DCD - The Ubiquitous Mr Lovegrove

Depends On The Morning Sun

La Fonda Hotel, Santa Fe, New Mexico

Something Better, Bigger, More Beautiful

for Bob Gutterman, because I love him.

Short Film Idea

Short film Idea

Setting: Small corner store, Brooklyn or Queens New York

A small man takes care of the store all day. Each night he closes up the shop to "Billy Jean" by Michael Jackson on a beat up 45' player. All his months, the spider watches the man close up shop, as he closes, the store, he dances. he moves about the store. The spider sees how the man and herself are alike. How they move with precision, how they make marks on the floor as they move. The man is shown dragging his foot, making a line in the dust on the floor. The spider admires the man-and the man admires the spider for her beautiful web. He lets the spider live. In secret the spider practices the dance moves, the moonwalk, the spins and the points he has seen the man do over and over for as long as he can remember. One night, the spider works up the courage to show the man his moves while he dances in the store. When she crawls out from the wall, shiny glittery glob of dust on her front leg she sees what is an ambulance being loaded up. The door is locked up with chains from the outside and the lights in the store are off. As she watches, the doors of the ambulance are shut, the emergency lights are turned off and they drive off indicating death(learn code for lights). the spider see this, and lowers her head(close up to all eyes with ambulance lights reflected, driving off). Camera shows her obliquely, then shows her picking up a small jackson style black hat. Cue the opening music from Billy Jean being played by the jukebox player, which has been "left on".. .The spider is shown at a distance, crawling over buttons on the jukebox, some of which are on and others are off(ala the MJ video) and spark on or off as she crosses. she gets over the buttons and is superimposed on a street side(Maybe an illustration inside the jukebox?), doing the moves-as a spider would do them, showing close ups of the pads hitting dust motes and kicking them up, like MJ and some fun visual jokes about silk, webs and spiderman. As the song is nearing the end, the camera pans back from the spider dancing alone in the corner, spotlight by a crack in the back of the jukebox and the shop is shown to be otherwise dark and quiet, the songs fades out as the viewer realizes that its really just a spider, sitting alone in this closed up shop-but she is choosing to dance anyway. Maybe there would be some way to communicate something about appreciating the smaller things and their strength in our lives, that we are part of a larger 'thing' and not just in charge because we want to control what we see. that all these worlds are shared, from our reality to the bugs and further on...

Running With My Head On Fire

this inward mortal cinema
what IS it all about?

A Mirror With Your Name On It

before you
chose no
more options
no blue sky
when it was all
closing in
before I
adored you
lacking direction

before doubt
cast your skies down
the walls that we built up
were closing in
dreamt of somewhere
without fear
that you could
go on forever
learn to live in dream
after a lifetime of fear
instead of hoping
one night
when the air was clean
your lungs would stop rising
the sun would never rise
and the stars would burn out

and then something
4 flights moving
flights in the night
forever exchanging a new song
wrting a shield
making a sword
cutting the beak
no prejudice
is reflected
its someone that knows you
someone that sees you
without the filters
without a serpents
tongue or the lies
that they came from
someone to climb to
to the hill in thew evening
and looks at the stars

can't sleep. thinking of you. yeah.

Isidore, They Came To Claim You

there were songs that enveloped you
rose up like a hungover longshoreman
like hallucinations
black and crystal clear
muddled intent with an impassioned sneer
to privatize reason, kick you into season
he brings all the sea serpents
the old jealous gods
and invents
purpose

all these green fields
are full of monsters and feelings
stored deep in old memory
walk down the end of the worn streets
where the ocean is undefined
hides behind strategy
and leading to the untethered ends
it alludes to itself in long black feathery planks
that disappear beneath waves
like saints burned alive
tied to trees
pruned for tools
that despise and kill witches
the obsolete and the sublime and
the sisters that hid the unknowable
behind sheet of plaster and quicklime
the iridescent hills were full of flashing idols
private visions and pervasive transgressions
mountains of chemicals renamed
with a flavor and fear
you were unchallenged by not knowing
no ice shattered into clear gin warmed containers
held by heroes
belted by maps of the
galaxy Van Ellen's bet unvetted
by someone longing to
remember piously
perceptively
before the war.

Age Chloroforms All The Kingdoms

met your mother
during the war
covered in bluebells
covering the foreign reports
what kind of love and lies
we lived through
too many sets of consciousness
have passed by pictures
the last remains
of Irises, radios and Roosevelt
and what we were told
were better days.
now we're pointed towards the exits
told to sell lightning to skeptics
like everyone whose
gets thrown to the sea.

To Dream of Impossible Shipwrecks

staccato and terse
the head is hung up
love goes in reverse
painted door stripped
to be hung out to dry
left out in the rain
left outside the
lighting rays
the days of indoor
boxed wine retirement pain
so full of hooks
can't help but
be hung up
upside down
thrown around and drown
like a ragdoll
abandoned swan song
left for the prose hounds
to sing in fire
looking at
the sky

Maybe Luxury Over Confrontation

in a frozen
frame you
or some version of you
burns the house
down just to handle
some re-framing
I explained
to myself
when we were
young
and some one else
turned up
their nose at your
treasure
stranded
on a dusty shelf
luxury in a remote
paradise
vacation
attenuated to
an anti-matter world

lived inside a shield
we shared
but like all cut flowers
collected and
then dried and
neglected
I suspect
it all went wrong
when time got shorter
energy and entropy
gathered themselves
close to you
and we diminished
like sea shells tossed
over rocks to make dust
that catches light
swirling in
the waves.

That dust becomes
my companion
my words
guts chugged up
like a swarm of bees
just a breeze laid over
with fortune
in days before days
rising up like a birdless sea
constant and winding
and winds howling
screaming
jesus saves.

cut cord language pinned
to the floor seagulls hated
through ages we burn and
carry off holidays
dazzling roses and perfume
that scorches like blood
when you look at it sideways
as all madmen should
when going though
that kind of phase
swallow and swoon
laugh at carriages
draped in diaphanous
fabric that shows
through to the moon
reflected off the sea surface
without explanation
hiding on the
ceilings of caves

Word, Toonces, Word.

Its Toonces The Driving Cat!

Flood The Stream With Fire

but what can rocks tell of the
fall from the tower
of moving across deserts
in a different age
when dense lonely cold hearted
creatures ruled
in the swiftness
with ease
the world is changing
stories rewritten erased
enclosed in haze
with added strangeness
washed before the monkeys
ruled.

Everything New Is Old Now / Everything Now Is Ageless

loving you is easy
give up all the secrets
espinage is abandoned
crackled,
collapsing absurdly
like some old theatre
in good old
Philadelphia.

there are two twin stars
behind your
eyes burning
solar flares
miracles on demand
if you believe
in the soft summer rain
or whatever you've got
can afford to lose
or give up on keeping
after a long day

hang a hook
on your comet's tail
for the ride
and the magic
lift the end of the sky
up like black vail
and
we'll go sailing.

   - for Bob

Blip 4 Bob

beside you
in a space
car
we're still here
together
travel out in
some nebulae
we'll stay together
this car can drive
forever
lots of energy
on a tether
foundations
in space weather.

its housequake tuesday y'all. I can't sleep!

It Wasn't Air Until You Called It Something Different

can't find love
nothing left to ruin
can't even get it
together
on this planet
and they're looking
for life on mars
there are no answers
in the dance hall or the
stars in deep space
will we ever know
our place?

Chased By The Shapes Of Your Fever Keeps On Moving The Sails

just wait
until the room is
spinning
put your arms
into my hands
the carnival is driven
from the rain
and colors
and your name
are all I
I can
think of
as usual,
but perhaps
it comes
as some surprise
in the waning hours
some rhythm
and some
flowers.

2 years coming in the headlights

something just beyond always shimmering,

just inside the well of a dream...

Sound Easily (Hertz Topography)

how easily nostalgia
turns into
rage
one setting
becomes broken
the radio
no longer tunes
in
to anything
lost
in am
noisephonia
hertz topography
silence laden
with some
sound
anyway, immortal
endless it seems
constant instead
like dreams
skipping from
one point
to another
and then
>gone<
        for Heinrich

None So Much As Children Inside The World

we are singing
of joy and pain
at the point
of birth
red letters
blood ladders
she is calling
and crying
mother and father
and nothing but
great pain over
and over we are
all washed through
with unfolding drama
and strain.
with knowledge
lead by a shaman
careful for the fallout
mindless words
famine in the nuclear shelter
lost words and soul
before the drought.

Unfolding Tomorrow Machines

everything goes
 from nothing to nothing
two states of unbeing
with some static in the middle
ground out sourced
made without machinery
without
a sound
we survive
thinking
we came from somewhere
and we love believing
we are all going somewhere
forgiveness never comes
there is no water
left to wash us
in the last hours
when the candle flickers
parades of ticker tape
ending with a
final call.

A Change In The Unwritten Script

clues for archelogist
a story to be told
in the removed
a vacuumed truth
all for saving face
and a bleak reply
with a side
of cold gullibility

a sick street
slick polished avenue
a memory of an old \place
washes over senses
the fragrance of loosened
moorings
slips lost
the long coast and
men that disappear
into transparent sailors
veiled appraritions
painted canvas beauties
now
illusions
broken free with
momentous speed
with soaring primrose-colored wings
that gather us fumbling
eventually
to sleep.