A World We Knew

Remember me, Kito I don't know how long I'm gone I wrote you a letter But I bet I beat it home I don't remember Your face in anything But a smile So strange, it seems its... ...Raining Underwater Forgetting the days As roses drift by tokyo parades They say the sun is shining on the waves From somewhere in the dark I heard a noise So strange, it seems its... ...Raining Underwater copyright 2011

A young Florida rain played outside, and Jubal was young. He stooped to pick up the broken picture frame that had fallen at his feet. “What the hell did you that for?” he said quietly, not looking up. “You care more about your damn photographs than about what I'm trying to tell you.” “I thought we were talking. Let's talk then, but you don't have to break the photograph.” “I didn't mean it alright? Geez, it was just a photograph.” “You still didn't have to break it.” “I'm sorry alright?” “Alright”, said Jubal. But it was not alright. He was lonely and far from home and the picture of him and his family lay cracked across its smooth, glass pane. He could feel his eyes get misty. Gosh I'm sentimental. Why am I always so sentimental? “Now I'm trying to tell you something important.” said Thomas. He was always trying to tell someone something important, Jubal thought. Whether it was his investment strategies, his defense ...

When I close my eyes at night, I am not placing my life on the shelf to wait until the morning. In sleep my mind discovers or creates worlds far away from the simple, harsh one I call my own. In sleep I embark on adventures far beyond my wildest, conscious dreams and it is those worlds and adventures that I seek to remember and recreate in consciousness. When we really ponder life, it has little to offer us but a potentially blissful childhood followed by endless indoctrination of behavior and values by others. Disappointment has been an ever-near friend to me these past ten years as the life I thought could be mine suddenly seemed to lose its charm and attainability. The world is full of once blank canvases that have been shit on by others who could not stand to see something untouched, unblemished by humanity and its constant desire to turn the most beautiful of things into a tortured, perverted, and lifeless joke.  We harbor daring dreams, you and I. The sleepers...

Found this lying around one of my lyrics files.  I don't recall how old this is, but even now I can't decide if it is a work of fiction or not.  That may not make sense... I don't ask much of life, not anymore. I used to, but things change as you get older. The garish dreams you believed to be life's guarantees slowly fade from vision and reality, like old friends waving their last goodbyes in a rearview mirror. Yes, I've become less optimistic, but I pray still uncynical. All I ask of life is to give me many adventures, few regrets, a little meaning, and one woman to love who would love me back in equal or greater measure. Yes, if all that people remember me as is an idea rather than a personality or face, well perhaps I have lived well. And I venture to say I'd be happy. ~ Noah

Well here I am in South Africa.  The inner tour-guide in me wants to start spouting facts and figures about the quirks and landscapes of the country, but I'd be dishonest if I said I had seen much of the place.  Our drive into Pretoria was a wild one.  Our muttering taxi-driver drove us in perfect silence (except for the roar of the car engine) at break neck speed from the airport to our lodging at the Catwalk Hotel.  On the way over I tried to capture as much as I could of the countryside.  After all, my brain didn't even know what to picture when I had imagined myself in South Africa.  I know so little about any of the lands here in Africa, and to go to one that is so maintained and orderly runs contrary to all my preconceived notions. ~Noah