Tuesday, January 30, 2007

More Tasty Lyrics

What a great song! Talking Heads rock!

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Watch out
You might get what youre after
Cool babies
Strange but not a stranger
Im an ordinary guy
Burning down the house

Hold tight wait till the partys over
Hold tight were in for nasty weather
There has got to be a way
Burning down the house

Heres your ticket pack your bag: time for jumpin overboard
The transportation is here
Close enough but not too far, maybe you know where you are
Fightin fire with fire

All wet
Hey you might need a raincoat
Shakedown
Dreams walking in broad daylight
Three hun-dred six-ty five de-grees
Burning down the house

It was once upon a place sometimes I listen to myself
Gonna come in first place
People on their way to work baby what did you except
Gonna burst into flame

My house
S'out of the ordinary
Thats might
Dont want to hurt nobody
Some things sure can sweep me off my feet
Burning down the house

No visible means of support and you have not seen nuthin yet
Everythings stuck together
I dont know what you expect starring into the tv set
Fighting fire with fire

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Oh Lord Above, Why Did You Give Me a Heart Which Weeps at Stories Like This One?

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near
Tampa, Florida, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions,
They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff
that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Missouri . The old man's sole bequest to
Posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News
Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health.? A slide
Presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent,
Poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is
Now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet.


Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses?.....What do you see?
What are you thinking......when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man.....not very wise,
Uncertain of habit........with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food.......and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice....."I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice the things that you do.
And forever is losing ................ A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not...........lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding ....... The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking??? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse......you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding ........as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten ......with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen.......with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now...........a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty ...........my heart gives a leap.
Remembering the vows........that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five now...... I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide ........ And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty...... My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons.....have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me........to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, .......... Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children..... My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future.....I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing....young of their own.
And I think of the years...... And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man.........and nature is cruel.
'Tis jest to make old age .......look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles..........grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone........where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass ...... A young guy still dwells,
And now and again .........my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys.............. I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living.............life over again.

I think of the years all too few......gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact........that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people ..........open and see?.
Not a crabby old man.? Look closer??..see........ME!!

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

What does a smaller-than-expected tax return, a mundane menial job, and a tired morning all add up to? That's right! A serious need to listen to Parliamant's Give Up The Funk (Tear the Roof Off the Sucker).

I mean, just listening to the lyrics makles me want to smile. And that is not just because it has become a sort of BYU Football theme song and makes me think of their great season this past year. It is an anthem to tearin the roof off the sucker (the work sucker, the crazzy a-hole customer, your bills, all the frustration, all the mediocrity, the hatred in the world--tear the roof off the sucker!). I am rambling--my PJ bottoms are around my ankles, drool on my chin and I am in an insane ward. Ya know what I mean sucker?

Just read some of the lyrics:

You've got a real type of thing going down, gettin' down
There's a whole lot of rhythm going down
You've got a real type of thing going down, gettin' down
There's a whole lot of rhythm going down

Ow, we want the funk
Give up the funk
Ow, we need the funk
We gotta have that funk

Now sample the song:

http://www.amazon.com/Best-Parliament-Give-Up-Funk/dp/B000001EE1/sr=8-1/qid=1169660664/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/104-2627324-1707930?ie=UTF8&s=music

And smile with me now, suckers!

-Jay

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Father

the poet scribes his words of verse
for us to read and hear
and in these lines he does rehearse
the lee and lay most dear

his words they swirl so bravely forth
amongst life, that colored plain
though strong they fight and great their worth
who will note despite their pain?

the words they chant aloud our times
an anthem to the best, oh lore!
and bardic tales and storied lines
are xenia, and aegis, and more

passed man to man these words bestow
a thousand genera in their bud
'tis momentus that our children know
we're sparks housed in clays of mud

this is the gift from the poet, thought
giv'n long aged times ago
and kept aflame by the next epoch
of men, and what the old ones know.

Monday, January 15, 2007

The Resurrection of William

Say, what would William Faulkner think
if he were alive today
would he sigh and hide or wryly wink
and chuckle about Soldiers' Pay

Oh what would William Faulkner do
if he perched on a bench near us
Would he comment the states of affairs or on news
or silenty bide time for the bus?

Of what would William Faulkner speak, anon
if asked to elaboate his words
would he vaildate Sartoris, Mosquitoes, Pylon
or promptly proclaim them absurd?

Oh, I wish William Faulker again would write
his paradox in our modern world
of syphilis and gonorrhea from satyrs and sprites
'twould be modernism and classicism unfurled!

No, Poor William Faulkner no more will speak,
he's gone the way of us all
yet I wish he would for a day, a week
rise up, perversely wink, then comment withal

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

The Superintendent's Scutwork

You might think me mundane
one simple, un complex, odd
but you and me we are the same
same cloth, same mess, same train

I put on antopodial airs to keep the peace
laugh instead of weep, cough, sleep
the days roll by and do not cease
same face, same smile, same conceit

When will I show you all my front
to shake off, drop off, denude
this facade--at hand with which to shunt
your slax, your lax, your 'tude

Please stand and be counted amongst the few
to be firm, be effectual, be free
to day is gone and tomorrow soon too--
they roll, they stroll, they flee

Instead now I sit and I vent my spleen
one manager, one abashed, one friend.
How many modifications are made from the mean
from methods, from motives, from ends?

-Jay