Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Make no mistake,
almighty God will test us
on how much time we waste
arguing over almighty God.

I know a place ten greasy blocks
under ten greasy dives under the tracks,
where I once bought six double-vodkas
for some poor soul who claimed
that he couldn't pray.

I rise early,
watch stubborn light turn November into a gray shiver,
and that ought to be enough.

god, double vodkas and gray skies
sounds like a song waiting for a tune

And I know a place ten greasy blocks
under ten greasy dives, under the tracks,
where I once bought six double-vodkas
for an individual who claimed
that he couldn't pray.

I drink to that!


in that last loney honky tonk on lower broadway, it was just around the corner from the Ryman where Hank sang I seen the light. Always a poet, and a three piece band, it used to be enough for me
Living up the street from this bar/hotel at The Union Gospel Mission. Working at manpower my nights given to music, in music city usa the athens of the south. from lower broadway, to music row, to the college bars near vanderbilt and the parthenon. Jesus loves me yes I know but I would rather pay rent.

thanks for the poem
thanks for the ramble

Yeah I feel those november skies
Pity the poor bastards caught on that mountain pass on a night like that.

What a lost feeling
What a job
trucking was like a childhood wish come true
I was pretty depressed when I lost the road.

Maine got some very sureal frozen fogs.
weather good here
good day for a sailboat
thanks for writing mnaz.

shit,
that's all I do anymore.

Curse the alarm clock,
and the gray leaf-less walls,
and write unfinished songs..
maybe I should finish one.
maybe not..

ran around the block,
wrote to my Congressman.
ran circles around his idiom,
only to end up here,
sippin' on a tall one,
ain't afraid of the crutch,
and the words he spoke
meant twice as much..

Ok, I'm just thinkin' out loud here...

philosophy has it easy;
god punches a clock.
the om and the ocean
are waiting at the dock.
so god went off to med school;
the drugs went straight to his head.
and he argues to the death,
over whether or not he's dead.

so i ran around a clock,
wrote a congressman on the rocks,
ran circles around his idiom,
only to end up here,
sippin' on a tall one,
ain't afraid of a crutch,
and the words he spoke twice
meant half as much.

i know a place ten greasy blocks
from ten greasy dives under the tracks
where i once bought six vodka doubles
for some poor stiff who couldn't pray.
and god still gets up early,
turns black november gray,
and shivers under a hangover,
seems to be the way...

or
so.............I imagine...

note: I forgot a word.

i think it's great.
put a guitar to it and it's a concert.

gotta do something while the vodka gets warm and the ice deteriorates in the Arctic. Might as well sing.