Monthly Archives: February 2006

Without a Thought of You [v.2]

Without a Thought of You

To think that I once felt sorry for you.

That’s what he was thinking as he watched her from across the room. She was standing close to a tall guy in his thirties with greasy hair and round silver studs embedded in his temples that gave him the look of a late fifties American car.

Her pretty dark eyes danced across the tall guy’s face — but he knew from watching her at scores, maybe hundreds of openings and parties, that she was making a kind of dynamic topological map of the room, charting not people’s height but their stature in the art community.

And he knew that the flattering attention in which she bathed Mr ’59 Chrysler Imperial would be duplicated maybe four or five times that night with different men or women.

She would undress as he lay naked on the bed, and give him, unbidden, undesired, a detailed debriefing of the critical art scene intel she had gleaned, dishing caustic, funny slaggings of the very people she had seemed to fawn over earlier in the evening.

And, when, finally, she got on the bed, on her hands and knees above him, naked, and her pretty dark eyes danced across his face in the flickering candlelight, he tried to make his mind a blank.

About this version: I think I have to say that I prefer the previous version of this, from December 26th last. I especially like the artwork, which is an (unintentional) self-portrait. (The signature was added as a joke and to tie it to the song.)

previous AYoS version

Without a Thought of You

To think that I once
felt sorry for you
it’s all that i can
bring my puny brain to do

you must think me quite naive
and don’t think I ain’t gonna leave
i just want you to know
what you put me through:

I won’t ever have a dream
without knowing it won’t come true
I wont ever think of lonely
without a thought of you

Fallin for you
was a stretch for me
all your arty friends,
important people to bleed

as every artists knows
every show that
opens must close
you can put it in 30 pt type
in my review:

I wont ever think of lonely
without a thought of you
i won’t ever have a dream
without knowing it won’t come true

I wont ever think
forever
without knowing it’s
really never
I won’t ever think of lonely
without a thought of you

Little Baby Doll (v.2)

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Little Baby Doll

Some mistakes you just have to make.

No one can tell you.

You can’t talk yourself out of it. You might as well surrender, sometimes.

You can hear a somewhat more spare version in the October 15 AYoS post.

Little Baby Doll

baby started something
back in 1986
baby started comin home
and showin me new tricks
Little Baby
Little Baby Doll

Baby said forever
just takes too much time
but Baby said “I’m here right now
so that should work out fine”
Little Baby…

Baby liked to gamble
with the things she said she loved
but Baby blew her hands
when push came to shove
Little Baby…

Baby played the vagabond
baby played the whore
baby played with fire
she’s not playing any more
Little Baby…

“Veni Vidi Vici”
Baby said when she came home
I said that’s fine for Caesar, babe
but Babylon ain’t Rome…

Saw her on the street one day
but I didn’t call her name
After all this time I knew
that Baby’s still the same
Little Baby
Little Baby Doll

2 Dazed 2 Care (v.2)

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2 Dazed 2 Care
Winter stretched from a time before memory into a future he could no longer imagine. Fear seemed like a dream from a happier time — a time when there was still something left to lose — A luxury that had already been spent and borrowed on.

Now, there was just winter…

This version adds a little accompaniment guitar but is fairly similar to the previous AYoS version, from last November 7.

[full version (1982) on Soundclick | requires Flash]

2 DAZED 2 CARE

Turn down this street
back down that alley
there is no escape and there is no stalling

The future is here
and it’s more of the past
All I remember
is falling and falling

Leave me alone
just let me be
with wounds this deep
they just have to bleed

Desperation is short supply
I used up my panic in the crises last year
It’s hard to worry, it’s hard to care
when you’re so tired of anger
and you’re so tired of fear

Leave me alone…

No point in crying, laughing or dreaming
no point in love, no % in fear
desperation is in short supply
so tired of anger
2 dazed 2 care

Leave me alone
just let me be
with wounds this deep
they just have to bleed

The Day My Cigar Went Out in the Rain (v.2)

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The Day My Cigar Went Out in the Rain (v.2)

The puddle had been there so long there were polliwogs in it.

She squatted above it, her muddy hiking boots perched on the cement culvert. She looked directly down into the puddle, where she was gently probing with a long, leafless twig.

The ragged 60 year old full length mink she’d found in a thrift store was muddy on the hem. Her waist length, heavy black hair disappeared under it, but her bare arms poked out the sleeves, rolled back in bulky cuffs to just below her elbows.

Her eyes were narrowed in concentration and for once he respected that, moving quietly down next to her.

The cigar he’d been lighting on and off the whole afternoon, a nastily sweet index finger sized liquor store special, was clamped unlit and soggy in his mouth and he thought compulsively about lighting it. Instead he put it back in the pocket tobacco tin he often carried and followed her gaze into the puddle.

Finally he saw why she was transfixed.

Beneath a large clump of trash and leaves, in a dark and muddy crevice, was what appeared to be a crawfish. It stumbled around a bit and receded into the muddy darkness that was evidently its home.

She pushed the twig tentatively toward the opening but didn’t push it into the hole. She often seemed to him to be cautiously balancing her aggressive scientific curiosity with a self-conscious respect for other entities’ destinies (as he imagined she might say it).

“Did I see a crawfish? In a winter puddle on a city street? That’s weird.”

“Crayfish,” she said almost silently.