I can't sleep…
Glen Hansard and Lisa Hannigan: Falling Slowly.
Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can’t go back
The moods that take me and erase me
And I’m painted black
Well, you have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It’s time that you won
Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You’ve made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I’ll sing it loud
Allen Stone, 28, is an American soul musician from Chewelah, Washington. His website states that people describe him as a soul and R&B singer, yet he sees himself as a “hippie with soul.” Allen Stone began his career singing at his father’s church. His father was a preacher and his mother was an OB/GYN nurse.
Moving a million miles a minute
Slow slow slow
Your pace is dangerously close to the limit
Slow slow slow
Don’t let time slip away
Tomorrow ain’t here today
Wanna get loose?
Then just learn how to pivot
Slow slow slow
[…]
Hidden behind all the time that we keep
Years, months, weeks
I gotta find the right mindset for me
Time ain’t free
Find his website here: Allen Stone
6:28am.
I hit the ignition, the middle aged lady groans but fires.
It’s 23°F and she’s not liking it.
You and me girl, still firin’. Going down with our boots on. Till death do us part.
’70s on 7 are spinning on Sirius.
Drums and Horns lead – and then the band comes in.
YOU only need a FEW bars, and you can feel it: HIT IT.
And I’m off…
Foot leans in on the accelerator.
Traffic in speed lane clears for the DK Express.
Head’s bobbin’. Shoulders’ rockin’. Karaoke winds up.
And here she comes… Continue reading “Driving I-95 S. With A Distant Fire.”
The memory was triggered by a tune played on the car radio on a balmy December day last week. A tune I’ve played hundred’s of times since it was released in 1991. A tune that sits on top of the same playlist that has been transferred from iPod to iPod to iPod to various iPhone upgrades for almost 25 years. It’s Marc Cohn’s hit “Saving the Best for Last.”
Got into a cab in New York City
Was an Oriental man behind the wheel
It wasn’t an Oriental man behind the wheel. It was a cab in New York City. He was in his 60’s. He didn’t do much talking, and certainly not about mansions in heaven.
Started talking about heaven
Like it was real
Said “They got mansions in heaven”
Yeah the angels are building one for me right now…
It was July. The midday heat exploded, and like a desert mirage, the waves were radiating off the Manhattan asphalt. All four windows in the cab were down, hot air was gushing in. I took my jacket off, and loosened my tie.
I couldn’t get the words out: “Can you please turn on the A/C?” It was as if my tongue was jacked with Novocain. A/C Broken or conserving petrol?
We’d lock eyes in his rear view mirror. A Suit staring into the deep dark eye of an elephant, with its leg chained to steel spike.
And I know…
They’re saving the best for last
Look around this town
And tell me that it ain’t so
They’re saving the best for last
Don’t ask me how I know
‘Cause it must be
Saving the best for last for me
There was a 34 oz plastic bottle resting in the console, the Polish Spring label worn from the refilling, the hundreds of grips and re-grips, and the punishing heat magnified through the front window.
Classified ads sit on the passenger seat, folded neatly. A black Bic is clipped to the top left, the plastic cap marked with deep chew marks. Continue reading “Riding Uptown. Saving the Best For Last.”
I wanna lay by a lake in Norway, I
I wanna walk through Swedish fields of green
I wanna see the forests of Finland, I
I wanna sail on a boat on the Baltic sea
I wanna fell the rushing winter, I
I wanna go to my Polish grandmother’s home
I wanna see Hungarian lanterns, I
I wanna woke on a road that leads to Rome
I wanna be free as the winds that blow past me
Clear as the air that I breath
Young as the morning
And old as the sea
I wanna lose myself in the Scottish highlands
the west coast of Ireland
the Cornish breeze
I wanna rest my bones in the Spanish sunshine
the Italian coastline is calling me
to be free as the birds that fly past me
light as the fish in the sea
to be wise as the mountains
and tall as the trees
I wanna be sunny and bright as a sunrise
happy and full as the moon
I’m flinching like fireworks fading too soon
~ Young as the Morning Old as the Sea, Passenger (Mike Rosenberg)
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