to Bright Eyes, "If the Brakeman Turns My Way"

There’s no answer to that query, just a need. A balance that stays vastly under-weighted or over adjusted. The dancers only walk now, and the snowboarders’ gear gets hung up early.

The community takes a lot of time to settle after a holiday, a torrent that rattles the majority of the locals. A sudden desperation that skews me and us.

Some automatic writing, a forced pen in hand, but there is a drive, a run to it. The Paris of the south looms in the back of my mind, veering and steering me.

All this death must need a counterweight, but the scales only balance when they need to. Fate is a curious pagan in that way.

And she will whisper an uplifting notion in my year. Ascending to a major tone and echoing encouragement. A beatle-sec sound and cadence.

If the brakeman turns my way, leveling, stopping, balancing and slowing

 Is that what we want, a pause in the action, a rest in the conflict , unrest in the natural illusion?

to Norah Jones, "The Long Way Home"

There’s someone talking to me in the background, but I’m only trying to move. Trying to follow some lights and street lights and head lights. There may not be a light on when I get there, but lord I’m sorry I always take the long way home

It’s not that I am hesitant, or disillusioned. The handful of rain propels me, carries me back your way. I love you sweet baby but I will always take the long way home.

Although you may be miles away, shifting and twisting in your own reality and I am shifting in mine. I love you darling if I could, I’d take the short way home.

Seems like the money has left, a long time ago, but I remember so many instances of carrying on no matter. Whichever, however, I don’t care whatever, I will spend the time and money, I will follow you through the long way home.

See us scream like an angel, a demon, something seeking attention. It is natural and I find it all the time. I care and I love, we move and we fly, shift and fall through the long way home.


And for a picture a little skewed....

to Noah and the Whale: "Rocks and Daggers"

There’s no need to play with my heart. Almost like a flushing that happens, some innate passion and love, an idea, a dream, the dream and then some type of de-synching. Sometimes, there is an innate connection, mostly though; it is as an artificial wall, purposefully trying to avoid eye contact or dialogue.

A light fluttering and we all dance on tip toes, amongst rocks and daggers. Jagged pieces and filaments

Of scrap metal that kick up with our heels. Others are dancing too, dancing to something that we create. A settling and a resound crushing that can follow with boats and the crashing sea; a tidal wave that can bury and comfort us.

But there’s a driving to that boat and current and rocks. A pressurized force propelling us towards something, unaware of any walls or avoidance or passions or syncing. There is something that is driving and comforting in the future, in some clairvoyant mind set, my mind’s eye is comforted. And while the world can turn at incredible speeds, never stopping barely noticeable on earth, we don’t have to run in reverse. I don’t have to turn back time and you don’t have to turn it forward.

In different spheres of heaven, there is a clock that drives everyone individually, and sometimes that forces against the general movement of space and time and earth and the sun. We have our own clock, but sometimes they can coincide with others.