Words to Weld By

It seems that I'm one of startlingly few sources of information about the Underwater Welders on the web. I hate responsibility (ask anyone), but thought the least I could do was share some of their (more successful) lyrics.

Not All Weathermen Make Bombs

CHORUS:
she’s so hot she makes tornadoes
when a cold front comes along
she’s so hot she bakes potatoes
by staring out at the lawn
she’s hot she clots
my blood she pots
my bud she trots
like a filly in love!

VERSE 1:
The pressure’s high but that’s no indication
of a let up for this stormy situation
my balloon was up but a gale-force wind destroyed it
When it gets this wet I just tilt back my head and enjoy it.

CHORUS

BRIDGE:
Radar beeps all down my spine
her weather’s fine
but it blows my mind

CHORUS

VERSE 2:
The temperature is growing with intention
grabbing the thermometer’s attention
I’m pulling at my tie like it was a buckle
my baby chokes me up while the anchor chuckles

BRIDGE

CHORUS

VERSE 1

BRIDGE




She Saw Me Crying

VERSE 1:
She saw me crying at the used car lot.
No I didn’t say that I cry a lot.
You really ought to listen better.
I bought a stone cold corvette

CHORUS:
does 0 to 60
and then stalls
We can’t have it all,
no we can’t have it all
cause she saw me crying
I was dying
deep inside
She saw me crying
then heard me lie
men don’t cry

VERSE 2:
She bought me bacon with the greasy fat.
Her subconscious thinks that I am crap.
she’s compensating for my tears
she drives but says I should steer

CHORUS

BRIDGE:
She saw me
though I denied it
She saw me
her eyes decided
my sorrow became a relationship crisis
it’s so unfair I don’t even like this

VERSE 1

CHORUS

Star Treking

This morning I dreamt that the Enterprise was delaying its launch because the crew hadn't gotten their paychecks yet. Captain Kirk was arguing against this, questioning how it is possible to pay them for the full week if Friday still hasn't happened yet.

I have a coworker with the last name of Kirk. I catch myself wondering if she is the great great grandmother of the Captain.

First Cold Morning

Yesterday was the first cold morning of the season, the first time since last spring that the cold was more of a worry than a relief. In order to track it properly I'm setting the date to yesterday. I know this is a terribly dishonest thing for a blogger to do. Hell, it undermines the integrity of blogs everywhere. But I want the date to be right! This is a milestone that can be compared by globally warmer generations of the future.

The Art State

The other day I was listening to somebody cover Van Morrison's Into the Mystic. The guy pulled it off, but damn he had to work hard. Van makes it seem so easy. The difficulty with the song is that it shifts into a much higher intensity in the chorus. The cover man achieved this intensity with a Bluesman's vigor, requiring what is essentially a throaty scream. Van does it some other way, not with energy so much as a state of bliss. It is this state that intrigues me. I think it's the same state one enters to write a great poem. It is the irrational phase of a larger process.

People who don't realize that there is a larger process create crappy poems. What they're missing is the preliminary phase, in which the artisan learns his tools. Through practice, he knows their use so well that when he enters the art state he can use them without thinking about it, allowing his entire brain to safely enter the irrational. Then there's an additional step after the irrational phase. This is the one I have the most difficulty with. I would call it the revision phase. For Van, he can't go back and revise his performance... but he can make adjustments for future performances. Clearly, he's done this over the years. For a poet, it means going back to the same poem and revising it.

Here's where it gets fuzzy for me. The rational mind is brought into play, analyzing the work, but somehow the irrational must still be consulted, so that the whole damn point of the piece isn't ruined.

Many of the Web's dilletantes, including myself, are obsessed with genius, because the genius somehow has all the rational steps taken care of for her. She simply enters her art state and comes out with pure gold. We dilettantes are more likely to come out with pure you-know-what. And it's splattered all over the Web! I think that some people, in reaction to all this scat, corrupt their art state or skip it altogether, creating pieces that are cold or for whatever reason do not compel the reader. And as silly as touchyfeely irrational types are, there is nothing sadder than someone who has lost touch with the irrational. These are the most lost of all, because the irrational still guides their actions, they just can't see it.

More Eskimo

Yesterday I talked about the God that the Eskimo call jaivai. This morning I was feeling what I thought was the same God but then I wondered if this feeling of oneness was actually a feeling of being loved, of knowing that someone was at home who loved me, the same person that I loved. Because this feeling, which can occur alone in a car, is beyond two people loving each other, is in fact a definitive feeling of one's entire experience at that moment, it can also be described as God. The Eskimo term for this God is lavag.

20 Words for God

The Eskimos have 20 words for God, and not useless ones like ours (God, Deity, Allah, Yahweh, I AM, Christ, Jesus, Lord, Savior, Almighty, Redeemer, Holy Spirit), but words that distinguish the many different things we mean when we say God. Today on my drive home I was struck by the beauty of the fall colors muted by the post-rain twilight. I saw God, by which I mean I saw God through His creation, which includes Man's creation. After all, I couldn't see the colors if Man had not cut a swath right through it. And the beauty included everything, every building, even my own car and my own self. All was God. So this God entails not just beauty, but belonging and peace. I suppose there's another word for the 60-foot high bearded fellow in a cloud tunic. Then there's the God is love God, and then there's the God is strings string-theory God (hell yeah, Inuits dig string theory). Then there's the everything has a reason, we just can't see it yet God. What a load of crap He is. Then there's the Divine Watchmaker, of course. That leaves about a dozen or so more. I'll get to them later.

First Geese

Indeed, though this is New Jersey, there are Canadian Geese here all year round, but today I heard the first cries of the great migration, as Canadian Geese descend upon our poor state like drag queens to a Las Vegas convention.

A Rumor

There is a rumor of winter spreading among the trees. Most of them shake it off, scattering a few leaves, while a bold few have put on an entire outfit of orange or yellow. Still others show tentative streaks of red or brown, just in case. The huge maple in my front yard seems quite composed from the street, but my lawn is covered with a panic of colored leaves. The rumor has taken hold. It will only grow stronger. Perhaps winter is nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophesy.