a truth.

And I had, since childhood, believed myself capable of penetrating into every nook and cranny of kingdom Animalia, transcending every phylum, class, order, family, genus, and species in an all-encompassing blanket of mutual understanding. I thought it was this connection that caused an angry dog to stop barking when I held my hand toward him or I thought it was this connection that caused butterflies to land on my colorful shirts. How arrogantly naive! It was not the power of my keen mind that ceased the dog’s barking but the notion that perhaps my outstretched hand contained food. It was not our innate attraction to each other that drew the butterfly to my chest but its own innate attraction to all things colorful in hopes they produce and contain pollen.

 

 

a couple videos

I played at the Conor Byrne last night. here’s a couple videos from that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3wj-Nawrw0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDHqy7dCLq8

The Pugilist Demo

Say Run and I Run

Used to be I’d see you around

In the leaves on the trees and the snow on the ground

Now I look at a mountain and see

Just a pile of stones that aren’t moving me.

You cannot see the earth from outside,

You’re not the bridegroom and I’m not the bride.

Got your name on the tip of my tongue

I’m calling you out. I’m calling you out.

Used to be you’d push me around,

You’d say fall and I’d fall, you’d say run and I’d run.

I can’t see your hand in the shape of a wave

Or the beautiful things you supposedly made.

There is still beauty in all that remains:

The world didn’t pale when I put out the flames.

You’re not infallible, swallow your pride,

You gave up your son on the day that he died.

Isaac

Took me by the hand and led me up into the mountain

“Father where we going? Where’s the lamb for the burnt offering?”

Tied my hands behind my back and laid me on the alter.

Angel, come deliver me from my murderous father.

I blessed my son but not the one I wanted to be blessed.

I am old and I am blind, Lord,  just let me rest.

You been pulling on my strings since I was an infant.

Cut my binds and let me rise up above the mountain.

The Pugilist

He lays on the mat, blood round his head

He ain’t getting up, my legs full of lead.

I killed my best friend, the ref grabs my wrist,

And raises my hand, still clenched in a fist.

I didn’t wanna fight, I didn’t wanna win

I just wanna go home to Detroit, Michigan.

But I can’t go back and remember the time

We grew up as kids on the Michigan line.

So I’ll go to Washington,

Lay claim to some land

And try to forget

What I did with my hands.

I wrote to my wife, said ‘I did something bad:

I killed ’bout the only friend I ever had.

I’ll send for you when my mind’s settled down

We can move to a nice, little Washington town.’

I went to the station and boarded the train,

That old number 8 bound for Spokane.

Sat at the window and stared at the track.

Heading west toward the coast and I ain’t looking back.

John Ireland Demo