RANDY ABEL

GOD’s Too DRUNK

HEAVEN’s a

CHINESE HONKY TONK

a lyrical memoir

Setlist (with hyperlinks to lyrics and YouTube video playlist)

Download pdf of book of lyrics here: www.rosieeade.co.uk/RandyAbel-GodsTooDrunk.pdf

I. de-honky-tonk-nial ain’t just a whisky river in hell, hoss!

So She Stays in Paddy O’Shea’s 8

Second Bar to the Right (Then Straight On ‘til Morning) 9

Stable Condition 10

An Aesthete’s Plea 11

The Freelife Side of Wild 12

Blues Ain’t Rainin 13

Not Fall Staggered 14

II. the sweet-strained straight-up love

Gone to Seed and Blown Away 19

Tout Va Bien 20

Before the House Sets Fire 21

Rocks a Jaded Blue 22

Your Lipstick on This Microphone 23

A Windwillowed Second 24

III. freedom fightin’ with the void

Appointment in Samarra 37

Human Tide 39

Bluford Abel 41

Rustbowlachia 43

Just Another Day In Paradise 45

The Ballad of Ken and Aki 47

Death O’Clock Shadow 49

Random Thoughts 66 (Lu Xun’s Road of Life) 51

Uncle Sam’s Regrets 53

Pink Cloud, Blue Lining Blues 55

Blues I Keep My Boots In 56

Freedom Fightin’ Gospel 57

IV. the conning linguist’s semantic rationale

Who’s Mr. Jones? 67

Diminishing Returns 68

Your Paper Man 69

Lonely to Lonesome 70

The Idiot’s Guide to Heartbreak 71

Urges [Comma], Blue 72

Garden Pathological 73

Cheeses Rising (She’s Just Fallen) 74

V. the skyclad abject lonesome

The Buzzards of Hinckley (Still Remind Me of You) 87

Leaving Me Incrementally 88

Love Me, Save Me, Share, Me 89

The Good Wall 91

Fare Thee Anyway 92

Misery Loves Harmony 93

Sunny’s Blues 94

Easy Victory Easy 95

How Shall She Sun? 97

God’s Own Skyclad Fool 98

image credits 101

afterword 102

The Ballad of Noel Cassidy 102

Miss Exeter 103

pedagogy of the self-appointed musical attaché

Tell a story and you open a world;

Intro a musical form and you soundhole a universe.

SET ONE

de-honky-tonk-nial

ain’t just a whisky river in hell,

hoss!

So She Stays in Paddy O’Shea’s

So she stays in Paddy O’Shea’s,

Lord knows where she spends her days

But the dim lights and loud music

Make her Paddy nights always

Though she’ll say it’s just the lack

Of her beloved Irish craic,

It’s the lonesome Beijing blues

That keeps her cold heart coming back

As I light her smoke I ask, “Hey what’s your name, Love?”

She says, “Man, I know you Yanks are all the same, Love”

I say, “Dear, I’m here just tryin to make some small talk”
Says she, “You’ll mind your pervy ways or take a walk”

Her heart’s been broke, I’d say it must be nine or

Ten times before and since she came to Chiner

She tells me she comes ‘round for beer and football

But it’s the teardrop in her eye that says it all

[Chorus]

She cries, “Karl, you knacker bastard, bring some whiskey!

And warn your Yankee mate lest he get frisky!”
The barman winks at me, he knows too well

This piece of Irish heaven is her China lovesick hell

So she stays in Paddy O’Shea’s,

Lord knows where she spends her days

But the dim lights and loud music

Make her Paddy nights always

Though she’ll say it’s just the lack

Of her beloved Irish craic,

It’s the lonesome Beijing blues

That keeps her cold heart coming back

tumblr_lo0p9h7YZl1qmpqnio1_500

Discovering my inner Honky Tonk Man Who Understands.

Beijing, February 2011

Second Bar to the Right (Then Straight On ‘til Morning)

We left a joint just after two

Me and my new-found motley crew

Headin toward a new locale for beer and shooters

When one woman outta three

Said, “You’ll ride along with me”

And I straddled that gal’s mean, green motor scooter

As we careened the dark hutong

She said, “I haven’t known you long,

But I’m certain why you’re so long far from home.”

I said, “Lay it on me, dear,”

Says she, “You’re old enough to hear

That you’ve a classic case of Peter Pan Syndrome.”

I told her, Peter Pan and Neverland have shit to do with me

So you can stick your knee-jerk judgements and pop-psychology

The legends are that country stars get old and darkest before dawnin

So, take the second bar to the right, then drive straight on ‘til mornin

When we reached a roundabout,

She turned her head a bit to shout,

“I know a hundred guys like you and they’re all dyin’!”

But I was fresh out of bon mots

Too busy thinkin happy thoughts

And I swear that motor scooter took to flyin

Lord knows Peter Pan and Neverland have shit to do with me

So you can fuck your knee-jerk judgements and pop-psychology

The legends are that country stars get old and darkest before dawning

So, take the second bar to the right, then drive straight on ‘til morning

Stable_SECOND BAR TO THE RIGHT_Single

The first written for The Randy Abel Stable, and the first recorded!

Beijing; Mid-July 2011

Stable Condition

Stable condition

I’m nearly on my way

That’s what the doctors say

When they come by each day

Stable condition

I’ll soon come home to you

Stave off this endless blue

Your cryin too

The bottle’s all I’ve had to stop the pain

Last week the bottle let me down again

So now the only bottle near and dear to me

Is drippin slow i.v. into my vein

Stable condition

I’m nearly on my way

That’s what the doctors say

When they come by each day

Stable condition

I’ll soon come home to you

Stave off this endless blue

Your cryin too

The say a man can’t quit this on his own

But whiskey’s been the only friend I’ve known

So, Darlin, tell these demons flyin ‘round my bed

I’d just as soon be dead than live alone

Stable condition

Though in an aweful way

I’ve still got Hell to pay

While strugglin day to day

Stable condition

My thoughts are home with you

Drownin in endless blue

You’re cryin too

STABLE CONDITION_Front

Penned under the influence Townes Van Zandt’s life story and from the inkwell of my very own personal folly.

Beijing, November 2011

An Aesthete’s Plea

Don’t let me open up my door to find my Dreamgirl

Lawd, I could never take perfection in good stride

If I should bump into her walkin after midnight

Let my desire shake her gaze and strut on by

A man should never chance to get the things most vaunted

The musiverse has laws he can’t defy

Wish-fulfillment on the one hand shit you wanted,

While in the other sand cracks slippin as you cry:

Don’t let me open up my door to find my Dreamgirl

Lawd, I could never take perfection in good stride

If I should bump into her walkin after midnight

Let my desire shake her gaze and strut on by

If there’s a siren on the rocks, I’m off the port bow

If there’s an angel wingin low, I’m aimin high

You done made this wreck I am, Lord, keep me strong now

And bless me flirtin with temptation ‘til I die

Don’t let me open up my door to find my Dreamgirl

Lawd, I could never take perfection in good stride

If I should bump into her walkin after midnight

Let my desire shake her gaze and strut on by

Musings on an archetype.

Beijing; 12^th June 2014

The Freelife Side of Wild

If it’s true that married men make honky-tonk angels,

Let the devil take those cheatin fools to hell

The great spedkled bird should peck upon their entrails

While their trusting wives complain, cajole and yell

It wasn’t single guys made honky-tonk angels

It’s married dudes prefer the mistress style

If God’s too drunk to cast ‘em single-handed

Then Jesus let the bachelors make ‘em wild

May a freelance heart mold honky-tonk angels

In the image of the godess they’d all serve—

Hail, Diva, third-eye Shiva of the nightlife

Guide the savage hand that’s sculpting every curve

It wasn’t single guys made honky-tonk angels

It’s married fools prefer the mistress style

If God’s too drunk to cast ‘em single-handed

Then Jesus let the bachelors make ‘em wild

I love a story that winds-up espousing an ethos, and I feel like I cracked some ancient honky-tonk riddle with this response-to-a-response-song song!

Beijing; 5^th July 2014

Blues Ain’t Rainin’

The blues ain’t rainin,

They just fall down that way.

The blues ain’t rainin,

They just fall down that way.

And love ain’t thunderin,

It’s angels’ rowdy play.

This storm ain’t passin,

‘Til clouds have had their say.

This storm ain’t passin,

‘Til clouds have had their say.

The blues ain’t rainin,

They just come down that way.

The trees ain’t springin,

They’re just in bloom, you see.

The trees ain’t springin,

They’re just in bloom, you see.

My heart ain’t jumpin,

It flutters naturally.

This stream ain’t babblin,

It rambles out to sea.

This stream ain’t babblin,

It wanders to the sea.

The blues ain’t rainin,

They just rained down on me.

Beijing; 19^th Mar. 2015

Not Fall Staggered

What for to burn of your affections

Anyhow if I could catch ‘em?

Snuff my heart to smoking sections

Torch it all

The while you fuel my disposition

Don’t fan the flames of fondest fiction

Hand to goddess, fiery mamma,

I’ll not fall

I’ll not fall staggered

Or tripped-up jaggered

Or jonesin’ haggard

Swaggered by the strength of song

I ain’t hornswaggled

Nor primrose-goggled

Nor heartstring-toggled

Dumbass boggled by the strength of song

The bridge is where we break melodic tension

Let the meaty phrase take flight on buzzard wings

Of timbre’d verse foreshadowed by the blue note

You sent me blazing metaphor the bridgening

What rakes the embers in absention?

Not a soul so bold to mention

How I smolder slight but sentient

Cindering on

So your wheel unreels a spectrum?

Color me blinded by perfectrum

Hand to goddess, reelin mamma,

Not real gone

[Chorus]

Stagger-joggled by the strength of song

Beijing; 30^th Sept – 6^th Oct 2015

SET TWO

the sweet-strained

straight-up love

Gone to Seed and Blown Away

The past we’ve left behind is somewhat mellower than wine,

But the loss is something I just don’t like to face.

With you sitting there, I feel a spark upon the air

But I’m a poor man and I guess I know my place.

I ain’t seen you in years and you’ll forgive my petty fears

But I’d hoped that time would mark you in some way.

Now I’m still the boy I used to be,

But the world has had its way with me

And I feel I’ve gone to seed and blown away.

Chorus

It seems you ain’t forgot at all just how to turn me into a mushball,

So if you see that waitress, please hail her this way.

And long after you’re gone tonight

I’ll be sittin at the bar tryin to make things right

‘Tween the man I am and the sucker I been today.

Chorus

I think I’m Haggard and I’m Jones when croonin in my sappy baritone,

But I’m just a small-town boy who’s lost the way.

I like the way you smirk at me

And how you hold your poise and dignity—

And I guess that’s all I’m trying here to say.

The past we’ve left behind is somewhat mellower than wine,

But the loss is something I just don’t like to face.

With you sitting there, I feel a spark upon the air

But I’m a poor man and I guess I know my place.

COOKIE_final

The first teen sweetheart, the dinner after a decade’s lapse, and the fortune-cookie wisdom (left)—what more could a high, lonesome singer-songwriter ask for?!

Kent, Ohio; May 2001

Tout Va Bien

Well, we met in a Francophile joint

And, speakin frank, we made a point

Of seein dawn’s first rays

Break through your bedroom window

By light of morn I very nearly flipped

To see you had yourself a cowboy script

I said, “Okay, elle, eh,

Today’s a lovin fais do-do!”

Tout va bien, it’s all bien again

Ma cherie, just let it be all Poetry and Zen

Groupon-nous, et demain, Mamma just say when

We’ll rendezvous every now and then

Tout va bien

Now you ask if I still ride the wave

And you wonder if I can behave

Or if whiskey’s got a grip

On my ol’ country soul

I’ll just tell you what I know today,

Listen, Mamma, s’il vous plait:

You’ve inspired this here

Francophile rock and roll

Tout va bien, it’s all bien again

Ma cherie, just let it be all Poetry and Zen

Groupon-nous, et demain, Mamma just say when

We’ll rendezvous every now and then

Tout va bien

Francophile Joint_LOGO

This is a song about loving in Beijing, and it provided the name for a formidable “Mardigrass” side project!

Beijing, 13^th March 2012

Before the House Sets Fire

We met here once before and it was wrong then, too

I got a wife to love and your man sure loves you

But soon our smold’ring passion’s gonna be aflame

We play with matches like it’s just a game

Before the house sets fire

We'd better douse this blaze of love

And thank our lucky stars above

Our better halves don't know half of

The way our hearts conspire

Like spark of flint and steel

Darlin, let's queer the deal

Before the house sets fire

We’ll have another smoke and talk this over some

We’d burn desire out and then the guilt would come

But while the coals are glowing just a little bit

Let’s add another log, then call it quits

Before the house sets fire

We'd better douse this blaze of love

And thank our lucky stars above

Our better halves don't know half of

The way our hearts conspire

Like spark of flint and steel

Darlin, let's queer the deal

Before the house sets fire

To stop a wild combustion you deny the fuel

But disavowing passion is to be a fool

[Chorus]

willie

Willie Nelson told me in a dream that I should write this duet! I’d sung him the chorus through the door of a men’s room, and his encouragement seemed half-assed. Nonetheless, I dreamt a chorus and Willie gave his dreamy approval!

Beijing, 11^th January 2013

Rocks a Jaded Blue

You’ve brought me to the foothills

Of your heart

I’ve dipped my toes in the well-spring

Of your blood

Where the rivers of your memory

Got their start

And your soul made whole makes tremors

In this mud

Intimate landscapes

Heartworn highways

Cross the cobbled path I’’ve

Homeward bound with you…

Where the ebb-tides in your wake

Turn rocks a jaded blue.

Scape the mountains, best to reckon

Where they stand,

Beg your banshee-howlin spirit

Scape the sky

Shoot the channel, kick the castles

Made of sand

Hit the road badk-slidin wayward

By and by

Intimate landscapes,

Fossilized heartaches

Mark the cobbled path I’’ve

Homeward bound with you…

Where the ebb-tides in your wake

Turn rocks a jaded blue.

[Last V same as 1^st]

STA41678 Intimate landscapes

Hearthstone ghost flakes

Light the cobbled path I’ve

Homeward bound with you…

Nogent-la-Phaye, Fr. / Beijing; Feb-Mar 2014

Your Lipstick on This Microphone

A faint greasiness from your lipstick on this microphone

Grazes my lips every time I croon this song

As a follow-up to your honky-tonkin Diva show,

I’m the solo act meant to move the drunks along.

But when I step up to this mic, I sidle gently

Like a gardener tends a flower just in bloom.

As my lips caress each word they sense intently

How your whiskey-sweetened essence haunts a room.

I turn awkward when we chance to pass between our sets,

Dead-speachless as your charms come into view.

If you’d linger here one night for just one drink, I guess,

I’d sing my heart in torrents like you do.

‘Cause when I step up to this mic, I sidle gently

Like a gardener tends a flower just in bloom.

As my lips caress each word they sense intently

How your whiskey-sweetened essence haunts a room.

Smeared scarlet from your lipstick on this microphone

Taints the timbre of my tunes a sanguine tone.

In the shadow of your honky-tonkin Diva show,

Just a troubadour in the red spot all alone.

But when I step up to this mic, I sidle gently

Like a gardener tends a flower just in bloom.

As my lips caress each word they sense intently

How your whiskey-sweetened essence haunts a room.

A faint greasiness from your lipstick on this microphone

Grazes my lips every time I croon this song.

Humantide's Inn - LIPSTICK.jpg

“You know,” a friend and fellow musician remarked on reading these lyrics for the first time, “every guy who ever makes music with her is going to have this exact feeling on some level at some point.” The exact feeling is enchantment, and a songtrader’s lucky too when a compelling story alights from that air.

Beijing; 18^th – 19^th May 2014

A Windwillowed Second

Not so much the road callin, per se,

As the rain patters reckon

Inasmuch as you squallin me nay

But the tide whispers beckon

Such and such aloft kickin us soft

Swirls abashed misdiscretion

Ain’t so much that we mutter to be

For a windwillowed second

For a windwillowed second

Harrows me with fear and wonder

Bliss me out

Turn me in and rake me under

Furl me over

Till my ashes rent asunder

Willow moment

Up the instant

Breeze your name

By and by when green roses enjade

With the blue briars’ blushing

Cry but cry the scene closes in fade

Lights the daft poets’ gushing

How and why who knows which purple prose

Be lilac the rushing

B’ gosh, by the blue orbiting you

‘Ligns the star ‘lipses brushing

For a windwillowed second

Harrows me with fear and wonder

Bliss me out

Turn me in and rake me under

Furl me over

Till my ashes rent asunder

Willow moment

Up the instant

Breeze your name.

Beijing; 10^th – 12^th Sept 2015

SET THREE

freedom fightin’ with the void

Appointment in Samarra

DEATH SPEAKS: There was a merchant in Bagdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, “Master, just now when I was in the marketplace I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture. Now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me.” The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went.

Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, “Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?”

“That was not a threatening gesture, I said, it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Bagdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.”

Death waved to a man in the Baghdad market

And there She gave him such a scare

He spurred a fast horse to Samarra

And Death’s appointment with him there.

Make me a channel of your peace

And ride you roan horse straight and true

Death keeps all of her appointments,

Tonight she counts on me and you.

I took a cruise through oil-slicked waters

‘Board a modern gunboat on patrol

Keeping the world safe from a tyrant

And his starving people on parole.

Make me a channel of your peace

And send the message loud and clear:

These Tomahawks is locked and loaded

And there ain’t no mercy spoken here.

A salty sailor smoking starboard

Said, “I’ve waited seventeen years

To send these babies into History

And, man, we’re lucky to be here.”

Make me a channel of your peace

And guide these babies straight and true

Death keeps all of Her appointments

And tonight she counts on me and you.

I met a chaplain who spoke in semaphore

He said, “We know not what we do.

But I’ve prayed to God and ol’ St. Francis

To guide these babies straight and true.”

Make me a channel of your peace

Tonight we know not what we do,

But God has a special place for warriors--

Death keeps ‘em close to Her heart, too.

I heard the words “collateral damage”

Spoke by the captain ‘neath his breath

He said that fate targets the wicked

Too young or slow to run from Death.

Make me a channel of your peace

He’ll wear an admiral’s star at last!

Lads, set a course for Perth, Australia

With the ol’ Jolly Roger on the mast!

Saw Death pumping gas at the BP station,

She grinned and gave a friendly wave.

I was proud to think of our self-service

And all the money that we’d saved.

Make me a channel of your peace

And wave the ol’ Red, White and Blue.

Death has an eye for deals and bargains—

She’ll pass the savings on to you.

81_SAM

Found an autoharp in the attic of a farmhouse where I was living, “tuned” it from a piano and scratched on it for a few days before firing out this song.

Shiloh Farm, Bessemer PA; Winter 1999

Human Tide

Roll on human tide

Curl into that darkness

Geese call as you fly on your westward way

From rock cliffs and dark hollows wild geese roll along

Their wings rustle and whistle makes a high-lonesome song

That ol’ call is a witness, a man has to decide

To heed the righteous and wayward, the land and the tide.

Roll on human tide

Curl into that darkness

Geese call as you fly on your westward way

Coyote’s long ramble on the bootlegger road

Left him chilled and degraded for all the lies that he told

He went home to the people, he said: “Show me the light”

They told him “Follow the geese, boy, on your last wayward flight

You gotta roll with the tide, boy, into the cold, burley night

Roll on human tide

Curl into that darkness

Geese call as you fly on your westward way

I heard crows cry for danger, I seen em carry their load

I seen em fight for the gray squirrels mowed down in the road

But them ol’ crows taught me nothin ‘til the night that they showed

How they bury their dead, boys, by the bootlegger road

Roll on human tide

Curl into that darkness

Geese call as you fly on your westward way

HUMANTIDE_TuneLogo

Inspired by Baiyan, the lovely Hainanese woman I was seeing in Appalachian southern Ohio, who sang me harvest songs and taught me that geese fly in the shape of a “ren”, not a “v”.

Shiloh Farm – Bessemer, PA, Fall 2000

Bluford Abel

Come on down the mountain Bluford Abel

Come on down the mountain Whiskey Blu

Can’t you hear us callin, Bluford Abel?

We wanna drink that good ol’ mountain dew!

Bluford left his home up on the mountain

To join Virginia’s fightin Forty-Two

But shrapnel in the arm for Stonewall Jackson

Held nothin to that good ol’ mountain dew

Come on down the mountain Bluford Abel

Come on down the mountain Whiskey Blu

Can’t you hear us callin, Bluford Abel?

We wanna drink your good ol’ mountain dew!

He wore the ball & chain in Richmond city

When the war was lost, the gates was opened wide

He threw that ball & chain in ol’ Jim’s river

And lighted-out across the Great Divide

[Chorus]

He wrastled with a bear up on Clinch Mountain

He wrastled with the revenuers too

If you’re up by Abels’ Curve and feelin thirsty

Ol’ Whiskey Blue is bound to wrastle you!

Come on down the mountain Bluford Abel

Come on down the mountain Whiskey Blu

Can’t you hear us callin Bluford Abel?

We wanna drink that good ol’ mountain dew!

bluford_3

First shouted these lyrics at a raging thunderstorm, just after returning from the Carter Family Fold on Clinch Mountain—and I could swear something shouted right back…!

Grandiddy Bluf?

Shiloh Farm; 5^th August 2000

Rustbowlachia

Rustbowlachia, Rustbowlachia

Your slag and rust terrain

Brung down the water shedding sweetly

The rusty hollows of my brain

O, you ol’ Mahoning Valley,

With your rolling hills so fair

Will I chance again to gaze upon

The sweetly smiling faces there?

I seen you shinin’ in your glory

I spawned your darkest days of strife

You're a walkin, talkin, honky-tonkin

Slice of hardcore life

Rustbowlachia, Rustbowlachia

Your slag and rust terrrain

Brung down the water shedding sweetly

The rusty hollows of my brain

When they were handin down indictments

I thought I was the last in line

But, “the first who thirst,” the old song goes,

“Shall last drink none but time”

Rustbowlachia, Rustbowlachia

Your slag and rust terrain

Brung down the water shedding sweetly

The rusty hollows of my brain

RR Logo.png

Rust Bowl + Appalachia (foothills) = RUSTBOWLACHIA

The Feds were swooping in, and I was desperate for an anthem I could bellow for my true homeland. The “old song” was one I had dreamed and reconstructed only in a shard.

Youngstown, Ohio; Summer 2002

Just Another Day in Paradise

“Just another day in Paradise,”

My uncle’s widow heard him say

As he stepped out the door in Kevlar

To greet another Texas day

He rode the Brinks trucks down in Houston

Guarding someone else’s green—

He’d served his country, loved his mamma

And kept his Harley “dresser” clean

But down in Houston there’s a hunger:

A shit-kickin pulse that keeps things real

And human life don’t seem to hinder

Scratchin that itch to rob and steal

“JUST ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE”

Is what they’ve written on his stone

So, come on sweet Texas Justice;

One family must not grieve alone

They say he waited there in ambush

To kill my uncle on the sly

For something like six-thousand dollars

Before he hit it on the fly

Sombitch was tagged the “Zoot-suit Bandit”

By the papers and tee-vee,

Like he was someone’s hep-cat Robin Hood—

How cold does murder gotta be?

Just another day in Paradise—

Another good man in the ground—

So, come on sweet Texas Justice

Go out and get this killin clown

The long arm hooked him up in Austin

Where he confessed to what he’d done;

But some slick lawyer’s got his number

And it seems our trial’s just begun

But I ain’t here to tell that story

Mark Grossman was my uncle’s name

And I wish he was right here with us

Chuckling ‘bout his late-great fame

But wishin’s one and life’s the other

And hope is something else entire—

We can only stay the course we’ve chosen

And tend that wild and sacred fire

“Just another day in Paradise,”

Uncle Mark would likely say,

That’s all you get ‘til you ain’t got it—

It’s all you wanted anyway

He rides that Gulf Highway to Paradise

Fast as angels will allow—

You can hear him laugh out loud and wonder:

“What’s Texas Justice anyhow?”

RR 4tk87rsr_cr.png

My uncle’s killer is serving a 70-year sentence in Huntsville, and I’m proud that these lyrics are filed as part of my family’s formal case against his ever getting a chance at parole.

Houston/Youngstown, Dec. 2002

R.I.P. MFG (1954-2002)

The Ballad of Ken & Aki

He told me, “Cain and Abel, able boy,

Is the only bible story I’ll ever employ

When I speak my heart to the hearts of men

As I try to bring my lost brother back again”

Ken Kachigawa was a good ol’ man,

He kept some Appaloosas on my daddy’s land.

He’d come from California ‘fore the Second World War

Called him out to speak Nippongo for the Intel Corps

One day in Okinawa, they was gaining ground

Ken was brought a prisoner his unit had found.

The interrogating proper was about to start

When a thunderbolt of lightning split Kenny’s heart

Now, the face of this enemy was grimy and wet,

Contorted ‘bove the steel of a bayonet.

But looking in the eyes he come to understand

It was the face of brother Aki left back in Japan.

He told me, “Cain and Abel, able boy,

Is the only bible story I’ll ever employ

When I speak my heart to the hearts of men

As I try to bring my lost brother back again”

Ken began to question with some bass in his voice—

He was putting on a show just for the Intel boys.

But his local dialect it was a crypto code

And it was brother’s heart to brother’s on that jungle road.

Ken told him of their folks locked up in New Mexico,

How he’d fled to Pennsylvania ‘til he knew he had to go.

Aki listened in amazement and spoke not a word,

But his eyes told Kenji that his brother had heard.

Yellow fever took Aki ‘fore they dropped the bomb,

Ken returned a hero, bought himself a farm—

Raising up crops in his American dream

In a whitewashed shanty near a mossy stream

Yeah, Kenny fit right in to this quirky ol’ town,

On Sunday afternoons he’d bring his autoharp down—

Singing out sweetly in a gospel tone

With a crypto-coded message driving one point home

He told me, “Cain and Abel, able boy,

Is the only bible story I’ll ever employ

When I speak my heart to the hearts of men

As I try to bring my lost brother back again”

Now Kenji’s autoharpin’ with the Angel Band

Singing out with brother Aki to the hearts of men

War’s brother killing brother, it’s always been

And it’s time we brought the lost brother back again

He told me, “Cain and Abel, able boy,

Is the only bible story I’ll ever employ.

War’s brother killing brother, we never win,

And it’s time we brought the lost brother back again”

RR 4tk87rsr_cr.png

Storytelling from whole cloth of true fiction—I sure wish there’d been an autoharpin’, gospel-speakin’ Kenji back in my hometown, but maybe the breath of song makes it well-enough so.

Youngstown, Ohio;, Spring 2003

When death has come and taken our loved ones

It leaves our home so lonely and drear—

Then shall we wonder why others prosper

Living so wicked year after year.

They had my daddy in a box and I wept

To brush his cheekbone with my fingers.

But I was warmed to find faint stubble there,

Post-mortem whiskers bristling on and on.

Be you self-righteous, stout or spleenful

You’ll be lonesome in the moment should you linger

To touch your daddy’s last-lone whiskers

And wonder where his stubbly soul has gone.

They shaved his rough and dusky cheeks

But Papa’s death-o’clock shadow kept on growin

Like rugged winter blossoms bloomin on some far exotic shore.

And, father, son and Holy Stubble!

Let’s just say I got all whisked-up in the knowin

I’d touched my daddy’s death-grown whiskers

And that razor’s edge would trouble him no more.

My daddy cut steel wheels for tank cars,

Sweat in steel mills, honky-tonk bars, hustled nine-ball.

I seen him lovesick, hammered, sober, sickly, sappy

Sunday morning coming down.

But before his trials were over

At a NASCAR race in Dover he was ragin—

Man, his soul revved when them stock-cars rolled

And reeled and rocked and rumbled round & round.

Back at the Old Man’s farewell service

I was proud to feel a Circle left unbroken

As we recalled a vast and gentle soul

And sang this great old-timey gospel song

‘Bout how Farther Along we’ll all know why

And the why need not be spoken.

Lord knows I’ll sport some stubble

When I sing with Pops much farther on along:

Farther along we’ll know more about it

Farther along we’ll understand why…

They shaved his rough and dusky cheeks

But Papa’s death-o’clock shadow kept on growin

Like rugged winter blossoms bloomin on some far exotic shore.

And, father, son and Holy Stubble!

Let’s just say I got all whisked-up in the knowin

I’d touched my daddy’s death-grown whiskers

And that razor’s edge would trouble him no more.

050106011956_cr

Wayne Charles Abel

1945-2005

Harbin, China;, Spring Festival 2006

Random Thoughts 66 (Lu Xun’s ‘Road of Life’)

Progressive road of life —

Into infinity ascending,

In spirit unrelenting,

Undeterred by death and strife.

Nature’s endowed men

With conflicting inclinations,

While atrophy, degeneration

And backsliding figure in.

Life is not afraid of death,

Laughing, leaping in its face —

All the while advancing

O’er the fallen of the race.

A single soul may fall

But life it never retrogresses,

Though Man’s depravity depresses

Your deeper thinkers one and all.

No matter if the darkness should dam the stream of thought;

No matter what misfortunes rend our efforts all for naught;

Man’s blind hope for Perfection—

His one trait Nature kinda likes—

Keeps him advancing, trampling, scrambling

O’er those jagged iron spikes.

What is it makes a road?

It comes of trampling places,

Lonely dark forbidding spaces

Where we’ll haul a heavy load.

The road’s for me and you

As we open up a wasteland,

So desolate and unmanned,

Where only brambles grew.

There were roads in the past —

Roads blazed the dawn of history,

Roads will blaze it to the last.

Life is not afraid of death,

Laughing, leaping in its face —

All the while advancing

O’er the fallen of the race

Among our human kind

Life’s progressive, optimistic,

And if you’re true and realistic

Never a lonesome road you’ll find.

Harbin, April 2006

Uncle Sam’s Regrets (For Rema)

Collateral’s another word they use for money

So applied to your dear loved ones it sounds funny

Funny in the strangest sense

The sickest joke at your expense

So there’s no punch-line I can spin our defense

Damage is a hazard for controlling

It keeps the “better safe than sorry” clichés rolling

But I know sorry’d never do

To shore the damage we caused you

So a song is better and it’s safer too

It’s peoples’ souls, not “collateral damage” I see

Doublespeakin’ blinds my society

To the human suffering

Again the dark storm rolls

Over your shocked and awed country

Though friendly fire burns inside of me

My uncle’s coined no euphemism for apology

As you lay sleeping I watched missiles hurling toward you

Spitting blazing balls of fire like they was made to

The brightest spectacle I’ve seen

Hell-bent for busting up your dream

I’ve never been equipped to grasp what that might mean

As you lay dying ‘neath the rubble I was scrawlin’

A sailor’s midnight-oil letter to his old man

Sayin, “Happy Father’s Day—

I hope our bombs don’t go astray”

Maybe I wrote it as your parents slipped away

It’s peoples’ souls, not “collateral damage” I see

Doublespeakin’ blinds my society

To the human suffering

Again the dark storm rolls

Over your shocked and awed country

Though friendly fire burns inside of me

My uncle’s coined no euphemism for apology

For you my Uncle Sam’s regrets are overdue

You say “The bombs changed everything”—

They changed me, too

But where’s the sound-bite I can try

To change your lost eye for an eye

And turn the buzz-phrase for forgiveness by and by?

It’s peoples’ souls, not “collateral damage” I see

Doublespeakin’ blinds my society

To the human suffering

Again the dark storm rolls

Over your shocked and awed country

Though friendly fire burns inside of me

My uncle’s coined no euphemism for apology

layla-attar_2

Rema’s mother, Layla al-Attar, killed by US missile strike on 27 June 1993.

Harbin, June 2006

Operation Bushwhacker_COLLATERAL DAMAGE ASSESSMENT.jpg

Pink Cloud, Blue Lining Blues

I’m ridin a pink cloud with a blue, blue lining

Yeah, the past is just a fevered dream away

While I’m harpin with the angels I hear demon harmonies

In dischord tones that scream of yesterday

Seems it was another lifetime, I musta been a diff’rent man,

Just gettin by like folks is wont to do

Thought I’d ride it out a hero, but the Fates waylayed my plan

And my joie de vivre got jacked up through and through

I’m ridin a pink cloud with a blue, blue lining

Yeah, the past is just a fevered dream away

While I’m harpin with the angels I hear demon harmonies

In dischord tones that scream of yesterday

When I get on top of this thing, lawd, man, I’ll have it made

No more sleepless nights or days of dark despair

I’ll know how to face the cold world and all the dues I paid

As I shuffle off this burden that I bear

I’m ridin a pink cloud with a blue, blue lining

Yeah, the past is just a fevered dream away

While I’m harpin with the angels I hear demon harmonies

In dischord tones that scream of yesterday

Lord, when my ship comes in I’ll be struttin round again

Just like I was in simpler days of old

By then I’ll be so wise, you won’t even recognize

This fool who’s saddest story’s yet untold

I’m ridin a pink cloud with a blue, blue lining

Yeah, the best is yet to come I’ll dare to say

While I’m wrestling with my demons I hear angel harmonies

In dulcet tones that scream “Hey, it’s okay!”

cloud-md

Another Stable classic that advanced a pioneering direction for the band’s compositional savvy.

Beijing, 3-7 May 2013

Blues I Keep My Boots In

(for Bob Dylan’s coffee table)

Time falls all on itself

The years in tumble

And word keeps my heart on a shelf

Yet, Lawd, I’m humble—

I’m humbler than you, I’m humbler than her

The hank’ringest humbler who ever were

Time falls all on itself

The years in tumble

And years curl-up in the void

I keep my boots in

These boots made to walk overjoyed

Not for putting down roots in—

But roots is the time and roots is the word

The rootsiest rumbler you ever heard

And years curl-up in the void

I keep my boots in

Fame is a twain of the brain

Lawd, a hideous bitch-goddess

Known, like a dog to the bone

And shit you get gratis—

Gratis is good, gratis is free

Bitch it’s the gratisest ever you’ll be

Fame is a twain of the brain

Lawd, a hideous bitch-goddess

Love’s but one husky shy

Of a dogsleddin mushload

And mush is in grueling supply

When trailhands get buffaloed—

You buffalo me, I’ll buffalo you

On buffalo wings we’re one mushy stew

Love’s but one husky shy

Of a dogsleddin mushload

[V2 and out]

Beijing; 15^th July 2015

Freedom Fightin’ Gospel

They’re freedom fightin with the lord

They don’t stand duty and there’s peace

Until you just get bored

Ain’t no spit-shinin bootlicks

Ain’t no blood-speck sword

Just freedom fightin with the lord

I’m freedom fightin with the devil

He don’t shoot straight but his star is

Always on the level

Ain’t no hell-fired hoofprints

Ain’t no rebel revel

Just freedom fightin with the devil

I’m freedom fightin with the buddha

He sits all day but he always

Does the thing that you’da

Ain’t no earthenly temptlings

Ain’t no cheese but the gouda

Just freedom fightin with the buddha

I’m freedom fightin with the man

He always got my back ‘cause he knows

I done the thing I can

Ain’t it just a kick in the bootlick?

Ain’t it glory ‘til you just can’t stand?

Just freedom fightin with the man

I’m freedom fightin with the voodoo

My mojo’s workin but it

Just don’t mojo hoodoo

Ain’t it only ink in the flame, love

When the mojo hand tattoo you?

Just freedom fightin with the voodoo

I’m freedom fightin with the lord

He burns my brand but a light’ll

Always draw me toward

Ain’t no world but the next one

But the board is more than I can afford

Just freedom fightin with the lord

I’m freedom fightin with the reaper

He fucks this world but his tent is

Ever clean and cheaper

Ain’t no bunk-bustin night calls

Ain’t no bed rest deeper

Just freedom fightin with the reaper

They’re freedom fightin with the lord

They don’t stand duty and there’s peace

Until you just get bored

Ain’t no spit-shinin bootlicks

Ain’t no blood-speck sword

Just freedom fightin with the lord

We’re freedom fightin with the lord

We don’t stand duty and there’s peace

Until you just get bored

Ain’t no spit-shinin bootlicks

Ain’t no blood-speck sword

Just freedom fightin with the lord

Beijing; 28^th August 2015

SET FOUR

the conning linguist’s

semantic rationale

Who’s Mr. Jones?

Say, who’s that man? Who’s Mr. Jones?

Make ‘em all shiver down to their bones

Well, alright, he brought it home again

On the night that Bob Dylan rocked the Beijing Workers’ Gym

Like a rollin stone, tangled up in blue

They kept a hard rain a-fallin ‘long the watchtower, too

Well, alright, rollin and tumble-in

On the night that Bob Dylan rocked the Beijing Workers’ Gym

Haters wanted times a-changin, wanted blowin in the wind

They called him out a Judas, screamin “Lawd, Bob sinned!”

Well uptight, their world view was grim

On the night that Bob Dylan rocked the Beijing Workers’ Gym

Say, who’s that man? Who’s Mr. Jones?

I heard a thin man cryin like a freight train moans

Well, alright, although the odds are slim

Bob Dylan rocked for Freedom at the Beijing Workers’ Gym

Bob_dylan_beijing_1865156c

Despite lingering rumors to the contrary, Bob Dylan did not get me drunk and tattoo these lyrics on my ass.

It’s me via MSNBC, far left below.

Bob_dylan_beijing_1865156c

Beijing, April 2011

Diminishing Returns

FEMALE:

When I can’t have you you’re all I think of

But when I got you the flame of my love

No longer burns

That’s diminishing returns

MALE:

I’m just a small man until I woo you

But when my largesse means nothing to you

Your love adjourns

And diminishing returns

BOTH:

Diminishing returns

It’s how a fickle mind discerns

And what a fool heart never learns

From disappointment that it earns

Diminishing returns

If you await me, act like you hate me

But don’t expect much if you should date me

This all concerns

Those diminishing returns

I play the big shot when you give trouble

But back in my arms you bust the bubble

And my heart yearns

As diminishing returns

Diminishing returns

It’s how a fickle mind discerns

And what a fool heart never learns

From disappointment that it earns

Diminishing returns

Randy Abel & Kate Smith_2012-10-31

My first attempt at writing a duet, inspired by early collaboration with the inimitable Kate Smith! [Halloween Hoedown @ Yugong Yishan, 2012]

Beijing, 7^th Nov. 2012

Your Paper Man

You say there’s someone on your mind

He’s from the past, you ain’t forgot

And I can read between the lines

You had a bond, he meant a lot

And you say what you shared

Meant more than the physical can be

‘Cause it was artistry

And I say, baby, what the hell you think

You share with me?

Naturally

I’m askin, Darlin, who’s your Paper Man?

Help me understand

Tell me, Mamma,

Why’d you ever call me “Paper Man”?

I ain’t the first you ever mused

Some dudes with songs have come along

There must be others you’ve confused

My love is strong, don’t get me wrong

But one love’s remains seem

Tangled in your memory tree

Just like a kite would be

And I say, baby, what the hell’s that got

To do with me,

My poetry?

[Chorus]

What I deliver to your door

Ain’t come before, you know it’s true

It ain’t old news from distant shores

To dredge the past and make you blue

Lonely to Lonesome

From lonely to lonesome is a dark stretch of time

Up in solitary for a partnering crime

It’s a distance you measure by the walls that you climb

From lonely to lonesome takes a stark turn of mind

If you don’t know the difference, you ain’t known either one

Not the lonely that hits you when you’ve lost your someone

Nor the lonesome that follows if you don’t come undone

‘Cause one to the other there’s a gauntlet to run

If you see me out smiling, then the lonesome’s kicked in

Maybe lonely got drowned-out by whiskey and gin

Or just a lonesome delusion’s clouded my head again

Either way, I’m surviving, should you ask how I’ve been

From lonely to lonesome is a dark stretch of time

Up in solitary for a partnering crime

It’s a distance you measure by the walls that you climb

From lonely to lonesome takes a stark turn of mind

I’m a lone semantician, you might be thinking by now

Why should I parse definitions in a song, anyhow?

Because you find it a joke, dear, to see me furrow my brow

When lonely to lonesome is all the range you allow

From lonely to lonesome is a dark stretch of time

Up in solitary for a partnerin’ crime

It’s a distance you measure by the walls that you climb

From lonely to lonesome takes a stark turn of mind

From lonely to lonesome is a dark stretch of time

Randy (6 of 15)

Really came together in the fall of 2013, as one of the finest Stable offerings. The lyricism and phrasing of the tune is all homage to George Jones, who passed away a few weeks after it was written.

Beijing, 18-22 Apr. 2013

The Idiot’s Guide to Heartbreak

When you find out you’re a loser

And know you can’t stand no more pain,

When you discover you’re a dumbass

Only hurt by love again,

If it’s self-help you been seeking

But you’ve no clue where to look—

Hey, numbskull, here’s the answer

In a book.

The Idiot’s Guide to Heartbreak

Tells you all you need to know

When she’s finally up and left you

And you can’t see why she’d go.

It’s a manual for the morons,

A bible for the bruised;

Buy The Idiot’s Guide to Heartbreak,

New or used.

Chapter One needs no introduction—

Welcome, dummy, don’t despair

Just across that lonely mountain

Lies sweet lonesome waitin there.

If you follow these instructions,

You’ll be enlightened in the deal.

Just don’t fool yourself that heartbreak

Ever heals. [Chorus]

The last chapter’s no conclusion;

You’ll have to grope your lonesome way,

But the wisdom thus imparted

Builds muscle memory, experts say.

So, act now and place your order;

Don’t let your fracture drag you down,

And you won’t need no heartbreak handbook

Next time ‘round.

Idiots_Guide_cover

Writ in a ski-resort jacuzzi, with a view of idiots freezing on the slopes.

Genting, Hebei; 4-5 Jan 2014

Urges [Comma], Blue

You mighta considered I was on the verge

Before you cast your spell on me.

Bewitch me to fragments, I’m gone to merge

With your complicit harmony.

Knocked over a feather, I’m tryin to purge

Your charms before they purges me.

You mighta considered I was on the verge

When you cut loose, set me free.

But and however—Listen, Mamma:

‘Cause, after all, I’m just a man

So punctuate-able, randy, comma,

Conjunctions that you don’t understand

…et plus,

I fell for you hook, line, and on the verge

Of sink or swim a deep blue sea.

Skip me like a stone-lonesome river surge--

I fall to peaches, shake my tree.

But and however—Listen, Mamma:

‘Cause, after all, I’m just a man

So punctuate-able, randy, comma,

Conjunctions that you don’t ampersand

…et donc,

Now comes the primetime for rhymin “urge”

And lettin that urges have their due:

You let it be urgent your prime emerge,

And let me my urges, comma, blue.

Again, I’m just a fella what puts

this kinda stuff down on paper.

Beijing; 18^th, 20^th June 2014

Garden Pathological

The Conning Linguist Commutes a Garden Path Sentence.

Time flies like an arrow,

Fruit flies like a banana.

Hook drops like a bookworm,

Teardrops like a rainstorm.

Temps fall as autumnal

Windfall leaves a numbskull.

Time flies like an arrow,

Fruit flies like a banana.

The complex houses married and retired.

The old folk rock the boat afloat the seas.

The horse bucked by the stable was on fire.

A scratch in time kills nine—intrepid flees.

Time flies like an arrow,

Fruit flies like a banana.

Steam train on a brass tack,

Dreams train on the sassback—

As he eyes explication

In her eyes’ punctuation.

Time flies like an arrow,

Fruit flies like a banana.

But for grace of god there-by-god-goes a goddess.

If I’m reading you correctly—who’s to blame?

On the bright side, figure there’s a light from somewheres.

On the other hand, your digits number same.

Time flies like an arrow,

Fruit flies like a banana.

Hook drops like a bookworm,

Teardrops like a rainstorm.

Temps fall as autumnal

Windfall leaves a numbskull.

Time flies like an arrow,

Fruit flies like a banana.

Beijing; 22–25 Oct 2015

Cheeses Rising (She’s Just Fallen)

Brie noir bleu queso blanco feta gouda

Mozzarella di bufala provolone

Pepper jack havarti munster asiago

Bitto rubing string velveeta pélardon

Passendale gruyere limburger chura kampo

Danish blue rosa camuna keltic gold

Chamois d’or cream philly bleu de bresse

Pecorino nacho glouster gorgonzol

Cheeses rising, she’s just fallen

For a cheesy song recallin’

Cheeses global, cheeses local to my soul.

Et fromage with her con queso—

It’s a cheesy world, but hey, so

Cheeses rising melt my heart to greasy flow.

Colorado blackie colby stinking bishop

Romano cottage tyrolean gray

Ricotta emmental de savoie roquefort

Red leicester brick white stilton curds & whey

Camembert flower of raiya ragusano

Grevé lincolnshire poacher buxton blue

Appenzaller emmentaller baby cheddar

Cornish yarg romadur ‘merican waterloo

Cheeses rising, she’s just fallen

For a cheesy song recallin’

Cheeses global, cheeses local to my soul.

Mi formaggi her con queso—

It’s a cheesy world, but hey, so

Cheeses rising melt my heart to greasy flow.

2016-4_RANDY ABEL_Cheeses Rising.jpg

Beijing; 8^th April 2016

SET FIVE

the skyclad abject lonesome

The Buzzards of Hinckley (Still Remind Me of You)

Sweetheart, the buzzards of Hinckley

Still remind me of you.

Their return marks distinctly

When I’m lonesome and blue.

It was Buzzards’ Day last year

You swore you’d always be true.

As buzzards circle en masse, Dear,

I wish you’d migrate back, too.

Buzzards darkened this skyline

When you promised last Spring:

You’d come back to be all mine,

Wedding bells soon would ring.

Buzzards’ Day is here now, Love,

The happy crowds dance and sing;

But you have broken your vow, Love,

It’s only misery they bring.

Twilight is graying the pathway,

Buzzards wing overhead.

They hear me curse the black day

I believed we would wed.

Buzzard feathers are brown, Babe—

Like me, their faces are red.

I feel them staring me down, Babe—

Like me, they wish I was dead.

[Chorus]

Sittin by Buzzards’ Lake, Dear,

Sunken down through and through.

Ranger says I can’t stay here

While the sun’s sinkin too.

He says the birds’ll come next year,

I tell him this can’t be true—

Dear, even the buzzards of Hinckley

Can’t carry on without you.

HinckleyOhio

They’re turkey vultures, actually, and they return in mid-March.

Youngstown, Mar. 2003/Beijing, Jan. 2012

Leaving Me Incrementally

Your leaving me incrementally

Has turned me upside-down

You come to take a few small things

Back to your side of town

Lord knows this weren’t no sudden split

I’ll likely come around

But your leavin me incrementally

Has slowly dragged me down

Losing you’s blown all out of proportion

What little feel I’ve left for Love and Fortune

Our house is less a home by micro measures

As you drop by to loot our worldly treasures

Your leaving me incrementally

Has turned me upside-down

You come to take a few small things

Back to your side of town

Lord knows this weren’t no sudden split

I’ll likely come around

But your leavin me incrementally

Has slowly dragged me down

Three-eighths of the time I feign not knowin

The quarter of my soul that’s glad you’re goin

Of heartache’s pain I’ve yet but felt a fraction

This lonliness is all slo-mo reaction

Your leaving me incrementally

Has turned me upside-down

You come to take a few small things

Back to your side of town

Lord knows this weren’t no sudden split

I’ll likely come around

But your leavin me incrementally

Has slowly dragged me down

This is indeed a ditty ‘bout divorce in Beijing.

Beijing, Feb. 2012

Love Me, Save Me, Share Me

I knew when we started that she was bad news

A special-delivered invitation to the blues

Heartaches by the number in threes and in twos

As she left any barroom with whomever she’d choose

She said, “Love me, save me, share me

I’ll open my heart, dear, but barely”

This serial heartbreak suits her to a “T”

She said “Love me, save me, share me”

She was broken to pieces by loves gone before

“Exclusive” is one word she don’t keep in store

“Inclusive,” I told her, “means I’m out the door”

“Elusive,” she whispered, “and just one thing more”

She said, “Love me, save me, share me

I’ll open my heart, dear, but barely”

She can’t be the true love that I’d have her be

She said “Love me, save me, share me”

Now I sit here in darkness, the phone in my hand

As I picture her drinkin with some random man

They’re dancin to some other honky-tonk band

But why she’s worth savin he don’t understand

She said, “Love me, save me, share me

I’ll open my heart, dear, but barely”

I can love her, can’t save her, her heart’s runnin free

She said “Love me, save me, share me”

4487fc7e86231204009703

Starting to hit a stride in writing for the band…in five-part harmony!

[Zhujiajiao Watertown Music Fest, Shanghai, Oct. 2012]

Beijing, 7 April 2012

The Good Wall

Ten thousand miles away from home

Just to stand here alone

On this monument to xenophobia

I’m settin cryin

They thought the Mongols couldn’t breach it

Now it brings me no peace to reach it

It’s a good wall,

But not a great wall

Where I’m dyin

Just a good wall,

Not like the great wall

You’ve built around you

And I’ve roamed as far as China

Thinkin my absence could confound you

Ten thousand miles is just a start

For this existence apart

This here’s a good wall,

But there’s a great wall

Around your heart

Indeed a wonder of the world

A stony dragon lyin curled

‘Midst rolling hills too beauteous

For my describin

But you’ve a marvel all your own—

Fortress of fear, not earth and stone

Up on this good wall

I’m cursing your great wall

And I’m through strivin

[Chorus]

There’s The Good Wall

Then there’s The Great Wall

Around your heart

greatwall_sketch

Inspired by request (during an average Wall excursion:) and jotted to life on said structure.

Zhenbiancheng, Beijing; 3-8 Oct 2013

Fare Thee Anyway

To joy with you, the devil hush my name

Gods speed you ‘long the road from whence you came

‘Fare thee well’ is all that’s well and good to say—

Not a promise nor a hope another day

So here I stand sans malice, guilt or spite

With pen in hand I’ll try to set things right

‘Cause we tortured it to the bitter end, you know

And you snuffed it out just how you knew would grieve me so

Another sorry sucker’s lonesome song might call you home again

Pleadin,”Darlin just don’t sin the way you been”—

But this here’s your fuckin cheatin song I’m writin down today

Not a “fare thee well” but fare thee anyway

Take it easy like you said when you went free

Take it lighter than you dreamed you’d ever be

You’ll recall that all’s but suffering, not pain

You’ll hit the wall with all your winded strain

And there I’ll stand sans malice, guilt or spite

With pen in hand I’ll try to set things right

‘Cause we tortured it to the bitter end, you know

And you snuffed it out just how I asked it shouldn’t go

Maybe a sorry sucker’s lonesome song might call you home again

Pleadin,”Darlin just don’t sin the way you been”—

But this here’s your fuckin cheatin song I’m writin down today

Not a “fare thee well” just fare thee anyway

Beijing; 17 Feb. 2015

Misery Loves Harmony

Misery loves harmony

So shout me down in dulcet tones

Agony’s gay for epiphany

Let happy mayhem rattle your bones

All God needs

Is inexplicably strenuous deeds

Amazing mundane feats

Covertly-coveted teats

Imploring, cloying seeds

When God forbade the apple

It was history’s first mistake

If it was devils he’d straight forbidden

Eve and her Adam woulda et the snake

[Chorus]

Where should they go but California,

Land of sunshine-orange love nests?

Or to an occasional Iowa picnic

When oranges can’t titillate their jaded palates?

All God needs

Is inexplicably strenuous deeds

Amazing mundane feats

Covertly-coveted teats

Imploring, cloying seeds

Misery loves harmony

So shout me down in dulcet tones

Agony’s gay for epiphany

Let happy mayhem rattle your bones

Beijing; 22 Apr. 2015

Sunny’s Blues

Reckless, reckon, I loved you

Crazy-hot as love can be

I think you must have loved me

In fact, love, your passion burned me blue

Love you, love; love you

Love me — love me

Recall amour fou

You said that love’s but blindness

And I cried ‘let moments abide’

You claimed I was too crazy

I mock your blind-foolish side

Love you, love; love you

Love me — love me

Reckon amour fou

Chinese original: <<我想我爱过你>>

Sunny Cao Jiawang

23 August 2015

Linden Center, Dali

English interpretation:

Randy Abel, Rustbowl Refugee Music

24-26 August 2015

Yunnan/Beijing

Easy Victory Easy (w/ Concision)

First of woman –

E- Easy, V- Victory, E – Eve

stretched where horizons meet to separate

cloud from silt

Thine eyeline sublimist thunderation from stupefaction

cloud from silt

Thou art a stone brickhouse built

cloud from silt

Stackinest art thou to the hilt

cloud from silt

Shaketh ‘til thou gutwrench tilt

cloud from silt

Cloaketh not thine homespun lilt

cloud from silt

First of woman –

E- Easy, V- Victory, E – Eve

Beg thou wilt?

Thou wilt the grapest doubts on the vine

Thou wilt the blossom spore

‘spite tongued fears entwine

Thou wilt the pitch of nocturne sidelong

into this little light o’ mine

Thou wilt the sense that god gave geese

into

Easy

Victory

Easy

winged line

Thou wilt from fruit and shoot and snake-eyed root

our spice-wracked Eden-manna pine

Thou wilt Cain raise the able-brother’d boot, the brother-able’d scoot,

that Land-O-Nodded shine

Thou wilt from wisp of cloud and waft of silt

the very seed of guilt?

O, E- Easy, V- Victory, E- Eve,

Thou wilt be Thine

Beijing; 23^rd Nov. 2015

How Shall She Sun?

How shall she sun her springtime today?

Rank sin and toil your’n rays wash away.

She’s an Eve-motherin’ mamma

Who don’t play display.

How shall she sun her springtime today?

How shall she twist her locks up today?

Her ladyship coiffes up a storm, I dare say.

She’s a hair-do-right woman

Where a man ne’er do stay.

How shall she twist her locks up today?

How shall she sun and how shall she twist?

Divatate that and ravenate this?

How now shall her ladyship christen the mist?

How unchart the seas assailing her bliss?

How shall she ring her muses today?

How blue muses sound,

What e’er muses say.

What abuse her devices be muse-ringing ways.

How shall she ring her muses today?

How shall she sun and how shall she twist?

Divatate that and ravenate this?

How now shall her ladyship christen the mist?

How unchart the seas assailing her bliss?

How shall she sun her springtime today?

Her ladyship coiffes up a storm, I dare say.

What abuse her devices

Be muse-ringing ways.

How shall she sun her springtime today?

SUN_2_Folk yeah.png

Beijing; 18^th Jan 2016

God’s Own Skyclad Fool

"O! Signore, fa di me uno strumento della tua Pace"