Tag Archives: Flaming Lips

Suddenly Everything Has Changed

13 Feb
220px-soft_bulletin_cover
Putting all the vegetables away
That you bought at the grocery store today
And it goes fast
You think of the past
Suddenly everything has changed
Driving home the sky accelerates
And the clouds all form a geometric shape
And it goes fast
You think of the past
Suddenly everything has changed
Putting all the clothes you washed away
As you’re folding up the shirts you hesitate
Then it goes fast
Think of the past
Suddenly everything has changed
Songwriters: Michael Ivins / Steven Drozd / Wayne Coyne
Suddenly Everything Has Changed lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Don’t Be afraid to go to that place

7 Jun

Paperless

30 Mar

The difference between me

ingesting mushroom chocolates

and brownies with my friends from Texas,

sharing the moment with dancing buxom Dorothy’s

and hundreds of other freaks in the middle of a lightening storm

overlooking the mountains

during  the Primus and Flaming Lips

giant bubble inflated show,

and just listening to it outside–

in what would amount to a massive waste of

time, energy, money and mileage

was a paperless ticket

bought from a guy who had an extra

(Asheville, NC, good music scene right?)

I prayed he would have the proper respect

for such a musical event

in his seemingly honest eyes.

After an hour of being in the long cavernous line

the usher scanned the laser gun to

the ticket’s bar code

revealing itself as the moment of the truth

the elation in my face said it all.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

(Stolen Kisses) On Borrowed time

9 Feb

I.

He flew in on Frontier airlines

into Denver.

Frozen Snow on the tarmac

thinking of that time he touched down

into Alaska

to meet up with a college friend

to shoot guns and chase the lights.

He was only a connecting flight

away from seeing his grand plans

come into fruition.

A Plantain farm

somewhere deep in Costa Rica.

The big payoff

for his year of frugality.

II.

He kicked things off on

New Year’s Eve hitching

a ride with a malcontent buddy

down to Oklahoma City

for the Flaming Lips freakout.

The most spectacular show in

his life’s most recent memory.

Though his buddy was far from impressed,

he had a party to attend

and so they parted ways

with a promise

to meet later so

he could collect his booze

and belongings.

And when asked how he was going to get around,

he said ” I’ll figure it out.”

Then he focused his attention

towards the stage and the

performing of the “Soft Bulletin”.

III.

And so the show ended.

He didn’t scramble nor panic

but made a call to someone

he knew that had floor seating,

and caught a ride to a party

in the Paseo district near the

neighborhood where his buddy

would be staying for the night.

He grabbed a drink and ignored

the other drunks and turned

his focus to the dimples

on her adorable face.

The more they talked

polygamy, anarchy, and

Edward Abbey,

the closer their faces got

and the lower their voices dropped

and the crowd around them disappeared.

IV.

Inside her house,

kissing in her doorway,

with his belongings

in the trunk of a cab

the meter running

the departure time nearer

his heart racing.

Slipping his tongue into

the tender and erotic,

hands sweeping across her buns,

her fingers dancing along his waist.

It couldn’t be the end

maybe back in OKC

or a farm in south Texas

but this wasn’t goodbye,

not at 5:30 AM.

Which is why he calmly ignored

the jumping dog pawing at his arms

and the running meter outside

and the bus sitting at the Greyhound station,

the people already boarding.

Because sometimes you just know

when the mojo is in your favor

that everything is running on time

that everything is okay.

She says to him,

“You have to go don’t you?”
and he nods his head yes.

They kiss one final time

before he heads out the door

and out into the

cold Oklahoma streets.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

Suddenly Everything Has Changed

4 Feb

Some events in life force you to never see the world the same again.

Eve of Departure Part DueX

16 Sep

Bags packed (check)
Passport (check)
Tolietries (check)
Books of poetry (check)
Olympus digital camera (check)
Ordained license (check)
Suit for Wedding (check)

I guess I’m ready then. New York City here I come, and other places.

Each phase a different trip. City then country, then mountains then the West Coast again.

I had my last therapy session for a while I think. I had some fundamental issues that needed to be addressed. Basically I’d been sabotaging my happiness with unrealistic expectations, then falling into a neurotic funk if I failed to meet them.

Even when I succeeded it was on to the next project, the next city, the next woman. It really stifled me from being in the present moment. Goals are great to have but you gotta enjoy the journey. Gotta be able to enjoy where you are at the moment or at least embrace it, even when it isn’t pleasant.

That was probably my biggest lesson. That and to quit letting my little head make decisions for me (A lesson I keep relearning year in and year out).

My dick has lost all of its voting privileges when it comes to my life. It no longer has veto power. It has officially been disenfranchised worse than
Negroes in the Jim Crow South.

Any kind of back talk and it can expect a severe beating, possibly two. No more kissing and telling, no more going after emotionally unavailable women, no more complicated love stories with messy endings. I’m done with that script. Doesn’t interest me any longer.

This will be a pretty bad ass trip. Seeing old friends in New York City, getting to see Ween again on Friday. Trekking through Canada on train,
then into Portland for a wedding and good hang in the Northwest before coming back home. Yes, home. As in Tulsa.

“All we have is now. All we’ll ever have is now.” ~Flaming Lips~

"FIrst of all, I'd like to thank my Psychiatrist."

Gary Snyder

20 Jul

Its not like I wanted to come over, have tea, read poetry, take mushrooms, smoke dope, and discuss politics. I'd have settled for a handshake.

Its not like I wanted to come over, have tea, read poetry, take mushrooms, smoke dope, and discuss politics. I'd have settled for a handshake.

Dear Mr. McFail.

Gary Snyder says to tell you that he’s older than you think, and retired from teaching 9 years ago. He lives in the mountains a long way from Davis. He is not “Japhy Ryder” but one of several modesl for that character. The “Dharma Bums” is a novel, not journalism. And he says he is not reading any new material.

best wishes,
Jann Garitty, Assistant to Gary Snyder

Well, Looks like I won’t be visiting Gary Snyder after all. A bit of a shame considering his age and and the history he holds within his brain cells.

Dharma Bums is one of my favorite books, and its hard not to fall in love with the Japhy Ryder character. Ladies man, ecologist, and poet, he was one of those characters that embodied what it meant to be a renaissance man.

I have a few friends that fall into this character, a buddy of mine living in Oregon certainly comes to mind when i think of real life examples of Japhy Ryders.

As disappointed as I am that I won’t get to meet the man himself, I certainly understand. I’m sure he gets thousands of emails and letters from “writers” and fans just wanting to be near him.

I can imagine it gets annoying. I do feel quite lucky that he even responded. Years ago, there was a columnist from ESPN named Ralph Wiley who iw as a huge fan of.
I’d spent a summer reading all of his stuff, “Why Black People tend to Shout” and other books by him. He was a great voice for sports, honest and insightful, and one of my favorites.

I remember after one morning of reading his article (hew as one of the few who’d predicted the ’04 Pistons would beat the Lakers), I thought I should email him and tell him how much I loved his work.

Of course I didn’t, ended up playing grab ass with my then girlfriend, or something, and figured I could email him some other time.

Well he died of a heart attack later that week. It struck me as odd, because he was only 52, but also because I’d just finished one of his books.

He was a great writer, and funny, and his death left a big void in the sports writing world. And all I kept thinking was I should’ve emailed him.

I’ve sent letters and emails to various people over the last ten years from Radiohead to Wayne Coyne, of the Flaming Lips, to the Sports Guy Bill Simmons, and not one of them has ever responded.

Well of course, Snyder didn’t respond either. But he at least told his assistant to take the time to write me and tell me to “get lost, scram, to beat it kid.”

I’m honored really. One of the last links to the Beat Generation had his assistant write me and tell me to fuck off, but in a slightly polite way. Seriously I can dig it.

And the truth is, I didn’t email him to be another sychophant scmhuck, telling him something he needs to hear. He already knows he’s awesome, you don’t make it that far, not knowing that. He doesn’t need the ego stroke.

I did it for me. I did it because it needed to be said, just to tell him, “hey motherfucker, I know you could really give a shit, but your presence in this world, turned my life upside down. And I realized I couldn’t live my life the same way ever again.”

and what is a person to say to that? Thanks? Cheers?

No response will be anything short of awkward, and yet its almost necessary to send those sort of letters.

Why? I don’t know, because if you appreciate something or someone, it feels good to tell them. No matter what the response.

“I love you” is one of those weird phrases as well. If you’re saying it for the response back then it aint real. I say it to friends all the time and it gets a bit awkward, but at least they know, and it doesn’t bottle up, and when they go, I can at least know that they knew how I felt.

I say it, I give give gifts because it feels good to, not for what I’ll get in return. Its a totally selfish endeavor nonetheless, and I think there’s nothing wrong with that.