...Scraps-n-Drafts...

- First scenes: "talking about my toe nails makes me feel uncomfortable"...

- "All I really wanna do is go home and put on my Larry David t-shirt"...

- the polite "go fuck yourself" goodbye...try it...

- "I called it" court...

- Avoid clocks...

- Gotta race to the library and get my meditation book...

- "Gotta get this throw-up off the rug"...

- Involuntary gesture

- Guy at gym parody

- Karen Lovely?

- Reading tranny vs. tyranny...

- seems your pets got the answer cuz it don't ask the questions...

- Always clean shaven cause acceptance is a haven...

- "What are you doing?" "Nothing" "Can you stop doing that?"...

- Sir, ask him if he wants your seat...some old lady asked me to do this on the train...

- Speak English!...No, I don't mean it that way...I just want to know what you're saying...

..."need a dump truck, baby, to unload my head"...

...My computer recently went kurplunk...so out of fear of losing a life's work of writing, I'm going to start posting stuff I've written...from memory...

...The following song was not finished, nor completely memorized...as of now this is what I remember of it...after reading, please comment on what you think...

AND LET THE BLUES...

And let the blues become a soundtrack
That another lonesome boy steps to
And let my ideas become a path
That we will one day walk through
And on the other side see its footprints

And let unfinished lyrics remain hidden
In the "Rubber Factory" album
And one day someone will find 'em
And they can sell 'em
Under my breath
I'll always be whisperin'

And let feet keep stompin'
So neighbor's ceilings start shakin'
And they start actin'
Actin' like they mad
But can't help nod their head
Because the rhythm-beat's so intriguing
And let their neighbors become angry
And let me keep repeatin' - "and let"
So the audience gets so annoyed
They start repeatin'
Like them on radio rotation
And let me be patient
But not your patient
For I'm the one supposedly deliverin' the medicine
And let Kevin Bacon become the symbol - we are one?
Or don't
And let an overanalyzed artist's toilet become a monument
Or don't
If you want to be that way
And let a lyric be placed out of place

For a metaphor for what we've all felt before

And let the blues become a soundtrack
That another lonesome boy steps to
And let my ideas become a path
That we will one day walk through
And on the other side see its footprints...

And let us continue travelin' across this track
Music that'll intoxicate you
But to reality it'll shoot you back
And when it's time to snap back
Music will be used as a supplement for what we lack
Like a perception of what it must of been like to grow up on another side of a track
And let this be -
A footprint to your ear
So you know that we were here
And let songs be documentation
That we were a part of building this nation
That we were a part of creatin' what this present generation's facin'
And let a man just sing his song
And on and on and on and on...

And let the dust!
Be blown off old records
So there will be records of the troubadours
And let the youth judge that static
But one will more than just reinterpret
And to the artform
Add another form
And let these words
Be as they should be
And that is not to be for naught
But they may never be to quote
For the - a - creator never spoke
And let the first ones to find 'em
Try to recite 'em
They stutter, they choke
Arrive, not gain a damn penny
Yet - um - leave less broke
And let me bang on this instrument
Until destiny is infinite
And let me always keep these lyrics in my pocket
For when reality snaps out its socket
I just reach in
And, well, I'm back again
And let 'em play a harmonica
Like a freakin' train screechin' to a hault
But his breathe doesn't supply enough friction
To stop the reality of what he's livin'
The clock - it's continuin' on, it's tickin'
And let us believe everything happens for a reason
Even though you can't comprehend the present state you're breathin'
Inhalin' this mist of stagnation
Becomin' paralyzed by indecision

And let 'em think of death when writin'
But live to see future generations recite 'em

And let your vision of your past
Become more visable from the now youthful laugh
He smiles and reminds you of yourself

And let the judged judge those that judged
And now I'm glad everything's resolved
And let those who believe, believe
And when their gates open they can breath
And let me believe that I don't have to believe
Words can't express
Because I've got only one string left
And I'm gonna recite with every breathe 'til I ain't got nothing left

And let me continue searchin'
For I'm searchin' for a voice
And maybe this is the platform I can place it upon
And if there is an empty stage across this land
Then I shall travel on
And at a later date
You'll hear about the journey
As I sing in song

And let these words no longer be stranded thoughts
But become nothing more than strands of thought

And let a mother cook a daughter
A home cooked meal
When she comes home from war

And let Armegeddon already be done and gone
And the only thing that's left
Is an ol' record player
And out its speaker
A man's singin' his song -
"This land is your land"
And let a man just sing his song
And on and on and on and on

And let the unrested mind keep joggin'
Yet its throbbin'
And let the party participants keep dwindlin'
But the conversation continues into mornin'
And let the song be written
As the sun is creepin' into view
And let me not leave
Until I leave...
And let me not leave
Until I leave
This audience struck
Like oh remember
Oh remember
When Michael J. Fox played Chuck.

Bob Dylan's Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie - best thing ever written

Below is Bob Dylan’s Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie followed by something I wrote (Cliché) that wouldn’t have been written without me hearing Last Thoughts. I didn’t write it as a reaction, or because of, but more so I wrote it and then looked back and realized Dylan’s influence. I have so much to say about this spoken word, but don’t want to say too much – because chances are my words wouldn’t add anything to it. For now, please take my suggestion and FIRST LISTEN to Bob recite it before you read it. His voice still resonates with me – from the first time I accidentally came across this and heard it – to now, and every time my conscience wants to start questioning what I’m doing with my life…the backstory – Woody Guthrie was sick, in his last days, and Dylan was asked to write something about Guthrie…this is what came of it…Enjoy?...

Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVbr0y8zp68

Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb

When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb

When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace

In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race

No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up

If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup

If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on

And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone

And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it

And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it

And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long

And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong

And lonesome comes up as down goes the day

And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away

And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'

And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'

And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys

Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys

And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'

And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'

And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'

And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'

And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm

And to yourself you sometimes say

"I never knew it was gonna be this way

Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"

And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat

And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet

And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air

And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare

And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying

And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'

And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet

And you need it badly but it lays on the street

And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat

And you think yer ears might a been hurt

Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt

And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush

When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush

And all the time you were holdin' three queens

And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean

Like in the middle of Life magazine

Bouncin' around a pinball machine

And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying

That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'

But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head

And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed

And no matter how you try you just can't say it

And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it

And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head

And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead

And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth

And his jaws start closin with you underneath

And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind

And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign

And you say to yourself just what am I doin'

On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'

On this curve I'm hanging

On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking

In this air I'm inhaling

Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard

Why am I walking, where am I running

What am I saying, what am I knowing

On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'

On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'

In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'

In the words that I'm thinkin'

In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'

Who am I helping, what am I breaking

What am I giving, what am I taking

But you try with your whole soul best

Never to think these thoughts and never to let

Them kind of thoughts gain ground

Or make yer heart pound

But then again you know why they're around

Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down

"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping

And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping

And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'

And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking

If that was you in the dream that was screaming

And you know that it's something special you're needin'

And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'

And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding

And you need something special

Yeah, you need something special all right

You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track

To shoot you someplace and shoot you back

You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler

That's been banging and booming and blowing forever

That knows yer troubles a hundred times over

You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race

That won't laugh at yer looks

Your voice or your face

And by any number of bets in the book

Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze

You need something to open up a new door

To show you something you seen before

But overlooked a hundred times or more

You need something to open your eyes

You need something to make it known

That it's you and no one else that owns

That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting

That the world ain't got you beat

That it ain't got you licked

It can't get you crazy no matter how many

Times you might get kicked

You need something special all right

You need something special to give you hope

But hope's just a word

That maybe you said or maybe you heard

On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad

And yer trouble is you know it too good

"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill

And it ain't on Macy's window sill

And it ain't on no rich kid's road map

And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house

And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ

And it ain't on that dimlit stage

With that half-wit comedian on it

Ranting and raving and taking yer money

And you thinks it's funny

No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club

And it ain't in the seats of a supper club

And sure as hell you're bound to tell

That no matter how hard you rub

You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub

No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you

And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you

And it ain't in no cardboard-box house

Or down any movie star's blouse

And you can't find it on the golf course

And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus

And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes

And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons

And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices

That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'

Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin

Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow

Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry

When you can't even sense if they got any insides

These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows

No you'll not now or no other day

Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache?

And inside it the people made of molasses

That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses

And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies

Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny

Who breathe and burp and bend and crack

And before you can count from one to ten

Do it all over again but this time behind yer back

My friend

The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl

And play games with each other in their sand-box world

And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools

That run around gallant

And make all rules for the ones that got talent

And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do

And think they're foolin' you

The ones who jump on the wagon

Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style

To get their kicks, get out of it quick

And make all kinds of rnoney and chicks

And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat

Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that

Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at

Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel

Good God Almighty

THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race

You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face

You gotta look some other place

And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'

Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'

Where do you look for this oil well gushin'

Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'

Where do you look for this hope that you know is there

And out there somewhere

And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads

Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows

Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways

You can touch and twist

And turn two kinds of doorknobs

You can either go to the church of your choice

Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital

You'll find God in the church of your choice

You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion

I may be right or wrong

You'll find them both

In the Grand Canyon

At sundown

Cliché by Garrett Kennedy

When walking the city streets

You catch a glimpse of your reflection

Off a store window

Yeah, you feel cliché

Concluding in your mind that -

Yes, this is exactly how I planned on looking at this young age

It is your prime

Your smile shine from the sarcasm

Proceeded by the realization

You can’t afford what’s beyond your reflection

And you’re no longer laughing

Continuing your walking

That is in no particular direction

To only change your step

Because of the poverty lying

Next to the luxury clothing store

And somehow because of other’s lesser situation

Your facial expression’s restored

Not to confidence, but more so it’s monotone

Like you’re bored

But you’re no longer adolescent

And recently you’ve realized

That’s the only time when you have time to be bored

You wish you could afford some of that

Rather than that sweater that was on that rack

That was beyond your reflection

And yes, you have changed your perception

As you reflected that the once needed sweater –

With the horse

When taken out of the store and stored in your own closet

Well, it ain’t that needed anymore

So you ask what else does this life have in store

Keep walking and learn some more

Keep walking and learn some more

(short pause)…

Go to school

Learn the golden rule

Forget it the day after graduation

You should have learned patience

But didn’t

And now all you feel is -

The constant act of being on the run

You want to be like those writers

That make your mind run

But don’t know they’re always

“In the constant act of becoming” -

Vonnegut

And you don’t just want something, no

You still want everything under the sun

But sometimes it gets cold

And you don’t know your role

And all they can give you as advice is to -

Just keep rolling

So you tell yourself to

Just keep writing

And reading

And maybe it’ll add up to that arithmetic

If that’s what you’re after anyways

Spending many days in this haze

Just to make it sound inspiring, it’s a poetic phase

Leading you to the man

If he asks you, “How does it feel?”

You keep quiet, you keep it concealed

Everyone running ‘round trying to keep real

When if it’s happening - it’s oh too real

Talk is cheap

And people will pay millions to let mouths run

Just don’t let the chatter make you run from

Whatever it is you’re chasing

And question whether what you’re chasing is real

Sooner, but more likely later

It will be revealed

Clocks stole hours away as you wondered

What could have been

You’re guilty of thy sin whether or not in thy religious bin

Hindering your within

It’s known that it’s within you

From your mother to friend

To the stranger lying back then

It’s the places our minds are in

Nobody knows how to deal with the questioning

But all have ideas

Fears - keeping you from pursuing

Not ruining life, but also not truly living life

There is so much more you could be giving this world

But - but you just don’t know

(short pause)

I just don’t know

All this stuff that makes life rough

It feels like it’s shoved in your face

No matter where you go you feel liked your chased

Don’t look in the mirror as much anymore

You don’t recognize the face

Did you waste that day

That too fast became yesterday

Should you stay for one more drink

When on the brink of something

But, but you feel it slipping

You just can’t poeticize the description

Can you poeticize a prescription?

There certainly ain’t no doctor that can prescribe a prescription

That will get me back to the days of living

And neither will that sweater

And I know that was beyond your reflection

Until now

Find time to afford this.