the lesson of the moth

the lesson of the moth by archy (Don Marquis)

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then to cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is to come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

archy

Doctor My Eyes

Doctor, my eyes have seen the years  
And the slow parade of fears without crying 
Now I want to understand  

I have done all that I could 
To see the evil and the good without hiding 
You must help me if you can
 
Doctor, my eyes, tell me what is wrong 
Was I unwise to leave them open for so long?
 
'Cause I have wandered through this world 
And as each moment has unfurled 
I've been waiting to awaken from these dreams  

People go just where they will 
I never noticed them until I got this feeling  
That it's later than it seems
 
Doctor, my eyes, tell me what you see 
I hear their cries, just say if it's too late for me

Doctor, my eyes, cannot see the sky 
Is this the price for having learned how not to cry?

It's Okay If I Don't Blog Today

Broken Arrow

The lights turned on and the curtain fell down, 

And when it was over it felt like a dream, 

They stood at the stage door and begged for a scream, 

The agents had paid for the black limousine 

That waited outside in the rain. 

Did you see them, did you see them? 

Did you see them in the river? 

They were there to wave to you. 

Could you tell that the empty quivered, 

Brown skinned Indian on the banks 

That were crowded and narrow,

Held a broken arrow? 

Eighteen years of American dreams, 

He saw that his brother had sworn on the wall. 

He hung up his eyelids and ran down the hall, 

His mother had told him a trip was a fall, 

And don't mention babies at all. 

Did you see him, did you see him? 

Did you see him in the river? 

He were there to wave to you.

Could you tell that the empty quivered, 

Brown skinned Indian on the banks 

That were crowded and narrow, 

Held a broken arrow? 

The streets were lined for the wedding parade, 

The Queen wore the white gloves, the county of song, 

The black covered caisson her horses had drawn 

Protected her King from the sun rays of dawn. 

They married for peace and were gone.

Did you see them, did you see them? 

Did you see them in the river? 

They were there to wave to you. 

Could you tell that the empty quivered, 

Brown skinned Indian on the banks 

That were crowded and narrow, 

Held a broken arrow?

Bisexuality: A Little from Column A and a Little from Column B

Three years ago, Antoine Dodson became an internet celebrity, due in no small part to his flamboyant behavior. A native of Huntsville, Alabama, Dodson’s hilariously over-the-top interview with a local news reporter gave him a degree of fame. Then living in a housing project with his family, his sister was attacked by an intruder who forced his way into her bedroom. Dodson’s filmed reaction for the evening news was YouTube gold, even inspiring some intrepid fans to autotune and remix his original remarks.

Dodson decided to come out shortly thereafter, but since then has made two controversial decisions.

When, last summer, fast food chain Chick-Fil-A was under fire for comments its president made against same-sex marriage, Dodson supported the company. At the time, he said that freedom of speech applied even to people opposed to marriage equality.

"We don't all have to believe in the same things," Dodson said. "We all have our different beliefs and can still come together and still be friends and be cool with each other."

Bizarrely, Dodson has now chosen to renounce his homosexuality, stating that he wants a wife and children. This decision seems to have been made because of a religious conversion of a sort, though the details provided are vague and unclear.

In early 2012, actress Cynthia Nixon got in hot water with LGBT groups by stating that being gay was a choice. Later forced to clarify her remarks, she said she spoke in terms of her own bisexuality. With time, Nixon chose to pursue exclusively same-sex relationships, despite being attracted to both men and women.

In a Daily Beast article, she also added that "I don't pull out the 'bisexual' word because nobody likes the bisexuals," "Everybody likes to dump on the bisexuals...We get no respect."

I greatly appreciated her remarks, especially because it’s tough to define myself accurately. When in LGBT groups or at LGBT conferences, I refuse to self-identify. Many people assume I am gay, and I often allow myself to be wrongly identified to avoid conclusions being drawn about me that I would rather avoid. When among straight friends or in an explicitly straight context, I speak a different lingo and conform to a different standard. There, I am automatically assumed to be straight.

I have felt at times that I had to favor one side over the other for the benefit of other people. Should I be with a woman, I'm assumed to be straight. Should I be with a man, I'm assumed to be gay. Fearing that I was somehow promiscuous or untrustworthy, some gay men felt that I, as a bisexual, wasn’t dating material. Women I’ve dated have often feared that I was going to leave them for another man.

Most of the criticism I receive falls into the category of microaggressions. No one has ever given me an especially hard time within the community for my bisexuality, though I do wonder at times how much some understand it. Instead, it's instant reactions and incomplete conclusions that I fear most. Times are improving. One paradigm is departing and another is asserting itself. It’s almost a cliché now to state that sexual orientation falls along a continuum, but we still resort to binary thinking.

The gay world to me was full of places to go, people to see, and experiences to take in that were formed in opposition to what one observed impassively day after day. While I was part of that bubble, I felt in general sympathy with others who shared that universe, one that always felt shadowy and even a little dangerous. Outside it, I often breathed a sigh of relief, though I knew what I saw in front of me was only half of my identity. How could I honor both of them without feeling like a traitor?

I had the ability to gravitate back and forth, forever seeking the balance that suited me best. Every bisexual person I have ever met reaches the same conclusion I have, or that Cynthia Nixon has. A friend in college had a relationship with a woman, and was the only student in her dorm to refuse to conceal it. She often talked to me about her simultaneous attraction to men and how it manifested itself.

When in gay clubs or in other gatherings of LGBT folks, I feel as though I’m not a native speaker. I’ve learned the language with time, of course, but I’ll forever be learning the grammar and the syntax. Will this brave new world before us remove the need for qualifiers? Until it does, I’ll always feel like a motherless child.

I would never renounce the homosexual part of me, because I couldn’t suppress it if I tried. Antoine Dodson’s decision reinforces an idea that being gay is a choice, which is not my experience and never will be. I don’t have much energy, nor much need to criticize him for what seems to me to be an impulsive act, perhaps even a publicity stunt. I never felt much reverence for the closet door. He seems to have even less of it than I do.    

Quote of the Week

 "I have changed my definition of tragedy. I now think tragedy is not foul deeds done to a person (usually noble in some manner) but rather that tragedy is irresolvable conflict. Both sides/ideas are right."- Rita Mae Brown

Saturday Video

Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit.
Blessed is the lamb whose blood flows.
Blessed are the sat upon, spat upon, ratted on,
O Lord, why have you forsaken me?

I got no place to go,
I've walked around Soho for the last night or so.
Ah, but it doesn't matter, no.

Blessed is the land and the Kingdom.
Blessed is the man whose soul belongs to.
Blessed are the meth drinkers, pot sellers, illusion dwellers.
O Lord, why have you forsaken me?

My words trickle down, like a wound
That I have no intention to heal.

Blessed are the stained glass, window pane glass.
Blessed is the church service makes me nervous
Blessed are the penny rookers, cheap hookers, groovy lookers.

O Lord, why have you forsaken me?

I've tended my own garden
Much too long.

Erotica

The work of erotica I wrote a couple weeks ago has been deemed worthy of a second chapter. Before all was said and done, I received nearly 19,000 hits. Not bad for a first attempt. This time, I've taken into account the views of the commentariat and have extended the length of the second section by roughly 500 words.

The key with erotica is to balance exposition with the sexual details, which is, of course, why everyone reads erotica in the first place. The old writing adage of write what you know has come in handy here. I'd be a lousy erotica writer if I hadn't had some life experience. As it stands now, my main characters are a composite of at least five people I know well, including myself. My foremost wish is that the autobiographical details will make the narrative much more believable and convincing.

Starman

Didn't know what time it was, the lights were low
I leaned back on my radio
Some cat was layin' down some rock'n'roll lotta soul, he said

Then the loud sound did seem to fade
Came back like a slow voice on a wave of phase
That weren't no D.J. that was hazy cosmic jive

There's a starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet us
But he thinks he'd blow our minds
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He told us not to blow it
'Cause he knows it's all worthwhile

He told me:
Let the children lose it
Let the children use it
Let all the children boogie

I had to phone someone so I picked on you
Hey, that's far out so you heard him too!
Switch on the TV we may pick him up on channel two

Look out your window I can see his light
If we can sparkle he may land tonight
Don't tell your poppa or he'll get us locked up in fright

Health Update

Life for me requires constant tinkering and modification. That's how it goes. At times, I feel like a perpetually malfunctioning machine. This is why I pause for a brief moment to provide an update.

Bladder surgery has been a success, for the most part. I seem to have completely healed from the incisions and the implantation of the pacemaker device. The constant irritation that necessitated surgery still shows up every now and again. Usually, it subsides with time, but sometimes it hangs around longer than I'd ever want. My urologist wanted me to cut a medication I'd been taking in half, but I found that I needed it at full strength. Within five days, the familiar burning sensation returned, almost as strong as it had been prior to surgery.

Due to the fact that my Testosterone levels were confirmed to be too high by a series of tests, I've been placed on a lower strength. I'm not sure if this decreased dose is going to be sufficient. My energy level is down, as is my sex drive. The only way to prove this to the endocrinologist is to submit lab work showing conclusively that my T levels are lower than the therapeutic threshold. I am willing to do this, even though I have a long time to wait to see any change. My next appointment is a month and a half away.

I'm thankful for the effective work of my therapist. We've built a strong relationship anchored on trust. She and I have met more or less weekly for the past two years. By now, she knows me and is able to hone in precisely into the most effective aspects of my thoughts and feelings. I appreciate being understood., taken seriously, and valued as a human being. Our sessions are playful, sometimes even fun, even in the midst of the heaviness that is part and parcel of the process.

Prior to her, I went through a few sessions with a Russian therapist. I did not like his approach. He was an old school Freudian with an ancient reclining couch in his office. Patients once must have lay down upon it as they spoke. Before my arrival, I wasn't even sure Freudian psychoanalysis was still being practiced. I found the process of talking for an entire hour without being answered even once hollow and isolating. I appreciate the give and take of a very different approach.

Psychiatry has been stable for several months. My main problems there have been squabbling with insurance companies, doctor's offices, and pharmacies trying to get particular prescriptions covered. As a means of saving money, insurance companies require Prior Authorizations from time to time before medications will be covered. They require extra effort from everyone and are a major pain to everyone actively involved. The insurance company hopes that the prescribing doctor's office won't want to put up with the hassle and will prescribe instead a drug that is usually cheaper for them.

Often, there seems to be no logic in what is covered and not covered. Prior to a generic alternative being developed, one of my medications cost over $1,000 a bottle. No prior authorization was ever required in that circumstance. Now, I've been told that a medication that millions of Americans use as a sleep aid requires a Prior Authorization, even though my total cost if I had to buy it out of pocket would be less than $40. No one ever bothers to explain why, though I suppose it must be serving someone's bottom line.

I'm sure that other people who cope with chronic illness have variations of this same story. My Rolodex will forever be full of appointments to make, pills to take, medical advice to take under consideration, and worries about drug-to-drug interaction. I counted it up the other day. I've visited seven separate specialists since I moved here to DC full-time in September of 2009. I've been placed on nine separate medications, which I take daily.

My response to this is mostly a shrug of the shoulders. This is the way it is. This is the way it always will be. 

Sad Songs and Waltzes

I'm writing a song all about you
A true song as real as my tears
But you've no need to fear it
'Cause no one will hear it

'Cause sad songs and waltzes
Aren't selling this year

I'll tell all about how you cheated
I'd like to the whole world to hear
I'd like to get even with you
'Cause you're leavin'

And songs and waltzes
Aren't selling this year

It's a good thing that I'm not a star
You don't know how lucky you are
Though my record may say it
No one will play it

'Cause sad songs and waltzes
Aren't selling this year

Well it's a good thing that I'm not a star
You don't know how lucky you are

Though my record may say it
No one will play it
'Cause sad songs and waltzes
Aren't selling this year

Eldering in Practice

“Friend, can I speak to you outside about something?”

He was amiable enough to that. Worship had concluded with the traditional shaking of hands. I’d deliberately chosen a seat next to him at a new location across the Meetingroom from where I normally sit. He leaves immediately after Worship, avoiding coffee hour and conversation. He has never involved himself in the work of any committee or task force of which I know. This is what has complicated this endeavor. Finding time to talk would be much easier that way.

The Friend shares vocal ministry too frequently. He has spoken, at last count, every First Day for the past three months. It is the custom of my Meeting that God ought to be allowed to speak through others during Worship, rather than be the domain of any designated minister. If we truly believe in the Priesthood of all Friends, then constant vocal ministry by one speaker belies what we say we are as Quakers. If we share too regularly, then frequent speakers more or less take the place of a called minister.

Truth be told, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d rehearsed a speech in my head for days. I wanted to do this properly, but I didn’t want to sound punitive and scolding. When I made the request that he space out his vocal ministry henceforth, he told me that he felt as though I was the Meeting police. I wasn't entirely surprised with the response. Liberal Friends often have a negative relationship with authority in any form. A recent article in Friends Journal suggested that the unofficial motto of Liberal unprogrammed Friends ought to be, “You ain’t the boss of me.”

Never was this more in effect here. He said he strongly disagreed with my assessment and the assessment of my committee. I hope this means that he will nonetheless heed my request, but I'll see in the future if this is borne out by his conduct. I understand why Eldering isn't done more frequently, because it routinely makes people defensive, regardless of how tactful one seeks to be at the outset. Regardless, I believe my approach to be better than the way I was Eldered for the same reason, with a snide and caustic comment.

A committee member suggested that, following my request, I offer him the ability to participate in committee service. This was a good idea. I fully intended to make the request, but the progression of our conversation never allowed me the opportunity to pose it to him. He said that my approach didn’t allow him the ability to speak his mind. After only a few minutes of conversation, he wanted to part ways, and hastily left my company.

Shortly before heading back inside the Meetingroom, he mentioned an incident between us that occurred well over a year ago. Following Worship, on my way home from Meeting, he approached me for conversation at the bus stop. He rambled on for several minutes, though I sought to understand his meaning. I departed his company after a few minutes of fruitless communication that never really congealed. Since then, he has held fast to the memory of this false start, not recognizing the reasons why it failed.

I’m the clerk of Ministry and Worship. This responsibility falls upon me. Though Quakers seek to avoid hierarchy and champion equality for all, the buck stops here for me and for everyone who serves the Meeting. Years and years of unchallenged Meeting dysfunction have created a climate where habitual line-steppers know that they will never be confronted. I’m not even sure where to begin sometimes, but I’ve now made it clear that this sort of behavior will not be tolerated. I do not take pleasure in being confrontational, but I know that every effort towards reform has to begin somewhere.

Meeting discipline has challenged believers since the beginning of the Religious Society of Friends. For Christians, problems like these necessitated the writing of Paul’s numerous Epistles to fledgling churches spread out over the Roman Empire. Each had its own challenges and needed gentle correction, though some churches had greater problems than others. Jesus proposed a particular methodology in his ministry that I’ve kept in mind in the midst of this entire process.

"If your brother or sister sins, go and point out their fault, just between the two of you. If they listen to you, you have won them over. But if you are unsuccessful, take one or two others with you and go back again, so that everything you say may be confirmed by two or three witnesses. If they still refuse to listen, tell it to the church; and if they refuse to listen even to the church, treat them as you would a pagan or a tax collector.

The last lines may be harsh to some but they are certainly not wavering. I will continue to intercede in matters like these as frequently as they are needed. Eldering has not been done at Friends Meeting of Washington, and I know that other people are resistant to it. One needs a strong stomach and a thick skin in these matters. Perhaps it even takes a particular kind of specific set of personality traits to Elder successfully. I went into this with my eyes open. I fully expected at the outset to receive significant push back, often coupled with a kind of low-grade hostility best described as nasty nice.

I am not seeking to make the Meeting over in my own image. Instead, my foremost desire is to make sure that Friends are faithful to what and who they say they are. We should live our Testimonies are surely as we espouse them. We should respect Faith & Practice and not be afraid to use it as an authoritative text. My undertaking this past First Day began with a series of small steps like these. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Quote of the Week

"Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest."- Mark Twain

Saturday Video

A supremely silly song.

Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
It's so comfortable

Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
It's so comfortable

Spread 'em out
Push 'em up
Put your head right in 'em
Scoop 'em
Squeeze 'em
Boy, you gotta please 'em

Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
It's so comfortable

Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
It's so comfortable

Bite 'em
Lick 'em
Give that nip a tug
Grab 'em
Shake 'em
Show them titties love

Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
It's so comfortable

Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
It's so comfortable

Bite 'em
Lick 'em
Give that nip a tug
Grab 'em
Shake 'em
Show them titties love

Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
Nestle in my boobies
It's so comfortable

Show them titties love
And nestle in my ru

Sissyneck

I don't need no wheels
I don't need no gasoline
'Cause the wind that is blowing
Is blowing like a smoke machine

If I said to you
That I was looking for a place to get to
'Cause my neck is broken
And my pants ain't getting no bigger

I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys

I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time

All my friends
Tell me something is getting together
I got a beard that would disappear
If I'm dressed in leather

Now let me tell you about my baby
She was born in Arizona
Sitting in the jailhouse
Trying to learn some good manners

Matchsticks strike
When I'm riding my bike to the depot
'Cause everybody knows my name
At the recreation center

If I could only find a nickel
I would pay myself off tonight
'Cause nobody knows
When he good times have passed out cold

Don't talk to me
If you're looking for somebody to cry on
Don't talk to me
If you're looking for somebody to cry on

Changing the "Me" to "We"

This column is written by Benjamin Lloyd and is featured in the April 2013 edition of Friends Journal.

If you read the minutes of Quaker meetings past, you will see that the disturbances caused by Friends’ behavior have been a sore spot for meetings since meetings began. Even before there were “meetings” as we know them today, one of George Fox’s closest followers, James Nayler, created a crisis for the fledgling religion by riding naked on a donkey into Bristol, England, in imitation of Jesus’s arrival in Jerusalem.

It was that event that convinced Fox and Margaret Fell to create collective structures of Friends that would hold individuals accountable. Since the misbehavior of Friends has been vexing us for almost 400 years, it should be comforting for us to know that our struggle to balance the individual and the community is nothing new.

Yet I believe we have a unique set of challenges in our intensely secular and individualistic twenty-first century America. A dear Friend I know in my yearly meeting jokes that the T-shirt we sell at annual sessions should read “You’re Not The Boss Of Me.” We have made a fetish of individuality in our Quaker meetings, and it has cost us our collective identity and safety. We have become a school with no teachers, a team with no coaches, a community with no leaders.

There is no longer human authority in our Quaker meetings, no longer a group of people that the meeting has put in a position of power and authority to pass judgment on individual behavior that Friends might find impossible to deal with in other ways. Meetings used to have these groups; they were usually called the Meeting of Ministers and Elders, a group within the meeting composed of Friends of great collective experience and spiritual gravitas who dealt with the thorny issues of bullying, lying, name-calling and other behavior outside the bounds of our testimonies. This behavior is part and parcel of any spiritual community; indeed, it is part of being human.

The entire post is here.

Medicare for All? It's Not That Simple

Every Tuesday afternoon for the past two years, I've met with a trauma therapist. Pursuing a course of more specialized treatment was a option suggested to me by another psychologist, one who knew she had done all that she could with me. Before I began the process of finding a new provider, I felt that the search wouldn't be nearly as challenging as it turned out to be. My number one problem at the outset was finding a qualified specialist who took insurance, any insurance. Increasingly these days, specialists in certain fields have been insisting that all fees ought to paid out of pocket.

It does bother me immensely that some psychotherapists in the Washington, DC, area are charging as much per hour as lawyers. One thing I have learned about this city is that there is an overabundance of vocations present, psychologist and attorney being only two of them. This practice is highly exclusionary, even though I recognize that competition for business is heavy. The problems I've observed are not felt across the board, but the fact that they are present anywhere gives reason for concern.

There was a time, you may recall, where several of us unapologetic progressives wanted a single-payer health care system, or Medicare for everyone. From discussions with doctors and specialists, I've learned that Medicare as currently configured has some substantial problems. Psychologists and psychiatrists usually don't take Medicare because the rates of reimbursement are too low for them to stay in business. The amount of paperwork required is extensive and regularly too complicated to justify the time spent. Medicare is highly profitable for surgeons, however, because the surgeons' lobby is strong.

In examining the itemized statements that arrive one-by-one in my mailbox, the amount of money paid out to doctors is at times somewhere between incredible and obscene. My psychiatrist might charge $150 an hour, but a relatively simplistic surgical procedure to remove a pilonidal cyst costs $11,000 from start to finish. The surgeon must be paid, the anesthesiologist compensated, the drugs given to put me under covered in full, and more, even down to the IV put into my arm prior to surgery.

When we are still debating and coming to grips with the vast amount of avoidable violence that comes from mental illness + a firearm, we would do well to provide mental health providers their fair share of payment. Our tax dollars compensate their hard work. It is they who are on the front lines, providing an extremely necessary service to the community and to each of us. If we valued them more, we might not have to worry about a Congress too constipated to pass even basic safety and protection for every American.  

The Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act will not be fully in effect until January 1 of next year. Because I'll still have chronic illnesses in need of treatment, I know I'll be able to observe firsthand the new changes. Some doctors I've talked to are privately nervous about any change whatsoever, not sure exactly what to expect. If I've learned anything about politics, it's that one never knows quite what one will receive until it is in force. Political promises are a dime a dozen. I support health care reform, for myself and for others. But I foresee some bumps and jostling along the way that will require periodic legislative overhaul.

Lest my meaning be misconstrued, the quality of care I have received has been excellent, most of the time. When partnered with hospital systems or other large self-contained systems, Medicare and Medicaid provide a sufficient means of treatment. Small practices, however, rarely take either of them.

Collective mindset can be another hurdle. Mental health providers are often too focused on saving the world than to partner together to lobby for competitive rates of pay. Legislation might seek to be the great leveler, but in the end, the politically well-connected will always be in first place. As much as I may distrust the profession and find lobbying distasteful, it might be worth every American getting one of his or her own.   

Lord Only Knows

You only got one finger left
And it's pointing at the door
And you're taking for granted
What the Lord's laid on the floor

So I'm picking up the pieces
And I'm putting them up for sale
Throw your meal ticket out the window
Put your skeletons in jail

'Cause Lord only knows it's getting late
Your senses are gone so don't you hesitate
To give yourself a call let your bottom dollars fall
Throwing your two bit cares down the drain

Invite me to the seven seas like some seasick man
You will do whatever you please and I'll do whatever I can
Titanic, fare thee well, my eyes are turning pink
Don't call us when the new age gets old enough to drink '

Cause Lord only knows it's getting late
Your senses are gone so don't you hesitate
Move on up the hill there's nothing dead left to kill
Throwing your two bit cares down the drain

Aurele, aurele, aurele, aurele
Aurele, aurele
Just passing through
Aurele, aurele, aurele, aurele

Quote of the Week

From "The Blue Flannel Suit"
by Ted Hughes

You waited,
Knowing yourself helpless in the tweezers
Of the life that judges you, and I saw
The flayed nerve, the unhealable face-wound
Which was all you had for courage.
I saw that what you gripped, as you sipped,
Were terrors that killed you once already.
Now I see, I saw, sitting, the lonely
Girl who was going to die.

That blue suit,
A mad, execution uniform,
Survived your sentence. But then I sat, stilled,
Unable to fathom what stilled you
As I looked at you, as I am stilled
Permanently now, permanently
Bending so briefly at your open coffin.

Saturday Video

Trip to heave and ho, up down, to and fro
You have no word
Trip, trip to a dream dragon
Hide your wings in a ghost tower
Sails crackling at ev'ry plate we break

Cracked by scattered needles
Little minute gong
Coughs and clears his throat
Madam you see before you stand
Hey ho, never be still
The old original favoritism gran
Grasshoppers green herbarian band
And the tune they play in us confide

So trip to heave and ho, up down, to and fro'
You have no word

Please leave us here
Close our eyes to the octopus ride!

Isn't it good to be lost in the wood
Isn't it bad so quiet there, in the wood
Twenty even less to me than I thought
With a honey plough of yellow prickly seeds
Clover honey pots and mystic shining feed

Well, the madcap laughed at the man on the border
Hey ho, huff the talbot
Cheetah he cried shouted kangaroo
So through their tree they cried

Please leave us here
Close our eyes to the octopus ride!

The madcap laughed at the man on the border
Hey ho, huff the talbot
The winds they blew and the leaves did wag
And they'll never put me in their bag
The seas will reach and always see
So high you go, so low you creep

The winds it blows in tropical heat
The drones they throng on mossy seats
The squeaking door will always creep
Two up, two down we'll never meet
So merrily trip for good my side

Please leave us here
Close our eyes to the octopus ride!