port-o-jon ponderings

The tree is shiny, reflecting the rainbow of rotating light. The stockings are slightly swaying over the gas logs which flicker two eerie horns of nearly invisible flame. The multiple advent calendars, caught in the rumpled bed clothes of 2007, have yet to move past an infamous day. The holiday bulls-eyes are up on the doors. The poinsettias are thriving- I thought they would be dead by now. The Christmas music tries cheerfully to push out any thoughts of doubt and fear, whispering between lyrics, "No despair as we look towards a new year." The trash cans are full of Puffs Plus. The mugs are warm with hot cocoa or tea. The star lights glow in the plastic garlands on the mantel and the blessed stair railing on the second floor which keeps the youngsters from quick, painful trips down to the first floor.
The house is cozy except when there is a breeze outside. When it rains we have a river in the basement and a beautiful fountain which trickles from above the dining room picture window - soft tears that play a delicate melancholy rhythm on the sill. There are dust bunnies of flokati and cotton balls from nativity craft lambs- small shearlings scattered on the floor, blowing like fluffy-white tumble weeds, leading us to the small Christ child hiding in the corner. We wait for Jesus to come this year as every year, but somehow it is different. Somewhere something got lost or perhaps found. Is it because I believe it? Is it because I only want to believe? Do I wait only to celebrate his birth? Am I no longer impatient for his speedy return? Eager to raise my glass at his table? That cup for which he has been waiting so long to drink? Do I even believe in that table? Do I long too much to stay in this world, with my tv, wii, and children? Many days I wish to run away, but where would I go?

Perhaps, I could hide in the outhouse until the season passes and there are no reminders left of all my questions until everyone starts pulling out their bunnies and eggs.

just dropping a sounding line

As I recently walked the realm most call "Reality" I realized I had lost something of myself.

Somewhere between here and the tangible world, I misplaced my ability to reason. Now that I am attempting a return to my head- I am finding these doors as locked to me as the physical doors of my house to which I can never again return. St. Elmo has sent me on my way, drifting down my stream of consciousness. He waves near the shore and bids me, "Khada hafiz, Aloha, Adios, Vaya Con Dios, Bon Voyage, and God Speed you anywhere but back here!"

In this ocean of words swimming on a virtual page- I seem to have lost my imagination. I have gotten the whole thing mixed up. I left reason in here and imagination out there. But even in here, on the glowing page of this book- my lap warmer, my reasoning is shoddy at best.

I feel no depth below this vessel, like I am about to scrape bottom, but I suppose that means I will be landing soon. And now I have to ask, "Where am I? And who’s the skinny guy in the red shirt and floppy white hat? And how does he keep his shoes so clean?"

amaranth

The smell of death surrounds me
Stinking in my nostrils
My brothers carry me to the burial grounds
Throw me on the heap of carcasses

We writhe
We are not dead- yet
Our souls are crushed and oozing from our wounds
We are hurting
You would bury us and cover our stench

Will no one wash us and make us clean?
Let us join the living
Let us dance
Let us sing
We have songs
But our throats are choked with sorrows
The pain snaps our chords
Our songs are sad but beautiful
They are True

Do you see us?
We are the invisible
Only known to you by the discomfort we bring you
The stink and the sharp wailings that scrape at your soft mind
Your fragile wall

Toss us aside
Cover your eyes
Try not to hear
Our groans pounding out of rhythm
Our breaking hearts clanging to the ground
Discord
The melody is wrong
The words are mixed up

The maggots are wriggling from your walls
They are coming for us
Will they devour us?
Who will help us?
We are helpless
Our legs are broken and cannot express our hearts
We wave them at you, yet you do not understand
We are the grotesque
We are the depraved
We are the unsaved
We are calling you
Crying your name in the darkness
But our voices are harsh

The dirt is falling on us
You are pouring your pain on us
Covering us in all our sins

We are drowning
We die alone together
We cannot even comfort each other

Have I only imagined these others with me?
Perhaps I am alone
The writhing I feel is my own body
Twitching
Convulsing
I cannot get right
My left breast is crushed under a heavy boot
As a gentle hand tears the cross from my throat

The death rattle in my chest frightens me
The rasping of my breath as I struggle to stay afloat
In this sea of suffering
How can I expect you to understand
You are higher than I am
I thought we were all the same
I thought I was different
Exceptional
I am the dirt
You walk me and I groan under your feet
You kick my brittle bones
They break and scattered like dry leaves

I am the inherently loved
I am the inherently rejected
I am the inherently wrong
I am the inherently dead

No morning
No mourning today
Nothing has been lost
Broken things are to be thrown away

A flower will grow
An amaranth for your table
Dripping soft and red

Love Lies Bleeding

monkey man and me

Monkey Man in your green tree
Sing so happy, swinging free
Monkey Man, I can see
I can see you see me
Monkey Man, climb on down
No, there's no one else around
Monkey Man, hold my hand
I promise I will understand
Monkey Man, touch my face
No, there's no better place
Monkey Man, kiss my skin
Hold me dear, I'll let you in
Monkey Man, can't you see
Just how sweet it can be
Bananas and termites for all of our days
I love you forever now and always


In 2001 in New Delhi there were several sightings of a strange, hairy Monkey Man. A reward was offered for his capture while state side NRI's called for acceptance of and reconciliation with the mysterious Monkey Man.

Whiny Over Water

Downtown, that's where the lights are bright.

Friday evening I was finally able to take my sister out for her birthday. It was sort-of last minute. I picked up an Enigma Magazine at the urging of Jessica P. Wallin, and noticed that Milele Roots was playing at R&B. I have been trying to see them for over a year. The last time I had seen them was with my sister. So we made a date for later that evening!

I took her up to the Hunter- she's not been since the addition. I told her how I missed the special hidden spot at the end of the parking lot, behind the dumpsters- a friend had shown me a long time ago. He and I played in the aquarium fountains when they were new and then climbed through the woods to sit there. We watched a few people enjoying the river walk and we listened to the tree frogs. I wish I could remember our conversations... philosophy, religion, our histories. Strange how when we are with a close friend just hanging out we simply expect we will always be enjoying the same rituals for years together? Unfortunately, we lose those ordinary precious experiences if we do not pay close attention; because eventually we are no longer close, and those moments become lost in history existing only as a rich velvety colour in our memories. I no longer remember our conversations, but I do remember how much fun we had. So much laughter mingling with the trickling sounds of the fountains and pools- gurgling. Content as we played on the terrace of the Hunter Mansion, looking out over our home town. There were so few people around downtown at that time. Just our voices echoing against the empty buildings. Splashing out across the river. So many years ago. To be remembered again while I was enjoying anew with my sister. Reminiscing over sitting on the retaining wall and the soft green grass, watching Limpopo take the stage during Riverbend. I still remember the child playing next to us- the father keeping a close eye on him. I still can see how strong and agile Yuri was, dancing like a clown on stage and how large that balilika seemed, thumping out it's melodies. Before the Feists moved to Birmingham. Before life became complicated. Before we made choices that changed all of our directions. Before we all lost each other.

I do not want to forget. I do not want to be forgotten.
But more so- I want to remember. I want to be remembered.

amused

The muse,
She does refuse.
I call her to come lie next to me.
She used to come so easily;
Now she laughs and tosses her hair.
I cannot help myself: I sit and stare.
Her heart is fickle as she is fair.

My butt hurts from sitting in this chair

serendipitydoodah

This is a cleaned up, more put together version of a stream of consciousness rant that I wrote earlier this week on MySpace, but then chickened out of posting for public viewing. This is just a better venue for these particular thoughts? Maybe it is the black background. MoSpace is an orange place. My brother called worried about me after reading my original posting- so I will attempt to lighten the moroseness and smarten the moronism of the earlier draft.

Can't sleep. Thinking about Cap'n Kangaroo.

More precisely- the Rabbit who played the piano- he was the best!!! and SIMON!

"Well, y'know my name is Simon, and the things I draw come true. And the pictures take me, take me over. Climb the ladder with you."

I wish I could draw the world as I imagine and then jump into it just like Simon.

I find myself in a place of inexpressible restlessness. When I have recently tried to articulate these inner wrestlings, I get all the advice and answers that I knew I would. All the same things that I have told myself to try to invalidate my thoughts and emotions. I have tried to negate myself. My closest mates don't understand that I am telling them the truth about myself- that I have never been honest with anyone, and now I am trying to be honest. They think I am deluded, that I need counseling... Christian counseling. Problem is I am feeling more in line with Neitzsche at the moment- I guess everyone thought he was crazy too? Ah well, me (Sorry grammar guys and gals, slipping into the vernacular works better)... me and the horse-kissing madman, we'll hang out one day sipping our morning tea or cocoa (no coffee- it "spreads darkness") and talk about how everyone should have just realized that they were all holding themselves back. I wanna be a SuperMan. But...

"Simon, stay within the lines, Love. Don't draw your own reality- that is bad. Look at the mess you've made of things. Here is a colouring book. Mum will wash the fence, now you go play nicely."

Poor Simon and I
Are Going down
Down to the bottom
Of the floor
Just searching for
That enchanted
Chalk line door.

Perhaps I am just bummed 'cause all I really want to do is hop into our tangerine dream and drive- nowhere. Follow the Double Yellow Lines. Wherever those ribbons of moonlit sunshine take me. Are they like a spelunker's ropes that someone rolled out in order to find his way back out of the darkness? Will they lead me in or out? If in, will I find someone at the other end? Someone who understands and says, "You are not crazy, but you are also not normal and going through what everyone else goes through. You are uniquely you finding your own way, though I say, why are you using my guides?! The unusuality of this whole night is like a dream! Where shall we to next?" If it leads me out, will I stumble into the light, and be dazzled? If so, I may go back into the darkness, once again hiding my discontent (without even having to use my super power of invisibility- now you too know my secret). Of course, here I am on a small dark spot of the internet exposing myself. I guess my brother is right, "Blogging is the new exhibitionism." Should I jiggle a bit? ha ha ha. Physically, there's really not much to jiggle, but this brain sure is rattling.

Okay, back up, look up, there are clouds hiding the moon, but she is out there. A cold white eye staring, a giant spotlight glaring, a delicate chalk circle flaking on a blackboard from a time when it was still okay to dream.

I think when I finally implode, when I supernova and finally set off an explosion of self, when I finally do something beautiful, I will have them scatter my ashes in space. I wish they could scatter me on her face, and I could be cold and beautiful too. Unable to feel pain or anything else. No need to be ashamed. No need for anyone to pity me because I am higher than most anyone else has ever been. Just dirt that shines.

I need to find an expression, some form of utterance for this thing I have been living with- this symbiote. I would love to shout so loud that the roof flies away and all I am left with is black sky and at least this one silent wall- holding the chalk drawings of a dreamer.

luv the v-dub

We replaced the stolen orange buddy scooter
"Little Orange Dragon"

with a VW GTI Fahrenheit
"Pokey" (as in Gumby's orange horse-pal.)

Yeah, got a thing for orange.

Doubtless, I will seem a bit small-minded when I admit:
I LOVE THIS CAR!!!!
Attached? You betcha!!!

Pop the top, and let's go for a drive!

-----

It's not Celsius, Baby!
It's Fahrenheit;
So please, can you try to get it right?!

GTI bring on the speed,
An orange streak of fire!
Give the adrenaline that I need.
A rush is all that I require!

Turn up the temperature!
(Going faster)
Shifting into such sweet rapture-
Flying towards our "...ever after"

Down shifting for the curve,
I feel the confident grab.
No need for us to say a word.
The best time we're ever gonna have
Is in this car- flying,
Smiling, without even trying.
Is this all that we've been denying?

Turn up the temperature!
(Going faster)
Shifting into such sweet rapture-
Flying towards our "...ever after"

i believe jon d is overdue

Perhaps not the thing to read on a Friday night...
But maybe just the thing?

MY RETIREMENT PLAN:
Since it already happens, why not? Might as well cash in, right?

One day I will open a bar and call it "The Library": The unashamed premise being that you come to check out and pick up "some reading material" for the night. Our job behind the bar? give you enough alcohol that your heart will be numb enough to believe you are happy. Maybe we will even provide a screening service (medical and criminal records), and we will have card carrying members: a clear symbol of status and distinction!

I can't even check a book out of the library because I hate the idea of returning it. When I "loan out" a book, I usually soon afterwards go out and purchase a new copy for myself. I just hope that the "borrower" will like it enough to hang onto it or pass it on to someone else. I am the girl whom publishers love. I once purchased 3 copies of a single title (at various times)- all of them now long since passed on to others. Because of this ridiculous tendency, we purposefully purchased multiple used paperbacks of Walker Percy's writings. Can't give away our first editions. If I like a book, I read it over and over again. I have not read much- the repetition slows me down.

With this obsessive/ possessive nature of mine, I find the picking up and tossing aside of people quite... disturbing but also fascinating... Kind of like watching the twitching of the huge dying cockroaches that, like left over leaves from fall, litter the restroom floor of the UTC library following Christmas break. Grotesque, but I find I am drawn to observing the delicate legs and waving antennae while the creature lies on its back flailing as it tries to right itself. I wonder, "How did it get on its back in the first place? Why don't they die on their feet? Do they have some sort of seizures that flip them over?" They panic when approached but calm to a gentle scraping of air when they find themselves undisturbed in their dying moments. It probably takes days. I remember visiting one particular insect over the period of a week before it finally disappeared. That was the closest I have come to visiting a dying loved one. I remember one day leaving the restroom with tears in my eyes because I could do nothing for that small body- actually quite wonderful in its complexity. The way its legs attached to its body, the armored body segments. The precise oval shape, the delicately veined wings. Perfection, except for a poison that caused it to flip. A poison that made it unable to function- unable to walk or eat or drink. I knew it couldn't survive the toxins in its system, but I would come and squat by it each day just to ponder its beauty and the strength it had to fight every day to hang onto its minuscule life. It was dying all alone. As far as I know, I was the only one who came to visit. A puff of breath to see if my little friend was still alive. If yes, then a fluttering wave of legs to greet me. How sad the Monday I returned to find he'd been swept away like a stray piece of toilet paper. I had become attached even to a large, dying cockroach.

At least in some matters my nature remains consistent. I become attached and place high value on the people and things that cross my path. I gather them and collect them and ponder them; but I suppose at the same time, there is also a perverse fascination in knowing that we are all dying and that most of the time we don't even realize it. We are all lying on our backs waving our legs at each other. I have heard insects don't feel pain; we have to numb with alcohol, chemicals, pleasures... We could lie on the floor of the bathroom for years, tossing our evening's libations into the toilet, smiling because we had so much fun.

Oddly, the ones who realize they are sad and dying become the outcast... Perhaps it is just too undignified the way we don't stop flailing and trying to right ourselves.

Perhaps we will also provide counselling services at The Library
for all those who really meant the things they said and did the night or the week before.

aboard? no, I said, "abort!"

Sir Richard Branson is making it possible for all of us to travel into space, well... okay, some of us... okay, not many of us at all, but we can all experience Virgin Galactic's outerspace experience through cyberspace. If you've not tried it- you should!!!

Wish I had an extra $200K. Best wishes to all the pioneers!!!

a little ditty for sir dick:

I'm selling my place
And heading for space.
Can't wait to get gone.
It won't be too long...

Hit me with force Mach 3
So I can experience 0G
(Floating free)
All the pressure sliding off from me.

Pushing through the atmosphere;
Punching through this veil of tears.

Don't worry when off I blast
I assume I'm never coming back.
Y'say Major Tom had you sad,
But, Dude, the view! 'tweren't too bad.
Gotta get myself ready to go
Become an astronaut.
Saying "Goodbye" to everyone I know
And selling everything I've got.

Hit me with force Mach 3
So I can experience 0G
(Floating free)
All the pressure sliding off from me.

Pushing through the atmosphere;
Punching through this veil of tears.

Blast me up into space
Far above this human race.
I never seemed to run it well.
I tried, but when I finally fell
I couldn't get my heart to come back 'round.
Ever since, it's been slowin' down.
So I am headed up beyond the sky,
And, at least, if I can't fly,
I'll sure enjoy the way I die.

Hit me with force Mach 3
So I can experience 0G
(Floating free)
All the pressure sliding off from me.
All my troubles scraped off me.

Pushing through the atmosphere;
Punching through this veil of tears.
(Floating free)
All the pressure sliding off from me.
All the pressure sliding off from me.
(Floating free)
(Falling free)

washing all the colours away

Following is a bit of a rant that will most likely interest no one. Like I said awhile back, who really believes that anyone reads or cares about their thoughts? a bit narcissistic, this whole blogging thing, but I am becoming attached.

I have noticed that many people are afraid of colours. I wonder why that is. As children we love them, the brighter the better- so what happens along the way that makes us suspicious and even afraid of vibrancy in colour?

I wonder how do other people choose colours to fill their homes?

We are selling one of the coolest homes in all of Chattanooga, and I worry the young man who is moving in will not appreciate its flow and its uniqueness in room sizes (kitchen, living, dining, bathrooms and bedrooms are big for stelmo. We even have closets and a laundry as well as a West-facing deck with an incredible view of the mountain). Surprisingly though, I am most distressed that he may lack the imagination to appreciate the colours which make this quite the groovy pad.

His mother says he wants to paint it white!!! Of course, considering the cost to paint this house, and that it was painted within the last 2 years and recently touched up, I doubt he will go to that extreme.

The story of choosing a colour scheme:
I wish I could find a before photo of our house. We used to drive passed it, even after a month of living here. Extremely nondescript, bland. Actually kind of ugly. We purchased for the interior. The garden? there was none. Even the trees were sad. We lived with it for almost 7 years before we could afford to do anything about the paint.

It took a few months to choose a palette. The fall months are the best months to research nature's combinations in Chattanooga. I like for a house to complement its surrounding landscape. Living in St. Elmo, we are surrounded by old trees and antique gardens with beautiful spring flowers, but spring is far more fleeting than fall, and the trees are much stronger elements especially as I had not finished the garden plantings at that time.

When trying to make the decision, I would take long walks through the neighborhood. I would stand in front of the beautifully restored Victorians and take note of the variety of colours and how they were used to highlight and accent. One of my favorite homes has, I think it is, 7 different colours- though many of those are in the same family. I would stare at the birds who visited our garden, the stray dogs, the feral cats, the chickens and roosters. On my walks, I would gather fallen leaves, sticks, and rocks. I created a large catalog of purples, reds, goldens, yellows, greens, taupes, pinks, browns and blues- many colours represented on the same leaf, stick or rock. (I love the way there are no "solids" in nature. Every "solid" we see is only an illusion created from the various colours as seen in harmony.)

Bags of nature later, I finally made a decision. I found a small, beautifully patinous spot on our deck- a spot where the sun did not shine during that fabulous, wet season. The wood had weathered to a fantastic clay/ taupe with touches of aubergine mildew and the loveliest aqua lichen. I selected paint swatches, but was unsure how to apply them- body, base, trim, and accent. Thanks to the job supervisor from Randy Wilson, we came up with a lovely scheme that is both in line with the interior exuberance of our home as well as the historic nature of the 'hood.

To think that all the consideration that created this beautiful spot could be washed clean of colour and made glaring white, bleached and lifeless, a skeleton drying in the sun! SIGH!

Why is it that I want to have control in matters where I have no right even to speak? Too attached am I...

Don't tell me this house is not my home
And that neither is this flesh and bone,
I think I just want to be alone.

appetite for entertainment

Cheers and Beers!!!

A better Friday night? Perhaps another... same places, same faces- I see a pattern in my smile.

Rhythm & Brews 2 nights in 1 week. empty pockets.

Thursday: David Wilcox- haven't seen him in 12 years! Early on he played a song I like to sing sometimes for the children when things go all wrong but it is all right. (Like my life.) In fact, the room began to fill with children sometime during the show.

Friday: GNR tribute band, Appetite for Destruction!!! There is nothing like getting into costume, dining on scallops and dancing near the man you love while hidden in a crowd of people- easier to dance while invisible. I even saw a Giant Tiger in the crowd. Perhaps Rock and Roll can save my soul... or send me straight to Hades. I am sure when I get there I will see many familiar faces from the show. I also expect that it won't be too much hotter there than it is here in Chattanooga.

Speaking of invisibility: Why are we so worried about what other people think of us? Especially girls. In the restroom, my friend and I met a beautiful woman fussing with her clothing at the mirror. She was quite stylish in her jeans, layered tops and black vest. Perfect hair and makeup, but she wasn't sure she was good enough. Good grief! Hopefully, she heard the truth we spoke to her. She was beautiful!

Anyway, who cares? It seems each one of us is so preoccupied with self that I don't think any of us really sees anyone else- unless looking to... how do I say it politely... score? Is that euphemism still used? A bit ironic, we were there to see a simulation band, and as the night progressed, Love became victim to a sort of shoddy imitation.

Dear Appetite for Destruction,
Your artful act of simulation
Had a strange effect of permeation,
And I watched in consternation
As throughout our congregation
Love underwent a permutation;
And in our desire for titillation
We pulled the goddess down from her station.
----

On a lighter note... if anyone reads this- Patience: is it "sad woman" or "said woman"? The lyrics sites say "said woman", I always thought it was "sad woman". I want it to be "sad" so it refers to a present, instead of past, conversation. Hmmm, perhaps that's part of her having to be patient: She's not heard from him in awhile...? Okay, so maybe this thought wasn't lighter after all.

"I'M STILL ALRIGHT TO SMILE."

just how did puss cat get to london?

The following rhyme is inspired by true events!
It's a crazy place, but that's part of its charm. I love St. Elmo!
Thanks to MFB for starting me at the very ending.
Colloquial eloquence and wisdom are yours.

Open the door.
Walk the steps.
Make the decision to move
Through space and time.
It's a very fine line,
But you feel in your bones
What you need to do.
The decision seems hard.
It's an awfully big yard
Filled with dangers on left and right.
What needs to be done
You do all alone
When the neighbor kid slips outta sight.

You run 'cross the street
Pavement burning your feet.
You're stealthy and quick as a fox.
Not sure if you oughtta,
But sometimes you gotta
Just get the cat outta the mailbox.

lucky

As a child I learned
The best place to find
A 4-leaf clover
Is in a patch
Where the sewer is
Bubbling up- seeping over.

Treasure can't be found in a department store
But between the cracks in the floor,
And only when you despair,
"There is no more."

(And only if you can stand the smell.
I learned this lesson very well
When I was just a child.)

bathing in star showers

It is hard to see the stars from inside.

That says it all, doesn't it? It is hard to see most things when you are surrounded by silent walls and ceilings, both physical and psychological. Ooooo... I think I hear the sonar trying to find a soul! Ping. Ping. Ping.

The night sky has been beautiful for the last few days. Found a spot 5 miles or so past Covenant College, climbed atop the VWEurovan and watched the best show in Chattanooga! The Spheres were performing!!! The Perseid Meteor Shower (St. Lawrence's Tears) peaked this weekend. Fantastic. Perseus was tossing some lovely stars out of the sky. Though from my perspective, it appeared Cassiopeia was doing most of the work. Perseus was kind of lost in the Chattanooga glow. I was actually able to capture Jupiter on my iPhone- nothing else obviously- its a camera on a phone for crying out loud! but I had to prove to my friends just how bright he has been. How bright is he? Insanely so, he is so bright that the van was reflecting his light. Jupiter Victor. He has conquered my heart!!! Quite literally- he was right over it! helping Sagittarius target my (Scorpio's) poor blinking heart. Capricorn- which really looks more like a Big Chicken or Partridge- was trudging along infront of Aquarius who was laboring quite seriously as the twirling Fishes were playing in the tree tops. The Milky Way was extremely bright on Thursday night, but lessened in intensity as the weekend progressed. We could scarcely see it tonight. The moon is on her way back to take over her place in the sky, but she will be eclipsed (by Earth, of course) at the end of this month. Even terra firma wants a piece of the heavenly action, if only just through the casting of her shadow.

The star studded shows we saw this weekend were definitely worth the stiff necks the following mornings.
Speaking of falling stars, cannot wait to see Stardust, the new neil gaiman movie!!!!
Transport me, I am ready to go... anywhere but here.

Random Thought: Do you suppose, if we shot a rocket between us and the moon during the lunar eclipse, we would sever the Earth from her soul?

Hurled by Perseus
To this mad, mad world
The stars were falling
I heard them calling
Calling us to catch them
One by One
We could have made it
If you had run
Guess you were having
Too much fun
Inside



"SURFING ON A ROCKET, SURFING ON A ROCKET, SURFING ON A ROCKET"

hoi polloi

I have always thought blogs were a bit self indulgent, narcissistic in fact. Are there people out there who really think anyone else cares what they think? But events of last night have pushed me over the edge, and I must enter this world of the outspoken elitists.

Went to Rhythm & Brews last night to see a band named The Breakfest Club, a spin on the title of that great 80's movie by John Hughes, yes? It was packed, not even room to dance. Naively I thought, they must be good! Firstly they were misnamed- I would have named the band Soul Survivor (if that isn't already taken). Opening song- "Eye of the Tiger"- should have known then, not that 80's top 40 is a problem, but I was there to hear the moody music that was featured in the movies- the smiths, psychedelic furs, omd... The seething, drunken crowd was happily singing along to all the songs- they even did a little Devo- I smiled. When they played a hard rock cover of The Cure's "Just Like Heaven", the crowd stopped singing, and began milling about, a bit confused. ARGH! C'mon Chattanooga! They will never play that song again, not that they were doing it justice, but it was the most poetic song we heard the entire 30 minutes we were there. We left during a rendition of Huey Lewis's "The Power of Love".

We are sipping tea and spinning our very own playlist of 80's stuff- good stuff: INXS- would've been a great opening for the band last night, Tears for Fears, Adam Ant, Thomas Dolby, Love and Rockets, Talking Heads, Violent Femmes, New Order...

I have been returned to the sad reality that the masses are content with mediocrity, not only content but delighted.

NO NEW TALE TO TELL