Do you have to know?

how did they carry the rocks to Stonehenge

and why would they bring them there?

did the gods come down to feel the ground

and leave behind their chairs?

Or maybe angels built a tomb

for all the questions shadowing earth and the moon

you wanna know where you’re coming from

you wanna know where you go

there’s nothing your mind doesn’t wonder about

cuz you’re a creature with a curious soul

but momma always told me

some things are better left unknown

a secret needs its mystery

like a fire needs the coal

so if you’re burning to know

sonny don’t get too close

let the darkness have its night to hide

and the graveyards keep their ghosts

He's a Dead Man

I took a break from my work and walked over to the pub next door for a drink and a casual conversation. I happened to sit next to two women in their late fifties. One of them wanted very much to know where I'm staying and kept emphasizing that she is the post-lady in this town. She was far from sober. I told her I didn't know the house number. The other lady was from Wales but moved to Virginia decades ago where she became very successful raising and training horses. She told me a story of a man that came to cut down some trees in her yard and refused payment. Touched by his generosity she invested in a logging business with him. It bloomed as did their love and after six years they planned on getting married. The wedding was set for this September and much of her family was planning on flying over from England to attend the joyous celebration. Her sister flew into Dallas, so the lady went to meet her there. When the two got back to Virginia, the logger was gone with all the money. Turns out he knocked up some 25 year old woman too. He's a dead man, she says. She's going to kill him.
I finished my pint and went back home, making sure the post-lady wasn't watching which way I walked.

Very Polite Indeed, Mizer Price

Is it worth being polite when you don't mean it? Maybe once, twice.
But if you are constantly holding in what you actually want to say -
well, you can still be polite, but say what you bloody mean!
Otherwise, how can anyone know what's really happening and how you actually feel.

I was recording a song in my bedroom late Sunday afternoon - just some acoustic guitar and vocals.
Alex falls into my room in his bathrobe screaming at me - complaining about my
constant music playing and singing and then the waterfall started. He has TRIED to be polite... 
but I don't seem to get it, he yells.
He began listing off all the tiniest things that have bugged him over the past three months of me living there.
I stood and listened calmly, which aggravated him even further and he ordered me to get the hell out immediately.
I did just that. Packed my things and am staying with a friend now.

The funny thing is - Alex is not my landlord. His mother is. All financial agreements and otherwise were
communicated between her and I. And yet, this thirty some year old jobless coked out drunk, who is nothing but a burden to his poor old widowed mother, kicks me out in a bloody rage for playing music. I'm sure Francis Barraud would be so proud of his descendent.

Plenty of musicians get kicked out at least once in their life. Let's hope it's only once.