Saturday, August 21, 2010

Ghosts of Belfast


(Or how I learned to write a pidgen's smidgen of Html)


Here's the song... and the lyrics... LOL We're all on a bit of a rough voyage, this life.

the lyrics by Al Stewart

"Oh you slipped away from the harbour side
In the morning bright and clear
And your sails were filled with the rising wind
And you laughed for all to hear
But you never glanced at the ragged dance
Of your lovers on the quay
Don't call on them when the winds rise high
On the dark and the rolling sea

Oh you set your course for the furthest shores
And you never once looked back
And the flag you flew was a pirate cross
On a field of velvet black
And those landsmen who you but lately knew
Were left stranded on the lea
Don't call on them when the storm clouds rise
On the dark and the rolling sea

Oh I have no need of a chart or creed
You told your waiting crew
For the winds of chance, they will bear us straight
And you spoke as though you knew
So you paid no mind to the warning signs
As you gave your words so free
Don't change your tack when the timbers crack
On the dark and the rolling sea

Now the thunder rails in the great mainsails
And the stars desert the skies
And the rigging strains as the hands of rain
Reach down to wash your eyes
And your oarsmen stands with his knife in hand
And his eyes spell mutiny
Don't call my name when your ship goes down
On the dark and the rolling sea"

Oh how I love Magic Realism.

It's a dream where we take the time and try our best to make sense of wheat is often a senseless thing.

War and violence.


We try as intellectual beings to make sence of it. To predict it's coming but in the end it just is what you see in your dreams.


It's why we pray for God.

Some father or mother to tell us that in the end if we survive?

There is a reason for it all..."

LOL It's either this or doing the dishes...


First? Craig Ferguson since he owns the rights to the book...

but if he can loose hold of his ego?...

there is QT.

It's a violent dance, this book, in the wrong hands the movie could become just "white noise" violent. A cliche'. In the right hands, it would become the Dance Macabre of truth real and perceived.

The dark realities mixed with the light of humanity.

Opening scene?

Music from bar. the first part before the song "late again"...

guy at the bar.

sits down.

bartender walks up and hands him a drink

bar's empty but for the guy and the bartender

then he looks to his left and right

there are people to his left and right

he doesn't breath

just looks down into his drink

that's where he sees a glimpse of the most violent thing

just a glimps

and dark

the story begins.

no opening credits

just the story...

Old guy walking though a field at night. Full moon. He's with a woman and her son. She's singing a traditional song. A lulaby.

slow motion images. montage. of how she came to this story. A wordless explanation, a for telling, to answer the question why. In the background this song.

At 2:18 there's an instumental. Climax of opening story here. Irony in the fact that while the music is in a major almost upbeat key? The images are graphic and violent. While it's happening the old man, the woman, and the boy stand watching. Light reflecting off them like the light from a bonfire. And a bonfire it is. A split second vision of the "fire" and "the troubles" the "sang" in Belfast, Ireland, and the parts of Great Britain it touched.

At 3:08 they are walking back through the same moonlit field. Only now they're not in a black and while time. They're now in a color world.

The next song brings in the body of the movie...

the credits can go at the the end...

psrty on...


More music

Signs and priveledge...


Friday, August 20, 2010

Think of it as..


The Muses' Tango.

A hot afternoon in August.

You're sitting in the garden, drinking tea and trying very hard to escape the heat.

The sound of the ocean below.

Nothing is working to cool you.

Then in they walk.

The smell of skin fresh from the shower.

The sound off their tongue, sweet.

You stretch out on the hammock and listen to the sound of their voice.

Not a drone.


The breeze they form as their words rise and fall cools you.

Their words are soft and cool against your skin.

"Once a long time ago..."


The Muses Tango...


20 August, 2010

"He walked in.



One tequilla sitting in the dark.

Blinds drawn against the white hot.

The fan on the ceiling slowing to a drone.

They didn't have to touch each other to know.

You could feel the heat.

The Muses tango.

Like good sex.

They walked to the beach without a word.

Then into the Gulf.

Drunk on tequilla and the heat.

Back and forth in the salt water.

They drank each other in.

The muses tango.

After a month on the boat, his feet on dry land made him dance.

Sway in a tango with the Earth.

And sway they did.

Under the fan - in the heat.

On sheets wet with his sweat and salt water.

Back and forth

They wrote.

The Muses' tango."

Author Ann

all rights reserved by the author


Lord, what a good song will do to a person...



...somewhere in the deep south...



...somewhere in the Deep South


We were in line waiting to pay for gas.

He had a hula girl on the dashboard. She was beautiful. When the wind blew she would sway back and forth. "Buenos diaz" was the price to see her dance.

I didn't speak Spanish and he didn't speak English. So I pointed and swayed back and forth.

Then he laughed, said the word "Arizona", and bent over to pick up the side of his car.

The car shook.

She shimmied.

We both smiled because it was magic...."




"It's part of my community service. No, I can't. Yes -- no --- hang on --"

"I need to buy some hangers. Get my clothes out of that suit case so I can actually live somewhere."

These three were amazing. Tats up and down the legs. Rail thin. I couldn't decide who they were. In the middle of the canned food section in the WalMart. We kept running into each other. I wanted to stop and ask them where they were from. Interview them. Take their photos. So exotic to me. Like aliens from another star system or indie singers from NY or LA. Dark angels in henna tats getting supplies. They should be running around in limos to a club, not buying groceries in the WalMart.



Not all "skips" fit...


I read that all the things we do and say find there way up to outter space until something sends it back to Earth years and years (and years) later... Got me thinking about what I say.

I'm saving future generations by actually thinking about what I have to say before I say it ...

Of course writing is a whole other thing...

I can write anything I dam well please...

"you can see the moonlight on your hands and on the person you're with..."


The Sun came up...


and I was on the Gulf of Mexico.


About the term "Magic Realism" and what that means...

If you drive due South by the compass?

You end up there. It's where I was supposed to end up I guess. A cinder block jukejoint in the middle of a cotton field.


"...when love comes to town I'm gonna' jump that train..."

LOL One night only...

Read this and then close your eyes so that you can see it.

When the moon is really full and you hit a stretch of beach without all the "light polution", the sand glows. You can "see" your hands and the person you're with.

Choose wisely...
The dogs are barking.
Might have company.

Gotta go...


"I did what I did..."


Last night I was driving home in the dark...

The road from where I was to where I was going was curvy, dark, and --

well I once passed a big ole owl sitting in the middle of the road eating --
uh --


If the top's down, and the moon's gone? You can see things. When the moon's full? You can see more -- things. Anyway I got a "skip" from somewhere on the radio and the next thing I know the words, "...when love comes to town I'm gonna jump that train..." comes out of the speakers.

It was riding a bass line that was movin like really good sex.

Not too fast.
Not too slow.
In the groove...