The fairest of the wars

I did not start this blog to talk about my personal life, suffice to say - that would be very complicated. I'm going through some stuff, I'd like to be posting more - I appreciate the phone calls, I really do.

Here is what I can tell you, running errands today these two songs were speaking to me through my MP3 player.

The first is from Nico, you might remember this from The Royal Tenenbaums, or maybe - like me, you are a Velvet Underground fan. Maybe you remember Nico as the Warhol factory muse who fell of her bicycle and died... the song is Fairest of the Seasons

Now that it's time
Now that the hour hand has landed at the end
Now that it's real
Now that the dreams have given all they had to lend
I want to know do I stay or do I go
And maybe try another time
And do I really have a hand in my forgetting ?

Now that I've tried
Now that I've finally found that this is not the way,
Now that I turn
Now that I feel it's time to spend the night away
I want to know do I stay or do I go
And maybe finally split the rhyme
And do I really understand the undernetting ?

Yes and the morning has me
Looking in your eyes
And seeing mine warning me
To read the signs carefully.

Now that it's light
Now that the candle's falling smaller in my mind
Now that it's here
Now that I'm almost not so very far behind
I want to know do I stay or do I go
And maybe follow another sign
And do I really have a song that I can ride on ?


The second is from TV on the Radio, the song is I was a Lover a band I could tell you personal stories about from my Brooklyn days, and maybe someday I will, for now I leave you with this and am off to Brooklyn myself to dance away at least some of my problems.

I was a lover, before this war
held up in a luxury suite, behind a barricaded door
now that I've cleaned up, gone legit
I can see clearly: round hole
round whole, square peg don't fit

I'm locked in my bedroom, so send back the clowns
my clone wears a brown shirt, and I seduce him when there's no one around
mano y mano, on a bed of nails
bring it on like a storm, till I knock the wind out of his sails
And we don't make eye contact, when we have run-in's in town
just a barely polite nod, and nervous stares towards the ground
I once joined a priest class, plastic, inert
in a slowdance with commerce
like a lens up a skirt

And we liked to party
and we kept it live
and we had a three volume tome of contemporary slang
to keep a handle on all this jive