listening station

[[ a song about the internet, in two voices, one robotic ]] 

voice 1	voice 2 (an electronic chorus)
I used to watch you picture yourself
something so pretty for others to see
I used to read you holding forth
you thought you knew how we mortals should be
this is your listening station this is your listening station this is your listening station	repeat repeat
where have you gone,  little-miss-six?	little-miss-six
are you still there, mister-28-flavors?	mister-28-flavors
silent-witness-496. are you still on the line?	silent-witness-496
this is your listening station this is your listening station this is your listening station	repeat repeat
are you waiting for me, penelope-8128-antelope?	penelope- eight thousand, one hundred  twenty-eight -antelope
did you find happiness, felicity-33550336	felicity- thirty-three million, five hundred fifty thousand, three hundred  thirty-six
this is your listening station this is your listening station this is your listening station	repeat repeat
come in from the world maximilian-8589869056	maximilian- eight billion, five hundred eighty-nine million, eight hundred sixty-nine thousand, fifty-six
how did you live, johnny-137438691328?	johnny- one hundred thirty-seven billion, four hundred thirty-eight million, six hundred ninety-one thousand, three hundred twenty-eight
send us a sign queenie-2305843008139952128	queenie- two quintillion, three hundred five quadrillion, eight hundred forty-three trillion, eight billion, one hundred thirty-nine million, nine hundred fifty-two thousand, one hundred twenty-eight
make up your mind undecidable-2658455991569831 744654692615953842176	undecidable- two undecillion, six hundred fifty-eight decillion, four hundred fifty-five nonillion, nine hundred ninety-one octillion, five hundred sixty-nine septillion, eight hundred thirty-one sextillion, seven hundred forty-four quintillion, six hundred fifty-four quadrillion, six hundred ninety-two trillion, six hundred fifteen billion, nine hundred fifty-three million, eight hundred forty-two thousand, one hundred seventy-six

[[ 

wistful

nostalgic
distant

people (or "people") vanished from social media, blogs, everywhere online

the immense numbers to emphasize a number of things -- distance, number of people, connections, operations, absurdity, anonymity, encryption, infinity, meaninglessness

as part of their online names, use perfect numbers for some reason. because they're perfect?

make them increasingly long

and finish by just reading out the long numbers

]]

look what we've done

look what we've done

we had a plan of attack

lined up our forces

then went out for a snack

look what we've done

we had a world here

put things together

then went out for a beer

we took out a wrench

and put parts together

we took out a wench

and put parts together 

now 

everything is going,

going, going, gone.

everything is going wrong.

now 

everything is nothing

nothing is everything

everything is nothing again.

we had the birds 

in the trees

now we have no birds

now we have no trees

now we have no have

now we have no we

no now no now

looks like we're done

a stack of 45s

[[ part one ]]
a stack of 45s - my sister abandoned
a stack of 45s - before she went away
a stack of 45s - my sister left behind her
a stack of 45s - I used to play

[[ part two ]]
a stack of 45s - a stack of 45s
when the smoke cleared, the only thing left
a stack of 45s - a stack of 45s
she did the dances they danced in the day
a stack of 45s - a stack of 45s
record player dropping song after song
a stack of 45s - a stack of 45s

[[ dance break ]]
and she would
snap the bubblegum
and she would
scrape the sticky gum from offa her shoes
(offa her shoes and walk away)

[[ part three ]]
put it on - put on the one about a new combination
put it on - put on the one about a boy and girl
put it on - put on the one about keeping together
put it on - put on the one about falling apart
put it on - put on the one about the wind in the city
put it on - put on the one about the men in the trees
put it on - put on the one about love me forever
put it on - put on the one about a telephone call
put it on - put on the one about the ocean and time
put it on - put on the one about us

coming in from Canada

[[  The old story of listening to radio at night when signals were clear and noise was lower and the ether was full of nostalgia. ]]

we would lie in bed at night

secretly awake

listening to radio 

from out across the lake

listening for New York and Berlin via Brampton

listening for London from the Bank of Montreal

listening for Canada for Canada for Canada

coming in from Canada

in from out of bounds

pulled from out of northern air

world made of sound

we would run a single wire 

up above the bed

feeling for a distant tower

topped with a blinking red

listening for New York and Berlin via Brampton

listening for London from the Bank of Montreal

listening for Canada for Canada for Canada

coming in from Canada

in from out of bounds

pulled from out of northern air

world made of sound

the family myth

in the family myth

we escape winter

we escape water 

we escape the amnesia of the sea

and somehow there's me

in the family myth

we escape desert 

we escape searchers 

we escape the arbitrary decree 

and somehow there's me

all of this must be true

because somehow there's me

and somehow there's you

in the family myth

we escape cages

we escape rages

we escape the rogues of history 

and somehow there's me

in the family myth

we escape post-war

we escape closed door

we escape the Land of the Free

and somehow there's me

all of this must be true

because somehow there's me

and somehow there's you

in the family myth

we know their order to shoot on sight

we cross the border and move by night

and go on

in the family myth

we cross the water of a rolling sea

and all of us, some of us, one of us

must slip free

and go on

in the family myth

we escape exposure 

we escape erasure

we escape the men who hack the family tree
and somehow there's me

all of this must be true

because somehow there's me

and somehow there's you

Imagined Geography 6: Limes Song

tell Olivia 

the view from this wall

it is beautiful

this river ever flowing

it is beautiful

the distant green-grey hills

all are beautiful

tell Olivia

if you get back to Rome

she is beautiful

tell Olivia

if you get back to Rome

I wish I were there

here is her picture

a lock of her hair

when you get back to Rome

say I wish I were there

Imagined Geography 5: Vienna Song

this is Vienna

beneath this dome

under the car park

this is my home

hopping the turnstiles

dodging the landlord

looking for something

hidden here before

under Vienna

city in ruins

city of ghosts

all up in smoke

you take the fast train

nightime from Linz

something seen once

never seen since

not since Vienna

Bluebird Matchbox

[[ A transformation of an actual childhood visit to relatives in Dundee and Perth. The long wait for adults to finish visiting grows to an evolutionary scale. The Bluebird Matchbox (actually a Corgi, says the internet) was produced to keep me or my brother or both of us busy while adults talked for the last time. ]]

In childhood I am guided in

to meet the ancient Britons known

to other ancient Britons then

as Helen, Bunty, Joe. All gone.

They are all shades of vein and chalk

and pebbledash and cardigan

and close-cut grass and gravel walk

and kindly smiles all wired in.

I play while they discover fire 

and pour a drink to warm their skins,

and ages pass while they admire  

how fingers grow where once were fins.

close to hand

[[ Just another song about Mesolithic life. ]]


What we eat,
muscle and fat,
is what we can.

And then the skin,
fur and feather,
tooth and tusk,
belly and bladder,
tendon and bone,
we put to use.

What kept them warm
will keep us warm.
What cut their enemy down
will cut ours down.

We make our tools
from what we find.
We work with what
is close to hand.

The sharp edge
of a broken stone.
The borrowed points
of other creatures.

And when we die,
we bury ourselves
in dirt and stone
with antler and flint,
belly and bone.

burned over

[[ have you heard of the "burned-over district" of NY State? This song started with that in general and the Millerites in more particular. ]].

Jesus is going to stroll

right up our block,

step up right there, next Tuesday.

Jesus is going to roll

up to the clock 

in our town square, next Tuesday.

Jesus is coming on Tuesday, 

next Tuesday.

to burn the place down to the dirt

Jesus is coming on Tuesday, 

next Tuesday.

and I sure hope it doesn't hurt.

Sell the house.

Sell the cow.

Sell the horses.

Do it now.

Jesus is coming on Tuesday, 

next Tuesday.

to burn the place down to the dirt

the wind blowing through

The wind blowing through
this house is the same wind
east wind, east wind,
always blowing through.

The walls holding up
this house are the same
but it's been through some times
and the names have all changed

And the wind blowing through
this house is the same wind
east wind, east wind,
always blowing through.

The glass in these windows
has been in the street
shards in the garden
still under our feet

And the wind blowing through
this house is the same wind
east wind, east wind,
always blowing through.

hot war
cold war
you hear the drumming
hot war
cold war
a different war coming

skin me alive

skin me a live animal

what I want is to wear its camouflage
what I want is to wear its fur
what I want is to hear it screaming
while I purr

skin me a live animal

what I want is more juice in the vein
what I want is more smoke in the lung
what I want is to wear the animal
skin and fuck

skin me a live animal

take me to Vienna, you fool, and immediately
take me while a shop girl looks me in the eye
take me to the dead end of some other century
take me exactly to midnight, then leave me to die

[[ 

1. With obvious play on "skin me a live animal" and "skin me alive, animal". 

2. The narrator possibly is not a native speaker and may have fallen out of a time machine. She is louche, one-eyed, absinthed. 

3. I don't know why any of this. I think someone wants back to fin de siècle Vienna. Someone with a lust for blood and a lust for lust. And one clouded eye? 

]]

Pachinko

You're new around here.

Let's play the pachinko.

Have you seen the formations

rise up through the air?

Just look out the window

of this dirtbag saloon.

See nature's formations
rise up from the earth.

Now look the other way,

out past the pachinko,
just through the other window.

There. See those towers 

rise up through the air?

Remember those towers,

those pillars of light.

Look there tomorrow, 

those towers are gone.

But you're new around here.

Let's play the pachinko.

[[ Even I know only vaguely what this one is about. This is probably the framework for something larger. It's the opposition of nature and technology, or east and west, or indigenous and colonial, or Las Vegas and the desert, played out in a shitty bar set between the two. And there's a pachinko machine, which is something I have never actually seen. It is chance, fortune, noisy gaudy fate. The song and the universe are cleft in two by a pachinko machine. This could be anywhere two such forces clash. And the older, natural, indigenous force will win. According to the narrator. Don't worry, I'll come back and add rhymes and stuff to make it suitable for your weekly line dancing class. ]]

Bang

Bang.

Remember me?
I'm the girl next door

I'm the girl you want
I'm the girl you want to

Bang.

I'm a girl you used
I'm a girl you used to

Bang.

Know how it is
Know how it is

Know how it is

I was born dead, baby.
Or I died of disease
I was carried off by lions
Or I was left out to freeze

Bang.

I was raped at twelve
a mother at thirteen
I was bred again at fourteen
and a corpse at fifteen

Bang.

Know how it is
Know how it is

Know how it is

Or I was married off early
to some man from the town
I met him when I wed him.
They had to tie me down.

Bang.

Or I was sent to the kitchen,
or the cellar, the attic,
I was banged in them all
till I hanged myself out back

Bang.

Know how it is
Know how it is

Know how it is

I was sent to the factory,
or warehouse or workhouse
I ran off one night for
asylum in the whorehouse

Bang.

I was beaten to death
for my terrible crime
but not till the bastards
banged me one last time

Bang.

Know how it is
Know how it is

Know how it is

I am
the dust
you breathe in,
you breathe out
every day.

I am
your family
confession
written in
your DNA.

you don't know how it is
I hardly know
I hardly know myself

You don't know how it is
Know how it is
Know how it is

Know how it is

Bang.

[[ There is no coherent narrative intended. It's not about one girl, so details of the story differ. The girl in one line dies one way and dies another way in another line. It's a series of images. If it was a video, you'd see different scenes, different girls, different ages, different eras, different circumstances, but always girls being mistreated. "I'm Every Woman" being abused, married off, enslaved, beaten, raped, killed. Maybe that last bang is her putting a bullet in someone. ]]

Whose war was she in?

[[ From a memory of when I was very young in the 1960s and my mother had brought me with her into a social club. A drunken woman approached us to see this pale little boy. She said she liked my name and repeated it back to me in a low, drawn-out voice several times. Her face was scarred, seamed, pieced, I don't know from what. In those days, she could have been through either world war or through a windscreen made from the opposite of safety glass. ]]


Who is this tumbler reeling
towards us in the club?
I must be five and she a thousand.
I must be terrified and frozen.

Save me, ma, from
the fates at night.

Save me, ma, from
the bombs that fall.

Save me, ma, from
the patchwork face.

Save me, save us all,
ma, from us all.

Who is this woman with
a glass of something golden,
an orange cigarette smolder,
a face pieced back together
along the seams?

Save me, ma, from
the fates at night.

Save me, ma, from
the bombs that fall.

Save me, ma, from
the patchwork face.

Save me, save us all,
ma, from us all.

Whose war was she
in? Whose war?
Whose war was she?
No one left to ask.

A lighted torch

[[ Have you seen the hand stencils in the caves? ]]

A lighted torch,

then hands reach
through the dark

(reach through the dark)

The artist's hands

a conjurer's hands

reach out to you

(reach out to you)

from when they were

(from when they were)

to when we are

(to when we are)

from what we were

(from what we were)

to what they have

(to what they have)

what we have become

Gone to Ontario

[[ Two brothers on opposite sides of the American civil war head up to a remote part of Canada for the duration. ]]

I would not raise a gun to my brother 

for the whole of the damned USA

so we're both heading up to Ontario

and keep each other out of harm's way

We will walk across the river at Niagara

where they've slung up the new suspension bridge

we'll ride out on the Great Western Railway

into the wilderness.

Maybe we'll live side by side with the Ojibwe.

Maybe we'll live on our own

Maybe we'll live on a boat on the bay

But I promise we'll live, 

and when the war ends, 

I promise we'll live and come home.

We could marry some girls of the wilderness

We could send off for brides in the mail

We could settle in the middle of nothing 

Or open an inn on the trail

Met a man said a place they call Lion's Head

Is half way between Equator and Pole
I think that's where we'll climb the escarpment
And watch the stars roll

Snakehips vs the Nazis

Verse 1:
It was nineteen forty one

We lived under an English sun

And our aeroplanes roared through the blue sky over our land
When the London sun went down

The Smart Set went to town

We were safe in a basement where Snakehips led the band.

Chorus:
We were only you and me
At the Cafe de Paris.
It was oh, Johnny, oh,
Then a flash of light.
It was Snakehips vs the Nazis,
Snakehips in the Blitz,
Snakehips, king of the night,
of the brilliant night.

Verse 2:

There was music in the air,

When the bombs came down the stair

And we only lived to tell through the purest chance

People died without a trace

Of the violence on their face

Sitting up in their chairs as if they still waited to dance

Coda:
They found Snakehips lying still
With a flower in his lapel

[[ Ken "Snakehips" Johnson (10 September 1914 – 8 March 1941)   Some versions of this story say Snakehips lost his head, but other versions say otherwise. ]]

a child of all things

See this picture?

My friend was born here

here in this place

here in the photo

of a woman who is running for her life

from a child of all things.

See this map?

They've changed the name

name of the city

name of the nation

but the killing? that never changes -

it's a thing summer brings.

|| :  It's never finished -- 

the things they did here --

they are never done. : ||

Listen at the window,

listen at the door --

voices of people

who lived here before:

our houses are stolen,

our temples are burned,

every stone in our burial

ground overturned

or  ||: stolen away, every stone, every stone : ||

But this is the book of life -

If you're in the book of life -

You're safe in the book of life.

Between you and me

we've [weave] a secret to keep

between here and there

there's a spark in the gap

we keep the secret

we talk the tongue

we still are still


[[ this one started with a picture from WWII of a Jewish woman running for her life from a mob, including a little kid. ]]

two dirt roads

Let's take a walk: 

here was the church,  

here was the bridge, 

here was the tavern, 

as fine a road 

as you could walk

on any other day

Rest your head 

here in this meadow, 

each leaf and flower 

once was a soldier 

as fine a man 

as you could meet

on any other day

Come Judgment Day,   

how many souls

will stand up in this meadow

rise up into the air

and straight into the sun?

Come Judgment Day,

how many souls

will walk out of this river

rise up into the sky

and burn gold in the sun?

The names they call 

these places now

could never say

what happened here

Here in this place,

a crumbled church,

a broken bridge, 

a burning tavern, 

at the meeting 

of two dirt roads

as fine a road

as you could walk

on any other day

you might have met

your oldest friend

come the other way

at the meeting

of two dirt roads  

Come Judgment Day,   

how many souls

will stand up in this meadow

rise up into the air

and straight into the sun?

Come Judgment Day,

how many souls

will walk out of this river

rise up into the air

and burn gold in the sun?

Come Judgment Day,

how many souls

will stand and stare  

at the meeting of two dirt roads?

how many souls

will stand and stare

at the meeting of two dirt roads?