, AND EMERALDS FOR BONES
VICTORIOUS CREATURE, THROUGH TORMENT HAS WON
HOLDS A GYPSY GUITAR UP TO THE SUN..

Songwriting Confidential #70

SONGWRITING CONFIDENTIAL 70.

Songs are silhouette's,. shadows of the soul,. reincarnated memories of dreams from other life times,.As people, we ache,.ache for understanding of this insane predicament of living in a body,.peering out from behind our eyes like a kid who sneaks into a movie, huddled down in the seat trying not to look conspicuous,.I am a rambler of the silhouette world,.juggler of shadows as I be-bop down the bunny trail,.songs of storms,.songs of revelations,.songs of mayhem and love so torrid it burns holes in shivering clouds,.songs of passions, vengeance, malcontents and thieves,.songs of bleeding universes and dying suns,.songs of deliverance,. yes,.I'm a silhouette dancer,.thats me up there in the turrets and spirals,.gliding over the portico's and gilded alcoves,.you might see me but for a moment,.a silhouette,.whirling,.vanishing.!

Songwriting Confidential #69

SONGWRITING CONFIDENTIAL 69.

The path to the magic most times is short stopped by the mind that inquires of itself, "Is this commercial". We all want our music to be recognized and acclaimed by the public, however, the problem of retarded artistic development occurs when the mind begins to edit the intuitive process. Intuition, in it's purest state lays this beautifully outlandish idea on the unsuspecting songwriter whose immediate compulsion is to craft it,.get it down on paper,.not lose it before it disappears;. then something horrific happens. The mind, in all it's repititious psycho babel, throws up the question on the songwriters mind screen, "this is not commercial,.no one will like it",.and in one swipe, cuts the God given gift off at the knees,. deprives the world of something magical because it is not deemed "commercial". What one must realize, is by not completing that work, he or she has thrown the whole balance of their art backwards and off kilter. Each Intuitive jewel given by the spirit, is a steeping stone that one must complete in order to make the leap to the next stone.Not finishing the gift that was given, knocks the writer off the path and brings confusion and disorder to the creative process..The world needs those treasures from your unknown secret places,.to cast them away in the name of commercialism deprives the world of it's own evolution.

Songwriting Confidential #67

SONGWRITING CONFIDENTIAL 67.

Guitars, or any other instrument for that matter just don't bulldog their way into our lives; Musical instruments are the "PLAY HARD TO GET BABIES", of all time,..they defy being tamed,.they are obstinate, unwilling, unbending, and initially cold barren objects until they sense their practitioner is a serious participant, someone intent on relationship;.. I say ,"THEY SENSE", because musical instruments are sentient; living things. Much like wild animals, a beginning guitarist needs to tame his/hers new acquisition,..they lay there in their case uttering a low growl, challenging, defiant, "COME ON, they say, LET'S SEE WHAT YOU GOT DONKEY BOY, THINK YOU CAN MAN HANDLE ME,..YOU GOT ANOTHER THING COMING". For a man, a woman responds to gentility, honesty, sensitivity, and attentiveness ,..so does a guitar,..you can't flatter your way into a relationship with a guitar,..they only come to respect you on their terms,..they will not give up their secrets unless you approach them with an "INDIANA JONES", mentality. To tame a guitar involves persistence, resoluteness , a continuous barrage of frontal attack limb bending maneuvers...Guitars are not won over by seduction,..they succumb to "HEART",. Once the beginning stages of mastery ensue, a guitar becomes willing, pliant, and available...I am sure the guitar hanging in the pawn shop window who saw me coming said to itself as it saw me walk in the front door, "UH OH,. i got a feeling this little dude means business,. no FLIM FLAM IN HIS EYES,. It was right,..i wore that twenty five buck AX out,..I pounced on the thing like a leopard on liver,..i slung the thing into overdrive like i was man handling an intruder trying to break into my house,.there was no pussy footing around ,.I charged like a water buffalo emitting primitive guttural noises lifting her out of her case, and before i painfully attempted TO LEARN TO MAKE THE DIFFICULT B7TH CHORD, I'D THROW MY HEAD BACK AND GIVE OFF A DEAFENING JOHNNY WEISSMULLER TARZAN YELL JUST SO THE GUITAR KNEW I WAS READY TO ROCK, !!! The day you and your guitar become as one living , breathing entity, is the day all of creation is changed forever; changed in ways that only will be recognizable to you somewhere in a distant point of eternity.

Songwriting Confidential #66

SONGWRITING CONFIDENTIAL 66.

Playing at the basement on Friday night confirms the fact that people are hungry for authenticity and the back story.. It's never been a matter of songwriting just to do to be able to tell myself "I'm a songwriter", but something inextricably tied to " Unlocking Mysteries". If any songwriter out there looks beyond their desire for personal recognition, they will see an underlying pathology that is pervasive and magical driving them that is hard to put a finger on.. I mean really, to wake up in the middle of the night filled with an overwhelming compunction to pick up a guitar and fling yourself into manic overdrive just to flesh out some mysterious burning portent pouring through you and throwing you into a hyper state is truly an out world out of body experience; and all this for what some might call as insignificant as writing a song; hardly my friend. In those moments one is connected to the almighty, coming closest in this lifetime to what Yoga masters call SAMADI, ENLIGHTENMENT, AND SATORI; and if one has embarked on this life style for the right reasons, one is privileged to peek for a few fleeting moments behind the elusive veil of " WHAT IN THE HECK IS GOING ON HERE" ??, and after completing a heartfelt song, the experience leaves the songwriter with the un-daunting feeling that for a moment they know without a doubt "WHAT IN THE HECK IS GOING ON". Me, personally, I try to connect with this high everyday and have for years. I guess one could say I'm addicted to it.

Songwriting Confidential #65

SONGWRITING CONFIDENTIAL 65.

Life seems to be a continual process of shrugging off constraints,.the whole dynamic of existence,.a struggle to extricate one's self from shackles of some sort or another,..and that's it,..the spirit yearning for freedom,..freedom of expression,.of relationship,.of being squeezed into society's box,..From the beginning, we are constantly looking for a way out,..the baby climbs out of it's crib when the parents are in another room,..the convict breaks out of jail,..the songwriter exposes his or her's inner most soul in a daring piece,.nations and countries fighting for their space,..repressed peoples rebelling against those who subjugate them,..all for freedom,..the free spirit incarnates itself into flesh for the purpose of learning evolutionary lessons,..then spends it's carnal life trying to free itself from the restrictions imposed on it by the fleshly kingdoms until it regains it's total independence once again at the moment of it's death,..back to the realms from which it came,. to once again soar in those fathomless spaces,..Why people are not aware of the true human drive for freedom I'll never understand,..If we did, we'd all be trying to be nice to each other to make this sometimes harrowing experience a little more palatable,.. Our true nature is to be free,..it's the propensity of everything sentient,..the greatest thing someone whose in a relationship can say is, "he or she let's me be who i am",..what their saying is,. "I am free". We should not take our freedoms lightly,..they are sometimes won hard in a life where every waking moment is spent straining to be FREE !!.

Songwriting Confidential #64

SONGWRITING CONFIDENTIAL 64.

Since I was a little boy I have always been drawn and attracted to what society calls, "RIFF RAFF"..RIFF RAFF dudes, RIFF RAFF chicks, RIFF RAFF life style. RIFF RAFF is interesting for a lot of reasons,..RIFF RAFF, like alley cats, slink along the walls of life, skulking ominously down where the tracks criss cross the barricades on dead end junction where the hobo's huddle round the fire in the old oil barrel,.hunched up in the cold with wild gold teeth wrapped in cadaverous blankets of OZ where the secrets of Atlantis and MUU eek out of the vacant rattling tin buildings on the hillside punched into the fierce grey clouds of freezing insomniac winds..It's here where the devils banjo and the leopard harps make that delicious RIFF RAFF music that mama said to avoid like death itself ,..It was there, scrunched under the doom snows, frying stolen potatoes in rusty hub caps over the garrish oil smoke fires that I saw poetry in the knarly lips of black toothed beggars with vein popping eyes from drinking shaving lotion and bottles of decayed listerine..Those mendicant songs like marooned fevers plummeting off the foreheads of huge muscular dancing women who we're shaggy and venomous, garggling like ferocious Moray eels; their huge legs mauled with tufts of thick pin like hairs,.these we're my mothers, and the unbathed raving RIFF RAFF my fathers,.I took from them everything from emerald sexualty to ruby wisdom, landing into the soft beds of Delilah luxury,.but when the finger nail moon hacks into the thighs of Orion, I slip out of the igloo unnoticed, racing down iodine boulevard to the outskirts of Leviticus to once again reunite with hosts of angelic barbarian RIFF RAFF.