The way you like it

You hit me. I’ll hit you. You like it that way.
The cat’s in the cradle, the hog’s in the hay.
The horses were starving so they’ve gone away.
You hit me. I’ll hit you. You like it that way.

You Hit me. I’ll Hit you. You’ll Like it that way.
I fear our dear daring white boy is astray.
Let’s Beat him! Let’s Hit him! We’ll learn him someday.
You Hit me! I’ll Hit you! You’ll Like it that way!!

18 December 2004

Towards an ending

How shall I recall the Spring
When on one Winter’s day I bring
Not more than half of anything
To conclusion?

When all the spittle that I write
Flys back upon my face in spite
Reminding me no words are right.
There’s no illusion!

It seems the old year has ended
And I’ve not my fences mended.
All my words have but offended
Through derision.

I hope one day I might afford
To call upon some risen Lord
That he might offer a reward
Against division.

Untill that time I know I’ll find
That all my words, though they might rhyme
Cannot repay one lonesome dime
Through incision.

Here I’ll pause, though ending be
As always was, a mystery.
Nothing lingers here for me
But more questions.

17 December 2004

Westward through September

The grey sky opens above the street and my thoughts fly West.
Ever Westward. Westward ho! I pass over plains and mountains
Into the frost of the Northern winter.

The wind racks the car as my fellow travelers sleep.
Every turn has been greeted with wonder.
Where will we pause tonight?

October 2004

What is it?

What is it dead children say
To the coming of the morning,
When all their love has gone away
And mothers gave no warning?

Come say to me, I’ll say to thee
That all that’s lost is gone,
And all that’s left of worth bereft
Since we ran out of corn.

I’ll say to thee, you’ll say to me
That all that’s here remains,
Since we’ve no need of cattle feed
When we can drink our grains.

17 December 2004

You cannot know

You cannot know

Just what you mean to me.
Or how I’d hurt were you to suffer me
But see me not, unless of course you feel
Much as I do.

‘Tis no small thing to heal
My heart’s regrets with a sigh, to reach
Across the gap between our skins and teach
My soul to cry

Again. But then you’ll cut me.
That which heals also hurts. So flee me,
Fly from me when storms about me reel
Like ants drawn to a broken seal
On some great cask.

I hope that we two might each
Lean anew to hope and love. I beseech
You, stay if I am food to help you grow . . .
But if I’m poison, I pray that you will go.

October 2004

Walking

The open gate beckons my soul
into its dark solitude.
The warm sodium glow speaks of
sepia and fairies.
Victoria where are you now?
Do you look down upon your
subjects with mirth and
amusement in this later day?

Do the foibles of the people reflect or
reject the foibles of your court?
Once through the gate, that iron gate
in its limestone arch,

I choose the left-hand path.
It’s habit now, but this is the path of
darkness and mystery.
I follow it to its inevitable conclusion in
picturesque ruins.
Where else could such a path ever end?

How many paths lead this way?
How many gateways lead here?
Whose is the unmarked headstone in the West,
Past the stags and stables and gates?

October 2004

The musical life

It's been some time since last I posted here. I've tried twice in the last week or so with no success. First I attempted to respond to a quiz that witchzenka sent my way. (She's wonderful guys. Get to know her if you can.) But alas I found myself distracted in the depths of funk. Then I tried to discuss art and love and how they've been troubling me. I found that this was an exceedingly difficult proposition, and probably outside the purview of a quasi-public journal anyway, so I said nothing.

But at the absolute least, I'd like to give you access to my most recent artistic endeavors.

Study 16 is a short piano piece in a vaguely impressionist style.
Toccatta is a more extended piece in a neo-classical style. It may well be the fist movement of a piano suite.
Two works that may be further movements in the same suite are this allemande and this tempo di courante.

There's not much to talk about in terms of current news. I'm still writing music. I'm still chasing smart girls. Both have been pushed a bit further back than I would like by bills that want paying. I'll see what I can do about that, of course, but that's about where I am now. One hopes that things will improve in the fall once classes start back up.

I might perhaps try to revisit some of the more personal emotional stuff in a future post. I've been trying to decide what to do with this journal, and this might be as good a place as any to genuinely discuss my feelings and interests, as my primary goal here is to advertise myself and not my musical skills. (Though I'm always happy to do both.)

I ramble. If you have any particular suggestions or ideas, I'd be glad to hear them. Best wishes. And witchzenka, if by chance you see this, sorry I dropped the ball. I'll try to pick it up later. I promise.

Sincerely,
David