sun breaking through the clouds
sun shining on the ruins left from the storm
on the wreck of homes and lives
on the shelters full to bursting
on the jails where looters raided
businesses and homes
for a grab at the mere things they coveted
this is the other side of cataclysm
eyes of the sheep trained on the heavens
for some imagined relief
while hooves slog through the mud and debris
and the wolves believe in nothing but their chance
tearing each other while the sun returns to the skies
to shine on their carcasses...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
his heavy thinking cap
must've fallen on his head again
when he bumped against
the hatrack that lines his cell of a room
again he postulates the ethics of being
in a ravening universe of flux
and from what source this life issues
(cohesive enough to bind all limitation)
what then this paper hat
raised up by his mere hair?
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
must've fallen on his head again
when he bumped against
the hatrack that lines his cell of a room
again he postulates the ethics of being
in a ravening universe of flux
and from what source this life issues
(cohesive enough to bind all limitation)
what then this paper hat
raised up by his mere hair?
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
we've been warned about all the evil
good intent can unleash in the world
oh but what prayer isn't further deceit?
oh what act is right action amid our ignorance?
we own up with every move we make
each choice fatal by unintended consequence
since every move is a step closer to release
and a further step lugging all we failed to fix...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
good intent can unleash in the world
oh but what prayer isn't further deceit?
oh what act is right action amid our ignorance?
we own up with every move we make
each choice fatal by unintended consequence
since every move is a step closer to release
and a further step lugging all we failed to fix...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
the weak are powerful
beware their manipulation
beware their tyranny
their spite and envy
will trap you
by your charity
they will leech you
of every fair intent
and blackmail you
by your kindness
beware this gyp
with its cloying mendacity
the weak hide in rags
among the truly unfortunate
the diseased the broken
the lost and despair
feeding on them
like vampires
beware the weak
beware their cunning
beware their hatred
the weak are powerful
sidestep them
and don't fall into weakness
yourself
with petty notions
of righteousness
don't get entangled
beware the weak
and let them feed on each other...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
beware their manipulation
beware their tyranny
their spite and envy
will trap you
by your charity
they will leech you
of every fair intent
and blackmail you
by your kindness
beware this gyp
with its cloying mendacity
the weak hide in rags
among the truly unfortunate
the diseased the broken
the lost and despair
feeding on them
like vampires
beware the weak
beware their cunning
beware their hatred
the weak are powerful
sidestep them
and don't fall into weakness
yourself
with petty notions
of righteousness
don't get entangled
beware the weak
and let them feed on each other...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
who can outwit
the processes of
the universe?
try thinking
you've enough
faith to move mountains
and when they don't move
swear vengeance
against what?
granite? gravity?
your soul?
your God?
you'll try to stand
rock hard
and not be moved
by every jolt
and as you tumble
you'll think
"I'm not tumbling"
and only you
will feel the fool
as the processes
of the universe
proceed
and only you
have been done down
only you outwitted...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
the processes of
the universe?
try thinking
you've enough
faith to move mountains
and when they don't move
swear vengeance
against what?
granite? gravity?
your soul?
your God?
you'll try to stand
rock hard
and not be moved
by every jolt
and as you tumble
you'll think
"I'm not tumbling"
and only you
will feel the fool
as the processes
of the universe
proceed
and only you
have been done down
only you outwitted...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
from where I stand
the world's all atilt
and a song of the birds
pecks through with a lilt
that straightens my hand
and steadies the nerves
upon which is built
my resolve to stand
as the world goes awry
and slants to one side
then another then again then more
I'll stand firm with all I've got
even if the world does not
take hold...this we all endure...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
the world's all atilt
and a song of the birds
pecks through with a lilt
that straightens my hand
and steadies the nerves
upon which is built
my resolve to stand
as the world goes awry
and slants to one side
then another then again then more
I'll stand firm with all I've got
even if the world does not
take hold...this we all endure...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
will I know the dawn
when it arrives?
heavy mists hang
like curtains of steam
barely moving
in the growing cotton light
gray outlines of land
as far as my eye can contain
is this the dawn
for which I sweat the night?
is this the day that took
all of my life to arrive?
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
when it arrives?
heavy mists hang
like curtains of steam
barely moving
in the growing cotton light
gray outlines of land
as far as my eye can contain
is this the dawn
for which I sweat the night?
is this the day that took
all of my life to arrive?
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
to rage against the Source of All Life
is to rage against Reality as it is
what use to rebel?
what use to beseech?
what use to bemoan
the fates we slog through?
I AM THAT I AM
says the enormous He
and that means THINGS ARE
AS THEY ARE for unfortunate we
so is Life and Death a gamble
a toss of dice a turn of the card a bluff
and even if the decks is permanently stacked
I'm obliged to play this hand...and will...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
is to rage against Reality as it is
what use to rebel?
what use to beseech?
what use to bemoan
the fates we slog through?
I AM THAT I AM
says the enormous He
and that means THINGS ARE
AS THEY ARE for unfortunate we
so is Life and Death a gamble
a toss of dice a turn of the card a bluff
and even if the decks is permanently stacked
I'm obliged to play this hand...and will...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
...and I'm writing this...for who?
some who hide in their bubbles?
some scanning the Net out of boredom?
some who take the universe as a personal insult?
some who could care less about anyone but themselves?
some entitled jerkoff who doesn't think the rules apply to him?
some angry poverty doll finally ready to light the fuse?
some of the enlightened whose last struggle is with spiritual pride?
some asshole who thinks his cynicism gives an edge of superiority?
some who beseech the deaf God?
some who hate themselves into nonexistence?
I'm writing this...and have forgotten why...
I'm writing this...as my own act of outrage...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
some who hide in their bubbles?
some scanning the Net out of boredom?
some who take the universe as a personal insult?
some who could care less about anyone but themselves?
some entitled jerkoff who doesn't think the rules apply to him?
some angry poverty doll finally ready to light the fuse?
some of the enlightened whose last struggle is with spiritual pride?
some asshole who thinks his cynicism gives an edge of superiority?
some who beseech the deaf God?
some who hate themselves into nonexistence?
I'm writing this...and have forgotten why...
I'm writing this...as my own act of outrage...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Friday, October 26, 2012
I am a mummy
in some dusty corner
of some crypt in eternity
waiting to rise
and walk again
searching for
my reincarnated love
who thinks
at best
that this is truly bizarre
and isn't waiting around
for the ceremony
or the knife
what was that about love
and Isis waiting for her brother
to knock her up
to deliver us a Horus king?
I must have read
the wrong scroll
I'm waiting in a dusty corner
in eternity
for one who will not come
my wrappings a sight...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
in some dusty corner
of some crypt in eternity
waiting to rise
and walk again
searching for
my reincarnated love
who thinks
at best
that this is truly bizarre
and isn't waiting around
for the ceremony
or the knife
what was that about love
and Isis waiting for her brother
to knock her up
to deliver us a Horus king?
I must have read
the wrong scroll
I'm waiting in a dusty corner
in eternity
for one who will not come
my wrappings a sight...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
there...
feel better?
you've cursed only yourself
by attacking
the faceless chaos of raging process
you put your own face on it
and assume that responsibility
while it ever grinds on
pulverizing you
and your pitiful imaginings
of eternity
your fading prayer
rising out of dust
to deaf angels...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
feel better?
you've cursed only yourself
by attacking
the faceless chaos of raging process
you put your own face on it
and assume that responsibility
while it ever grinds on
pulverizing you
and your pitiful imaginings
of eternity
your fading prayer
rising out of dust
to deaf angels...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
what scumbag
what unmitigated filth
denies your atonement
while demanding it?
what vicious liar
says come unto me
then thrusts you aside
because nothing you do
will ever be
perfect enough?
how many lifetimes wasted
trying to appease
some tyrant who isn't satisfied
with being the only power there is?
oh fools fools fools
we are the image of chaos
of hate and power-madness
and even our deepest love
is of no avail
and we in our suffering
at the hand of some
vicious scumbag
some unmitigated
piece of filth?
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
what unmitigated filth
denies your atonement
while demanding it?
what vicious liar
says come unto me
then thrusts you aside
because nothing you do
will ever be
perfect enough?
how many lifetimes wasted
trying to appease
some tyrant who isn't satisfied
with being the only power there is?
oh fools fools fools
we are the image of chaos
of hate and power-madness
and even our deepest love
is of no avail
and we in our suffering
at the hand of some
vicious scumbag
some unmitigated
piece of filth?
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
hold me close
and hold me tight
there's only us
between dawn and the night
the dark falls quickly
some ending has arrived
wiping out all for which
we weep and strived
but in what fresh start
this closing unties
we lead from the heart
and go where love lies
as you hold me close
and we hold on tight...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
and hold me tight
there's only us
between dawn and the night
the dark falls quickly
some ending has arrived
wiping out all for which
we weep and strived
but in what fresh start
this closing unties
we lead from the heart
and go where love lies
as you hold me close
and we hold on tight...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
love grace and forgiveness
do not trump karma
you cling to your love
you hold on as tightly as you can
but the One will have
the very last word
no matter what you may set right
don't be taken in
don't play the fool any longer
what you believe matters not at all
except in some long haul
where your love may hold you in good stead
especially if it benefits
more than you and your love...and if it's really love
how can it not?
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
do not trump karma
you cling to your love
you hold on as tightly as you can
but the One will have
the very last word
no matter what you may set right
don't be taken in
don't play the fool any longer
what you believe matters not at all
except in some long haul
where your love may hold you in good stead
especially if it benefits
more than you and your love...and if it's really love
how can it not?
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
whatever love I am in now
is the same one
that upholds me
against the same travails
that would do its best
to break this love this peace
and claim my skull
for its place
on the belt of the Evil One's regalia
fuck that
I sin I sorrow I amend I forgive
if that's not enough then too bad...
I didn't ask for a gift with strings attached
but I do claim the prize of my grace and forgiveness
and if God has a problem with our love
let Him do His worst
either God is Love or He isn't...
just that plain...just that definitive...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
I just stopped
in the middle
of some confrontation
with an asshole pledged
to upholding the mendacity
on which thrives the world's evil
because I remembered
it was your smile
the feel in my nerves of your breasts
and sweet bed of our loving
that awaited me
at the end of this onerous day
one of an endless series
which contained in it our love...our release...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
in the middle
of some confrontation
with an asshole pledged
to upholding the mendacity
on which thrives the world's evil
because I remembered
it was your smile
the feel in my nerves of your breasts
and sweet bed of our loving
that awaited me
at the end of this onerous day
one of an endless series
which contained in it our love...our release...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
oh how would devastated I would be
if I had to be without you
in this harrowing of the earth
this long-foreseen apocalypse
that has always been here
and is now in our awareness
now that our awakening
is finally here
on the other side of the veil
either of us
will be a beacon to the other left on this side
I don't think
I could continue
without that certainty...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
if I had to be without you
in this harrowing of the earth
this long-foreseen apocalypse
that has always been here
and is now in our awareness
now that our awakening
is finally here
on the other side of the veil
either of us
will be a beacon to the other left on this side
I don't think
I could continue
without that certainty...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
we're aiming our direction
forward into eternity
and the obstacles of the Evil One
are no worse
than what I've had to contend with...
let the received wisdom
of the lost and frightened
drag them from harrowing to harrowing
we stand aside
our own trials
are enough
with which to deal
as we head into that lengthening way
leading to what promised fulfillment...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
forward into eternity
and the obstacles of the Evil One
are no worse
than what I've had to contend with...
let the received wisdom
of the lost and frightened
drag them from harrowing to harrowing
we stand aside
our own trials
are enough
with which to deal
as we head into that lengthening way
leading to what promised fulfillment...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
as the world revolves askew
around its reckoning
your touch your kiss
your body merging with mine
is the only anchor
holding our reeling ship steady
let us rock with the waves
let us rise with whatever tide
will wash the dross
into the measureless sea
let it be us
against the impersonal splitting
of the heavens
above our tiny but vast sea...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
around its reckoning
your touch your kiss
your body merging with mine
is the only anchor
holding our reeling ship steady
let us rock with the waves
let us rise with whatever tide
will wash the dross
into the measureless sea
let it be us
against the impersonal splitting
of the heavens
above our tiny but vast sea...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
I've lost my capacity
for pain and folly
I'm renewed by
a kiss on your lips
it is the world
that swoons
envious
and hungry
it never runs out
of agony and remorse
let the world die
into our paradise
a kiss on your lips
an embrace that subsumes
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
for pain and folly
I'm renewed by
a kiss on your lips
it is the world
that swoons
envious
and hungry
it never runs out
of agony and remorse
let the world die
into our paradise
a kiss on your lips
an embrace that subsumes
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Monday, October 22, 2012
see you on the other side
with the strict intent of winding up
on the other side
wherever and whatever it is
in this alleged eternal here and now
I've stopped listening to priests and astrologers
they only promote prayer as selfishness
and action as some setting apart
from process that makes your visualizations
a vain trap for those who think
they could stage-manage their destinies
each to their crumbling path as I to mine
and you to yours may we share a vista rather than I
see you from some other side...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
with the strict intent of winding up
on the other side
wherever and whatever it is
in this alleged eternal here and now
I've stopped listening to priests and astrologers
they only promote prayer as selfishness
and action as some setting apart
from process that makes your visualizations
a vain trap for those who think
they could stage-manage their destinies
each to their crumbling path as I to mine
and you to yours may we share a vista rather than I
see you from some other side...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
swinging from despair to elation
and all the hungers they feed
all energy stalls in frustration
the gnawing encourages need
to flee this takes all the focus
that mind can muster to thrive
let no minus get the best of us
lest our hungers bury us alive
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
and all the hungers they feed
all energy stalls in frustration
the gnawing encourages need
to flee this takes all the focus
that mind can muster to thrive
let no minus get the best of us
lest our hungers bury us alive
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
all has been turned upside down
quiet neighbors now war with each other
their store of patience exhausted
snarls on the street
as wolves jostle among sheep
bleats and howls a cacophony of agony
the world is finally tearing loose
the appointed time of reckoning has arrived
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
quiet neighbors now war with each other
their store of patience exhausted
snarls on the street
as wolves jostle among sheep
bleats and howls a cacophony of agony
the world is finally tearing loose
the appointed time of reckoning has arrived
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Friday, October 19, 2012
the resonant roar in the inner ear...
rush of blood or sigh of spirit...
is the white noise of all my days
the whispering cacophony framing
the reflections preparing me
for the last summer the last autumn
the last year the last moments
of this skin's unfortunate incarnation...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
rush of blood or sigh of spirit...
is the white noise of all my days
the whispering cacophony framing
the reflections preparing me
for the last summer the last autumn
the last year the last moments
of this skin's unfortunate incarnation...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
in the ordinary daily world
dreams often do come true
but so diminished from
their original form and intent
and the dreamer so beaten down
that it no longer matters
whether the dream came true or not
that someone could only wonder
what others are talking about
when they peddle notions
of faith and belief
(ignoring the contentious distinctions
between both) and waken each ordinary morning
from some heartbreak worse than any nightmare...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
dreams often do come true
but so diminished from
their original form and intent
and the dreamer so beaten down
that it no longer matters
whether the dream came true or not
that someone could only wonder
what others are talking about
when they peddle notions
of faith and belief
(ignoring the contentious distinctions
between both) and waken each ordinary morning
from some heartbreak worse than any nightmare...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
grinning assassins
are a dime a dozen
it's the easiest profession
in which to find
gainful employment
while the mainstream sheep
graze in their tyrants's fields
these wolves circle through the bushes
easy pickings
guaranteed satisfaction
and the great fallback
"it's nature
it's the way things are"
yes...for sheep and wolves...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
are a dime a dozen
it's the easiest profession
in which to find
gainful employment
while the mainstream sheep
graze in their tyrants's fields
these wolves circle through the bushes
easy pickings
guaranteed satisfaction
and the great fallback
"it's nature
it's the way things are"
yes...for sheep and wolves...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
none of us alive today
will live to see
the day
our race admits
we are utter
failures at being
noble
or moral
or fair
or wise
without resorting
to some idea of God
that is to blame
as some devil
or to praise
as some savior
the One who does not
wish us to perish
must weep
more than we do
as our failure blocks
grace
and will only admit
its puny defeat
in the void
of our own dissolution
and no soul
will live long enough
to hear this admission
even if it live
to bless
the improbable way
it survived to continue
its immortality...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
will live to see
the day
our race admits
we are utter
failures at being
noble
or moral
or fair
or wise
without resorting
to some idea of God
that is to blame
as some devil
or to praise
as some savior
the One who does not
wish us to perish
must weep
more than we do
as our failure blocks
grace
and will only admit
its puny defeat
in the void
of our own dissolution
and no soul
will live long enough
to hear this admission
even if it live
to bless
the improbable way
it survived to continue
its immortality...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Monday, October 15, 2012
POST LATE DYLAN 3
Of Tempest and its ghost companion, I've addressed adequately in the previous post. Chances are that these deliberately put aside songs will eventually surface--he may write more in that vein, or upon further consideration and rumination, re-arrange what he's already written--or even just let the idea go altogether! For all his restlessness, Dylan has been known to hold onto an idea for years until it reaches its fullness. But as already stated, Tempest already exemplifies much of his religious thought. Dylan has always been hailed as a mystic poet in some quarters, but if he is one, it's squarely in the Judeo-Christian tradition, specifically, the sects of Protestantism that hold that Man is utterly fallen, utterly incapable of do anything to save himself--utterly reliant upon the grace of God. It would easy to poke a few holes in these beliefs and remind our evangelicals that their Savior would repeatedly tell those he's saved to "Repent, and sin no more!" which of course, suggests effort on our part; but that's for some other forum. It's enough for the matter at hand to acknowledge that these are Dylan's stated beliefs.
And of this problematic beast named Tempest, what more can be said? It is one of his best, but a near-masterpiece, like Infidels before it--flawed, granted, but with all the fresh intensity of full-throttle creativity we've come to expect (demand?) of Dylan. The entire album, lyrically, amounts to a volume onto itself of Bartlett's Quotations; he's in full-wordsmith flight mode here. As songs, most of these stand with many of his absolute best; as an album, however, it is flawed enough to keep it from (to use the current cultural measures) five-star game-changer status. And many of the more insightful reviews (not the Old Guard who automatically accorded it its five-star status, nor the younger generation who grow fidgety over any song that goes over 4 minutes and dismissed out of hand as too boring to sit through) have put their finger on it. The problem lies with the title track and the album's closer "Roll on, John". "John", like "Lenny Bruce" before it, suffers from lyrical clumsiness, and the pastiche method of integrating Lennon lines into the verses falls flat, unlike the same method at work in the Travelin' Wilburys song, "Tweeter and the Monkey Man", where Dylan worked magic with lines and situations from Bruce Springsteen songs. It's still very pretty and haunted, musically, and it can be enjoyed if you let only random words float to the surface (I personally like it a lot, and get through it in this way.)
No, the problem is with the centerpiece and title track of the album, "Tempest". In theory, Dylan really hasn't put a wrong foot here; "Tempest' and "Tin Angel" are Dylan's work in traditional folk ballardy, as such. But "Tin Angel" is a tight, focused murder ballad--brilliantly written and disturbing, and featuring none other than ol' Henry Lee himself--(protagonist of his own ballad, a variant of which Dylan performed on his World Gone Wrong album as "Love Henry".)
"Tempest"on the other hand slogs along, many brilliant verses underscoring Dylan's intent to write about the disaster, about none can comprehend the judgment of God's Hand; but the song itself does not coalesce into anything utterly transcendent. Even "Highlands", on Time Out Of Mind, takes a simple repeating blues riff, and builds an engrossing tale, sustained not only by fresh, inventive phrasing on Dylan's part, but for good measure, he lobs into the middle of this piece a shaggy dog story wherein Dylan trades sexual wisecracks with a combative waitress.
As creative as this "post-late" Dylan is, he does have a tendency to sometimes to not stray too far from the template. When we think on traditional folk ballardy, we can easily imagine serfs of the 14th or 15th century--farmers, tradesmen, begging peasants--coming at the end of day to the town square for entertainment--to listen to the troubadour come to town to sing of current news, bawdy lyrics, or yet another re-telling of some epic tale. The trouble is, we have a static picture of this--the singer droning on for a half-hour or more--as in "Tempest"-- one verse after another without any variation. I seriously doubt it was that way in reality. Troubadours were performers; they had to keep their audience engrossed (bloodshed in Shakespeare's plays, anyone? He wrote for a paying audience, you know.) Dylan did that in "Highlands"; he didn't in "Tempest". Nor did he on Modern Times re" "Rollin' and Tumblin'"(all the idiots talking about Muddy being "ripped off"--Muddy "ripped off" 1929's "Roll and Tumble Blues"; nobody screaming about "attribution" there)--or, for that matter "Someday Baby"where he chose, for the sake of his album's intention, no doubt, to include a straight reworking of the Muddy Waters version, rather than his own more inventive version, which eventually surfaced on Tell Tale Signs. But those in our entertainment and cultural media will grab at any straw to try and bring him down.
If I were in his shoes, and had enough distance on the work to realize parts weren't working, I'd have ditched "Tempest" and "Roll On John", made "Tin Angel" the closer and renamed the whole album "Scarlet Town"...and the same points would have been made, the same themes expressed, the same outcomes would've been achieved.
I was going to go on about this, but truly, why bother? The mainstream media's job is to contain and simplify and label people and things for the sake of some official place in the history of our fake cultures--witness Dylan's tour of China--50-year-old accusations of being a "sell-out" because he didn't sing "Blowin' in the Wind" or "The Times They Are A-changin"! Unbelivable--Dylan's been so many things since then--and this is all they can use on him.
And the alleged "plagiarism"? Please! I can't believe this idiotic argument is still going on and, worse, will probably continue to go on. For the 17, 894, 943, 125th time, plagiarism is the wholesale taking of someone else's words and ideas and lifting them fully in that context and passing them off as one's own!
This is not what Dylan, or any other artist who works in the framework of traditional materials does! Not Dylan, not T.S. Eliot (another one who was accused of never writing three consecutive lines of his own poetry!), not Shakespeare, not Ovid...God, how far back do I have to go? I presume it is the unfortunate rationalism of personal legalism that has made everybody a law unto themselves, and to be tricked into thinking their paltry, "original" thoughts are somehow equal to a tradition that has, by education and by living example, conveyed the wisdom of the ages--not received, false social wisdom, but personal, active wisdom--life as lived by the greater majority of human beings in their "quiet desperation" (that's Thoreau, y'all!)
Mainstream media seeks to manipulate and quantify that...teach people to march goosing-stepping in unison to the "socially accepted" opinion, and they'll spin any little detail to do so (remember the pronouncements about Tempest having a Latin influence because Dylan liked the sound of a tres--listen, I'll bet it's buried in the mix of "Scarlet Town"! And all out of a popular notion of bringing down the Mighty (I've stopped asked years ago how anyone who works in media can live with themselves!)
And this does extend to that new mutation of communication--the Talkbacker; the losers who were chased out of bars by their friends for endlessness pontification and told to go home! Well, they are home, seated with a bowl of Cheetos, a Coke and an endlessly moving mouse--and better, an anonymous handle to hide behind, so they can be as rude and pompous as they please--they finally are a somebody--and can deliver their ignorant screeds as if it were demonstrable objective fact! (One such annoying scribe wrote some items around Tempest's release--one such title was "Why Dylan's Songs Will Not Stand The Test Of Time"; you're serious, right? They have, and will continue to do so. It's not just that "Blowin' In The Wind" already sounded like it was a thousand years when it was new, but some version of it and other Dylan tunes will still be sung a thousand years from now, even if Dylan himself is forgotten! That's what it means to work in the traditional framework; these songs will endure.)
I was also going to note some half-wit writing this very day in the Ottawa Citizen, dismissing Tempest because she didn't like the sound of his voice, and because she found the words "puerile", without giving any really intelligent reason as to why she thought this; but I weary of this theme. Dylan doesn't need my or anyone else's exegesis. But I do believe the idea of a 4th Dylan period of creativity is a valid one. At least, it seems so to me, and everything from Modern Times and Tell Tale Signs to Tempest affirms it. Let who will receive this, do so.
And just to thumb my nose at accepted opinion one last time, I believe--I think--I know "Love And Theft" is the one Dylan album of this whole latter-day body of work--great as these works are--that is so utterly transcendent as to be almost Ineffable, and is the only one can stand with Blonde On Blonde, Highway 61, The Basement Tapes and Blood On The Tracks at the absolute top of his achievement! Even when he is drawing down and consolidating his life's achievement, he can't help but be head and shoulders above other artists! In "Love..." Dylan takes every lyrical voice he's ever used, from his first album up to Time Out Of Mind, added a touch of "Things Have Changed" as a binding agent, put the whole thing into his creative kiln and fired the thing up to 1965-66, white-hot levels of absolute creativity, and came out with a wholly new language! And this, at an age when others are winding down. It isn't, or shouldn't be,an apples and oranges comparison: there's far more to Dylan's poetic genius than one-eyed midgets shouting the word now, Einstein disguised as Robin Hood sniffing drainpipes, scorpions crawling across circus floors, dancing beneath diamond skies, or ghosts of electricity howling in the bones of faces. So, it's the total Dylan, totally within his musical milieu--the strains of American music--Americana, roots, folk-rock, whatever inadequate label you choose to give it--that has been the life-long substance of his work. Add to that a sequencing of songs unifying the theme suggested by the album's title, that is, the minstrelry of White Americans "stealing" folk and other traditional forms to utilize to their own ends, and you have a perfect representation of how we United States have come by our musical traditions, as Dylan's own methods attest, and as white singers in the mid to late 20th century attempted to redress by acknowledging those forefathers of song. Such are the bloody, crooked ways by which all nations come to their traditions; a notion that goes beyond addressing the forms Dylan and others have absorbed, but to also stand, in Dylan's take, for his theme of human hubris and power-madness (the overriding theme of all Dylan in the last half of his career.) American fundamentalist cracker, Japanese gangster, al-Quida terrorist, and all the kings of the world they serve--in this magnificent album, they are shown as they truly are--all One! Who but Dylan could give us a world this deep, resonant and comprehensive?
And if "Love..." is his last, indisputably, truly great album, his last, absolutely transcendent album, it may not have anything to do with his seemingly unstoppable creativity, as it will with Mortality finally stepping in and calling Dylan "home". So be it, if that's the case. Dylan's done his job, and can go with no apologies. And for us to make of it what we will, we'll be nothing more than battling egos, drawing lines in the sand, and succeeding in nothing greater than hypnotizing chickens!
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
And of this problematic beast named Tempest, what more can be said? It is one of his best, but a near-masterpiece, like Infidels before it--flawed, granted, but with all the fresh intensity of full-throttle creativity we've come to expect (demand?) of Dylan. The entire album, lyrically, amounts to a volume onto itself of Bartlett's Quotations; he's in full-wordsmith flight mode here. As songs, most of these stand with many of his absolute best; as an album, however, it is flawed enough to keep it from (to use the current cultural measures) five-star game-changer status. And many of the more insightful reviews (not the Old Guard who automatically accorded it its five-star status, nor the younger generation who grow fidgety over any song that goes over 4 minutes and dismissed out of hand as too boring to sit through) have put their finger on it. The problem lies with the title track and the album's closer "Roll on, John". "John", like "Lenny Bruce" before it, suffers from lyrical clumsiness, and the pastiche method of integrating Lennon lines into the verses falls flat, unlike the same method at work in the Travelin' Wilburys song, "Tweeter and the Monkey Man", where Dylan worked magic with lines and situations from Bruce Springsteen songs. It's still very pretty and haunted, musically, and it can be enjoyed if you let only random words float to the surface (I personally like it a lot, and get through it in this way.)
No, the problem is with the centerpiece and title track of the album, "Tempest". In theory, Dylan really hasn't put a wrong foot here; "Tempest' and "Tin Angel" are Dylan's work in traditional folk ballardy, as such. But "Tin Angel" is a tight, focused murder ballad--brilliantly written and disturbing, and featuring none other than ol' Henry Lee himself--(protagonist of his own ballad, a variant of which Dylan performed on his World Gone Wrong album as "Love Henry".)
"Tempest"on the other hand slogs along, many brilliant verses underscoring Dylan's intent to write about the disaster, about none can comprehend the judgment of God's Hand; but the song itself does not coalesce into anything utterly transcendent. Even "Highlands", on Time Out Of Mind, takes a simple repeating blues riff, and builds an engrossing tale, sustained not only by fresh, inventive phrasing on Dylan's part, but for good measure, he lobs into the middle of this piece a shaggy dog story wherein Dylan trades sexual wisecracks with a combative waitress.
As creative as this "post-late" Dylan is, he does have a tendency to sometimes to not stray too far from the template. When we think on traditional folk ballardy, we can easily imagine serfs of the 14th or 15th century--farmers, tradesmen, begging peasants--coming at the end of day to the town square for entertainment--to listen to the troubadour come to town to sing of current news, bawdy lyrics, or yet another re-telling of some epic tale. The trouble is, we have a static picture of this--the singer droning on for a half-hour or more--as in "Tempest"-- one verse after another without any variation. I seriously doubt it was that way in reality. Troubadours were performers; they had to keep their audience engrossed (bloodshed in Shakespeare's plays, anyone? He wrote for a paying audience, you know.) Dylan did that in "Highlands"; he didn't in "Tempest". Nor did he on Modern Times re" "Rollin' and Tumblin'"(all the idiots talking about Muddy being "ripped off"--Muddy "ripped off" 1929's "Roll and Tumble Blues"; nobody screaming about "attribution" there)--or, for that matter "Someday Baby"where he chose, for the sake of his album's intention, no doubt, to include a straight reworking of the Muddy Waters version, rather than his own more inventive version, which eventually surfaced on Tell Tale Signs. But those in our entertainment and cultural media will grab at any straw to try and bring him down.
If I were in his shoes, and had enough distance on the work to realize parts weren't working, I'd have ditched "Tempest" and "Roll On John", made "Tin Angel" the closer and renamed the whole album "Scarlet Town"...and the same points would have been made, the same themes expressed, the same outcomes would've been achieved.
I was going to go on about this, but truly, why bother? The mainstream media's job is to contain and simplify and label people and things for the sake of some official place in the history of our fake cultures--witness Dylan's tour of China--50-year-old accusations of being a "sell-out" because he didn't sing "Blowin' in the Wind" or "The Times They Are A-changin"! Unbelivable--Dylan's been so many things since then--and this is all they can use on him.
And the alleged "plagiarism"? Please! I can't believe this idiotic argument is still going on and, worse, will probably continue to go on. For the 17, 894, 943, 125th time, plagiarism is the wholesale taking of someone else's words and ideas and lifting them fully in that context and passing them off as one's own!
This is not what Dylan, or any other artist who works in the framework of traditional materials does! Not Dylan, not T.S. Eliot (another one who was accused of never writing three consecutive lines of his own poetry!), not Shakespeare, not Ovid...God, how far back do I have to go? I presume it is the unfortunate rationalism of personal legalism that has made everybody a law unto themselves, and to be tricked into thinking their paltry, "original" thoughts are somehow equal to a tradition that has, by education and by living example, conveyed the wisdom of the ages--not received, false social wisdom, but personal, active wisdom--life as lived by the greater majority of human beings in their "quiet desperation" (that's Thoreau, y'all!)
Mainstream media seeks to manipulate and quantify that...teach people to march goosing-stepping in unison to the "socially accepted" opinion, and they'll spin any little detail to do so (remember the pronouncements about Tempest having a Latin influence because Dylan liked the sound of a tres--listen, I'll bet it's buried in the mix of "Scarlet Town"! And all out of a popular notion of bringing down the Mighty (I've stopped asked years ago how anyone who works in media can live with themselves!)
And this does extend to that new mutation of communication--the Talkbacker; the losers who were chased out of bars by their friends for endlessness pontification and told to go home! Well, they are home, seated with a bowl of Cheetos, a Coke and an endlessly moving mouse--and better, an anonymous handle to hide behind, so they can be as rude and pompous as they please--they finally are a somebody--and can deliver their ignorant screeds as if it were demonstrable objective fact! (One such annoying scribe wrote some items around Tempest's release--one such title was "Why Dylan's Songs Will Not Stand The Test Of Time"; you're serious, right? They have, and will continue to do so. It's not just that "Blowin' In The Wind" already sounded like it was a thousand years when it was new, but some version of it and other Dylan tunes will still be sung a thousand years from now, even if Dylan himself is forgotten! That's what it means to work in the traditional framework; these songs will endure.)
I was also going to note some half-wit writing this very day in the Ottawa Citizen, dismissing Tempest because she didn't like the sound of his voice, and because she found the words "puerile", without giving any really intelligent reason as to why she thought this; but I weary of this theme. Dylan doesn't need my or anyone else's exegesis. But I do believe the idea of a 4th Dylan period of creativity is a valid one. At least, it seems so to me, and everything from Modern Times and Tell Tale Signs to Tempest affirms it. Let who will receive this, do so.
And just to thumb my nose at accepted opinion one last time, I believe--I think--I know "Love And Theft" is the one Dylan album of this whole latter-day body of work--great as these works are--that is so utterly transcendent as to be almost Ineffable, and is the only one can stand with Blonde On Blonde, Highway 61, The Basement Tapes and Blood On The Tracks at the absolute top of his achievement! Even when he is drawing down and consolidating his life's achievement, he can't help but be head and shoulders above other artists! In "Love..." Dylan takes every lyrical voice he's ever used, from his first album up to Time Out Of Mind, added a touch of "Things Have Changed" as a binding agent, put the whole thing into his creative kiln and fired the thing up to 1965-66, white-hot levels of absolute creativity, and came out with a wholly new language! And this, at an age when others are winding down. It isn't, or shouldn't be,an apples and oranges comparison: there's far more to Dylan's poetic genius than one-eyed midgets shouting the word now, Einstein disguised as Robin Hood sniffing drainpipes, scorpions crawling across circus floors, dancing beneath diamond skies, or ghosts of electricity howling in the bones of faces. So, it's the total Dylan, totally within his musical milieu--the strains of American music--Americana, roots, folk-rock, whatever inadequate label you choose to give it--that has been the life-long substance of his work. Add to that a sequencing of songs unifying the theme suggested by the album's title, that is, the minstrelry of White Americans "stealing" folk and other traditional forms to utilize to their own ends, and you have a perfect representation of how we United States have come by our musical traditions, as Dylan's own methods attest, and as white singers in the mid to late 20th century attempted to redress by acknowledging those forefathers of song. Such are the bloody, crooked ways by which all nations come to their traditions; a notion that goes beyond addressing the forms Dylan and others have absorbed, but to also stand, in Dylan's take, for his theme of human hubris and power-madness (the overriding theme of all Dylan in the last half of his career.) American fundamentalist cracker, Japanese gangster, al-Quida terrorist, and all the kings of the world they serve--in this magnificent album, they are shown as they truly are--all One! Who but Dylan could give us a world this deep, resonant and comprehensive?
And if "Love..." is his last, indisputably, truly great album, his last, absolutely transcendent album, it may not have anything to do with his seemingly unstoppable creativity, as it will with Mortality finally stepping in and calling Dylan "home". So be it, if that's the case. Dylan's done his job, and can go with no apologies. And for us to make of it what we will, we'll be nothing more than battling egos, drawing lines in the sand, and succeeding in nothing greater than hypnotizing chickens!
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Friday, October 12, 2012
POST LATE DYLAN 2
So then, what distinguishes a 3rd "late" period from a 4th "later" period for Dylan?
Mostly, the lack of any great artistic agenda...any edifice advancing a "Great Statement"...Even in consolidating his work, Dylan has had opportunity to do great things and has availed himself.
The controversies surrounding this "later Dylan" begin, essentially, with Modern Times; the Dylan supporters hailed it as a masterpiece, while the naysayers dismissed it as a lazy, unimaginative work-by-the-numbers. Both contentions are a little too extravagant for my taste; without trying to sound equivocal, but undoubtedly I'll be called down for it, I straddle. Yes, Modern Times is a masterpiece, but yes, it is the runt of the litter. By Dylan's own admission, he had ideas left over from "Love and Theft" that he wanted to squeeze the last bit of juice out of. That sounds to me like playing out the thread, and when you're doing that, you're already getting into diminishing returns. Thus, between MT and Tell Tale Signs, you have the summation of all that's come before, while (and especially with Tell Tale...) a way forward is being pointed out. The "new" songs on "Signs", that is, the finished soundtrack songs form the bulk of this discrete work, with one dip into the vaults for a discarded masterpiece ("Red River Shore") , while the rest are alternate takes of "Mississippi" and "Someday Baby" so radically different from their released versions as to constitute new music. Add two complete-in-themselves songs--"Marching To The City" and "Dreaming Of You"--dismantled to be reworked into other songs, and you have a creative gloss on a body of work that sustains and confirms the greatness of that period.
So, if all endings are beginnings, where has MT and Tell Tale Signs taken us in this posited 4th period? Into works in which Dylan, more than ever, is free to do as he pleases, as it suits the project at hand, rather that some overarching thesis. Together Through Life was occasioned by soundtrack work for My Own Love Song; the creative process took hold strongly and Dylan developed his own work from it. It's a minor album, granted, and so what? Does Dylan always have to satisfy someone else's idea of his work by grinding out one transcendent, game-changing masterpiece after another? Horseshit! Dylan sounds like he was having fun on this album, enjoying nothing but the actual making of music. And it certainly gives us a strong taste of what Dylan's band does on stage. This is his "cowboy band"; this is his Saturday Night roadhouse band doing basic blues, as much 50s Chess R&B as Tex-Mex, Sir Douglas Quintet (and if it comes to that, Los Lobos--Hello David!) His themes are still there, but again, no great need to "Make A Statement!" That may be the distinguishing characteristic of all these "Post-Late Dylan" records; they are free, more so than at almost any other time in his artistic life.
Having said this, it occurs to me as I type this out that, free as these latter day albums may be, there may be one last great theme Dylan may be attempting to fulfill--maybe not as an edifice in itself, but as a guiding principle through this fresh creative freedom--and that is the return to religion. What could be more natural for someone literally on borrowed time, as is Dylan now, having scored his three score and ten plus one? The world overview of love and earthly struggle examined in Together Through Life gave way very quickly to Christmas in The Heart.
As I said in yesterday's post, this album was, I feel, unjustly maligned. True, hearing Dylan's old man growl grind through "Winter Wonderland" and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" may be surreal enough in itself (and in the latter, he at least reinstated to original lyric about "stumbling our way through", opposed to Sinatra's more cheery, thus falsified, official revision.) But the sheer fun of "Must Be Santa", the gravity of "O Little Star of Bethelem", the late-night beer joint feel of Dean Martin's "The Christmas Blues" (which could have fit perfectly into any of Dylan's own albums) give this work its substance and worthiness. For me, at least, the capper is "Little Drummer Boy"; this song is so overplayed that even when it's played every season on radio stations programmed for non-stop Christmas music and department store muzak, you don't even hear it at all, it's that much a part of the white noise of daily activity. With this performance, Dylan sheds the gravel in his voice and gives so moving a rendition that, for once in my life, I got the full brunt of this song. I saw the drummer approach the baby king; I understood his trembling awe before this nascent deity; I felt his relief and gratitude when the only gift he could offer--his drumming--was acceptable. As great a vocal performance as Dylan has ever managed.
Let the snarky smart-asses mock; I will treat of them in the next and last post on this matter, when I'll look at this closing of the circle by looking at Tempest and its unissued companion piece--the alleged album's worth of religious songs that Dylan wrote along with the Tempest material, and which he deemed "too similar-sounding" to be issued together; religious songs not like the "tablet-smashing", fire-and-brimstone screeds of the so-called "Born-Again" trilogy, but more inspirational like, as Dylan put it, "Just a Closer Walk With Thee", although the "Born Again" period did have its share of those kind of songs--"I Believe In You", "In The Garden", "Saving Grace" and most celebrated of all, "Every Grain of Sand." Tempest may not be his swan song (it almost sounds as if critical and popular opinion were trying to wish it on him--he being so not into being raised up as an idol, only to be cast down as same.) I doubt his endurance will give out at this point, always frustrating the proprietors of social agendas. They've failed before to shunt him out, and probably will until the end; Dylan will go out as he went on, on his own terms only.
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Mostly, the lack of any great artistic agenda...any edifice advancing a "Great Statement"...Even in consolidating his work, Dylan has had opportunity to do great things and has availed himself.
The controversies surrounding this "later Dylan" begin, essentially, with Modern Times; the Dylan supporters hailed it as a masterpiece, while the naysayers dismissed it as a lazy, unimaginative work-by-the-numbers. Both contentions are a little too extravagant for my taste; without trying to sound equivocal, but undoubtedly I'll be called down for it, I straddle. Yes, Modern Times is a masterpiece, but yes, it is the runt of the litter. By Dylan's own admission, he had ideas left over from "Love and Theft" that he wanted to squeeze the last bit of juice out of. That sounds to me like playing out the thread, and when you're doing that, you're already getting into diminishing returns. Thus, between MT and Tell Tale Signs, you have the summation of all that's come before, while (and especially with Tell Tale...) a way forward is being pointed out. The "new" songs on "Signs", that is, the finished soundtrack songs form the bulk of this discrete work, with one dip into the vaults for a discarded masterpiece ("Red River Shore") , while the rest are alternate takes of "Mississippi" and "Someday Baby" so radically different from their released versions as to constitute new music. Add two complete-in-themselves songs--"Marching To The City" and "Dreaming Of You"--dismantled to be reworked into other songs, and you have a creative gloss on a body of work that sustains and confirms the greatness of that period.
So, if all endings are beginnings, where has MT and Tell Tale Signs taken us in this posited 4th period? Into works in which Dylan, more than ever, is free to do as he pleases, as it suits the project at hand, rather that some overarching thesis. Together Through Life was occasioned by soundtrack work for My Own Love Song; the creative process took hold strongly and Dylan developed his own work from it. It's a minor album, granted, and so what? Does Dylan always have to satisfy someone else's idea of his work by grinding out one transcendent, game-changing masterpiece after another? Horseshit! Dylan sounds like he was having fun on this album, enjoying nothing but the actual making of music. And it certainly gives us a strong taste of what Dylan's band does on stage. This is his "cowboy band"; this is his Saturday Night roadhouse band doing basic blues, as much 50s Chess R&B as Tex-Mex, Sir Douglas Quintet (and if it comes to that, Los Lobos--Hello David!) His themes are still there, but again, no great need to "Make A Statement!" That may be the distinguishing characteristic of all these "Post-Late Dylan" records; they are free, more so than at almost any other time in his artistic life.
Having said this, it occurs to me as I type this out that, free as these latter day albums may be, there may be one last great theme Dylan may be attempting to fulfill--maybe not as an edifice in itself, but as a guiding principle through this fresh creative freedom--and that is the return to religion. What could be more natural for someone literally on borrowed time, as is Dylan now, having scored his three score and ten plus one? The world overview of love and earthly struggle examined in Together Through Life gave way very quickly to Christmas in The Heart.
As I said in yesterday's post, this album was, I feel, unjustly maligned. True, hearing Dylan's old man growl grind through "Winter Wonderland" and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" may be surreal enough in itself (and in the latter, he at least reinstated to original lyric about "stumbling our way through", opposed to Sinatra's more cheery, thus falsified, official revision.) But the sheer fun of "Must Be Santa", the gravity of "O Little Star of Bethelem", the late-night beer joint feel of Dean Martin's "The Christmas Blues" (which could have fit perfectly into any of Dylan's own albums) give this work its substance and worthiness. For me, at least, the capper is "Little Drummer Boy"; this song is so overplayed that even when it's played every season on radio stations programmed for non-stop Christmas music and department store muzak, you don't even hear it at all, it's that much a part of the white noise of daily activity. With this performance, Dylan sheds the gravel in his voice and gives so moving a rendition that, for once in my life, I got the full brunt of this song. I saw the drummer approach the baby king; I understood his trembling awe before this nascent deity; I felt his relief and gratitude when the only gift he could offer--his drumming--was acceptable. As great a vocal performance as Dylan has ever managed.
Let the snarky smart-asses mock; I will treat of them in the next and last post on this matter, when I'll look at this closing of the circle by looking at Tempest and its unissued companion piece--the alleged album's worth of religious songs that Dylan wrote along with the Tempest material, and which he deemed "too similar-sounding" to be issued together; religious songs not like the "tablet-smashing", fire-and-brimstone screeds of the so-called "Born-Again" trilogy, but more inspirational like, as Dylan put it, "Just a Closer Walk With Thee", although the "Born Again" period did have its share of those kind of songs--"I Believe In You", "In The Garden", "Saving Grace" and most celebrated of all, "Every Grain of Sand." Tempest may not be his swan song (it almost sounds as if critical and popular opinion were trying to wish it on him--he being so not into being raised up as an idol, only to be cast down as same.) I doubt his endurance will give out at this point, always frustrating the proprietors of social agendas. They've failed before to shunt him out, and probably will until the end; Dylan will go out as he went on, on his own terms only.
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
POST LATER DYLAN 1
I'm positing a not unprecedented but extremely rare 4th period of creativity for Bob Dylan.
We all know by now the take on 3rd period Dylan...beginning with Oh, Mercy, Dylan
choose, as he put it, not too look for the next mountain to climb, but rather, to consolidate his life's achievement into an edifice which would lead to the latter day trilogy of Time Out Of Mind, "Love and Theft" and Modern Times, mirroring the culturally unimpeachable mid-sixties trio of Bringing.... Highway 61...Blonde.
The latter-day trilogy, and the distinct, discrete album-in-its-own-right embedded in Bootleg Series #8 (i.e. Tell-Tales Signs) marked off this 3rd, "late" period as a completed part of Dylan's life achievement.
The lonesome wanderer of Dylan's earliest songs returns, a wizened hardened veteran of the roads to convey the great gathering of his creativity. He's ever walking "through streets that are dead" with his eyes on the "Highlands", in his mind for sure, and content with that for now; by the end of "Love and Theft" he joins the rest of humanity under judgment, looking up "before Gabriel blows his horn"; under this dispensation, the old wanderer surveys the world with an old master's detachment, seeing the horrors and sufferings, as well as the fleeting joys, of life on the unchangeable earth, and passes on, walking on "to the world's end." What happens ultimately to this wandering poet is shown at the end of "Cross the Green Mountain"--as a mortally wounded Civil War soldier, he is "lifted away/in an ancient light/that is not of day." His earthly sojourn is ended, and his songs remain for who can receive them.
Granted, this culmination began when Dylan regained his creative impetus with Oh Mercy--a magnificant, though minor summation of his "middle', 2nd period. The to-do about Under the Red Sky is overblown--he wrote an album of nursery rhymes for his child (I'll touch on this--Dylan, in the early 90s, mentioned some projects he'd like to do--a children's album, a Christmas album--even an album in which he re-did songs he wasn't satisfied with in the first place; if ...Red Sky isn't entirely that children's album, he/we may have to be content with his "This Old Man" contribution to that long-ago Olympics album...we know we can check off that Christmas album [unjustly maligned as far as I'm concerned...oh lazy Mass thinking!]...a re-do album remains to be seen.) In any case, despite the creative recharge, he had yet to determine how to proceed; I believe it's not for nothing that he set all his re-set buttons and went back to the traditional songs that formed him and which, in Good As I Been To You and World Gone Wrong, he put back out as his own. This has already been noted by others, and very naturally leads straight into TOOM.
If the later trilogy and Tell-Take Signs truly affirms the successful completion of Dylan's artistic intentions of final consolidation, then it seems to me that a tirelessly creative Dylan will of inclination need to continue moving on, which brings us to the idea of a 4th creative period...call it Post-Late Dylan, or Later Late Dylan or whatever signifier you wish to attach to it. This may seem like an arbitrary attempt to impose some critical edifice, but so was anointing the mid-sixties trilogy as such as the peak of his achievement; Sid Griffin, identified archivist of the Basement Tapes, believes the true mid-sixties trilogy to be Blonde On Blonde, The Basement Tapes and John Wesley Harding (interestingly, the whole arc of Dylan's career in miniature.) If he's acknowledged as being right, it makes a trilogy of Another Side, Bringing It all...and Highway 61 as a trilogy of its own, the first openings-up of his language in "My Back Pages" leading on to "Gates of Eden" and "It's Alright, Ma" scant weeks after Another Side...was released.
Any attempt to impose an order would be tentative as best; no matter how sharp and solid a line is drawn trying to divide a Before and an After, there will always be overlap, since the creative process is continuous.
Thus, while Tell-Tale Signs gathers the amazingly strong, consistent work that went into this 3rd period, while pointing a way forward, Modern Times sets the standard for this latter-day, proposed 4th period...a high standard, to be sure, but one that still shows a sense of completion and culminating but yet, is a bit more spirited, maybe a little too loose for its own good on occasion, probably because he is has really had his say now, over and over, even now in the act of closing his mouth re: the Great Dylan's Great Statements; it doesn't mean he won't make any more, just that he must feel totally free of any expectations, including his own.
More on this late 4th period anon, but before closing, let's say this by way of set-up: if Modern Times does set this "later" template, then we must accept this: no matter how many musical differences he manages in these later albums, we will, I think, never again get a radically different sounding album from Dylan again, and I believe the reason is very simple--he has a long time touring band of a more or less fixed, constant number of now long-time accompanists. Unless he gets a hugely grand notion and boots them all out, the days of a new Dylan album sounding utterly fresh and different from its predecessors, due to new and different musicians in the mix, is probably now over...(let's be real...at age 71, he only has only so many haircuts left...on all levels.) If he manages to keep strong as he has though, then there is still more than enough of great value here.
more anon....
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
We all know by now the take on 3rd period Dylan...beginning with Oh, Mercy, Dylan
choose, as he put it, not too look for the next mountain to climb, but rather, to consolidate his life's achievement into an edifice which would lead to the latter day trilogy of Time Out Of Mind, "Love and Theft" and Modern Times, mirroring the culturally unimpeachable mid-sixties trio of Bringing.... Highway 61...Blonde.
The latter-day trilogy, and the distinct, discrete album-in-its-own-right embedded in Bootleg Series #8 (i.e. Tell-Tales Signs) marked off this 3rd, "late" period as a completed part of Dylan's life achievement.
The lonesome wanderer of Dylan's earliest songs returns, a wizened hardened veteran of the roads to convey the great gathering of his creativity. He's ever walking "through streets that are dead" with his eyes on the "Highlands", in his mind for sure, and content with that for now; by the end of "Love and Theft" he joins the rest of humanity under judgment, looking up "before Gabriel blows his horn"; under this dispensation, the old wanderer surveys the world with an old master's detachment, seeing the horrors and sufferings, as well as the fleeting joys, of life on the unchangeable earth, and passes on, walking on "to the world's end." What happens ultimately to this wandering poet is shown at the end of "Cross the Green Mountain"--as a mortally wounded Civil War soldier, he is "lifted away/in an ancient light/that is not of day." His earthly sojourn is ended, and his songs remain for who can receive them.
Granted, this culmination began when Dylan regained his creative impetus with Oh Mercy--a magnificant, though minor summation of his "middle', 2nd period. The to-do about Under the Red Sky is overblown--he wrote an album of nursery rhymes for his child (I'll touch on this--Dylan, in the early 90s, mentioned some projects he'd like to do--a children's album, a Christmas album--even an album in which he re-did songs he wasn't satisfied with in the first place; if ...Red Sky isn't entirely that children's album, he/we may have to be content with his "This Old Man" contribution to that long-ago Olympics album...we know we can check off that Christmas album [unjustly maligned as far as I'm concerned...oh lazy Mass thinking!]...a re-do album remains to be seen.) In any case, despite the creative recharge, he had yet to determine how to proceed; I believe it's not for nothing that he set all his re-set buttons and went back to the traditional songs that formed him and which, in Good As I Been To You and World Gone Wrong, he put back out as his own. This has already been noted by others, and very naturally leads straight into TOOM.
If the later trilogy and Tell-Take Signs truly affirms the successful completion of Dylan's artistic intentions of final consolidation, then it seems to me that a tirelessly creative Dylan will of inclination need to continue moving on, which brings us to the idea of a 4th creative period...call it Post-Late Dylan, or Later Late Dylan or whatever signifier you wish to attach to it. This may seem like an arbitrary attempt to impose some critical edifice, but so was anointing the mid-sixties trilogy as such as the peak of his achievement; Sid Griffin, identified archivist of the Basement Tapes, believes the true mid-sixties trilogy to be Blonde On Blonde, The Basement Tapes and John Wesley Harding (interestingly, the whole arc of Dylan's career in miniature.) If he's acknowledged as being right, it makes a trilogy of Another Side, Bringing It all...and Highway 61 as a trilogy of its own, the first openings-up of his language in "My Back Pages" leading on to "Gates of Eden" and "It's Alright, Ma" scant weeks after Another Side...was released.
Any attempt to impose an order would be tentative as best; no matter how sharp and solid a line is drawn trying to divide a Before and an After, there will always be overlap, since the creative process is continuous.
Thus, while Tell-Tale Signs gathers the amazingly strong, consistent work that went into this 3rd period, while pointing a way forward, Modern Times sets the standard for this latter-day, proposed 4th period...a high standard, to be sure, but one that still shows a sense of completion and culminating but yet, is a bit more spirited, maybe a little too loose for its own good on occasion, probably because he is has really had his say now, over and over, even now in the act of closing his mouth re: the Great Dylan's Great Statements; it doesn't mean he won't make any more, just that he must feel totally free of any expectations, including his own.
More on this late 4th period anon, but before closing, let's say this by way of set-up: if Modern Times does set this "later" template, then we must accept this: no matter how many musical differences he manages in these later albums, we will, I think, never again get a radically different sounding album from Dylan again, and I believe the reason is very simple--he has a long time touring band of a more or less fixed, constant number of now long-time accompanists. Unless he gets a hugely grand notion and boots them all out, the days of a new Dylan album sounding utterly fresh and different from its predecessors, due to new and different musicians in the mix, is probably now over...(let's be real...at age 71, he only has only so many haircuts left...on all levels.) If he manages to keep strong as he has though, then there is still more than enough of great value here.
more anon....
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
let whatever will happen happen
every doctrine is a lunatic's agenda
an ideological flutterbuster
contaminating the air with its evil
I don't need the power-crazed ignorance of
popes and ayatollahs and kings
to threaten me with damnations of their own invention
and I don't need the weak and frightened
who enchain themselves to these charlatans
and kowtow before the demons and angels
they themselves have created
I'm as naked in the Light as anyone
and there's no hiding any aspect
and I'll stand or fall on my own whatever will happen
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
every doctrine is a lunatic's agenda
an ideological flutterbuster
contaminating the air with its evil
I don't need the power-crazed ignorance of
popes and ayatollahs and kings
to threaten me with damnations of their own invention
and I don't need the weak and frightened
who enchain themselves to these charlatans
and kowtow before the demons and angels
they themselves have created
I'm as naked in the Light as anyone
and there's no hiding any aspect
and I'll stand or fall on my own whatever will happen
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
I forlorn in this wilderness of earth
can't say I'm too bad off really
I'm used to this beautiful suffering
what better planet
of crystal blue skies
and crisp chilly wind
bracing to the point of sustaining
and fortifying the heart
to endure the hardness of God's (I still can't
wrap my mind around it) Love
when all else fails
(and all else does fail)
where ever my soul is bound
I'd rather die in this beauty this place of my yielding skin...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
can't say I'm too bad off really
I'm used to this beautiful suffering
what better planet
of crystal blue skies
and crisp chilly wind
bracing to the point of sustaining
and fortifying the heart
to endure the hardness of God's (I still can't
wrap my mind around it) Love
when all else fails
(and all else does fail)
where ever my soul is bound
I'd rather die in this beauty this place of my yielding skin...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
everyone wants their balls licked
including God above
with no assurance the kick-back will yield
the help that is needed to prevail
well let God weep
for the souls He's created
and the strings He's attached
to this dubious Gift of Life
and let His creation run wild
with it's hubris its power-madness
it's desire to be Him thought lacking
His totality they'll fail inendingly
let this whole rotten creation reel as if we had any choice
when Justice truly serves Truth then I'll apologize...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
including God above
with no assurance the kick-back will yield
the help that is needed to prevail
well let God weep
for the souls He's created
and the strings He's attached
to this dubious Gift of Life
and let His creation run wild
with it's hubris its power-madness
it's desire to be Him thought lacking
His totality they'll fail inendingly
let this whole rotten creation reel as if we had any choice
when Justice truly serves Truth then I'll apologize...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Sunday, October 7, 2012
the long day is finally done
all creatures of day
seek their rest
while the night comes on
with and creatures of the night
come out to swarm in the joy
of release and revival
try telling this wonder
to who worship the sun
the moon also obeys the sun
in its phrases
try them them day and night are one
in the infinity that cradles us
in its dissolutions of all distinctions
rest becomes motion
motion spends itself into rest
and in all these single resolutions
the creatures of day wake to their day
the creatures of night rise with the first starlight
all beings are one with their Source
and there is the only Source...good morning or good night...as you will...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
all creatures of day
seek their rest
while the night comes on
with and creatures of the night
come out to swarm in the joy
of release and revival
try telling this wonder
to who worship the sun
the moon also obeys the sun
in its phrases
try them them day and night are one
in the infinity that cradles us
in its dissolutions of all distinctions
rest becomes motion
motion spends itself into rest
and in all these single resolutions
the creatures of day wake to their day
the creatures of night rise with the first starlight
all beings are one with their Source
and there is the only Source...good morning or good night...as you will...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
you know how much I love the night
how happy I start to get around twilight
as the deep blue fading of day
gives a last blazing aura
around the gabled tops of the apartment houses
nothing in life (not even my dreams)
gives me such pleasure as the light fading
and the stars bleeding slowly
into view as the sky darkens and the night descends
with such all-embracing presence
that the soul titivates within the skin
and the love of people is shared by those like you
who in their disdain of day praise all being
for the open concourse of like spirits visible at last
as they truly are
hungry and vivid in their love of life
this is where I belong in this earth
this is how much I love the night...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
how happy I start to get around twilight
as the deep blue fading of day
gives a last blazing aura
around the gabled tops of the apartment houses
nothing in life (not even my dreams)
gives me such pleasure as the light fading
and the stars bleeding slowly
into view as the sky darkens and the night descends
with such all-embracing presence
that the soul titivates within the skin
and the love of people is shared by those like you
who in their disdain of day praise all being
for the open concourse of like spirits visible at last
as they truly are
hungry and vivid in their love of life
this is where I belong in this earth
this is how much I love the night...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
this world is worn away
collapsing around itself
for those strong enough to take it
(whether they really can or not)
then let them pass away with it
if that's what they want
for me and my kind we hold on
hoping for another world beyond this...
and if there weren't what would we know?
the thing for sure we know
is when you leave here you're gone...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
collapsing around itself
for those strong enough to take it
(whether they really can or not)
then let them pass away with it
if that's what they want
for me and my kind we hold on
hoping for another world beyond this...
and if there weren't what would we know?
the thing for sure we know
is when you leave here you're gone...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
the same horrors the same wastes
the same striving for nothing that lasts
such is the only world we know in our skins
and if one more jackass comes up to me
and says "join the club"
I'll beat him unconscious with it
being a snarky know-it-all
his only prestige where nothing lasts...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
the same striving for nothing that lasts
such is the only world we know in our skins
and if one more jackass comes up to me
and says "join the club"
I'll beat him unconscious with it
being a snarky know-it-all
his only prestige where nothing lasts...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
I woke up from a dream
found myself old and spent
everyone was right it'd seem
to wonder where it went
but everyone wakens
in their own special bed
a pallet for the forsaken
a soft mattress for the protected
I'm somewhere between
I dozed on a cot
all the visions I've seen
all the experience I got
now I stir old and spent
without a damn clue as to what it all meant...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
found myself old and spent
everyone was right it'd seem
to wonder where it went
but everyone wakens
in their own special bed
a pallet for the forsaken
a soft mattress for the protected
I'm somewhere between
I dozed on a cot
all the visions I've seen
all the experience I got
now I stir old and spent
without a damn clue as to what it all meant...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
I face the night with unbounded happiness. How to convey this joy, this blending of vision and madness that satisfies all questing! I begin by not beginning, I end by not ending, the wing of the sky blocks the starlight and the shadow on the night field is a dark blur on a darker surface. And here I stand on some edge, with bats and owls swooping clear of a flapping wind, and fire-eyed panthers part high grasses with their passing. And my happiness embraces them all—my happiness, a thing predicated on the pulsing shifts of an “ever-now”. And I…And I…And I…am no longer me, but some other “I”. Here we are, and there you all are, on an edge of night, joyful beyond any dawn…
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Alive in the instant—here in the now—subsumed in the Conditional—striving for the way—amid shifting paths of circumstance—with our various selves engaged—
who we are reveals what we will be—active through every idea of moments—to be other than this—subsumed in the Conditional—striving for the way—there already—still alive—in what is true—in what is ultimately real—that we cannot know—beyond all we know—beyond all we can imagine—all we’ll ever be incapable of conceiving—as long as our various selves—populate each of our singular skins—here in this now—alive in the instant
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
I'm tried of praising and cursing what Source
whatever my disposition at the time of my utterance
and while this horrible world rolls on
I'll reach an end to this meaningless yelping
incoming souls will find for themselves
the hell that is the densest level of energy
this beautiful earth of unbeautiful conditions
and the joyfulness of whatever exit...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
whatever my disposition at the time of my utterance
and while this horrible world rolls on
I'll reach an end to this meaningless yelping
incoming souls will find for themselves
the hell that is the densest level of energy
this beautiful earth of unbeautiful conditions
and the joyfulness of whatever exit...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
I'm sure you'll believe
anything you're told
it's way too difficult
for your simple scared existence
you'd rather others did the heavy lifting
of thought and decision
you'd rather let others rule your life
and when they fail you
and you're worse off than you were
you'll boil and fume
and stalk your rooms throwing cups
at mirrors and kicking over chairs
blaming your betrayals on those
for not looking out for you
when it's only you who've failed yourself
but that is the one thing you won't believe...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
anything you're told
it's way too difficult
for your simple scared existence
you'd rather others did the heavy lifting
of thought and decision
you'd rather let others rule your life
and when they fail you
and you're worse off than you were
you'll boil and fume
and stalk your rooms throwing cups
at mirrors and kicking over chairs
blaming your betrayals on those
for not looking out for you
when it's only you who've failed yourself
but that is the one thing you won't believe...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
I am my own corpse
I am my own soul rising free
I am all that I've mismanaged
I am all that I've managed in which to succeed
I'll gather my bounty
and I'll turn toward home
with many more stops on the way
on that perpetual road
God I'm tired...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
I am my own soul rising free
I am all that I've mismanaged
I am all that I've managed in which to succeed
I'll gather my bounty
and I'll turn toward home
with many more stops on the way
on that perpetual road
God I'm tired...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
I make skeletons dance
on the Day of the Dead
I pull a few strings
and little children
hide behind their mother's skirts
one eye peering around
from behind a pleat
the air is thin as tissue on this day
when the departed return
or rather they are here all around us
but visible to sensitive vision
and what may be a breeze or an arm in passing
shakes the sceptic who jumps the way
I make toy skeletons dance...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito.
on the Day of the Dead
I pull a few strings
and little children
hide behind their mother's skirts
one eye peering around
from behind a pleat
the air is thin as tissue on this day
when the departed return
or rather they are here all around us
but visible to sensitive vision
and what may be a breeze or an arm in passing
shakes the sceptic who jumps the way
I make toy skeletons dance...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito.
I may be blocked crushed
denied and done down
every remaining step of the way
in this vicious sojourn
this unfortunate life
but I will not allow
God's unrelenting unmerciful
unforgiving vengeance
to make me miserable over a lifetime
of lessons and punishments
that have corrected my error
and made me aware of my failures
God may not forgive
but those of us who've been humbled
forgive each other
let that count for the truth of our sufferings
let that be some cosmic price finally paid
and if there is mercy in all this pain
let's not look for it because we'd only deluded ourselves
I'd rather die and lie still in my ruin
then go on like this with not one saving grace availing
I'll be true to my wife my mistress my friend
even my enemy I'll take drink with
let God do His worse and let it fire me up
to do my best...little good as that may be...
and let it all turn out as it will
and let me wind up where I will need to be...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
denied and done down
every remaining step of the way
in this vicious sojourn
this unfortunate life
but I will not allow
God's unrelenting unmerciful
unforgiving vengeance
to make me miserable over a lifetime
of lessons and punishments
that have corrected my error
and made me aware of my failures
God may not forgive
but those of us who've been humbled
forgive each other
let that count for the truth of our sufferings
let that be some cosmic price finally paid
and if there is mercy in all this pain
let's not look for it because we'd only deluded ourselves
I'd rather die and lie still in my ruin
then go on like this with not one saving grace availing
I'll be true to my wife my mistress my friend
even my enemy I'll take drink with
let God do His worse and let it fire me up
to do my best...little good as that may be...
and let it all turn out as it will
and let me wind up where I will need to be...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
All is accounted for to this instant of my life; to move on and go forward from this, I
must dig deeper into myself and truly make what changes need to be made, whether I’m ready or not, if I’m to make any use of this fresh start—this new infusion of energy to go down the home stretch of this sojourn—this race that has been run with such scattered patience.
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
when I look at you
the years disappear
and we are as we were
young and stupid and brave
and tasting life the better for it
alive in our touch and our kisses
and embraces
oh when I look at you
we are together in our only time
obeying no clock
mindful of no passage of minutes or hours
or days or months or years
when I look at you
we are as we are...always...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
the years disappear
and we are as we were
young and stupid and brave
and tasting life the better for it
alive in our touch and our kisses
and embraces
oh when I look at you
we are together in our only time
obeying no clock
mindful of no passage of minutes or hours
or days or months or years
when I look at you
we are as we are...always...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Monday, October 1, 2012
my ‘evil twin’ is held at bay for the moment
I’ve pondered him much
wondering “who is the real me
the one who blesses or the one who curses?”
even that's too simple a designation
for a concept too complex
for the daily mind to process
by pondering too much
how much harm has come?
how much healing will go?
I feel that ‘twin’ scratching inside my skull
best give him a wide berth for now
I have too many little things to do
things that will grow unruly if left unattended…
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
every time I make a plan
the universe will rise up
and unmake it
the surest way to fail
is to visualize success
don't listen to those positive thinkers
they don't know how safe they are
in their easy self-excusing retreat
while the heart of light
casts different shadows
down each of our different paths
and of that
I can be (as far as I see)
reasonably positive...(guffaws a-plenty!!!)
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
the universe will rise up
and unmake it
the surest way to fail
is to visualize success
don't listen to those positive thinkers
they don't know how safe they are
in their easy self-excusing retreat
while the heart of light
casts different shadows
down each of our different paths
and of that
I can be (as far as I see)
reasonably positive...(guffaws a-plenty!!!)
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
it's not going to be a New Golden Age
the spiritual vibrations may be higher for those
attuned to such things
but here on earth
here in the flesh
it'll just be just be another age
of ignorance and hatred and fear
ruining all good that enlightened people
are striving to attain
do I sound mandrian? am I an elitist?
very well then so I am
God calls us to something higher
then damns us for striving higher
God is no better than His whole damned creation
and if that's the case then why bust your ass?
all liability is on us
so let's attend to our own business
and if the holy wish to make their pompous pronouncements let them
and if the dull and ever earthbound wish to wreck every holy attempt
then let them
let everyone rot where they drop let them pop with their bubbles
nothing on earth will ever change nor was it ever supposed to...
stumble on with life on earth as we'll always know it
each New Golden Age is dug up centuries later
for the edification of ignoramuses
it's not going to be any different here in the world...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
the spiritual vibrations may be higher for those
attuned to such things
but here on earth
here in the flesh
it'll just be just be another age
of ignorance and hatred and fear
ruining all good that enlightened people
are striving to attain
do I sound mandrian? am I an elitist?
very well then so I am
God calls us to something higher
then damns us for striving higher
God is no better than His whole damned creation
and if that's the case then why bust your ass?
all liability is on us
so let's attend to our own business
and if the holy wish to make their pompous pronouncements let them
and if the dull and ever earthbound wish to wreck every holy attempt
then let them
let everyone rot where they drop let them pop with their bubbles
nothing on earth will ever change nor was it ever supposed to...
stumble on with life on earth as we'll always know it
each New Golden Age is dug up centuries later
for the edification of ignoramuses
it's not going to be any different here in the world...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
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