Mongrels and Misfits Read online

  eventhorizonpg.com

  So ... why should you bother perusing this book?

  Beats me. I’m open to suggestion.

  I’ve always wanted to write a book of some sort ... not a mishmash of stuff I’ve already written, but—you know—a real book. In trying to release a few creative blocks and get a foot into this new world (one that deals not with sound, but with strictly text instead), a couple of friends of mine suggested that I put out an anthology of my lyrics. Bingo. We all have to start somewhere, and it got the ball rolling, anyway. Many folks have asked me over the years where they could find lyrics to this, that, or the other. Some might call it an anthology, or if you don’t read music, I guess you could call it a songbook.

  As I began what was initially a quasi-mindless task of typing up six albums’ worth of lyrics, it occurred to me that I could also include lyrics I’d written for other recordings I’d been involved with or groups I was a part of (such as Tornaod or The Poor Clares, respectively). But why stop there? I’ve also included a whole lot of unreleased stuff here—songs I’ve never recorded, lyrics I haven’t yet put music to, some random poetry—the ones that got away. Songs that for some reason or another didn’t seem to belong on any of my albums; the true misfits among misfits. Perhaps someday they’ll pop up in subsequent recordings, but for now they are here amongst the “official” songs for you to ponder. (And yes, there are a few songs included which no longer delight me—and delight others even less so—but I decided I’d throw in the cheesy with the profound.)

  It’s been enlightening for me to go back and look at over 25 years’ worth of writings in one fell swoop. Some of these were cannibalized from snippets of songs I had written in my teens, only to be reassembled in adulthood in a grisly fashion that might make Mary Shelley shudder. The whole process has been nostalgic, frightening, heartwarming, and amusing...but always leads me to the same thought: Where did these years go?

  BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!

  How does one break into this thing called “fiction”? For me, it was hanging out with my friends who already were writers, most of whom were already established in the sci-fi, fantasy, or horror vein. A perpetual mimic, I decided to follow in their examples.

  Preternatural New Orleans: it’s been written about a thousand times over, doubtlessly better than I ever could—not that this was going to stop me from trying. The one different perspective I could offer was from the point of view of its working musicians...not the pretty little vampiric divas, but the folks who have to haul their gear along endless city blocks, deal with drunken hecklers, and make sure that they aren’t getting stiffed at the end of the night. In short: my own experiences and those of my friends in the scene who deal with the ups and downs that come with that territory. Friends I seldom see because I’m so busy with my own gigs.

  But truthfully, in order to remain gainfully employed in music—even if it’s just picking up a blues gig here and then a country gig there—we all have to be shapeshifters to some degree.

  By the time I had finished what was originally intended to be a short story, it looked back at me with wild eyes, daring me to make it Chapter One of something bigger, so there’s a chance that you haven’t heard the last from this fictitious broody bass player and her companions.

  But I digress. Enjoy!

  — BWP, July 2013

  I have fallen on strange times, and am falling farther still

  I arrive on borrowed fortune and a flame yet to fulfill

  Still, we play the apex, fleeting moment everlasting

  Resound with brazen laughter in crude delights contrasting

  The call to order kindles in a room without a view

  Raise a glass to ingenuity, here’s to you

  The gods are wise in the gifts that they bestow

  Because Venus loves you more than you will know

  Now, I can’t see the ground for all the stars that fill my eyes

  And if I gaze forever, I might never improvise

  Ready to appoint, but it’s pointless to obsess

  Mortals cannot court a sunset, or feel the moon’s caress

  The call to order kindles in a room without a view

  Raise a glass to ingenuity, here’s to you

  The gods are wise in the gifts that they bestow

  Because Venus loves you more than you will know

  It seems a sacrilege to wish upon that evening star

  But all I wish tonight is to be seen as on a par

  Strive to match the pace while the constant crowd is raving

  Without or within, I pray they cannot see my craving

  The call to order kindles in a room without a view

  Raise a glass to ingenuity, here’s to you

  The gods are wise in the gifts that they bestow

  Because Venus loves you more than you will know

  Drinking with divinity, let no one intervene

  Raucous mirth for Bacchus, and tonight I am the queen

  Perched upon the pinnacle, and searching I remain

  For another apex dawning, midsummer night’s refrain

  The call to order kindles in a room without a view

  Raise a glass to ingenuity, here’s to you

  The gods are wise in the gifts that they bestow

  Because Venus loves you more than you will know

  I’m tenacious, quite voracious

  My attention span’s too spacious

  From such phrenic stock, you hope I’m just misread

  It’s not your pathos I’m ignoring

  It’s just some wavelength I’m exploring

  Though it seems I’m wrong inside my head

  Your logic subjugates emotion

  And dismisses any notion

  Your talk of sound and fury leaves me jaded

  In a blink, I’m unaware

  Of this world which doesn’t care

  For enlightenment is clearly overrated

  You drone on of family curses,

  Savage nobles, epic verses

  The half-life crisis threatening your nuclear cocoon

  My daydream bliss is marred

  As once again I’m caught off guard

  By your grand hubristic, sanctimonious swoon

  My intentions well and good,

  I try to follow as I should

  With a veil between my thoughts and your despair

  And though I struggle to emerge,

  This lack of focus is my scourge

  So I blame the color of my hair

  They say that ignorance is bliss

  But try to make some sense of this

  The diagnosis is what the majority votes

  But what care I for majority

  With their smug superiority

  I wrote this while I should have taken notes

  I try hard to convince

  That it’s mental self-defense

  In hopes that all the pragmatists will condescend to like me

  And if then they wish to venture

  With no intention to indenture

  I say, welcome to the treehouse of my psyche

  Your conversation is a bore

  With talk of pestilence and war

  A cognitive perversion

  This avoidance dream diversion

  I have had too much today

  This tiresome display

  Hear my grand solution

  To this stimulus pollution ...

  They say two mountains in this lifetime

 
May share a range, but never meet

  But Mohammad, he knows where to find me

  He knows every crevice, cliff, and peak

  Reality is relative

  But this ache for you cuts to the core

  And it’s realer than anything

  I’d ever thought I’d felt before

  Oh, heed the music tonight

  And pray, disregard the former

  Stolen glances, whirling dances

  Can gradually lead your thoughts astray

  From every wandering eye

  To every forbidden corner

  I will seek you through the crowds at night

  And help you find your way

  Land-lover, wildwood creature

  Lead me to this sacred place

  As I’m drowning in a sea of fantasy

  Rapture seizes control of your face

  But you’re the balance of this dance now

  I secretly smile and await your cue

  Take your hand, exit stage left

  Hidden in aesthetic perfection with you

  Oh, heed the music tonight

  And pray, disregard the former

  Stolen glances, whirling dances

  Can gradually lead your thoughts astray

  From every wandering eye

  To every forbidden corner

  I will seek you through the crowds at night

  And help you find your way

  You knew from the very first dance we’d be one someday

  Oh, poor Ignatius Reilly in his great green hunting cap

  You can’t mistake his trademark headpiece pulled down at the flaps

  For it’s in the heart of New Orleans

  The setting of egregious scenes

  That are all caused by one Ignatius Reilly

  Superbly ill-adjusted to the Crescent City’s mores

  And pompously he denigrates debauchery and whores

  Opposed to every form of sex

  But sometimes dreams of his late dog Rex

  And a great dilemma tears at I. J. Reilly

  There’s no employer who meets his gargantuan demands

  In factories and weenie vending he wins no new fans

  For each attempt at mutiny

  Is met with sad hilarity

  It’s the fault of no one, save that madman Reilly

  Mendacious! Rapacious! Pugnacious! Ignatius!

  Audacious! Loquacious! Good gracious! Ignatius!

  To leave New Orleans makes him ill, don’t get him on a bus

  Upsetting him in any way just might make him combust

  Theatrical and paranoid

  That troubled valve he can’t avoid

  What a hypochondriac is Mister Reilly

  Strippers, cops, and ne’er-do-wells get caught up in his drama

  Party hosts and pinup bigots likewise meet their trauma

  So many players intertwined

  By one unwitting mastermind

  Oh, the scheming, slovenly buffoon is Reilly

  Now our Big Easy prides itself upon its many quirks

  It often shrugs good-naturedly when systems go berzerk

  And it’s on Canal Street you can see

  Where the D.H. Holmes clock used to be

  Immortalized in bronze: Ignatius Reilly!

  Mendacious! Rapacious! Pugnacious! Ignatius!

  Audacious! Loquacious! Good gracious! Ignatius!

  I see a black swan rising

  While around me fiends disguising

  False prophets proselytizing

  Revelations realizing

  Run with the dog men and leave your mark

  Walk with the wounded and send forth your spark

  Work on the Sabbath and turn no stone

  Cast out your demons and need not atone

  Stoic waking

  Lively dreams

  Life’s no longer

  What it seems ...

  Swan bows his head in grieving

  Redemption soon receiving

  While shadows fall, deceiving

  And minds still unbelieving

  Shamelessly honor your craving for doom

  Soothe a companion, or temper a room

  Throw off the shackles of hatred and need

  Sacrifice slumber that seraphs succeed

  Stoic waking

  Lively dreams

  Life’s no longer

  What it seems ...

  Black wings strongly beating

  The air around me heating

  Catch the moment fleeting

  The barest tender greeting

  Sing to the cygnets that dwell in the nest

  Forge a great fortress for those you love best

  Rise from the water and teach them the game

  Show them the strength they may need for the same

  Stoic waking

  Lively dreams

  Life’s no longer

  What it seems ...

  Those who dance must pay the piper

  But the piper is now far away

  There’s nothing anyone can do

  To convince me that it’s okay

  The three of swords turned up

  That I failed to recognize

  I ignored every warning

  Now this is my demise

  And the nectar wells up sweetly

  But then my name is mud

  I must flee the situation

  Before nectar turns to blood

  Blood and nectar …

  I can recognize a hunter

  And I even saw the tracks

  I was a lonely she-wolf howling

  Trying to fit in with the pack

  It all was just a pipe dream

  And reality is cruel

  I wanted to play the jester

  But I ended up the fool

  Hopeful hedonistic dreams

  Give rise to beat the odds

  Shall I drink the wine of mortals

  Or the nectar of the gods?

  And the nectar wells up sweetly

  But the blood is poisoned too

  And the song is too sweet to resist

  Which path will I choose?

  Blood and nectar …

  Who can feel a heart of steel cold-tempered and chrome-plated?

  Bent in half, we’ll have a laugh at monsters we’ve created

  Paradise rising, warming the fray

  Tasty redemption not far away

  Drink to the life we can’t forget

  A time when there was no pain yet

  Bulletproof jacket forged out of scorn

  Tender emotions plucked like a thorn

  Wise scry asks me why I’m sitting on the fence

  Stand tall and build a wall, and it will all make sense

  Meaningless chatter, talk is so cheap

  If you fall for it, costs you a heap

  If you sit on the fence at all

  You might as well just build a wall

  Bulletproof jacket forged out of scorn

  Tender emotions plucked like a thorn

  Tick tock, my heart is locked shut with an iron key

  Within my breast a treasure chest that none shall take from me

  Treasure is brazen, strength can’t be sold

  Battles aren’t won with weapons of gold

  This time a story to suspend

  That’s not how it’s supposed to end

  Bulletproof jacket forged out of scorn

  Tender emotions plucked like a thorn

  I am a spirit of your darkest desires, primal escort

  I will be
there from distant fantasy shorelines, if you would call

  Company of only your thoughts is so shrill and nothing can soothe

  But when the royal chief would exercise chaos, bliss conquers all

  Company changes and plans give way

  I will lift you oh, so slowly

  Comfort is always a thought away

  I will hold you in my mind

  All I can offer is sympathy

  I will lift you oh, so slowly

  Would that I could give a piece of me

  I will hold you in my mind

  There is no shame in sordid wanting affection when there is lack

  So when you falter, grab some courage and picture me with a smile

  Are you aware that now I summon you also in my own ways?