Greek goddess of the sea
Fly around the world with me
Paint your dress and drink to my fantasy
Atlantis never seemed as far
As never never land
Find Cinderella and tell me
If she lived happily ever after
Did Snow White want that kiss?
What if her dreams were all that she missed?
I want to grow up in Never Never Land
Never Never Land
I want to name my girl Tea Cup
I want to drink her up
Fall down the rabbit hole
Smiles, grins and chagrin
Atlantis never seemed as far
As Never Never Land
Take me to
Never Never Land
Bring me to
Never Never Land
Fly me to
Never Never Land
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
I'm tired.
I'm tired.
For a couple years I've been blaming it on lack of sleep, not
enough sunshine, too much pressure from my job, earwax build-up, poor blood or anything else I could think of.
But now I found out the real reason. I'm tired because I'm overworked.
Here's why:
The population of this country is 273 million.
140 million are retired.
That leaves 133 million to do the work.
There are 85 million in school.
Which leaves 48 million to do the work.
Of this there are 29 million employed by the federal government.
Leaving 19 million to do the work.
2.8 million are in the armed forces preoccupied with killing Saddam
Hussein.
Which leaves 16.2 million to do the work.
Take from the total the 14,800,000 people who work for state nd city governments.
And that leaves 1.4 million to do the work.
At any given time there are 188,000 people in hospitals.
Leaving 1,212,000 to do the work.
Now, there are 1,211,998 people in prisons.
That leaves just two people to do the work.
You and me.
And there you are sitting on your ass, at your computer, reading jokes.
Nice, real nice.
For a couple years I've been blaming it on lack of sleep, not
enough sunshine, too much pressure from my job, earwax build-up, poor blood or anything else I could think of.
But now I found out the real reason. I'm tired because I'm overworked.
Here's why:
The population of this country is 273 million.
140 million are retired.
That leaves 133 million to do the work.
There are 85 million in school.
Which leaves 48 million to do the work.
Of this there are 29 million employed by the federal government.
Leaving 19 million to do the work.
2.8 million are in the armed forces preoccupied with killing Saddam
Hussein.
Which leaves 16.2 million to do the work.
Take from the total the 14,800,000 people who work for state nd city governments.
And that leaves 1.4 million to do the work.
At any given time there are 188,000 people in hospitals.
Leaving 1,212,000 to do the work.
Now, there are 1,211,998 people in prisons.
That leaves just two people to do the work.
You and me.
And there you are sitting on your ass, at your computer, reading jokes.
Nice, real nice.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Dear John, (as in Mayer.)
John,
I read the Rolling Stones article. Look, if what you’ve said, about how you try to connect with your fans and people realistically is true, then I have to assume on some level that makes us friends.
Friends are the people who are there through the thick and the thin. And trust me, I’ve been defending you for who knows how long at this point. After this article though, how am I supposed to do that? When all you talk about is getting laid, high or drunk.
Aren’t you supposed to be doing something with all of this? You are an ABLE being and what you create communicates to millions of people. Shouldn’t you be up there saying something that will better yourself, your loved ones, peers and ultimately the world?
Production is the basis of morale. No production or a lack of exchange will lead you down a path of insanity. If you’re feeling like that already, just get up and DO something (no, not somebody...), anything that will leave you with a tangible, physical object or change. If Battle Studies isn’t your favorite album, then why settle for it? Release what you’re proud of and don’t hold yourself back because you think it’s the most unexpected route. Your CDs are your exchange and you should give your fans top notch, quality products.
Life doesn’t have to be complicated, serious, difficult or overwhelming, but you do need to have the balls to make life count.
- Marjorye
I read the Rolling Stones article. Look, if what you’ve said, about how you try to connect with your fans and people realistically is true, then I have to assume on some level that makes us friends.
Friends are the people who are there through the thick and the thin. And trust me, I’ve been defending you for who knows how long at this point. After this article though, how am I supposed to do that? When all you talk about is getting laid, high or drunk.
Aren’t you supposed to be doing something with all of this? You are an ABLE being and what you create communicates to millions of people. Shouldn’t you be up there saying something that will better yourself, your loved ones, peers and ultimately the world?
Production is the basis of morale. No production or a lack of exchange will lead you down a path of insanity. If you’re feeling like that already, just get up and DO something (no, not somebody...), anything that will leave you with a tangible, physical object or change. If Battle Studies isn’t your favorite album, then why settle for it? Release what you’re proud of and don’t hold yourself back because you think it’s the most unexpected route. Your CDs are your exchange and you should give your fans top notch, quality products.
Life doesn’t have to be complicated, serious, difficult or overwhelming, but you do need to have the balls to make life count.
- Marjorye
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Short Story
He lay on his bed, the cigarette in his hand glowed the perfect cherry red. He exhaled and the smoke clouded in front of him. The familiar and oh-so-addictive scent only served to relax his body further.
To his left the blonde hair stirred. As she rolled over the sheets slipped and exposed her bare back. He smiled, he wouldn't tell her this yet, but he was starting to know what it'd be like to stay with her.
That was as far as it could go though, relationships were heartbreak when you could never stay together. He took another inhale of the wonderfully toxic tobacco that could never kill him.
The expanse of the bed stretched only a few inches beyond his feet. From there the ground took over, covered with a cheap carpet and underneath was even worse hardwood flooring. The room wasn't much, in fact it was only a foot bigger than the bed in all directions, but it was his. To the right was the closet, it stretched half the wall and only went about a foot back. Needless to say, you couldn't get off the bed on the right side as all of the clothes were invading quality room space. It didn't bother him. Messes never did.
Pressing the light out, he stood up and stretched. Breakfast wouldn't cook itself and she sure as hell wasn't going to cook it for him. The thought of someone else touching his food made him wince, the thought of it being his breakfast nearly made him gag. No, he had to do it himself.
Crossing the floor to the door in about three steps, he opened it and stared at the rest of the apartment. Technically, half of it was his, but his roommate was very, overwhelming, to say the least. Nothing in these rooms belonged to him and it was better that way.
The kitchen was miniscule. Actually, with a slight reflection, the only thing that was actually dynamic enough to take up a lot of space in his life was his ego. And he knew that had gotten him into enough trouble already. These thoughts were too much for the morning, let alone an empty stomach.
He opened the refrigerator door and smiled, this was the one place where he took up the most space. Nothing in the fridge did not belong to him. He had a roommate who only believed in lots of stuff and eating out. A glutton. He would deal with him later though, there was other work to be done.
Pulling out the eggs and cheese his stomach rumbled. He slammed down the food on the counter, frustration overpowering him. What was the point of being - “Chris?”
Damn. She woke up. “Yeah?”
A rustling from the bedroom, “Where’d you run off to?”
He sighed, “Kitchen. I got hungry.” Silence. “You want some food?” Why? He was off to such a good, rude start and then he couldn’t follow through. The door opened and he glanced up. She was wrapped in the sheets and her hair fell around her face like a halo. He’d been around enough halos though and it gave him back some nerve, “You’ll have to cook it yourself though.”
She laughed, “A gentleman. Fair enough, I’d just have to throw it all up if you cooked it anyways.”
Chris started, “What?”
“Someone else touching my food? I think not. I’ll make it myself, what are we having?” She walked over and looked into the fridge.
He thought quickly, “Actually, that’s all my roommates food, you’ll have to be okay with eggs and cheese.” He shoved his hand in the cheese to pick some up and put it in the scrambled egg yolk.
She looked at his hand pointedly and wrinkled her nose, “You’re certainly a charmer. I’m going to get dressed.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
To his left the blonde hair stirred. As she rolled over the sheets slipped and exposed her bare back. He smiled, he wouldn't tell her this yet, but he was starting to know what it'd be like to stay with her.
That was as far as it could go though, relationships were heartbreak when you could never stay together. He took another inhale of the wonderfully toxic tobacco that could never kill him.
The expanse of the bed stretched only a few inches beyond his feet. From there the ground took over, covered with a cheap carpet and underneath was even worse hardwood flooring. The room wasn't much, in fact it was only a foot bigger than the bed in all directions, but it was his. To the right was the closet, it stretched half the wall and only went about a foot back. Needless to say, you couldn't get off the bed on the right side as all of the clothes were invading quality room space. It didn't bother him. Messes never did.
Pressing the light out, he stood up and stretched. Breakfast wouldn't cook itself and she sure as hell wasn't going to cook it for him. The thought of someone else touching his food made him wince, the thought of it being his breakfast nearly made him gag. No, he had to do it himself.
Crossing the floor to the door in about three steps, he opened it and stared at the rest of the apartment. Technically, half of it was his, but his roommate was very, overwhelming, to say the least. Nothing in these rooms belonged to him and it was better that way.
The kitchen was miniscule. Actually, with a slight reflection, the only thing that was actually dynamic enough to take up a lot of space in his life was his ego. And he knew that had gotten him into enough trouble already. These thoughts were too much for the morning, let alone an empty stomach.
He opened the refrigerator door and smiled, this was the one place where he took up the most space. Nothing in the fridge did not belong to him. He had a roommate who only believed in lots of stuff and eating out. A glutton. He would deal with him later though, there was other work to be done.
Pulling out the eggs and cheese his stomach rumbled. He slammed down the food on the counter, frustration overpowering him. What was the point of being - “Chris?”
Damn. She woke up. “Yeah?”
A rustling from the bedroom, “Where’d you run off to?”
He sighed, “Kitchen. I got hungry.” Silence. “You want some food?” Why? He was off to such a good, rude start and then he couldn’t follow through. The door opened and he glanced up. She was wrapped in the sheets and her hair fell around her face like a halo. He’d been around enough halos though and it gave him back some nerve, “You’ll have to cook it yourself though.”
She laughed, “A gentleman. Fair enough, I’d just have to throw it all up if you cooked it anyways.”
Chris started, “What?”
“Someone else touching my food? I think not. I’ll make it myself, what are we having?” She walked over and looked into the fridge.
He thought quickly, “Actually, that’s all my roommates food, you’ll have to be okay with eggs and cheese.” He shoved his hand in the cheese to pick some up and put it in the scrambled egg yolk.
She looked at his hand pointedly and wrinkled her nose, “You’re certainly a charmer. I’m going to get dressed.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Crowd of Lovers
The faster you fall the more you try to hold on.
Let go of me, set me free.
Your pain doesn't mean half as much to be...
Among a crowd of lovers, amid a sea of storm.
Under faithful covers, advantage takes its form.
Hollywood painted a picture for me.
One to live in sweet and easy dreams.
Hollywood set the stage and reality began to fade.
Among a crowd of lovers, amid a sea of storm.
I've found that dreams aren't always sweet,
Dreams aren't always easy,
Sometimes reality hurts.
Among a crowd of lovers, amid a sea of storm.
Let go of me, set me free.
Your pain doesn't mean half as much to be...
Among a crowd of lovers, amid a sea of storm.
Under faithful covers, advantage takes its form.
Hollywood painted a picture for me.
One to live in sweet and easy dreams.
Hollywood set the stage and reality began to fade.
Among a crowd of lovers, amid a sea of storm.
I've found that dreams aren't always sweet,
Dreams aren't always easy,
Sometimes reality hurts.
Among a crowd of lovers, amid a sea of storm.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Alice!
The world slips by on a golden thread,
And I’m hanging on by a chance,
Did I make it or am I in wonderland?
Alice, find me! Alice, save me!
The rabbit’s a twisted metaphor,
For how fast life hits the ground.
Living through the looking glass,
Or just living upside down?
Alice, find me! Alice, save me!
Pieces of the checker board are scattered,
The king takes off his crown.
Defeat comes quickly to those who plea.
Alice, find me! Alice, save me!
Alice, can you find me?
Alice, can you save me?
Bring me home to you.
And I’m hanging on by a chance,
Did I make it or am I in wonderland?
Alice, find me! Alice, save me!
The rabbit’s a twisted metaphor,
For how fast life hits the ground.
Living through the looking glass,
Or just living upside down?
Alice, find me! Alice, save me!
Pieces of the checker board are scattered,
The king takes off his crown.
Defeat comes quickly to those who plea.
Alice, find me! Alice, save me!
Alice, can you find me?
Alice, can you save me?
Bring me home to you.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
South of a Dream.
The steam and rain blowing off of a heated car whips into the cold night,
Passes the girl flying her bike.
Soaked to the bone and as warm as a sunset,
Are you afraid of a ghost?
I've got you so close Winter winds can't intercede.
In a land a little south of a dream.
A sight of her has you consumed,
The smell of perfume brings a change in your emotion,
You look like you've sen a ghost.
The northeast breeze blows over lovers,
Fighting beneath apricot trees and tangled in bushes,
In a land a little south of a dream.
South of a dream you'll find your fears.
South of a dream I'll shed your tears.
South of a dream we'll be one.
Passes the girl flying her bike.
Soaked to the bone and as warm as a sunset,
Are you afraid of a ghost?
I've got you so close Winter winds can't intercede.
In a land a little south of a dream.
A sight of her has you consumed,
The smell of perfume brings a change in your emotion,
You look like you've sen a ghost.
The northeast breeze blows over lovers,
Fighting beneath apricot trees and tangled in bushes,
In a land a little south of a dream.
South of a dream you'll find your fears.
South of a dream I'll shed your tears.
South of a dream we'll be one.
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