When “Catalina Fight Song” Sticks in Your Head

pushing petals to the weekend

keep something sweet and free

pushing petals for the weekend

so you can smile at me

 

die every minute

don’t discuss peace

they’re high in the bathroom

their hope is out of reach

 

pushing petals for the weekend

so you can fly with me

I’m dying in the evening

sweating in summer heat

 

pushing petals to the weekend

Gonna get our kicks for free

Ian Galbraith Sings Some News

The problem I have is that Dark Side of the Moon really is a great album.  But then we listen to it over and over again while selling cars and making burritos– and it starts to die.

I like to think that when we move on things get better too.  And sometimes they do but then again.  I’ve seen it get worse too.  Things I love become conflated.

An awkward club to see your lover at.

Che Conflatado do amor falso.

And then the music goes with the relationship sometimes right?

Like if she had Neutral Milk Hotel and you had that band from the Garden State who would listen to either ever again?  Probably not either of you.

Although one night it starts raining and then you think of “New Slang” and he thinks of… probably your breasts you two both put the records on, smoke cigs and forget the world for a while.

Stranger things have happened.

Elect Trump and I Jump

I’ve often thought about killing myself

but only for selfish reasons

only for selfish reasons

have I thought of killing myself

its never something noble

its never something noble

its not as if the human race would be

better

better

only for selfish reasons

its not as if the human race would be

better

for killing themselves

only for selfish reasons

would we build a fence

to keep ourselves in

would we build a fence

to become our own pets

to keep ourselves in

so no one else

could be selfish

only for selfish reasons

never to be better

better

only to kill ourselves

 

 

 

Sad Eyes

Sad eyes

don’t lie

to tell

the truth

sad eyes

build homes

of proof

sad eyes

longing

for day

sad eyes

just dream

life away

sad eyes

that steal

my heart

and leave

my soul

in puddles

beneath

the wind

I am of Course a Vampire

I am of course

A false facer

Black heart

Silver tongued

Heartbreak café

From pink sunsets

And green sea’s

I will not be good

For you

I will feel good

But eat your heart

And drink your soul

I come from Entertainment—

Moguls with ecstasy rolls for veins

I am of course—

Quite taken with you

Put Down The Gun America

America loves drama and thumping dead things…

or extended metaphors for abusive drunks…

Ahh it’s both isn’t America?

You’re so cute the way you sit there quietly jaded and broken but smiling.

On the outside you are pristine little girl, you’ve got your smile, your angel’s wings and every thread you wear suits your every curve.

But I’m on to you America.

I know what you’re up to—

You just want to forget all that hell that follows close behind you!

Everywhere you go America— in the corners bars and buying cherry red sodas at the Chelsea druggists!

I see you— you sweep the room and scan for some face that might set you free.

Some shining single face that could take you by the hand and tell you everything is alright.

Or that its gonna be alright.

Some happy face that won’t hurt you, a pair of lips to carry you through the night.

I know what you are seeking America— I know— I seek it too.

In the drawn out parties and sad ballrooms of distended time when all the love you’ve ever felt is no more potent than an old nursery rhyme.

In the far away ghettos of frigid plateaus devoid of innuendo—

When any good thing is less than a memory—

When all your hopes and dreams taste like bitter goodbyes—

I know you America, for your truth and for your lies.

For the way you sit in the corner bar sipping on what?

The same cherry soda?

A Shirley Temple?

A Vodka tonic?

Liquid- reverie?

And you are neither blonde nor brunette but none of your friends are in between.

You are not Irish or Scottish, Chinese, Hindu, Nepali or Somali—

Neither West African nor South African or even English—

Not Russian or German or Welsh or Italian or Mexican or Spanish or Polish or Dutch—

Because you are all of these things America…

All of these things and more.

And America—

If you’d put that gun down I could really dig you baby.

If you took your knives and hooks out of me for a second and let me down off the rack—

If you quit putting me on your goddamn crucifix—

If you’d just never put another soul on that thing—

America, I could really love you.

Forever exhausted (every day)

I wake up early
Like a youngster
Ready for toons
Even though
I sleep so little
I get on my feet
Even though
Five days a week
I can’t get sleep
On Saturday morning
I rise early
And get on my feet

I guess you’ll find me racing sunrise
There’s nothing I can say
I wake up this time
Every day

Dead again dying again

All I can think about today is dead dreams
And beautiful women
The list that one feels
As lights run across the stage
And the chill night traces outlines
Along the crowd
Lips and titts and hips
how I was going to change the world
Before I got run over
Deep in debt
Now I’m a part of it
Just another
Plastic fucking peg
Pound me with your drug hammer
Grant me rock and roll
I want to die
Before these ulcers catch up
Before gods own fingers
Claw out my guts

what am I going to eat 

like some turkey?  Some chicken?  Some beef?  

 

hahaha roast beer.  

not a solid choice

a thin ice sandwich

and no bacon burger

 

but really hungry nonetheless

down for some chicken, some macaroni

or like thai style stuff in curry

I’d eat that with an Oreo mcsnorio freeze 

 

and be all fat by the next sunrise

but whatever

 

and then thinking of breakfast….

 

mimosas say the least and

screwdrivers tell too much

this isn’t anything really here 

if your looking to eat.