Laura

Listen to and download Robert Wyatt singing the theme to the beloved and inscrutable Gene Tierney movie here

This is the Magnetic Fields movie Tracy had mentioned many months ago. Apparently I can be heard but not seen in it very briefly.

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/39849523/ns/today-entertainment/

In memory

http://www.tmz.com/2010/10/16/barbara-billingsley-dies-jerry-mathers-leave-it-to-beaver/

Today's Verse: 15 October 2010

Goodbye breakfast. Tears and snot
Bear away the fruit, crust, crumbs
Of deluded endeavour
On a shallow, idle stream
(T'es déguelasse. -- C'est quoi déguelasse?)

So? The morning sun shone in warm intimacy
As if caressing hall and hearth
Still, in equipose, not expectant or relieved,
Just dawned on me
Like an idea
That seemed familiar
Once it's thought

So? I lied all the time
About my split personality
The bifurcation was convenient, handy
Now it's gotten out of hand and landed
Me in the soup of someone else's lunch
To which I fear I'm not invited, either of me
Don't fuck up my neighbor whispers insistently picking at my sleeve
Don't worry we mutter in unison to ourselves
We're used to it by now

So. The afternoon is brutal, crushing, possibly diseased
I'm writing this letter to the warden
I know he'll never read
The night will evening follow, I'll wander off to dream
And wake in semi-darkness, rain pounding on the street
I wish I had a happy bed
Comes rising from the deep
I wish I had a happy bed
Remember as I fall asleep

You're Like Dope

This is supposed to be like if Cole Porter wrote a song for Grace Slick:


You are uppers, you are pot
You’re purple haze and micro-dot
Oh, baby, you’re like dope

You’re hashish, you’re PCP
Magic mushrooms, ecstasy
Oh, darling, you’re like dope.

You are blotter, you’re sugar cube
You’re tequila and a bunch of ludes
Oh, baby, you’re like dope

You’re blue heaven, you’re white death
You’re mescaline and crystal meth
Oh, honey, you’re like dope.

When I’m with you dear all I feel’s
A crazy happy glow
They say that I should leave you but
To them I just say no

You’re a lid of Mary Jane
You’re a shot in a collapsing vein
Oh, baby, you’re like dope.


You’re black beauties, you are dolls
You’re dilaudid and Demerol
Oh, baby you’re like dope

You are yellows, blues and greens
Footballs, goofballs, Dexedrine
Oh, darling, you’re like dope

You’re red devils, you are bennies
You are soapers, dust and nembies
Oh, baby you’re like dope

You’re a quick poke in the leg
You fry my brain just like an egg
Oh, honey, you’re like dope

You always keep me happy dear,
You never disappoint
I wish that I could roll you up
And smoke you like a joint

You’re peyote, Special K
STP, MDMA
Oh baby you’re like dope
Oh baby, just like dope.

Songs for the New Depression: Hard Times

Stephen Collins Foster wrote a beautiful song called Hard Times. Dennis suggested I try something with the same title.

A friend called up to tell me
He was stuck in a mine
He didn’t like to bother
But he’s afraid that he is dying
Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed

I look out the window
At the street on which I dwell
Abandoned houses in a row
Like husks or empty shells
Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed

I heard a man who talked about
The things that lie between us
I thought he was the president
But he was selling vacuum cleaners
Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed

Entire cities have been destroyed
By earthquake, fire and flood
And men been made invisible
Unseen, unknown, unloved
Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed