The song remains the same

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During the winter following september 11th, 2001 I was living in Vilnius, Lithuania with my new wife where I had one of my most prolific songwriting periods ever. The following is a song inspired by numbers and the meanings we attach to them.

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Add one two each five four two

 

Nine one one's emerging

synergy held ransom

divisions of neighbors

split violet ends.

Running deep

in the family

of sharing abroad.

As the shock shimmer

showered existence on God.

 

Now the devilish details

retreat to the hills.

Economy offers

the ultimate frill.

A wait for the bus

turns your uncle to dust.

And it's harder to swallow

this planet size pill.

 

Seven zero zero's hero

retired from praying

on Godless Americas

queer loving ways

fell from grace

into Gardas

awaiting embrace.

Kingdom come, kingdom go

while morality plays.

 

Now Vieda is offering

one hundred lats

so string up the dandy

and bring me his spats.

To look but not touch

may be asking to much

'cause the fleas in the house

were brought in by the rats.

 

Five five five disguises.

The prefix is fiction.

Add one to each five

you'll be calling up Satan.

Some numbers mean more

take the stone and the score.

We can count on each other

for what I'm not sure.

 

Now the microbus

sacrifice season begins.

Last dive for the ladies

they're shelling the bridge.

Break the din, down the door,

far less guilty than sore

we'll install a fresh lock

on our reason and live.
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Summer Turns Part 3

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Continued from part 2

It is here that my family's story intersects with the much larger flashbulb moment of 9/11 and it is here that I will take the liberty to break from the narrative form for a moment and delve into realms of perception. 

As with the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated or the explosion of Space Shuttle Challenger everyone has a story of where they were when they heard such news. That is why these moments are called flashbulb moments; they burn into our minds leaving a distinct memory in the same way that a very bright light will leave behind an image before our eyes. Still, although these moments are uniquely shared by the masses they remain a metaphorical Grand Central Station where all of the individual trains are arriving at once. These trains are people and the lifetime that preceded their arrival at the station dramatically effects the impression they will have of the station once they arrive there.

I believe it was the American Lung Association which ran a commercial that warned: “when you can’t breathe, nothing else matters.” Barely able to breathe is how some trains arrived at the station that day and I am sure this equated to barely able to care. I would never tell a person who could barely breathe they were remiss for their lack of compassion or concern but I did have incredible struggles with myself over the fact that I was in love and very, very happy. I refused to let this event dampen that fire in the slightest and consequently, over the next several weeks I found myself hiding my joy from others around me. I also found myself questioning whether or not I was within my rights to be so focused on my own life and happiness at a time when my country was mourning, enraged, confused and in shock. 

Eventually, I realized that there were various realms of perception at play and that my persistent happiness did not imply a lack of caring but simply a willingness to trust my strong instincts that I had invested honestly and innocently in a course of action I believed in and that this simply must be done when the moment arises despite the severity of external circumstance. In fact, I now believe that attempting to alter my perceptions to accommodate the fear and suffering which seemed to be everywhere around me would simply have added more of the same and that would not have done anyone good.

The experience taught me how to truly own a belief in my ability to exist on different levels at once and how to seek and receive council from any of my many minds. 

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