If it still is a nonsolvable equation, multiply it by 1000 then throw the tantrum you wanted to have in the first place, move the decimal, and go take a nap.
We don’t want to hear or know about it, and no one cares but you if you solve for x, so shut down the computer, shut off the lights, and watch the cars pass by the street light in the window outside the hotel. We know you have a problem because of your erratic behaviour as of late. Should we talk about it?
Raymond Carver wrote a series of short stories called ” What We Talk About When We Talk about Love.” I started reading these in 7th grade and as usual, reread them until I couldn’t figure out what I was trying to learn from these stories. I was a kid, and I didn’t get the point. I am older and I don’t get the point. But I want to think about it.
If you’re not writing, you’re not thinking. As important as that quote is, I don’t know who said it so succinctly, and although it’s out of context, I’m learning not to scoff at this because maybe everything is better out of context.
I haven’t been in love in nine years. Maybe 19 years if you count _____________ who I am not sure I ever loved. Processing the new information that I am seriously, inequitably madly in love with someone who I don’t even really care that they love me back is not my jam, and I don’t like it, but it’s the best I have felt in a decade of thinking I lost that part of my brain — I will never love anyone ever again, I’m totally broken, but I will live on despite the horror of this complete loss of ability.
And I don’t know who I am anymore because this has consumed my DNA — I wake up happy and hopeful, and I sit by the phone like a fucking lovesick puppy, and I don’t even care! I’m relentless and I can’t stop thinking about this person, and it doesn’t even matter if I get my heart broken as long as anything happens. I am tossing my heart and love and brains in to the air and I have no shame. I don’t think it matters to this person, but I want to be validated or shot down and blown up.
I want to feel something. Ten years of a superficial relationship results in almost as much despair when there isn’t anything there, even though you looked for it all your life. That’s what emptiness is anyway; that is how much you believed was there and was never anything but your expectation of fulfilment. When you try not to reflect, the brightness of nothingness is quite a shock. But it doesn’t hurt, and you don’t know why.
So I take note of this day right here. The days have been long and meaningless and agonizingly sad until I fell in love again, with no effort, no nothing actually, making it stupidly immature and certain to break my heart.
But when you get your heart back because of some girl or boy who stole it and is running around with it and you need it back, let it go. I am thinking that person needs it more than you do, no matter if you are loved reciprocally or not, there’s nothing better to know you have something to give.
Return to sender if broken. No hurry, but you have it, and I’d love to know what you’re going to do with it.
I notice a mahogany scent, pleasant and pleasing, and I remind myself to assert my energy forth behind the shades of the autumn semi-sunlight. The evening falls and twilight breaks even, dealing me that ambiguous forgetfulness of my inadvertent existence; how often the blur of fantasy and judgment of my own character ultimately punctures all possibilities.
If we are to maintain hope in the wake of our individual personal and philosophic crises, perhaps we must consider the fortresses of conscious choice that we build to protect ourselves from hopelessness may need to be surrendered. Every belief holds a mystery and devotion, but deliverance from faith is simplicity and creative surrender.
Hope and desire are self-preserving energies which protect us; we long for something to heal us in the darkness of our self-deprecation and the burdens of hopelessness. We defend our small territory of sanity and we trust that our steadfast faith will conquer all. But the spiritual straight-jacket of this quest for absolute hope dangerously distances us from the dimension of personal creativity. We cannot shove hope down other’s throats, we can, however, realize unique freedom of love and creativity, and we can find a balance and act with our heart as much as we can move with our mind.
Sunday is a poet. You know this because as you walk down the street with her to the Quik Stop for a bottle of Old English 800, she speaks in a manner almost lyrical, and you notice things you’ve never noticed before, like the lime fragrance of the fountain and the way you can still walk straight even if you close your eyes.
Sometimes in your mind, you walk past the big white colonial house where Sunday lives, stained-glass front windows and magnolia garden, and Arthur, her Great Pyrenees greeting you at the sidewalk. You imagine here eyes shining through the drawn blinds. Those eyes know you’re longing for the verse of Shakespeare in the hammock near the creek that lines the backyard, or sweet rhetoric of political apathy. For the feel of her hands running through your hair as her words echo through your mind — both like crisp water, cool and soothing.
You sit perfectly still. You know that all moments end.
You and Sunday are together. She whispers and laughs lightly ande when she can’t think of anything to say, she hums. You can smell the strawberry shampoo she uses. Her eyes, which you watch carefully, turn from green to grey as the sky darkens. She lights a candle and is quiet. You tell her that maybe your life would be different if only you had stayed back East, or studied Law.
“There’s a poem there,” she says.
You fall asleep on her couch; she is in the chair. You awaken, very late, and watch the lights of the cars outside as you listen to Sunday’s soft breathing as she rests peacefully. You imagine what she could be dreaming about, maybe rainbows or angels.
Last night, you watched her in the street below your window, the rain falling everywhere around her; the April showers saturating her. Then she turns to you, or maybe the stars, and begins to sing a silent song, dancing drunkenly. You realize, even in the blackest rain, you can see clearly. You believe she was never at your side.
You know that there will never be another like her. Somehow she has become your long lost, never ever. The rooms she danced in have become your shrine. Her image becomes an icon. Your heart sinks each time you see a fire-engine red Wrangler. You wish you had done things differently, or maybe you wish you could be different. You wonder what you did wrong, or perhaps, what you didn’t do at all.
Yesterday. All my troubles seemed — to be taken out on stage by the happiness of my love for writing, revising, rehearsing, and executing musical compositions. With my friends. For a superb audience.
I am grateful for my band mates and friends and family and fans who joined us for my 23rd year of playing at the Capitol Hill People’s Fair. Too many people in my life have passed on and I remember them being there for me for so many years, so many shows, good and sometimes *not so good* and absurd, bizarre, impossible to explain memories. I remember almost every show I have played, when and where, with whom, and the experiences and the people who have come, gone, stayed, and the ones who aren’t here anymore to laugh and play with us. We work hard, sometimes I may be obsessively diligent and proud of working 60 hour weeks — but that’s what I think keeps me rollin’ along. I love my life because I can write it out and play it for you in less than five minutes. And I love my band. And I love the friends who are kind enough to keep coming back and motivating me to be as good as I can be at this game of musical wars that it tends to be — but I don’t let it get to me — I won’t see someone as or let them be more important than anyone else because they have the power to make or break you on the scene. Of course it’s healthy to be competitive, but we aren’t competing. We aren’t judging or criticizing. We are still playing music that we composed and not in this for the money (although we don’t turn it down) and hell, we are not going away as long as we still are being asked to show up. No apologies. I speak for myself and the kids in the band when I say we wouldn’t do this if we didn’t have the balance and ability and joy to play well with others. Enjoy what you gots. You can have it all and set your standards however you like. You can do what you say you are going to do -and- carry through. No one is better than anyone else or has the right to take away what you love in life — not with their words, actions and behavior, or their demeanor.
I have to be grateful for those who have destroyed me as much as I am grateful for those who have mended me.
I have written this statement once before and I have to think to myself that maybe it is more significant than ever.
Saving a person’s life when he is seconds away from stepping off that ledge was not part of the plan. A few years ago, saving a life was important to me until this turned on me as something that was my fault; I knew this was clearly not the case — I was so glad I was there at the right time and place to prevent this — but I was no hero to the people who I loved. I learned what it was to be the anti-hero more than I ever believed possible. But no no no, I can cleanly admit that I learned that I was a hero, damn it, and to let go of the ones who made an effort to destroy me from that moment in time that I walked into a bad situation, to the phone call I made for help. (Note: Call 911 when someone tries to commit suicide because he or she will certainly try to do it again, sometimes that same day.) The strangeness of thinking — that seconds later, I would have found this person dead and maybe I would never recover from the guilt of not showing up in time, shadowed the years of the disrespect and evil that plagued me because I got in his way of getting out the easy way — and retaliation takes on a wretched anguished ghost who is always there to let you know, “Hey, dude. You are going to hell for getting in the way of destiny,” and shreds pieces of your life and limited time on the planet in order to carry on and live well, and then what happens:
Your life changes you; you change your life.
I’m not dwelling on the reasons I have been destroyed. When I was in those moments, it was difficult to avoid the sick feeling of reflecting for and with no reason, and empty hopes and pure loathing of self, but yes: I am out of there now. I have been for awhile. But I’m better than that — I am fucking lucky that I saved his life and so are the people who weren’t so sure. Those people will never know how to thank me, yet I thank them for teaching me who I am and being myself and happy about it all. Their hostility is common and I know to let it go when I see it. You can have it. Keep it; I can’t sail that ship, I will swim back to shore, please send me my mail and keep the rest of my stuff, or give it to someone else. I don’t want you to give me another gigantic piece of anything- tangible or intangible – that it takes every last drop of sweat to mend for myself so I don’t end up on the wrong side of the rope (so to speak).
Right now, the circumstances are trying to break me again but have not done so. Right now, I am mending and letting it go. Right now, I have myself to rely on — no one else should have to help me — and although the damage is done, I am not finished and I need some letting go. I will be on the other side of this situation and then I can bury it. And write about it.
Saving a life and saving yourself are both similar and equally dangerous. But I get to try to meliorate and rehabilitate myself and spare myself the long ride on the wave of mental erosion and psychopathic entities who betray in the most unfathomable manner, and who hate and break and enjoy it. Watching you struggle is what they need to be happy.
Whatever.
I’m grateful anyway. I never promised you a rose garden. I’m not the sharpest pencil in the pack. I’m not unhappy either.
I know who I am. I’m grateful for that and for losing so much that I never really had – and being a rock star for getting back up, dusting myself off, tipping my hat and exiting the theatre rather than the sharpening the stick and returning with the blackness of hatred I was meandering through too long. I sharpen the stick to make a point; the point of it all is how you find your way back to the shore, back to the mountain after a cliffhanger, back to music after the silence stops making so much noise.
You are allowed to be happy and to laugh despite yourself.
PRIME (Wendy Clark 2018)
How did you ever let yourself get so far?
When was the last time you bothered to notice at all?
It only takes one mistake to turn the inside right back out
Certainly it’s blinding me as I believed everything you were about
I’m in the prime of my life
Yeah, I’m in the prime of my life
CHORUS
Will you recall these were the best days of your life?
Will it have ever seemed so nice?
How did just forget the words to the song?
When was the last time the audience had to sing along
You only take 445 mistakes to let the outside right back in
Gradually you find yourself looking past the place you begin
I’m in the prime of my life
Yeah, I’m in the prime of my life
CHORUS
Will you recall these were the best days of your life? Will it ever have seemed so nice? Will you recall these were the best days that you had? Will it ever feel so bad?
How did you fall illogically away
Why the hell did you leave me so far away
It only takes a million times to find yourself again
Please help me find my peace of mind before I get to the end I get to the end I get to the end of the end of the end…
I design promotional materials and write content, SEO and SMO stuff, and other PR and site management. It’s as living.
I also do local music PR and have been successful with many local artists – and am always trying new tricks of the trade to promote and use my band as a means to experiment with, and enjoy the graphics and image side plus the video promotional techniques.
But I am perplexed with my own graphic design work when self-promoting. Here is an example of one of the digital flyers for my band’s next show (tomorrow). I am a also a photographer (mentored and thrown into two jobs which I had to learn how to overcome the anxiety of doing *whatever
it takes to get the shot*) and thus use my own photos and a variety of programs depending on what device I have at the time and place that I create one. This was made in Photoshop which I have been using as much as possible to learn what I didn’t have access to in Photoshop Elements. I like to create posters. That’s why I started a band in the first place, right?
Of course not.
So after posting this green image of our show tomorrow (above), I thought that this is an aesthetically displeasing work — the rules were broken and it is a poor representation of a music event — in so many ways… and wonder why people are digging it.
Will this grab the attention of someone and possible convert them into a attendee of the event? I mean, my flyers have been used in tshirt designs for shows for clients, and I was asked if this one will be for sale by a fan – so I have to ask – why do designers have crippling self-doubt and why should we expect ourselves to know if we have made an good or bad impression?
If only content was as ambiguous. I made a poster for the next show that is one of my favorites of the 100s. It’s good. I received compliments which is the band flyer maker’s reason to live. Will anyone go to the show if they see it? Ask about tshirts? Why is the struggle to promote ourselves visually so cathartic for some of us in bands?
After all, I *know* when I write a song — it’s good or it isn’t going to exist. I don’t question myself. That is why I still get to play my own music — I don’t have the skills or the rock star goddess beauty (well, that’s arguable) and height and boobs. But I know better than to question my compositions and I won’t wonder if I am good at what I write – because I am. Who would play their songs if they didn’t think they were awesome?
Now that I have decided not to participate in the mischief which bounces beneath me and breathes down my back, the lucky day bursts its bountiful fountains of the purest, warmest light within and around me; my love of life and the depth of my own fragile yet enormous temple of true faith is surrounded in that song of the magnificence of being; the most transcendent revolution of self becomes real.
Now that I have decided to burn the barriers of self-conscious self-doubt and self-betrayal, I decide to run into the living room wall as fast as I can and with full knowledge of the eight feet I have to build momentum. And although the pain is quite a bit more intolerable than I would have expected, not only because I thought a small jaunt of machosim might just fix or trick my mischievious mind redirect the synapses to bigger and better ailments, my expectations are always higher than I could ever reach, and if there was a beanstalk and I caught sight of it, hell yes, I would be stacking phone books to get to those branches and know I was in for something new and cool, whether it broke my heart or set me on a path to heavenly starlight roller-rink, life is all about beanstalks, bruises, and broken branches.
Now that I have decided not to learn any lessons, I will sing you a song about it.
Now that you have decided not to give me any reasons, I will seek them forever.
Now that I have decided not to participate, I have missed the point, I have not given any reason, I have rolled the dice, played the game, and walked away.
Now tell me—you know the stories of the games, you know all the contenders – now are you going to be the dealer or are you going to be the player?
Now blow some bubbles in the wind and sigh happily in the sunny sunshiney super nothing of your immediate detachmentality…. why? Becuse you are no longer a contender.
Does one ever think that when one approaches the front door to answer it, the casual ritual often prevents us from employing our critical thinking – measuring and inductive reasoning – which may have spared us a new experience and not have ever impacted our conscious subjectivity and embedded an apprehension, or a logic, or a system of your interpretation of that moment forward; and you wake up and decide things and going to be different. Remember, you have options; you have three doors to choose from and millions of pages to reference. You are what you know, that’s what page I am on this evening. I am writing them as quickly as you try to figure out why the hell you are trying to figure out what the hell I am talking about you; you turn to face the same brick wall you built of systems and neurons – you flip the page over and it is blank; so you write… you write as a ritual – and you will not be anxious about the knock at your front because you don’t want to answer it and your writing intensifies.
“Great to see you; you look spectacular.”
I didn’t tell her I had never jumped out of a plane before, or that I didn’t really think it was an activity that I had condemned long ago; in fact I had recently signed a petition to ban parachuting in our county, but I did look spectacular, so fatefully, I returned a smile and looked at her dizzy, unsuspecting gaze, her unawkwardness at my rigid side, she was breathing happily while the little propellor aircraft whipped us about
“What?” I knew she didn’t know that I had heard her.
I held my self perfectly still. I grimaced after a minute of this trying activity. The little plane shook and shivered. When she nodded at me I realized I could use this time to take the opportunity to stop this madness once and for all: My new life of urgent truth had to begin now! The little aircraft dipped frightfully through an air pocket and I began to get the heebie jeebies and slow quakes jolted my arteries. Meanwhile I realized I hadn’t many seconds to begin this new path in life, I had to plot my thesis after I jumped out of a plane, landed and recovered. My hand moved to my side pocket and I compulsively rechecked the presence of my ID and paperwork. The parachuting certificate I handed to the pilot was legitimate after all; the online class was quite expensive and I didn’t cheat. I just lied. Of course, last night at Trick’s Tavern, I realized that I would have told her anything. I needed someone to make me feel interesting, and I suppose that is why I tell so many stories to those I am sure I will never see again and I am beginning to think that is a dangerous self discovery. To make matters worse, I was starting to be concerned about this and other self issued discoveries, and this was a rather bad time to start a rapid decline of self doubt.
“I heard you say you were adopted.”
“True, but please don’t forget what you don’t know.”
“I wish you didn’t listen so much.” Our conversation was confusing. I just started to talk about nothing.
“The sun isn’t going down any quicker. My sundown is high…. Have you ever heard of thought disorder?” I looked up at the ceiling of the airplane and recited the definition from Wikipedia, ” ‘In psychiatry, thought disorder or formal thought disorder is a term used to describe a pattern of disordered language use that is presumed to reflect disordered thinking. It is usually considered a symptom of psychotic mental illness although occasionally appears in other conditions. It is also known as knight’s move thinking referring to the nonlinear way a knight moves in chess.'”
“What?”
The noise of the engine grew louder.
“I said the noise of the engine is getting loud.”
“Don’t worry, anyway.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“True.” She looked at me but I stared out the window at the gravity.
The pilot’s husky orders startled me but I stood up and waited.
The rollercoaster and the hash brownies experience was cupcake compared to what ever happened next. I have little but flashes of the freefall, I did everything wrong and the ride home was long and my whole heart ached in every part of my body.
When I woke up from my nap that evening, I called her and informed her that I couldn’t see her anymore and had to dedicate myself to a new religion – one that would make me a better self. Then I told her that she made me see that I was a liar and a thief and I thanked her and hung up the phone. Well, I actually didn’t totally hang it up on the cradle; it was crooked and I wonder if she heard me playing the blues on my harmonica for the next two hours. Nothing happened for awhile after that. I memorized the words to Ave Maria and took a shower with my cap on. I drank a beer and waltzed down the street to Mrs. Armstrong’s house, two blocks away.
My piano lesson was louder than ever before that Sunday morning; the expressive and impressive strokes brought my instructor’s maid to tears, I closed my eyes for minutes at a time, hoping to get the liquid to soothe my windburnt eyeballs, and I occasionally pause to flip my bangs off my eyelashes and as awkward as this was, I reminded myself to smile when my teacher would criticize my artistic profile and she would smile and nod at the keys as she told me to pick it up again; but I laid it down even more until my heartache broke and let the sunshine ease in, then I would totally stop and slam my fists down like a defeated classical pianist in a cartoon. Like Schroeder. I went to the window loudly when Ms. _________ had to pick up a long distance phone call, and her cat walked across the keys of the baby grand as traffic groaned down the slushy highway in front of her house. The cat was deaf, I thought while a tickle of a giggle hummed in my throat, and the damn thing had no talent. I wished that Ms. ______ would come back so that she was not speaking to her far-away friend about the crappy student playing crappy impromptu for no apparent reason. But the doorbell rang, the distorted volume of the cheap tone made me shove my hands in my pockets like a guilty thief, and the cat got away from the tune.
“Bobby, go home,” she cupped her hand and she spoke to the door at me, “Go home NOW.”
She reminded me of a dial tone.
I wonder who invented the dial tone. Did that same person name it? Was it named “Dial Tone”? I could probably Google it, but I knew myself too well. I did not care. All I cared about was the free association bullshit which prompted me to relate a tone to a human being.
Today was the day I decided to change my life. I also changed my phone number, got a PO Box, a puppy, and a laptop. I almost added a handgun to that list, but after dry-heaving in the alley next to Paul’s Pawn on 12th and Hell Street, I delayed that purchase for my next life change. I chucked my old cell phone in a dumpster, I admired the lack of contacts I didn’t have on my new one, and I slung my leather laptop case over my shoulder, gave a nice little blind kid two dollars, and strolled through the east side with my new dog in a cage on a Ryder I had bought from a teenager who seemed to be a legitimate salesperson.
Today was the day my life decided to change me. by Wendy Clark (Hudson)
Today I learned that things are not as they seem and that goes for objects, people, places, ideas — basically all nouns — and perception can be impacted without having an epiphany, or a moment of emotional impact, or by getting your eyes gouged out when you were clearly seeing or adjusting to whatever phase of the day you were tackling.
I think we see day for night as we distinguish happy from sad and love from hate, but as time seems to take us as it’s travelling, we seem to have the insight we need to recognize the spaces we are surrounded by.
If this means that we are equipped to live a functional and focused existence and we are present while we ascertain the infinite amount of our pragmatic conscious considerations as the moments creep away from our condition, than the constant evolves into the isolation of a preoccupied reality which manipulates the velocity of our conceptions.
This is not a dog and pony show. This is not a vault of dependent illusions meant to specify our next reflex and will bend the fragment of what you recognize as your capacity to sustain a reasonable recognition of your space and will alter as the life you lead will lead you on the way to the next fragment.
Adjusting to the portrait that has already been painted is a process that eliminates a certain freedom you are accustomed to, and singing a song someone else wrote institutionalizes a habit, and we drag out the abrupt until the inspiration is a technique that convinces us to know a difference in our impression and an impression on the immeasurable subjective state of all of what we think is objective. Or the aspect of the reality that simply is impossible to confirm or deny.
So I think to myself when I’m trying not to, and it happens more often than I would like to think to myself, but nonetheless I keep thinking.
I keep wondering where I went wrong. Not sympathetically, but hypothetically, what the hell happened.
Everything is different but it’s kind of the same that I thought it would be, but I never thought it would be anything and it’s not.
So where do we go from here? I mean, where are we going. Which way are we going to take next turn? Are we headed for a sunrise or a sunset? Does it matter to you, it doesn’t but maybe when you grow up, my words will mean something to you.
Maybe so; maybe not.
I wonder what would have happened if we were together. I try not to think about you, but your are always going to be right there, in my way and in every other thought, every other day.
Perhaps if I could turn days into triplets, then quartets, then maybe jazz—non-conformist chaos coming going far away, like the times and the lost days.
We have to work to keep the lights on, gas in the car, rent/mortgage, food, pets, yeah and everything else.
Some of us have been underemployed or working scattershot jobs for inconsistent employers, those who are entitled to take your time when you have repeatedly suggested your own time, and gig jobs that make impossible demands, and on the brink of homelessness, we have to finally admit that as humiliating as it is, we need help because many of us have a debilitating psychological illness or disorder and our lives should not be under fire because we need a little help from those who aren’t quite as down on their luck. We aren’t asking for much: just enough to make it through the day and we seek an inkling of understanding and compassion that the majority of our American society cannot understand, thus we are treated as if we were liars; mere actors playing out a role while others whisper we are lazy or crazy.
This is a web of deception and lies and my disordered is punching me to my most vulnerable darkest days and I don’t know what to do. I’m trying to wait for final approval from Uber but if I don’t, I’m trying to figures out how to work for Amazon Flex for theory hours per day. I have been an ACT SAT tutor for a year and haven’t gotten a raise. I lost my WordPress freelance gig and paycheck four days before rent was due. I have to rent a better car to deliver which isn’t exactly profitable. I make a good amount of money playing music but haven’t had time to try to book shows due to trying to find more work. I am a security officer (uncertified, unarmed) a couple times per month for another gig job.
I was asked to help with two new client websites and both have not had the time or the opportunity to reply to me and you can’t tell a client that you are available, so let’s go! Clients generally don’t care and being the lowest priority for them is absolutely how the food chain works.
My point is that I have been worried about my rent (and am dying to give my 30 day notice).
Every day this month I have worked jobs at a low pay scale and I have nothing close to enough. After renting out my bedroom, I still don’t have enough. (Mainly because I got scammed stupidly.) I am building a digital download store but I can’t do it fast enough and ascap wants my song information but yeah, I can’t get it done fast enough, need to book gigs, need to take care of everything, and I have digital art and drawings but I
I can’t get it all done fast enough.
Now I have to figure out how to get shot down faster. CANNOT GET IT DONE FASTER.
Part one of a lot. In my quest to make rent, I’m selling these babies for $5 apiece. Please let me know if you want to get mini drawings drawn (is that correct?) and converted to AI images. A Gazillion different themes. Tell me what you want, I’ll generate it! Enjoy!
i keep on falling for you, as you creep beside the moonlight
if i could not speak, would you tell me what to say?
you shine the bluest eyes and the dusk retreats to twilight
i don’t mind my misconstructions smiling as you let them ricochet
i’m in love with this afternoon
how good it is – right here with you
then time stands still in this empty room
but how good it feels – to be with you
i readjust my gaze as you realign my eyesight
i woke up running too soon under the milky way
i’m joyous every evening as you pull back the daylight
i scramble to the calendar and plead again for saturday
i don’t take for granted that you have mistaken me for stranded
as you take my cigarette and hallucinate my greed
i beg you to not imply why this is where we’ve landed
as we’ve long stopped complicating who should take or who should receive
i’m in love with this afternoon
how good it is – right here with you
then time stands still in this empty room
but how good it feels – to be with you
actual size it’s got a big red face that comes up clear a two-tone ride that runs on fear a bolt-on shimmy that hums in space and a brand new suit that’s going to waste a brand new suit that’s going to waste
it’s got throw-back padding that’s stapled down a pinched-up liner that’s wrapped for sound a cold blank stare whenever i talk
and thirteen names for the way i walk thirteen names for the way i walk
and i want you to sew it shut before it wakes me up you won’t recognize
the fifteen seconds i close my eyes
and i’m drunk now that you won’t be actual size
it comes when everyone goes to sleep the little red monster you let me keep it starts real small, unfolds its legs
then i feel heat on the back of my head
feel heat on the back of my head i want you right here when it burns up the atmosphere
wrap me steeling tight
unhook your jaws and cover my eyes and i’m drunk now that you won’t be actual size now that you won’t be now that you won’t be now that you won’t be
so surprised
luck and trouble
i thought a shot another man in texas
i thought about the ones in tennessee
what’s the use in doing so much thinking?
when all i do is think of you and me
forecast on the frontier of your future
damn, these cigarettes are tastin’ sweet
what’s the point in doing so much coca-iane?
when all you do is run away from me
but – you were on my mind
cutie-pie – all of the time
but i never thought you’d leave me
in the space you left behind
once upon a time or two in tulsa
the satellite sank into the sea
what’s the use of having all this luck
when trouble stays up late waiting for me
but – you were on my mind
cutie-pie – all of the time
but i never thought you’d leave me
in the space you left behind
and so this anecdote is almost over
the lesson learned is a likely theme
what’s the upshot luck just to fall back down
then to get back up just to fall back down
when the story ends right here for you and me
but – you were on my mind
cutie-pie – all of the time
but i never thought you’d leave me
in the space you left behind
consequence
did you forget my name? i notice everything hasn’t changed did you forget my words
or were they tangled in my obscurity?
i cleared away the residue
anything and everything that happened to do with you
but honey i still stumble and shake
every time that i see you
if you could read my mind
you’d see my love is totally blind
if you could know what i mean
if you looked at me like there was no body else to see
i cleared away the residue
anything and everything i’m prone to misconstrue
but honey i still stumble and shake
every time that i see you
if i could be the one you wanted
then i could be the one you wanted
all of the time
baby, don’t look now
because we still haven’t figured it out
honey, nothing never, ever gets past you
and i am beginning to wonder now if i even want it to
i pulled myself together again
fell back as the story goes, the consequences never end
but honey i still crumble and quake
every time that i see you
if i could be the one you wanted i could be the one you wanted
all of the time if i could be the one you wanted i could be the one you wanted
all of the time
distance
take everything you’ve learned so far and throw it all away i would have told you long ago but you’re nine time zones astray
your lack of concern concerns me, but i think i’m doing fine
ambition doth escape me and i’m dying to make it mine
traffic here on sunday is much worse than you’d expect
waiting at a stoplight lets you sit there and reflect
keep your eye on the canvas; tell me what do you see?
take what you can get – you know that never bothered me
what more can i say to you to make a difference?
each step closer to you, i can feel the distance
stretched out on the grass i count the ways you wrecked my life
cut my dreams right down the seams with that jaded, rusty knife
waited in your driveway, in that old abandoned car
started home at sunset but i didn’t get too far
what more can i say to you to make a difference?
each step closer to you, i can feel the distance
home up beyond these big lights in the miniature town
up over the hills – and the nights which allow
you were the only one and you were the only one
and i stood in the yard – smiled at the sun
way beyond these empty bottles in this place we call home
up over hills we still may roam
you were the only, the only, the only
i tell you i’m lonely, – lonely, i’m lonely
but i want to go home
i want to go home
because i don’t have anywhere left to go
up beyond these big lights in this mediocre town
up over the hills and the nights which allow
you were the only one when you weren’t the only one
stood in the yard – tied down the sun
way beyond these empty bottles in this place we call home
up over the hills we still may roam
you were the only, the only, the only
i tell you i’m lonely, lonely, i’m lonely
but i want to go home
i want to go home
because i don’t have anywhere left to go
i want to go home
i want to go home
because i don’t have anywhere left to go
up beyond these big lights in this mediocre town
up over the hills and the nights which allow
you were the only one when you weren’t the only one
i stood in the yard – tied down the sun
way beyond these empty bottles in this place we call home
up over the hills we still may roam
you were the only, the only, the only
i tell you i’m lonely, lonely, i’m lonely
but i want to go home
i want to go home
because i don’t have anywhere left to go
i want to go home
i want to go home
because i don’t have anywhere left to go
la carta
there was a time in the back of my mind
when i threw in the virtual towel, you said
with a scowl and my meds, it was all in my head
and i had every reason to smile once again
so i wrote down the words
’cause i needed to rehearse
and i left you a note on your microphone
often these lines in the back of my mind
rotate themselves into a blockade, you know
as you come and you go, it’s so easy to show
that it’s just that easy to care once again
so i walked down the stairs
’cause i needed repairs
and i left you a note on your microphone
i don’t care if you write me a letter
i don’t care if you play me a brand new song
what’s the point in dancing all night
if you don’t got no rhythm?
often the time as it creeps down my spine
as it seeps through the ceilings and it knocks down all the doors
as you come and you go, it’s so easy to show
that it’s simply that easy to care once again
so i made a list of the pros and cons
and i waited so anxiously for your response
i don’t care if you write me a letter
i don’t care if you play me a brand new song
what’s use in blaming yourself
when i haven’t done anything wrong?
i don’t care if you write me a letter
i don’t care if you play me a brand new song
what’s the use in writing the verse
when the words are all written wrong?
i don’t care if you write me a letter
i don’t care if you play me a brand new song
how many times have you believed yourself
when you know that everything’s wrong?
wrong
you’ve been acting kind of strange like you really just don’t care
you said you’d meet me at the pub then you never showed up there
i tried to call your house – a strange voice always answers the phone
whenever i go out on a date i find i’m all alone
well i don’t really know why i’ve been waiting for so long
all i wanna know is what did i do wrong
i got home the other night, found all my cds smashed it bits
i figured it was just another one of your epileptic fits
went into my closet, found that half my clothes were burned
matches on your bed stand baby, by now i should have learned
well i don’t really know why i’ve been waiting for so long
all i wanna know is what did i do wrong
what can i say to you to make you understand
what can i ask of you to make a reprimand
so you tell me i’m no good, and you don’t care anymore
so now i’m trying to figure out what the hell i’m with you forgiveness
well i don’t really know why i’ve been waiting for so long
all i wanna know is what did i do wrong
all i wanna know is what did i do wrong
all i wanna know is what did i do wrong
Lyrics to “Alien-American” by Tequila Mockingbird (2004)
From the Tequila Mockingbird sophomore release, hear/here are the words. Lifted from my band’s website.
Again (3:38) so what do you think it means the weather’s changed and how is your head well it’s prearranged and what are your thoughts on the politics around here well shit the optimism just fades too fast and i’m the first in line still you toss me back and i think it’s getting way too crowded in your head for me but what do think it takes to say goodbye when all i really gotta do is open up my eyes i’m falling again so what do you think it means that nothings changed and all the furniture has been rearranged and what are your thoughts on the spatiality damn this pessimism just stays around and if i am up then you kick me down and i think it’s getting too crowded in your room for me but what do think it takes to say goodbye when all i really gotta do is open up my eyes i’m falling again so when’d it go to hell and everything change because nothing here’s ever felt so strange and what are your thoughts on the bygones forsaken around here damn this optimism just was almost gone but still you come around and baby it’s never for long and it’s getting way too empty in your world for me but what do think it takes to say goodbye when all i really gotta do is open up my eyes i’m falling again
Cashed (2:45) it’s exactly like i imagined you never tell me what i want to hear it’s exactly like i thought it would be trapped inside my mind with all these things i fear beyond the mountains and the techno without the everybody ever known at last you realized but far too late someone took your brain and turned your heart to stone ‘cause i can’t get in to anything i can’t see out of this end i’m in and i end up where i’m supposed to begin the line i walk is far too thin i want to be your anti-hero never do you right but always true i want to be your less than zero i want to know what you think about you and me and me and you ‘cause i can’t get into anything i can’t see out of this end i’m in and i end up where i’m supposed to begin the line i walk is far too thin
UFO Intro (:23)
UFO (4:24) you always seemed light years away but i didn’t think that you would really leave that day this solar system has its ups and its downs and life on venus ain’t as cool as it sounds i can see clearly most of the time but honestly i swear i never saw the signs didn’t believe me when i said things could be worse than to be stuck here in this universe you said goodbye and then you headed for the hills you sold my car and stranded me with all the bills you left me for a ufo why’d you have to go i sit alone and stare at your moon rocks and cry can’t bear to watch star trek ‘cause it makes me wonder why i’m gonna build a rocket i’m gonna hope that it will fly maybe someday i’ll see you again in the stars above the sky gonna save my money and buy a radio tracking station gonna try my luck at newton’s law of gravitation you left me for a ufo why’d you have to go you said goodbye and then you headed for the hills you stole my car and stranded me your all the bills you left me for a ufo why’d you have to go you said goodbye and then you headed for the hills you stole my car and stranded me with all your bills you left me for a ufo why’d you have to go
The Honeymoon (3:29) the honeymoon’s not the same without you but i’m remaining optimistic my love just ain’t the same without you but i probably won’t be coming home it’s true but it’s alright yeah it’s alright never could write a love song about you without it sounding too sarcastic used to think the world about you but my universe is so elastic but it’s alright yeah it’s alright the sun-bleached sand where we used to stay i want to move so far away we would dwell here most each and every day i want to move so far away those vacations we would take without you i once believed were so fantastic thought i touched the heart inside you found that it was made of plastic but it’s alright yeah it’s alright the sun-bleached sand where we used to stay i want to move so far away we would dwell here almost each and every day i want to move so far away it’s not a pretty picture but i needed to get a shot i tried to write our story without a broken plot the honeymoon’s not the same without you but i’m remaining optimistic my love just ain’t the same without you but i probably won’t be coming home it’s true but it’s alright yeah it’s alright the sun-bleached sand where we used to stay i want to move so far away we would dwell here most each and every day i want to move so far away so far away so far away so far away
Sometimes I Think (3:00) well i took the clock i took the lamp i took the fertilizer i locked the doors i poured the gas i lit the match i took the oath i bowed my head i breathed the fumes but you took my car you headed west and you were gone well freedom rang through my ears and choked back acidic tears i tossed away the hopes and the money and the years i was reborn i went to church i sought a rock where i could perch i was gonna get it if it didn’t beat me to it first i spiked the punch i punched my glass i blew a 3.0 i locked the doors i hit the gas i ran that light i slept in jail i called for bail then i got out but you took my car you headed south and you were gone so now i’m growing up and getting older and sometimes they say i’ve gotten colder around here i’m an anti-contender and i live near the park in a four-plex in uptown denver well sometimes i bleed from too much drinkin’ and sometimes i have just too much fun and sometimes i think about you baby if sometimes into you i’ll ever run…
Catching On (the stupid song) (5:36) well i’m finally catching on yeah i’m beginning to apprehend and i’m seeing it all so crystal clear that this surely ain’t no means to no end and i’m pulling out all the stops and i’m shaking here in the absolved and i’m dismayed at the failure i am it seems my car ain’t the only thing that’s stalled you’re so stupid how you could have been so dumb i was wondering that myself you’re so stupid how you could have been so wrong i was wondering that i was wondering that myself well i’m figuring the “what went bad” and i’m reckoning the reasons why because i’m sure that it can’t be me as i know i stand much bigger than my size sometimes i notice i’m way off the target occasionally i see i’m stuck in the trough whatever the matter i’m keen to the coolness so all you had to do was tell me to back off you’re so stupid how you could have been so wrong i was wondering that myself you’re so stupid how you could have been so dumb i was wondering that i was wondering that myself well i’m finally catching on yeah i’m beginning to apprehend and i’m seeing it all so crystal clear that this surely ain’t no means to no end you’re so stupid how you could have been so dumb i was wondering that myself i’m so stupid how’ve i could have been so wrong i was wondering that i was wondering that myself
Shades of Grey (4:48) i thought you were right there in the crowd so i pondered these things to you aloud i thought you were right there in my sight i was sure i knew my day for night i thought i hold you in my hands so i ran and vanished in your lands i thought you were right there in my wake but once again that’s my mistake been breaking down myself over you when i noticed you had better things to do you stole all my friends away i didn’t need ‘em anyway i’m really not myself today the blue and black fade into grey i thought i was almost finally there till you came and caught me unaware i thought i was on the chosen path now looking back that’s such a laugh i’m a little more stupid than i look i couldn’t give you more than you’ve already took you stole all my friends away i didn’t need ‘em anyway i’m really not myself today the blue and black fade into grey and maybe you’ll be all alone when i’ve broken everything i own tangled in the elements i’ve torn but you’ve seen me far worse off before been breaking down myself over you when i noticed you had better things to do you stole all my friends away i didn’t need ‘em anyway i’m really not myself today the blue and black fade into grey
Couldn’t Anything (3:37) i couldn’t think of anything to do so i gathered my pens and wrote a letter to you it said baby don’t free your thoughts of me just yet i ran down the block and crashed into your sister i asked for your number she said it wasn’t listed she said maybe you should spend some time thinking ‘bout what you’ve done well i don’t want to think about the things i don’t remember and i don’t want to consider where i could have been if i hadn’t ever i couldn’t think of a way to respond so i went to your house by the church near the pond and tapped on your door and sang my song so resolutely baby i could see in the window you were watching the game and suddenly i started to feel pretty lame mama always told me to turn back when your reaction is insane but i won’t go on and on about the things i don’t remember it’s never crucial anyway to these predicaments i render i couldn’t think of a damn thing to write so i went to the kitchen and poured a whiskey and sprite poured gasoline on the candles you gave me and watched them burn i called up your house and got the machine i looked at your letter at the spaces between what it said and what the hell did it mean now i don’t know what i did to upset you i can’t even recall when i ever met you and everyone has told me think hard about my conduct being true so i wracked my thoughts for an hour or two and i realized what i said to you that night i blew from town i said “i’m probably not coming back for you” but i won’t go on and on about the things i don’t remember i know i’m only limited to what i want to see
I’m cautiously slinging our new songs and hoping you keep an open mind and use a decent sound system. I will probably skip the whole promotion, one sheet, press release with each because it’s too much when you’re already cautious.
Meantime I am refinishing another song, I was already plotting a short film for it. And thinking, sometimes you’re adding music to video, and other times you are adding video to music. Or maybe you’re doing both.
“Good About You” isn’t a reflection of anyone and should be interpreted cautiously; is the perception only in your mind? I am sure there’s something good about many people.
I used to write music that I thought would mean something and now I know that you can find meaning in anything. It doesn’t mean anything, though.
Let down your hair and overthink stuff with me. #music#video#wendyclarkband#denverbands#nowplaying
Getting Away With It (Electronic Cover song) by the Wendy Clark Band
Getting Away With It (Electronic Cover) live by the Wendy Clark Band at the Englewood Tavern. Video by The Englewood Tavern. The Wendy Clark Band is: Andy Sweetser on drums. And killer fills. Chris Coward on bass and vocals (both scripted and not). Wendy Clark on the guitar and vocals. Please visit http://wendyclarkmusic.com Filmed by the Englewood Tavern. Edited by Wendy Clark.
5450 studios in Broomfield, Colorado. Gluten free, no MSG, and no animals were anywhere near us during this production. Video starring Wendy Clark and Michael Mayhem with Mazey, Andy, and Chris. All rights and lefts reserved. Copyright 2022. Lyrics and download: https://tequilamockingbird.bandcamp.com/ Thanks for listening! http://WendyClarkMusic.com
New Blues By Wendy Clark
Performed by Wendy Clark (vocals and guitar) and Chris Coward (bass) of the Wendy Clark Band and ¡DOS LOCOS!. Engineered and produced by Jim Roberts. All rights reserved. https://tequilamockingbird.bandcamp.com/track/new-blues
60 Songs by Wendy Clark. Recorded by Jim Roberts at 5450 Studios in Broomfield. Released 6/29/2021. Recorded live: Wendy Clark on vocals and guitar. Chris Coward on bass guitar.
60 Songs (Wendy Clark Band original) live at the Denver Beer Co
The Space You Left Behind 