Dream Love
Good morning. Just got off the phone with Jr. who spent her first night in Weehawkin and has already seen a ghost! Male figure standing next to a ladder that she thought was Troy until she realized Troy was asleep next to her. LuLu went into the extension in the middle of the night and barked her head off until Jr. went and picked her up. Poor Jr.! Jr. and Troy June have much work to do in new house. Everyone say a prayer!
Kids are gone this weekend and I am going into NYC tonight to a poetry reading. Hurray! LC, if you are reading this, email me. Maybe we can have dinner afterwards. Indian? Have to figure out how to hook up new printer so I can print out new poems to bring, I think there's an open mike afterward. Anybody in the NYC area at six tonight, go to the Cornelia Street Cafe to hear excellent poets Miriam Stanley and Jackie Sheeler read.
So much to do here. Apt. needs to be condemned. Listening to the Siren Songs internet channel though, which will make it easier. Why do I hate cleaning so much? I hate mess, but that doesn't make me like cleaning any better.
My dreams have been like scenes from chick flicks lately. Romance to the nth degree, forbidden love, a little kissing, much longing, no sex, just powerful attraction and love like a teenage crush. Men from my everyday life that I don't actually like in that way...guess they're symbols. I'm a little nonplussed, what is going on with my head?
Time to vacuum. And fold clothes. And maybe read a little Shipping News in between. Have a wonderous day all.
Amelia
I was driving across the burning desert
When I spotted six jet planes
Leaving six white vapor trails across the bleak terrain
It was the hexagram of the heavens
It was the strings of my guitar
Amelia, it was just a false alarm
The drone of flying engines
Is a song so wild and blue
It scrambles time and seasons if it gets thru to you
Then your life becomes a travelogue
Of picture-post-card-charms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm
People will tell you where theyve gone
Theyll tell you where to go
But till you get there yourself you never really know
Where some have found their paradise
Others just come to harm
Oh amelia, it was just a false alarm
I wish that he was here tonight
Its so hard to obey
His sad request of me to kindly stay away
So this is how I hide the hurt
As the road leads cursed and charmed
I tell amelia, it was just a false alarm
A ghost of aviation
She was swallowed by the sky
Or by the sea, like me she had a dream to fly
Like icarus ascending
On beautiful foolish arms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm
Maybe Ive never really loved
I guess that is the truth
Ive spent my whole life in clouds at icy altitude
And looking down on everything
I crashed into his arms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm
I pulled into the cactus tree motel
To shower off the dust
And I slept on the strange pillows of my wanderlust
I dreamed of 747s
Over geometric farms
Dreams, amelia, dreams and false alarms
Joni Mitchell
Good morning. Just got off the phone with Jr. who spent her first night in Weehawkin and has already seen a ghost! Male figure standing next to a ladder that she thought was Troy until she realized Troy was asleep next to her. LuLu went into the extension in the middle of the night and barked her head off until Jr. went and picked her up. Poor Jr.! Jr. and Troy June have much work to do in new house. Everyone say a prayer!
Kids are gone this weekend and I am going into NYC tonight to a poetry reading. Hurray! LC, if you are reading this, email me. Maybe we can have dinner afterwards. Indian? Have to figure out how to hook up new printer so I can print out new poems to bring, I think there's an open mike afterward. Anybody in the NYC area at six tonight, go to the Cornelia Street Cafe to hear excellent poets Miriam Stanley and Jackie Sheeler read.
So much to do here. Apt. needs to be condemned. Listening to the Siren Songs internet channel though, which will make it easier. Why do I hate cleaning so much? I hate mess, but that doesn't make me like cleaning any better.
My dreams have been like scenes from chick flicks lately. Romance to the nth degree, forbidden love, a little kissing, much longing, no sex, just powerful attraction and love like a teenage crush. Men from my everyday life that I don't actually like in that way...guess they're symbols. I'm a little nonplussed, what is going on with my head?
Time to vacuum. And fold clothes. And maybe read a little Shipping News in between. Have a wonderous day all.
Amelia
I was driving across the burning desert
When I spotted six jet planes
Leaving six white vapor trails across the bleak terrain
It was the hexagram of the heavens
It was the strings of my guitar
Amelia, it was just a false alarm
The drone of flying engines
Is a song so wild and blue
It scrambles time and seasons if it gets thru to you
Then your life becomes a travelogue
Of picture-post-card-charms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm
People will tell you where theyve gone
Theyll tell you where to go
But till you get there yourself you never really know
Where some have found their paradise
Others just come to harm
Oh amelia, it was just a false alarm
I wish that he was here tonight
Its so hard to obey
His sad request of me to kindly stay away
So this is how I hide the hurt
As the road leads cursed and charmed
I tell amelia, it was just a false alarm
A ghost of aviation
She was swallowed by the sky
Or by the sea, like me she had a dream to fly
Like icarus ascending
On beautiful foolish arms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm
Maybe Ive never really loved
I guess that is the truth
Ive spent my whole life in clouds at icy altitude
And looking down on everything
I crashed into his arms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm
I pulled into the cactus tree motel
To shower off the dust
And I slept on the strange pillows of my wanderlust
I dreamed of 747s
Over geometric farms
Dreams, amelia, dreams and false alarms
Joni Mitchell
posted by MJ at 8:45 AM
4 Comments:
Mj,
Thank you for an excellent night of poetry, music, dinner and talk. Beautiful as always.
RE: the "Crush". I often think that desire is preferable to satiation. Humans are questing creatures. The human heart, a longing dreamer. The ache of "not having" is often sweeter than satisfaction. I find as a composer that the unknown moment, which lays before me when working, is ripe with hope and thrilled over just what might emerge as I fall for (and in love) with a new work. The same is true for all of us as travelers in this infinite mystery. Longing and desire are both contractions (the bow string pulled back) whereas "having", a relaxation (the arrow fired). I believe it's called a crush as the heart is compressed and therefore crying out for release. That's a beautiful, if painful, mortal moment. Not much in the way of emotions to rival it. Michaelangelo, towards the end of his life, began to leave his sculptures "unfinished". I think that was an effort to leave them in that longing state, forever on the brink of, but not with the embrace of, love. That, to my mind (and heart) might just be the best, if loneliest, place to dwell. Our lives are, after all, poetry itself.
Yes, the journey better than the destination. You are a beautiful soul LC.
Sometimes, but sometimes the journey sucks too...what then???
ah, you're a hopeless romantic, Mary Beth!
"I hate mess, but that doesn't make me like cleaning any better."
lord, i know. I must find some strange comfort in chaos.
------
I couldn't say it better than le compositeur.
that ache is better than feeling nothing, i think.
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