Musician Needed!

Just cut these lyrics from my first album. The friend I’m recording with prefers making music from sound (not from lyrics or structure), so these shan’t go on the album. Still, when I shared them lyrics with a friend, she said, “There are some absolutely stunning moments,” so I thought I’d put them out in the open. If you’re musically inclined and curious, would love to hear what you might do with them sonically. (And if you have suggestions of how you’d change elements, please let me know!)

Song #1: You’ll Never Be Home Again

Sittin’ out here 
Drinkin’ a beer,
Sky’s become clear,
My fear nearing,
Endearing
That you’ll never be home again.
Rounding that bend
Ended a friend,
Sending us rended and tender, amended
By a problem we’ll never mend.
But I still miss you
Not to kiss you
Simply to list the missed Sisyphus trysts you
Caressed with your wrists.
Undressing the pissed misty mornings of horny,
The warnings I foreswore.
You get what you want.
And never a thought for what ought to be
Safe or unwavering labor.
Controlling your world.
Squeezing that girl
Into a picture
Perfect
hearseless
first verse
that cursed her.
This sunset on hills
Gives me the chills
Missin’ your thrills and your pills
That still make me ill.
But I still miss you.
In distance I list you
As one of the greatest
sadists
I hated.
But I still miss you.
And pissy, I kissed you
I was a weak and meek
seeker that needed
some closure you own.
So you made me moan
Not with delight but a fright of the bright lights
That’s all you’ve done.
Now that you’ve won.
You ruined the son of my father who bothered
To let his dad die.
I must ask why?
Why do you end those around you, add frowns to…
You unholy beast.
I miss you the least
that I could miss anyone I once loved and still do.
I can’t close doors.
I keep wanting more.

Song #2: Untitled Song for College Grads (still being written, 2 verses to go.)

Graduatin’ mainstreet, aimin’ at fame street.

Someone clue me into those celebrities I can’t meet.

I’m an artist, just got out of school.

Lookin’ for a way to make a splash in the pool.

 

Hey there kiddo, can I borrow your soul?

Cause I can get you into the city of gold.

You said you’re a painter? Musician? A writer?

Work with me a few years, your life’ll be brighter.

 

So I got a workin’, sixteen hours a day

For plenty of perks and boatloats of pay.

Bain, BCG, don’t remember the name.

Coulda been ‘banking.’ Whatever, it’s lame.

 

Don’t sell your soul to the devil, friends—

The trouble and the toil ain’t worth the ends

Do what you love and do it for pay,

You’ll be a better person at the end of the day.

 

Been livin’ in the city and don’t love the rent.

Might as well buy. That’s money well spent.

Started seein’ someone, they just moved in.

Now we’re startin’ talkin’ ‘bout poppin’ out kin.

 

I’ll match your retirement and give parental leave.

Send you trav’ling to hotels. There’s nothing up my sleeve.

Your friends all sip champagne, proudly showing comp’ny pride

Come day-drink on my yacht and I’ll take you for a ride.

 

Don’t sell your soul to the devil, friends—

The trouble and the toil ain’t worth the ends

Do what you love and do it for pay,

You’ll be a better person at the end of the day.

Stood Up, Standing Down

I daydreamed about her all day. She stood me up.

We agreed she would call shortly after 10pm. At 11:15, I call her. She says she’ll call me back by 1am. 2:52 and still no call.

I feel like a seventeen-year-old British woman out of Jane Austen, leaning on the windowsill, complaining to her cat:

And I told him, too. I told him I’d be gazing wistfully, like all the proper ladies do in the books. He must have known he had my heart to break.

He broke a promise. He tallies his emotional work of writing a letter at more than my hurt feelings. What price would that fetch for half of me?

The breakage will heal, but in a hard and crusty scar that prevents the next lover going so deep.

We must inform him it hurts my future husband and me, and insist he be more careful with hearts in the future.

This post was inspired by the song Mis, sent by my friend Omri. What song would you want me to write on? Link it in the comments. 

“Thwack!” goes my head, pummeling the van door.

“Thwack!” goes my head, pummeling the van door.

See bright spots of light. Can’t balance no more.

Closed out my phone call, “I love you. Uh, bye.”

Stumbled to my knees, my head hanging high.

 

Called my chum Em’ly, the reason I’m here

Coordinated as if drunk on beer.

“I’ll call you in ten,” she said and hung up,

so I wondered whether I was wrung up. 

 

Am I concussed? I had seen stars. And my

neck mashed. From whacking it hard and uh, high.

Big ol’ thwackin’! A painful a-whackin’!

I pray the world fades not to, uh, black, and

 

but if it does, at least I’d’ve learned… Not

much of anything. An accident turned

me into a grave. A silly way to

die. In future, I’ll be A-More-Aware-of-Surroundings Guy.

 

I worried about permanent nerve damage for the first time today.

I worried about permanent nerve damage for the first time today.

On Monday I underwent sleep apnea surgery. I wasn’t afraid. I trusted my surgeon.

I had my first post-op visit today. I’m healing a half-week ahead of schedule. My surgeon removed most of the rubber bands holding my jaw closed. He said my muscles were still too weak to hold my jaw in place. He showed me how to replace bands that snapped.

Two hours later, I moved a band to make my right and left sides symmetrical. My maxilla, lower lip, and parts of my chin went numb. I had recently regained feeling in these parts, having lost it after surgery. Losing it again concerned me. My speech deteriorated. I sweat in fear.

I sent a message to my surgeon. Those can take days to return. I called his office. They close at 5. I called a doctor I knew. She said permanent nerve damage can’t be done overnight.

I believe her. I still feel panicked. Each sensation in the chin prompts terror. Sure, they remind me I have sensation there, but they also feel like a stretched nerve. Worse, I still feel pain from the surgery and can’t separate the normal surgery pain from any pain I might have caused. My mind spins:

  • Will a stretched nerve always regain sensation over time, just as happened in the days post-surgery?
  • If properly-placed bands are holding my teeth in the right position, will I definitely be all right?
  • How much leeway do I have in the band placement? (I.e. I am pulling my jaw forward slightly more than when I left the doctor’s office. Is that safe?)
  • Did I cause myself permanent nerve damage?

I’ve never dealt with questions like this before. They terrify me.

Thanks, Dad, for an incredible day.

Thanks, Dad, for an incredible day. More connected with you than I’ve felt in memory. Your stories that weaved from place to place—about which I sometimes ask, “what was the point?”—today, the sharing was the point. Maybe that’s always true.

 

Am I focusing on the present because I’m having intensive surgery on Monday?

Could be…

Possibly…

Probably.

 

Right now, I’m afraid. Not of death, but life:

  • What if improving my breathing isn’t miraculous?
  • What if I fail?
  • What if I die?

Death I can deal with. It’s failure that’s unacceptable.

 

I’m donating my tomorrow to high school kids. Teaching, mentoring, engrossed in giving.

 

When I could die at any moment, why do I hop stepping stones?

  • “But Kid, the best stepping-stones are rock and their own right.”

 

I didn’t think about any of that today. Just talked with you, Dad. And I loved it.