Melodies Not Meant

I look at the walls
when the stars aren't dancing
and listen to melodies
that aren't for romancing.

I stare at the ceiling
when I'm hurting from feeling
my feelings for you.

I walk through the halls
when the sun won't start shining.
I cover my crimes in my sleep
when my heart is declining to weep.

It's where lost loves linger and leap
to the notes of the tune that I keep
playing out on repeat...

I look at the walls,
When the stars aren't dancing
And listen to melodies
Not meant for romancing.

Orange Birds

Orange birds slip by on blue,
I sit beneath them,
looking at you.

Blue Spilling

There's little point stopping the blue
Spilling from the factories,
And slipping into homes.
Where men beat up wives,
And kids sit on steps
And prices go up,
And you're feeling kept.
When Christmas lights go on
And you want to cry.
(Well, let yourself cry.)
There's little point stopping the blue
Slipping from your guilt
And running through your home.
It's only pain you felt.
You earned it, after all.

Father Christmas

There's a town I tiptoe around
Like a tramp on Monday mornings,
Hoping to avoid her.
And telling myself
There's a town I tiptoe around,
Like a kid on Christmas morning,
Looking for unwrapped gifts,
And evidence that
There's a town I tiptoe around
Like a drunk on his last orders.
Hoping to avoid him
Reminding herself
Father Christmas doesn't exist.

The Tumbleweed Memories Hall of Shame Entry Number 3

My third addition into the Hall of Shame can thank Alice Cooper, for if I had not drop kicked Cooper into the Hall I would not have recalled my disappointment in you Mr Wes Craven, yes we all know you created Freddy Krueger (and I'm sure Robert Englund thanks you) and that you shocked flea pit cinema goers with your grubby Last House On the Left, but what I will remember you for is selling out like a two dollar whore to become a company bitch for The Weinsteins. Your Scream films are woeful studio examples of horror films (cool TV hip cast, generic teen friendly soundtrack, trendy post modern references) and Cursed (you know, the Scott Baio Werewolf movie) actually made me salt my popcorn with tears of disgust, oh and the little matter of "Presenting" movies such as Wishmaster and Dracula 2000 (If your still waiting for those classics to get admitted into the AFI's list of important pieces of art, I'd probably get a sandwich, it may be some time).

The Occasional Random Double Bill of Doom

Being the first of a never ending and never improving series of posts in which I recommend (at spear point if i must) double bills of Movies, Albums, Non-prescription drugs for you to endure.

Today, a double bill of films with a tenuous religious link.

1. The Wicker Man
In a shocking move I'm picking not the Nicholas Cage disaster but the late Edward Woodward's greatest achievement on the silver screen, Christopher Lee sings and wears a dress, Britt Ekland sings and wears nothing and everyone loudly sings Cuckoo!! I know I may sound like I am being facetious but I'm not, I love this film. The word unique gets tossed around with so little care for where it lands these days, but Robin Hardy's picture is a textbook definition. From it's achingly beautiful folk score (courtesy of Paul Giovanni), and perfect choice of locations to it's still traumatic denouement and the pitch perfect performance of Woodward as the deeply religious policeman. It's portrayal of the lifestyle of the folk of Summerisle is both meticulously researched but also incredibly attractively shown, hence the island's inhabitants become more agreeable than the films supposed hero, a rare occurence in film.

2. The Ninth Configuration
EVERYONE knows about The Exorcist, and a few admit to knowing it's pitiful sequel, but novelist William Peter Blatty's directorial debut is almost an unknown film despite it being an astonishing mix of blatant comedy, unexpected violence and religious exploration. In a castle right out of a Universal horror movie, supposedly insane Vietnam War veterans explore there deluded fantasies under the watchful eye of their compassionate doctor, who may or may not be just as round the twist as his patients. Expertly performed by a catalogue of character actors (including James Miller, Scott Wilson, Joe Spinell, and Richard Lynch) and littered with memorable dialogue ("Infinite goodness is creating a being you know, in advance, is going to complain."). The film doesn't force it's religious convictions upon it's audience but let's them decide for themselves where they stand. An outstanding achievment.

Impossibly Possibly So, But Possibly Probably Not

From the first time I asked you looked at me with a face of barbed cynicism and chain link criticism, a harsh hostile environment built by someone so young.
Your eyes seemed to be striving for some other place to be and continued to be disappointed when they yet again returned from their reconnaissance to find me still there.
Your fingers played anxiously with the strap of your satchel as if concealed within the fabric was a secret button that could transport you across the playground or to another break period.
Chewing ever harder on your bubblegum, seemingly praying that it would become able to lose one's voice in the flavourless lump losing it's flavour in your mouth.
I push for an answer, like my impatience is a bonus trait you get for free in this feeble five foot package wrapped in navy wool and grey cotton.
Like security guards trained in crowd control your classroom mafia guide you away spraying giggles of pity like a can of mace.
I was only thirteen when I died.

Thoughtless Wander

Elephants don't rule the world.
But you don't hear them bitching about it.

Serendipity

Pursed Lips.
Uncertain Glow.
Worlds Colliding.
Sinking Ships.
Buried too Slow.
Nighttime Smiling.
Locked Doors.
Open Scars.
Someday, Somewhere.
Dreaming too Far.
Animal Magnetism.
Futile Connection.
Fatal Decision.
Overrules all Consideration.
Daydream flying over land unspoiled.
A moment that could last forever.
Crashes then burning when jealousy uncoiled.

The Tumbleweed Memories Hall of Shame Entry Number 2

Oh yes! Mr Furnier welcome to the Hall of Shame. But why? I hear you shriek as you play golf with chicken skulls. Well for no other reason than your 1989 offering Shockdance from the soundtrack to Wes Craven crapfest Shocker, the lyrics of which are so bad that I feel the need to print them here in their entirety.

He drags his foot and he clutches his knife
As the people in the city wait in fear for their life
He's a maniac, heart attack, wired to kill
A cold blooded lunatic, hungry for a thrill
Love is the victim in the world gone bad
Hate is like nitro when you're stark raving mad
Electrocute, execute his evil is relentless
Repentless, senseless and you're defenseless
In the name of the father, in the name of the son
This unholy ghost has only just begun
Bless our souls when we take our last breath
Deliver us from evil in this valley of death
Shockdance, hey! Shockdance, hey!
Stone cold monster of the man
Half Jack the Ripper and a pinch of Son of Sam
Gashes, slashes, he's malicious and vicious
He's a killing machine and he never does the dishes
Once I'm inside you, I'm gonna smoke you
I'll choke you, ahh, he's gonna croak you
"Pinker the stinker" the headlines begin
The on-the-scene reporter says he's gonna do you in
He's a shocker, a rocker, he's Heavy Metal mean
Unjustifiable, combustible, his blood is kerosene
Throw away your guns, forget about your mace
'Cos now he's on TV, right in front of your face
Shockdance, hey! Shockdance, hey!
Listen up nowWhen I was bornI was born a bad seed
Everybody cut me downNow I'm making them bleed
In the name of the father, in the name of the son
This unholy ghost has only just begun
Bless our souls when we take our last breath
Deliver us from evil in this valley of death
Shockdance, hey! Shockdance, hey!
Shockdance, hey! Shockdance, hey!

It's just not good enough.

The First Tumbleweed Memories Hall of Shame Entry

For no other reason than this one picture. Maybe I'm being cruel, but it just has to stop somewhere!

Full Steam Behind

Full steam behind
I'm ready to go.
I have my keys
And you my things.
Full steam behind
I'm breaking out,
I have no place to stay
Without you now.
Full steam behind,
The tailwind's my enemy.
And the truth lies ahead of me.
But I know
And she knows
The truth lies.
Full steam behind

The Little Cafe

Do you remember putting up tables,
And asking me to leave politely,
When I spun around and smiled?

Do you remember the coffee
I threw on the floor,
Contaminated by the tears
too heavy for my eyes?

Do you remember me throwing the table
And spinning you round in surprise?

In The Little Cafe, we met.
With blue and white checked tablecloths
You'd sooner forget.

Do you remember the remarks I regret?

Do you remember taking down tables,
And asking me to leave politely,
When I turned around and cried?

Do you remember the whiskey
I threw up on the floor,
Contaminated by the tears
too heavy for my eyes?

Ghost Pictures

Ghost pictures play
Like sideshows to a different time,
And I'm sorry
If this line's not so bright.

But faces, etched with age
Take energy from me.
And sometimes I see why...

Here and there,
I look at the mirror and see
Ghost pictures staring back at me.

Horror and all,
Ravaged by age,
Love taken away,
Or cast to the sea.

Ghost pictures play
like sideshows to a different time,
And I'm sorry
This last line's not so bright.

Slumbers To The Nowhere

Sometimes, when the stars shine,
I wander to the nowhere,
Stand within it
And breathe.
Away from reality,
Away from me.

Sometimes, when the worlds sleep,
I slumber to the nowhere,
Go on kissing sprees
In dreams.
Away from reality.
Away from me.

Nightscreen

No-one else could hurt like I do,
Unless I'm wrong about that too.
Just like everything else.

No-one else could pray like this man,
Wishing that this plane will land.
Just like everyone else.

I don't go to bed and dream,
I sit drinking wine watching Nightscreen.

And no-one else does that.
I'm fucking sure of that much.

When I Was Alive

When they were alive,
There were drive-in movies
And playthings.
But they still had fun
With some bullets and a gun.

When I was alive,
There were drive-by shootings
And maimings.
And we had some fun
With those bullets and a gun.

Scarves For Handkerchiefs

Some day we'll walk through fields,
Using scarves for handkerchiefs
Running through snow.

Some day we'll laugh in fields,
Using scarves for handkerchiefs,
After we go.

Password

I went to the shops, just your ordinary shops and they wouldn't accept my business as my password was irrelevant.
I tried to go to work, just my average work and they wouldn't let me ply my trade as my password was without numbers.
I asked for a house, just a run of the mill house and I was turned down without a fight as my password didn't have enough lower case letters.
I demanded a holiday, just a three day holiday and I was laughed at by everyone as my password was just too ridiculous
I will have only one password from this day, maybe Wurzel I say , just Wurzel will do until someone steals it because it's too easy to figure.

Skyflowers

Fireworks on the fifth.
A black canvas awash with spattered colour
An echo chamber exloding with crackle and whistle.
The cold of the outside.
The warmth of the fireside.
As fake bodies burn,
Watched by smiling faces
Eyes alight with amazement
And in the past the ghosts of history who bask,
In a future where nothing ever changes.