Give You Something To Go On

Back to the middle of nowhere...

Sweltering. Smouldering. Sweltering.



Slick. Stark. Sweat.

(Connecting the dots, as they say in bad textbooks, is left as an exercise for the reader.)

You Say It's Your Birthday

Today is John Lennon's birthday.

He would have been 71.

Spoken in Dreams

We communicate now through dreams.

It's not an efficient way to talk.

You dream of something. If I'm asleep, I'll sense it.

Later, I dream of something. If you're asleep and you're aware, you know it.

It's inefficient because you haven't been aware for a long time.

But something's changed.

Maybe it's the cool winds signaling a gradual descent into winter.

Maybe it's something else.



The dreams were important once.

From a time when we were younger. And the world felt new.

And then the dreams vanished.

Or we ignored them.

Minds and hearts closed.

But lately... lately.

Something has changed. There's an abyss. And a bridge.



Ironically, I can't remember any of the dreams.

But I remember having them.

Hearts opening. Eyes opening. Mind opening.

And the contentment is inspirational.

But not without risk.

I'd expect nothing more... from a dream.

I Tried to Make it Sunday

We're Still in Wisconsin as far as I know...

25 years after their heyday was over (and 30 years after their third member left for a career making explicitly Christian music), America found an unlikely ally in Adam Schlessinger from Fountains of Wayne.

Schlessinger recorded some demos with Gerry Beckley and Sony signed America. Schlessinger and James Iha (from Smashing Pumpkins) produced America's underrated (and underheard) 2007 album Here and Now. To assure the interest of old-time America fans, the album came with a bonus live record consisting of live versions of every song from 1975's History: America's Greatest Hits.

So it seems oddly appropriate to hear America covering "A Road Song" (from the new Fountains of Wayne album) -- with a side-dish of "Sister Goldenhair":

Looking 4 Luv

Julian Lennon is now 8 years older than his dad was when he died.

So... there's that.

And here's this:

The Broken-Hearted Toy You Play With

I tried and I tried...

I wanted to know why she called.

I wanted to ask if she was worried that there might have been a tiny part of my heart she hadn't smashed into tiny bits.

But I didn't say those things.

I didn't say how hurt I was by the way she acted.

She said she thought she saw me.

She hadn't. I was nowhere near there.

In fact, I won't go back there. That place is haunted -- by memories of her.

So, no, I wasn't there. I was hundreds of miles away.

Doing something else. (And if I thought of her that night, well, I wasn't going to admit it. Not then and not now.)

The next night I dreamed about her. And the dream was so vivid, so real, that I knew some of the details about her in the dream were true.

And I wish that I'd never had the dream. Maybe then she wouldn't have called.

And then I wouldn't feel like my heart was being broken into tiny pieces all over again.


And how the hell did she know?

How did she always seem to know?

And why can't I ever seem to get back there?

God, It's Such A Drag When You're Living in the Past

Maybe You Can Find Anything on the Interwebz

From 1987 (and arguably better than anything he released in the late 80s) comes an unreleased gem from Sir Paul McCartney:



I wonder what made him shelve this? Fear that he'd be seen as dwelling on the past (or condemning the past)? A gut feeling that the lyrics weren't up to snuff? A deep-seated fear that the Blue Meanies know where he lives?