notes from the above-ground, pt. 2

(Part one is here and here.)

These are song lyrics, but since I have lost all interest in recording music over the past year or so, I'll just put them here for posterity. Not that anyone (myself included) pays attention to this blog anymore, but I suppose you never know.

Hermits

passed july with busy feet and idle hands

the devil’s work is looking up, not around

why would you pay to take an inkblot test

when the sky is full of clouds

i’ve stolen coffee from a motel lobby

when i was in oakland, was there on a lark

i wrote a poem sitting on the border

i’ve walked alone in st. james’ park

and maybe i’ll never write like virginia woolf

but at least i’ll tip my server

and maybe i’ll never sail out on a boat

but i’ve got life preservers

all the strings inside me

i’ve stood and gaped in the supermarket

paralyzed by all the choice

i've ranted and raved about exhibitions

while someone recorded my voice

i'll always argue with father figures

that if there were no clocks, we'd still have time

and all of the kids who slacked off in high school

really seem to be doing just fine

and maybe i’ll never go onstage as jean valjjean

but at least i’m not the inspector

i may be pointing up at stars that are long gone

but constellations are perspective

all the things that i’ve seen

do you want to go somewhere you’ve been a thousand times?

or do you want something new?

do you want to hear someone say it all will be alright?

or do you want to hear truth?

do you want to meet someone who will not meet your eyes?

or do you want a starer?

do you want some privacy and silence on the ride?

or do you want to share it?

do you want to choose a perfect song for us tonight?

or do you want to chance it?

do you want to ask the question to buy yourself some time?

or do you want an answer?

do you want a classic and iconic branded life?

or do you want to be hermits?

do you love the look of the empty buildings filled with light?

or do you want to burn it all down?

Laius Complex (or Too Old for Teen Angst)

danforth street is lined with hawthorn trees

and every house is a crucible

are the dishes done, is the laundry hung

did he find some way to feel useful?

a loaf of bread alone may not be enough

but i swear i could live forever just on street signs and store fronts

a house stands on the corner of beacon and mccarthy

and i think, well so does america

ice cream truck sounds blend with sirens

and i think, well i guess that’s life

i’m walking around like i’m fifteen years old

and i can’t decide where i belong

i hate how all we ever talk about is money

or where we’re going to eat 

i feel just like i’m bateman, wish i could lose that e

should be out there fighting for the right

cause you can’t always trust the police

i feel so guilty when i pass the men hard-working in the streets

when all i do is sit there just pretend that i’m shelley or keats

and unlike a grecian i didn’t earn any of this

i just happened to be good at multiple choice

my head is filled with useless knowledge - the order of queens and kings

i’ve half-convinced myself it matters, since i will not wear a ring

henry the eighth was never alone and

yet i’m sure he couldn’t stand a crowd

if you shop at walmart, you’re supporting evil corporations

but if you don’t then you’re elitist scum

when i ranted about labor i got called out by a twelve-year-old

(whose hero is napoleon)

he said “where is your shirt from”

the band says “thank you” to remind us that we’re supposed to clap

half the time i only leave the house to add another pin to my map

and i’m driving around just like i’m sixteen years old

and i can’t decide where i went wrong

i end up at a mountain that my old boss used to climb

that was five years ago, the summer of punishment and crime

i eat ice cream, watch the batting cages

while the radio plays linkin park

i had friends who went to chester

and i’ve never been to bennington, but i’ve read donna tartt

apollo and dionysis - you’ve got to have them both

if you want to create art

and maybe it’s time that i start

"all learning is unlearning"

first you learn that red means stop

then you learn that nothing actually means anything at all

but then a little later on

you relearn that red means stop

just because we say that red means stop

hey, hey hegel

you were wrong

it turns out the world ain’t going somewhere,

it just keeps going on

play, play plato

it was tough

but we’ve finally realized

it’s caves all the way up - all the way up

i don’t believe in curses

and i don’t believe in blood

but i do believe in purpose and i do believe in love

and you may see me searching in the skies that lie above

but finding shapes in clouds is worth more

than praising rays of sun

a man whose life is hardship

finds peace staring at the water

my grammy sees a cardinal

as the spirit of her daughter

who would take that away from them?

[[[A Toast]]]

here’s to driving around your hometown on thanksgiving weekend

here’s to the old friends who remember things that you should

here’s to the parking lots where you had the best times of your life

here’s to the life that thrives in every institution

here’s to the weeds growing through concrete

here’s to the fact that fancy restaurants serve pizza fries

here’s to all the songs that are built on these four chords

here’s to playing pranks at war memorials in dc

here’s to always finding some new way of getting bored

here’s to the weeds growing through concrete

here’s to fighting with your family at the mini-golf course

here’s to turning up the music just a bit too loud

here’s to mass-produced saint statues in the yards of trailers

here’s to all the stupid shit we learn that makes us proud

here’s to the weeds growing through concrete

here’s to hiding behind second-person pronouns

here’s to scrolling through your phone for hours at a time

here’s to addiction and obsession over coffee

here’s to all the things that you mean when you say “it’s fine”

we are the weeds

we are the concrete

Phrases in the Air

since i came back to the country, all i want to do

is read self-indulgent fiction and daydream about food

do the daily crossword puzzle in the new york times

go for lots of long walks and go for lots of drives

drink my morning coffee, stare out the window at the tree

coast along inside the grooves of habit and routine

become more like my parents the older that i get

i’ll grow up if i have to, but it hasn’t happened yet

and i can justify damn near everything

because i’ve never had to try to do anything

all i already was has almost always turned out to be enough

because all i care about isn’t being good, just being the best around

read a book at someone who just wants to watch tv

reframe laziness as passion and my boredom as ennui

say “life is about compromise, none of us is pure”

and “modern life is sickness and it’s sick to want a cure”

claim we can’t fix the problems, it’s up to those with wealth

pretend that i’m not grateful for my bank account and health

the water always flowing, the gas that keeps me warm

romanticize bad weather, though i’ve never known a storm

because i will sit inside through almost everything

and because i would rather hide than go do anything

what i’ve already got, i’m always finding out, is really quite a lot

all the things i’ve thought are still sitting in there next to those i’ve not

cling to facts like icons while the world is burning down

blame all my depression on the season or the town

apologize to nietzsche just for turning off the fan

say that i’ll figure something out, pretend that that’s a plan

say no one pays attention, cohesion is a myth

and every decent pop song is just built on fourth and fifth

refuse to choose a side in the great war of breadth and depth

beg for likes on all i write, deride the internet

Retrograde

beautiful churches sit right next to chain outlets

and it’s the stores you can enter for free

all these flea-market vendors hawking their wares

but what they’re really selling is certainty

whether walking or driving, you’ve got so many options

so you just stop at the places that you’ve been to before

in the agora, you’re surrounded by voices

all waiting for god - oh, he’s not here anymore

but the truth is that he never even was

the talking heads have always been made of dust

the whole world is like a kindergarten classroom

one of the boldest said he was left in charge

you best be behaving, she’ll be back any minute

he stands on a desk, says small bow down to large

or we sit in a circle and listen to the story

there's one who's resisting so they take him away

once he is gone, us good children breathe safely

i make my own meaning from the words that we say

but i make sure to keep it to myself

i take this chunk of time and i put it on the shelf

i say that i’ll remember

i know that i'm lying

but it makes me feel better

so i say it anyway

and if i do forget it,

then it must not have mattered

it’s never my fault

i’ll blame the sun or the moon or the stars

i finally know what they mean by retrograde

retrograde, retrograde

can't turn my back on what i've made

retrograde, retrograde

go run and tell monty hall i'll stay

retrograde, retrograde

can't get up until all my cards are played

retrograde, retrograde

my black and white don't turn to gray

Song for Another Eleanor

now that i’m seventy

i don’t need an excuse

i will do what i want

when i know what i want to do

forgiveness is heavenly

but i’ve never had any use

for a child of god,

i’m a child of ugly truth

webs make the spiders

the past is inside us

Cross Roads

hear something about cardinals

she starts thinking about church

he’s planning to watch football

and you’re dreaming about birds

you know you don’t belong here

it’s just where you have been put

and the hand that you were dealt

feels more like a leaden foot

you hate the signs that say “scenic view”

like you wouldn’t know a sight

and you don’t need to check your phone

to know how you slept last night

you practice in the shower

and when you’re doing chores

you know you’ll never quite

until you’re really sure it’s yours

that’s who you are

it’s who you’ve always been

and it’s how you got this far

it’s how you ended up here

in this shitty, small-town bar

listening to music

that you always say you hate

but right now it’s pretty great

you really only travel

for the joy of coming home

your thoughts are fathoms deep

but your act’s all “when in rome”

not superman but ketman

the role you’ve been assigned

and the only part that happened

is what happened in your mind

no palace but a sandbox

a yard to pace around

when the story’s in the storm clouds

you put your ear up to the ground

if brevity is wit then

you’re the biggest fool

in thought though not in deed

you’ll break each golden rule

that’s who you are

it’s who you’ll always be

and it’s how you’re going to die

it’s a game that can’t be won

but you’re always gonna try

and it’s how you ended up there

in that damn hospital bed

they checked your brain

but it was your head

you figured out the nature of man

but you left the butter sitting out on the counter

you’ve got no doubt there’s no god or no plan

but when faced with a bracket

you turn back into powder

all these cross walks
you'll spend your whole life
on a cross walk
in a crosswalk

The Watchmaker (After The Watch)

you can make a horse drink

but you can’t make it thirsty

so i’m leaning in and praying

to the gods that blessed and cursed me

when you brush the snow off

of the roof of your new car

is it so no one gets hurt

or because it is the law

outside of st. paul’s

there’s a sign that lists the fee

but if you’re praying hard enough

they’ll let you in for free

god became so human

restless on the seventh day

gonna burn it all down,

gonna fill it all up

got to throw it all away

you can dump out all the apples

but the basket still remains

he’s spent the past ten years

in a lab dissecting butterflies

but i’d say we’re better off

browsing bookstores the rest of our lives

if the past could hear

how i’ve passed inspection every time

i’d spend all my nights stealing street signs

it’s a joy to make a mess

it’s a joy to clean it up

it’s a joy to set down and forget

about your coffee cup

it was rock versus paper

in all the games we used to play

but in the end it turns out

rock’s just paper anyway

if the ship of theseus

went by any other name

we wouldn’t know or care

and say our teachers are to blame

when you’re solving a problem

and then you hear your friend

of course you’re gonna turn around

for some, a stop - for some, the end

you can burn down all the cities

but the weeds will always grow

he saved up his whole life

and gave his name up to a monument

but i still see myself more like a

lightning flash that came and went

if you find yourself waiting for a sign

that’s what you’ll find

i guess that’s why we say

“making up your mind”

when we come together

or when we split apart

we’re always crying victory

always saying it’s a new start

more than circuses or bread

you need construction crews

every castle wall is built

so people have something to do

i look around at the world

like an ostrich to the sky

may have been born with wings

but that don’t mean i’ll learn to fly

half in love with the buildings

windowless, you can’t see inside

at least they’re not hiding the fact

that they have something to hide

you can cling on to your islands

but it’s all still muddle underneath

he wrote a million words

and said that he had said it all

but i could still retell and tell

the story of a single fall

when the seasons change

the last one gets put aside

the box can be reopened,

but not when we decide