Posts Tagged ‘music’

With Every Breath You Take, So This Song Has No Title


12 Oct

If I had a hammer,
I'd nail your silent face
to the flapper girl's chest
like a yellow corsage, and tear it down;
turn on your receiver, Tupelo Honey
to love him is to know him, tiny dancer,
the boxer, Polly, she's a rainbow zombie
lost in a whiter shade of pale, tangled up in blue
now that I have a reason to believe a change
is gonna come when I paint my masterpiece
as I turn, turn, turn, turning Japanese
rogue children go bang, divine service,
don't pass me by, don't stop,
do you know what I mean,
do it again, cover me...

like a hurricane, blowing old time rock and roll,
too late for a handshake, I roll over Beethoven,
thunder struck, roll over and over, doing the stray cat strut
to your ritual noise. Yeah. You really got a hold on me.
Yakety Yak. No more heroes. You cannot walk here,
sky pilot, paper plane, ancient name. You remind
me of Snoopy versus the Red Baron, but she's
not on the menu, spotlight, look, she's a phone sex girl
a pleasure victim, til the wheels fall off, a thrasher
positively 4th Street, toys in the attic,
too far gone, a telephone operator,
said so the daily news,
cry baby cry, a dirty birdie,
a dirty punk, chemicals and circuitry
diplomatic immunity, Uncle Albert, Admiral Halsey,
dust in the wind, driftwood, the undefeated, the voice,
don't let me be misunderstood, don't call me white,
the cover of the Rolling Stone, uncertain times under attack.

You ain't seen nothing yet,
keep on smilin' homesick again
the hunger within, the human highway
for what it's worth, friend or foe, fake friends
famous last words with no particular place to go,
first time I ever saw your face, fingernails
running up that hill riding the storm out,
ringing them bells breathless for my brown-eyed girl 
give it all girl in the war feeling stronger every day,
you may call me the breeze, but I can't stop
the world dancing with myself, God wrote,
looking for you...record collector,
just like Jim Morrison did.

Thank you for the music, nothing is true,
I get around, I speak American, now you will pay
gimme gimme gimme, glory days, play my game
I walk the line, not what you wanted, I shall be free No. 10,
I'll meet you in Poland, my Blakean year, I won't back down,
If you want to sing out, sing out, rise above, Walt Whitman
won't mind, but if you leave me now, Jim Dandy
In the sweet bye and bye like the early Roman kings
it's not the spotlight, it's the end of the world
as we know it. Kansas City. Is there anybody out there
the night they drove Old Dixie down, just one fix,
just my imagination, keeps getting better,
just what I needed, remember I was vapor
respectable, reelin' in the years
with or without reason...

with every breath you take, so this song has no title.

—Gabriel Thy | Sunday, October 12, 2013

Friends At The Negotiation Table


24 Mar

them

"Them" by Gabriel Thy

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Avie—did you check your MySpace blog comments this afternoon? Well, let me say this to you because when I read anything written, in a book, in a magazine, in a comic, in a blog, in a stone tablet, I ask myself. Hmmm, do I do that? Am I guilty of that? Is she, or he talking about me? Does it matter? If not, why not? Et cetera, ad nauseam...

Of course, like any hot-blooded Dylanista worth his own sense of wayward mystery tramp, we all think Bob Dylan has written directly to us as individuals for the past forty years, and you have even picked up on the phenomenon—with your praises of many of the notes I have sent you the past couple of months. But let me be clear. I DO NOT think you have come on too fast, nor am I afraid of boldness and directness, or anything we have or have not shared, but I will tell you that those early heady days of Facebook jollies were just that, a newness, a folly, a guilty pleasure, a time-killer when I was home sick for weeks on end, a journey sure to end on an anti-climatic note, an odd take on reality, a complete waste of time except for the enjoyment we created.

I can kick ass with the best of the headbangers, but I'm more comfortable with a book or a philosophical treatise. You should have noticed by now that I have abandoned most of those Facebook apps that are nothing more than will-o-wisps I can blow away with the might of a well-sculpted paragraph, and prefer reciprocity in that arena to the pokes and superpokes with their respective one word iconographies in play.

Cracked-Facebook-LogoBelieve me. I'm not trying to strike a pose as a superior being or some nonsense like that. I had fun when I was having fun. But the bubble has burst for me. You and a couple of other friends welcomed me to Facebook with a bang. I thank you for that bit of personal ego stroking.

The long and short is I spend hours every day in study and in writing, keeping my blogs at operational speed. My radio station has been running on autopilot since September. My need to paint, and show, and sell them suckers doesn't get enough properly structured and vested time as it is, what with the symptoms of this broken down thyroid I carry in my throat, my bulging waistline, and creeping age all toss me—mostly sinus and skin allergies to the cotton clothing I wear, fatigue, tremendous aches, pains and head smog, all leading to a generalized exasperation in struggling to do all that I want to do without attaining anything of value much more than the rare passersby making a two-minute web visit for any of it.

I press on because the alternative is absolute stone cold unassailable darkness and its ugly cousin, loathsome failure.

We almost never entertain in our home, and rarely go out once we make it home after returning from our daily grind. I am simply more jealous of my energy now that my own death seems closer to me than when I first launched The Scenewash Project in 1996, as an early pioneer. Point is I'm a haunted individual, not all joy and vigor as many see me I've learned. There's the public Gabriel that the underground music scene loves or loathes depending on one's sense of punk, and then there's the private Gabriel, lost in this world, unfruitful, weary and disappointed, thwarted by the dualing zodiac signs of the Libran sheep, if one is of a mind to believe THAT yack.

And since you never take up any of my offers, two issued to visit studio, which drew silence, two to gallery shows, both of which you wanted to attend, but didn't—I don't hold any of that against you—I just don't know how to accommodate you at this point.

But I did stay in a Holiday Inn Express last week during our snowy trip to North Adams, MA. Pictures on their way.

Cheers, beers, and steers, and maybe you weren't talking about me at all, but...

Thanks for the Revolting Cocks,

Gabriel

Speaking Of Ambitions, Wheeling WV


06 Apr

gabriel-art

Up Against The Wall

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Calling all Wheeling area rockers, playas, and art phreaks to drop me a line detailing any thoughtful insights and blowhard opinions you might have on the local scene. Serious word. Chumps and other 'tards can penetrate themselves. No tolerance for silly lads with a yen for tragedy in this survey.

As stated elsewhere, I have recently immigrated to Wheeling WV from Washington, DC for the primary purpose of setting myself up with cheap (cheaper than DC) studio space in which to paint, write, edit loads of club video I shot in the Eighties, et cetera. However, given the special plight of downtown Wheeling's urban blight offering an enormous opportunity for some local entrepreneur to invest in an alternative gallery space with music and eats to help draw in the nightlife, I am interested in knowing from eager young 20-and-30-somethings just how desirable and/or feasible this idea for innovative nightspace would be considered by the local establishment, the area's youth culture, YOU IN PARTICULAR, et cetera.

Check this, ain't rocket science here, just taking the pulse of Wheeling area heartbeats. Let me know. Check out the Live365 radio station I operate. If your interest in something more that you've already got, is triggered, then sign up as a friend on MySpace, and start feeding me those opinions. I'm not promising anything in stone at this point in my rather off the cuff feasibility study, but in six months to a year, perhaps, if encouragement is strong and red tape not prohibitive, who knows what a bit of maverick teamwork can pull off...

S A M P L E X

"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""


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