Songwriting confidential #63


Poetry and songwriting is the secret language of trees, stones, wind, sun, moon, stars, rain, oceans,.all animals, all plant life, spirits, angels, and God,..what we do when we write poetry is to intuitively tap into the miraculous nature all things sentient ..In the language of poetry are the answers to everything hidden and buried by the heavy tired forms of communication we as mortals use,...when the songwriter uses poetry to reveal the visions that he/she has been given to them by the spirit, in that moment we are given a glimpse into the uncharted leagues of universal mysteries that we spend much of our lives trying to unravel and make sense of,..poetry is our bridge to the unanswerable,..our light in the tunnel of unformed dreams,..stepping stones to Nirvana,.the language we will all one day use somewhere off in those unfathomable distances.

Songwriting confidential #62


There are entrances into things,..secret passages that wind there way into simple mysteries,.pathways that can lead a man or woman in to inexplicable earthly freedoms,..for a musician there is only one way in to the throne room of the great abstract reality called God,..God being the all powerful force of everything that exists, animate and inanimate,.he is the only creative entity that endows his creations with gifts of HIS spirit,..before we incarnate from the spirit world to this realm of form and substance, "Planet Earth",.God plunks a little of his JU JU in each of us in order that we discover what that JU JU is in this short lifetime,.DISCOVER WHAT IT IS , IMPLEMENT IT, AND UNLEASH IT ON MANKIND FOR THE BETTERMENT OF THE PLANET BEFORE WE LEAVE,..This is our sole purpose for being here,..this is the meaning of Life,..For me, a songwriter,.I have only one purpose,.to use the gift that God gave me to work at my music with the same intensity that he used to create the heavens and the earth,..If it takes me my whole life to write that one song that has power to change things ,..change something for the better,..anything,.then, my life was not lost,.not short changed,..not regrettable,. we were all given a gift by the creator,..the gift is what makes us magical beings because the gift holds the invisible key to the greatest power of all,..LOVE !!!

Songwriting confidential #61


You can only lean against so many lamp posts and buildings before you become cemented into royal Hobo-ism, a scandalous Johnny on a hot potato park bench..Between playing guitars that grappled and mugged me and leaning into hairy winds, crummy doorways, unfriendly hallways with rotten breath, crappy cars and dimwitted liaisons with giant fisted woman with painted ears, I have morphed into what looks to be a parabolic shoe with chicken bone teeth; and this is the tale of the old songwriter,.the one who will whisk you away for a delightful gourmet dinner at Eddies wings and suds joint,.Lets go, were late,.and I have to get a biopsy at 7.00.

Songwriting confidential #60


The crumbs of legebility are down in the depths of the night well after midnight sloshing around in the freezing darkness,.I can't come begging for pearls in the kings hall in my tousled cut offs and loud mouth in the blazing sun,'s in the cover of shadows I find the genie's lamp,.stumbling like a fool on a morsel that fell innocuously from Gods plate to the floor in front of my silly shoes...And for this I have sworn to channel only art of substance and measure to sluice and white water through the creek bed of this 75 year old soul..I only want the rubies,. not the rhinestones,.I only want those songs that evoke revelation,.the hallaluyah of insurrection and redemption,.mystical cookies and magic.. Today it's Tuesday of my new resolution !! I am one blessed boy,.here I am still on the GO GO wheel, spinning like a tire hurled off the roof of a tennement building by a young thug,.Still hunting the elusive Gold Tooth in the cryptic smile of God,.still on avalanche turnpike barreling through the fog and sleet,.mounting up for another hurl at the Groove javalin and the discus of BOP...I can't get back all the years the locusts ate,. can't recapture the tiger energy I once possessed and pissed away,.but I can vow with certainty I will not stray from the path thats been given to me,.a path I once knew but rejected as a young fool,.one thats taken me eternities to find again,.this time i will not deviate ever again from that which I know to be real and true..Steady to the end old man !! the horses are charging down the mountain,.it's either jump out of the way of them, or leap on their backs and ride into the flames, whooping and hooting like some old wino careening dizzingly along side of a parade, waving his bottle of MD 20 in the air, harassing the marchers and tuba players.

Songwriting confidential #59


Without passion there's nothing. !! A passionless existence would be like living in a bar of soap,.or being a human ash try,.I can only see life as those who burn with passion as opposed to those who flicker,.An insanely passionate individual is dubbed "CRAZY" by world standards,.the mediocrity of flickering to me is unbearable,.it's like being stuffed in an ice chest,.I am appalled by those parents who coddle their children with over protectiveness, cramping their room to burn,.. wildfires burn brightest,.contained flames flicker and spark but eventually go out ,.give a child room to burn, and their passion for their discovered gifts will consume the world,..we as guardians of the young are given the responsibility to fan their flames,. just enough so it doesn't burn them up in the process, but let's them grow and enlarge with balance and reserve,..I see so many young artists who've had the passion snuffed out of them by over protectiveness ,.burdened with retarded confidence,.saddled with insecurities,.a piece of their spirit amputated. Let these kids grow in the way God intended,.protect them with good teaching and life skills,.but give them free reign to burst into the flames they we're created for,.these individuals will change the world,..change it for the better.

Songwriting confidential #58


A great song clamps down on you like a vise,.a grip that will not let go, this life or the next, is the saviors wine in the barrel marked "SWINGING' DADDY COOL", Songs are sound birds that fly up your nose and roost in your heart brain,.they tantalize you like leggy women on the strip of POTATO dreams,.they canonize you in trappings of fire fox and chrysanthemums,.they delegate unseen beings to do your bidding on holy pilgrimages and indecent crusades,.they bail you out of rubber rooms and vainglorious ideology's that squelch kingship's and predisposed woman of felonious valor,. great songs pinch the cheeks of tantrum driven babies and mesmerize their totem logic,.they have marsupial instincts and turtle magic,.they flap like forgotten tents in the lost winds of ancient buried carnivals,..whose to say who will write the next great game changer of our times,.that stroke of angelic Voo Doo that DE-crystallizes this frozen planet,.smashes it into quadrillions of sun rain splay drops,.. giving hearing sight back to the blind deaf. !!

Songwriting confidential #57


I am in the rafters that flurry up under the eves,.the disturbance in the attic,. the low flying white thing out there skimming the waves !!, thats me,.I'm the tall cloud falling off the mountain battering everything with rain and wind,.swirling over the churches , balustrades and portico's, upsetting the woman selling shawls and porridges smoking in her rubber Croc's on the hot stones,.the confetti looping around sad parades billowing out of the turrets,.thats me wearing the conical hat peering around those dreary drawbridges and escalades..I have been in millions of wreck's and demolitions from chariots to ox carts on narrow ledges to race cars and plummeting planes,.surviving always in a top hat and tux with tapping shoes and flying white scarf's,.I'm the sand grain unnoticed in silent forgotten dunes for eons under deathly sweltering stars,.but somehow,.somehow, always forging out of the tree line,.cascading over the precipice,.narrowly escaping hostile head hungry natives shaking spears and howling on the river bank,.emerging not as a gladiator, but as something unearthly,.incandescent,. not delivering crushing blows,.but shape changing that rearranges landscapes mysteriously and unnoticed,.I will not alter my tactics,.wont parlay my gifts for sacks of loot,.I am a solid fixture,..always permanent ,.never one to be the shifty character who took under the table payoff's in a hail of bullets and blood,.I'm an ancient totem covered in vegetation in a humid rain forest casting spells and humming unheard melodies from lost angelic tribes..I'm a guitar propped in the corner of a mud hut waiting to be played by the contessa out there in the chaparral on her knees murmuring omens, her head wrap blustering in the desert whorls, Aren’t You ???.

Songwriting confidential #56


We as people live in a fluster bubble,. caught in the undertow of feeling everything so intensely while living in this huge rapidly decaying piece of meat of a body that houses our spirit for the duration of this planetary stay is a cagy affair..Ain't it wild how something so temporal can appear to be so real..There is absolutely nothing other then trying to be nice to each other that means anything!!..Our money, opinions, fears, stances, twisted perceptions, self importance, and myriads of other moronic psycho dramas mean zip in the face of our very very short stay in this uncanny existence..All the crap, the wars, the idiot garble pouring out of people's pie holes day in and out is nothing but shredded tissue in the wind. Nothing anybody ever said or did ever really made a dent in figuring out whats going on here,.Painters, writers, musicians, and various artists have come close to explaining this wacky scene we call Life, but no one has ever nailed it or come even close to the answer.. So whats all the clatter about..Nothing !!, absolutely nothing !!.The only thing that means anything is to be nice to each other,.nice to our animal friends and spirit guides,.nice to our plants and trees, treating nature with a modicum of respect,.just nice to everything,.other then that nothing else means a bloody damn..