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So ... why should you bother perusing this book?
Beats me. I’m open to suggestion.
I’ve always wanted to write a book of some sort ... not a mishmash of stuff I’ve already written, but—you know—a real book. In trying to release a few creative blocks and get a foot into this new world (one that deals not with sound, but with strictly text instead), a couple of friends of mine suggested that I put out an anthology of my lyrics. Bingo. We all have to start somewhere, and it got the ball rolling, anyway. Many folks have asked me over the years where they could find lyrics to this, that, or the other. Some might call it an anthology, or if you don’t read music, I guess you could call it a songbook.
As I began what was initially a quasi-mindless task of typing up six albums’ worth of lyrics, it occurred to me that I could also include lyrics I’d written for other recordings I’d been involved with or groups I was a part of (such as Tornaod or The Poor Clares, respectively). But why stop there? I’ve also included a whole lot of unreleased stuff here—songs I’ve never recorded, lyrics I haven’t yet put music to, some random poetry—the ones that got away. Songs that for some reason or another didn’t seem to belong on any of my albums; the true misfits among misfits. Perhaps someday they’ll pop up in subsequent recordings, but for now they are here amongst the “official” songs for you to ponder. (And yes, there are a few songs included which no longer delight me—and delight others even less so—but I decided I’d throw in the cheesy with the profound.)
It’s been enlightening for me to go back and look at over 25 years’ worth of writings in one fell swoop. Some of these were cannibalized from snippets of songs I had written in my teens, only to be reassembled in adulthood in a grisly fashion that might make Mary Shelley shudder. The whole process has been nostalgic, frightening, heartwarming, and amusing...but always leads me to the same thought: Where did these years go?
BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!
How does one break into this thing called “fiction”? For me, it was hanging out with my friends who already were writers, most of whom were already established in the sci-fi, fantasy, or horror vein. A perpetual mimic, I decided to follow in their examples.
Preternatural New Orleans: it’s been written about a thousand times over, doubtlessly better than I ever could—not that this was going to stop me from trying. The one different perspective I could offer was from the point of view of its working musicians...not the pretty little vampiric divas, but the folks who have to haul their gear along endless city blocks, deal with drunken hecklers, and make sure that they aren’t getting stiffed at the end of the night. In short: my own experiences and those of my friends in the scene who deal with the ups and downs that come with that territory. Friends I seldom see because I’m so busy with my own gigs.
But truthfully, in order to remain gainfully employed in music—even if it’s just picking up a blues gig here and then a country gig there—we all have to be shapeshifters to some degree.
By the time I had finished what was originally intended to be a short story, it looked back at me with wild eyes, daring me to make it Chapter One of something bigger, so there’s a chance that you haven’t heard the last from this fictitious broody bass player and her companions.
But I digress. Enjoy!
— BWP, July 2013
I have fallen on strange times, and am falling farther still
I arrive on borrowed fortune and a flame yet to fulfill
Still, we play the apex, fleeting moment everlasting
Resound with brazen laughter in crude delights contrasting
The call to order kindles in a room without a view
Raise a glass to ingenuity, here’s to you
The gods are wise in the gifts that they bestow
Because Venus loves you more than you will know
Now, I can’t see the ground for all the stars that fill my eyes
And if I gaze forever, I might never improvise
Ready to appoint, but it’s pointless to obsess
Mortals cannot court a sunset, or feel the moon’s caress
The call to order kindles in a room without a view
Raise a glass to ingenuity, here’s to you
The gods are wise in the gifts that they bestow
Because Venus loves you more than you will know
It seems a sacrilege to wish upon that evening star
But all I wish tonight is to be seen as on a par
Strive to match the pace while the constant crowd is raving
Without or within, I pray they cannot see my craving
The call to order kindles in a room without a view
Raise a glass to ingenuity, here’s to you
The gods are wise in the gifts that they bestow
Because Venus loves you more than you will know
Drinking with divinity, let no one intervene
Raucous mirth for Bacchus, and tonight I am the queen
Perched upon the pinnacle, and searching I remain
For another apex dawning, midsummer night’s refrain
The call to order kindles in a room without a view
Raise a glass to ingenuity, here’s to you
The gods are wise in the gifts that they bestow
Because Venus loves you more than you will know
I’m tenacious, quite voracious
My attention span’s too spacious
From such phrenic stock, you hope I’m just misread
It’s not your pathos I’m ignoring
It’s just some wavelength I’m exploring
Though it seems I’m wrong inside my head
Your logic subjugates emotion
And dismisses any notion
Your talk of sound and fury leaves me jaded
In a blink, I’m unaware
Of this world which doesn’t care
For enlightenment is clearly overrated
You drone on of family curses,
Savage nobles, epic verses
The half-life crisis threatening your nuclear cocoon
My daydream bliss is marred
As once again I’m caught off guard
By your grand hubristic, sanctimonious swoon
My intentions well and good,
I try to follow as I should
With a veil between my thoughts and your despair
And though I struggle to emerge,
This lack of focus is my scourge
So I blame the color of my hair
They say that ignorance is bliss
But try to make some sense of this
The diagnosis is what the majority votes
But what care I for majority
With their smug superiority
I wrote this while I should have taken notes
I try hard to convince
That it’s mental self-defense
In hopes that all the pragmatists will condescend to like me
And if then they wish to venture
With no intention to indenture
I say, welcome to the treehouse of my psyche
Your conversation is a bore
With talk of pestilence and war
A cognitive perversion
This avoidance dream diversion
I have had too much today
This tiresome display
Hear my grand solution
To this stimulus pollution ...
They say two mountains in this lifetime
May share a range, but never meet
But Mohammad, he knows where to find me
He knows every crevice, cliff, and peak
Reality is relative
But this ache for you cuts to the core
And it’s realer than anything
I’d ever thought I’d felt before
Oh, heed the music tonight
And pray, disregard the former
Stolen glances, whirling dances
Can gradually lead your thoughts astray
From every wandering eye
To every forbidden corner
I will seek you through the crowds at night
And help you find your way
Land-lover, wildwood creature
Lead me to this sacred place
As I’m drowning in a sea of fantasy
Rapture seizes control of your face
But you’re the balance of this dance now
I secretly smile and await your cue
Take your hand, exit stage left
Hidden in aesthetic perfection with you
Oh, heed the music tonight
And pray, disregard the former
Stolen glances, whirling dances
Can gradually lead your thoughts astray
From every wandering eye
To every forbidden corner
I will seek you through the crowds at night
And help you find your way
You knew from the very first dance we’d be one someday
Oh, poor Ignatius Reilly in his great green hunting cap
You can’t mistake his trademark headpiece pulled down at the flaps
For it’s in the heart of New Orleans
The setting of egregious scenes
That are all caused by one Ignatius Reilly
Superbly ill-adjusted to the Crescent City’s mores
And pompously he denigrates debauchery and whores
Opposed to every form of sex
But sometimes dreams of his late dog Rex
And a great dilemma tears at I. J. Reilly
There’s no employer who meets his gargantuan demands
In factories and weenie vending he wins no new fans
For each attempt at mutiny
Is met with sad hilarity
It’s the fault of no one, save that madman Reilly
Mendacious! Rapacious! Pugnacious! Ignatius!
Audacious! Loquacious! Good gracious! Ignatius!
To leave New Orleans makes him ill, don’t get him on a bus
Upsetting him in any way just might make him combust
Theatrical and paranoid
That troubled valve he can’t avoid
What a hypochondriac is Mister Reilly
Strippers, cops, and ne’er-do-wells get caught up in his drama
Party hosts and pinup bigots likewise meet their trauma
So many players intertwined
By one unwitting mastermind
Oh, the scheming, slovenly buffoon is Reilly
Now our Big Easy prides itself upon its many quirks
It often shrugs good-naturedly when systems go berzerk
And it’s on Canal Street you can see
Where the D.H. Holmes clock used to be
Immortalized in bronze: Ignatius Reilly!
Mendacious! Rapacious! Pugnacious! Ignatius!
Audacious! Loquacious! Good gracious! Ignatius!
I see a black swan rising
While around me fiends disguising
False prophets proselytizing
Revelations realizing
Run with the dog men and leave your mark
Walk with the wounded and send forth your spark
Work on the Sabbath and turn no stone
Cast out your demons and need not atone
Stoic waking
Lively dreams
Life’s no longer
What it seems ...
Swan bows his head in grieving
Redemption soon receiving
While shadows fall, deceiving
And minds still unbelieving
Shamelessly honor your craving for doom
Soothe a companion, or temper a room
Throw off the shackles of hatred and need
Sacrifice slumber that seraphs succeed
Stoic waking
Lively dreams
Life’s no longer
What it seems ...
Black wings strongly beating
The air around me heating
Catch the moment fleeting
The barest tender greeting
Sing to the cygnets that dwell in the nest
Forge a great fortress for those you love best
Rise from the water and teach them the game
Show them the strength they may need for the same
Stoic waking
Lively dreams
Life’s no longer
What it seems ...
Those who dance must pay the piper
But the piper is now far away
There’s nothing anyone can do
To convince me that it’s okay
The three of swords turned up
That I failed to recognize
I ignored every warning
Now this is my demise
And the nectar wells up sweetly
But then my name is mud
I must flee the situation
Before nectar turns to blood
Blood and nectar …
I can recognize a hunter
And I even saw the tracks
I was a lonely she-wolf howling
Trying to fit in with the pack
It all was just a pipe dream
And reality is cruel
I wanted to play the jester
But I ended up the fool
Hopeful hedonistic dreams
Give rise to beat the odds
Shall I drink the wine of mortals
Or the nectar of the gods?
And the nectar wells up sweetly
But the blood is poisoned too
And the song is too sweet to resist
Which path will I choose?
Blood and nectar …
Who can feel a heart of steel cold-tempered and chrome-plated?
Bent in half, we’ll have a laugh at monsters we’ve created
Paradise rising, warming the fray
Tasty redemption not far away
Drink to the life we can’t forget
A time when there was no pain yet
Bulletproof jacket forged out of scorn
Tender emotions plucked like a thorn
Wise scry asks me why I’m sitting on the fence
Stand tall and build a wall, and it will all make sense
Meaningless chatter, talk is so cheap
If you fall for it, costs you a heap
If you sit on the fence at all
You might as well just build a wall
Bulletproof jacket forged out of scorn
Tender emotions plucked like a thorn
Tick tock, my heart is locked shut with an iron key
Within my breast a treasure chest that none shall take from me
Treasure is brazen, strength can’t be sold
Battles aren’t won with weapons of gold
This time a story to suspend
That’s not how it’s supposed to end
Bulletproof jacket forged out of scorn
Tender emotions plucked like a thorn
I am a spirit of your darkest desires, primal escort
I will be
there from distant fantasy shorelines, if you would call
Company of only your thoughts is so shrill and nothing can soothe
But when the royal chief would exercise chaos, bliss conquers all
Company changes and plans give way
I will lift you oh, so slowly
Comfort is always a thought away
I will hold you in my mind
All I can offer is sympathy
I will lift you oh, so slowly
Would that I could give a piece of me
I will hold you in my mind
There is no shame in sordid wanting affection when there is lack
So when you falter, grab some courage and picture me with a smile
Are you aware that now I summon you also in my own ways?
Mongrels and Misfits Page 1
