Comfort Music

PM MMCCIV

Comfort Music

The insomnia had become unbearable,

I became Switters,

stolen directly from a Tom Robbins novel,

I transport my way to the Iraqi desert

accompanied by a group of nuns,

Why not come over?
You'll meet my mother
You'll meet my sister
You'll like my brother
Really you will...

I lie back and try to listen

without emotion

then a certain lyric

thuds in my mind and sets off the explosion

heavy zap, it creates a tear,

and I can't breathe.

Then she said,
I'm learning English
I can say "thank you"
I think I like you
Do you like my band-aid?
I hope you do...

I choke back but can't control,

I am with the nuns in the desert,

they believe in me and understand

where I am coming from.

but not where I'm going,

I cry uncontrollably.

Oh, oh, oh, oh
I am not busy
I'm free to travel
Where are you going?
Maybe you'll take me
I hope you do...

I finally gain control

and choke back the bile,

my throat is beyond my control

yet I can swallow a sob,

the nuns understand yet they

still can't help,

some are still confused

and I am at a loss to help them,

we change the song.

Oh, oh, she asked me
Do you know Vinnie?
He used to like me
I speak good English
I'm bathing with Peter
Pick me, I'm clean...

Once again I think I have won,

yet I know I will fall back under the

same spell and lose control,

I will lose control

but the voice that sends me

to the edge will also bring me

back,

and deposit me back on the

shore of the desert

with the nuns.

I have been rescued

but not saved.

Vinnie goes bare-back
Peter goes wet-back
Denny goes way back
Eddie should get back
Pick me I'm clean...

Don't listen to music I have been

told.

don't fall into the trap

where you risk it all by sobbing

uncontrollably

on the subway,

like some homeless tourette's

sufferer,

salty tears to wash the face

and scowls from the old woman

whose husband paid taxes all his life

and then happily died just to get

away.

The crying is my humanity

not my sentence to have it

taken away,

try explaining that to a guy

beside you on the bus,

nobody likes emotional men,

way too much explaining to do.

MCC

(Pick Me I'm Clean, strange "go to" song

credit to;

Frank Zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Ike Willis (rhythm guitar, vocals)
Ray White (rhythm guitar, vocals)
Steve Vai (rhythm guitar, vocals)
Warren Cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals)
Denny Walley (slide guitar, vocals)
Tommy Mars (keyboards, vocals)
Peter Wolf (keyboards)
Bob Harris (keyboards, trumpet, vocals)
Ed Mann (percussion)
Arthur Barrow (bass, vocals)
Vinnie Colaiuta (drums))

Brain Zaps!

PM MMXXIII

Brain Zaps

I awoke from a fitful sleep,

hardly a sleep,

more like a twenty minute nap

punctuated by nightmares

and sweats.

The sun had begun to rise,

Hemingway was right,

and as I rose

I felt the electricity

pass through a synapse in my brain,

threatening to send me back

to dreams,

where the wild things are,

changing my room back into a primeval

jungle, even though nobody

can hold back my dinner if I am bad.

I find myself enjoying the shocks,

self-imposed electric shock therapy,

involuntary and uncontrollable.

Who is holding the paddle,

controlling the watts,

who decides what needs to be erased

ad what needs to be remembered,

I have no dialogue with this entity,

yet I know them so well

and I am afraid of them.

They know too much

and they use it against me when I am

at my nadir,

wondering why I reached this point

I ask the wall and I ask my cat

but I can't bring myself to ask a human,

because I fear the answer so much

and hearing what I already know proves

to be unbearable.

I spend hours trying to understand

Robert Fripp's Exposure,

but become ensconced in the primal screaming,

the words hurt

yet the sounds are soothing.

Its difficult to breathe

and even harder to see

yet I continue down the path

passing so many underwear salesmen

on the way,

I think of Underdog

and why he continued under the most

dire of circumstances and with

such little respect and understanding.

Another zap to my brain and I am somewhere

else, swimming with no fear of drowning

but with the utmost respect for all

the sharks and moray eels in the world.

I picture Oskar, playing his drum

and I want one,

I want to drown the outside out

and if the noise gets too much I will

play louder.

Little Oskar knew, he knew how

to stem the blight and control

the voices in his head and soul,

but the drum remained the hero,

not him.

MCC

Unknown, Never Knew

PM MXXII

Unknown, Never Knew;

Why didn't you ever say,

why couldn't you bring yourself

to advertise the truth,

Peter Pan was fictional,

none of us are able to fly.

Rain does come from Heaven,

no need to spoil it using science and alchemy,

we all know what thunder and lightning

sound like,

why spoil it with facts and figures,

formulas that not only baffle

and mystify,

but begin that building of doubt in

the backs of heads

wondering what else is not

true and never was.

Santa Claus comes to all,

dictated by the economy,

not whether you've been good

all year, you could have told me that

I still would have tried to be good.

Honesty is the best policy

but it brings no guarantees,

all successful people are not honest

and honest people aren't always successful,

it wouldn't have taken long to

explain that one, nor to

convince me that honesty was still

a really good idea.

Why couldn't you have taken that five minutes

and set me straight on that?

Why didn't you ever tell me that;

the world can be an awful place,

that life isn't always fair,

that food isn't always fresh

and the air we breathe is dirty

beyond imagination.

Why didn't you ever tell me that;

we are always being watched,

that our opinion does not always

matter,

and that lots of good people

do really rotten things?

Why didn't you ever tell me that;

there is so much beauty in a leaf,

refining gasoline hurts the environment,

people looked out for themselves first,

and that going to church was more than

a moral obligation?

And why the fuck did you never tell me;

that boys could also be raped?

MCC

Iron Rooster to Montreal

PM MXXI

Iron Rooster to Montreal

Sitting on the platform, hungover like a bastard

contemplating whether to throw up before getting

on the train,

a private spot beside the tracks,

an homage to Saint John that will

only last until the next rainfall

which could be any minute now,

fucking maritime weather,

rain being the constant

and the norm.

The bells ring loudly

amplified by sixty ounces of scotch

shared with Joe the night before

a stupid move, knowing the long journey

into French territory

long ago Anglicized making it difficult to

differentiate between a crepe St. Jacques,

or an order of fish and chips

wrapped in yesterday's newspaper,

the grease seeping through the newsprint,

hinting at a heart attack twenty years in the

future.

The train has pulled up yet the energy to

get up did not arrive with it,

an empty bottle of Alpine slides to the

concrete as I rise,

another homage to my alcoholism

as the glass shatters into a thousand

pieces,

blanketing the ground below the bench,

with shards of beer-soaked glass

much like my stomach feels like at that

moment.

The train has come from Moncton,

before that Halifax,

on the Edmunston, Quebec City and

Montreal,

a night there and the fast one to

Toronto the next morning.

I leave the Atlantic behind, some of my

soul lies in the Bay of Fundy,

the rest in the Saint John River,

meandering its' way through

Grand Bay,

carrying my secrets out to sea,

secrets wrapped in seaweed.

I put one foot on the train and hesitate,

feeling like I should be remembering this moment

forever, looking back at Princess Street and the

new Market Square,

I bid farewell, not a tear to be shed,

but happy inside I did not leave much

behind in the gutter for the rain to wash

away.

I find a seat and wait for the final

whistle, the train begins to move,

behind schedule and

little chance of making up that lost time,

I consider sleep,

or reading, being terrorized by Edgar Allen Poe and

poor Arthur Gordon Pym of

Nantucket,

I will always miss the sea, foghorns, and

reading the names on the ships

as they head out of the harbour

under the bridge and out of

sight,

I shun Poe for the moment,

and stagger towards the bar car,

I got my train legs already.

MCC