“The City” by The 1975

The-1975-The-City-by-Tim-Mattia2

I’m really digging this song. These guys are my faves next to Bastille. I highly recommend the deluxe version of their current album.

“The City”

Don’t call it a fight when you know it’s a war.
With nothing but your t-shirt on.
And go sit on the bed ’cause I know that you want to.
You got pretty eyes, but I know you’re wrong.

And don’t call it a spade if it isn’t a spade.
And go lie on the floor if you want.
The first bit of advice that you gave me that I liked was they’re too strong, too strong.
Get in the shower if it all goes wrong.

Yeah, If you wanna find love then you know where the city is [x4]

Yeah counting cards was the best job he ever had.
Cleaning up.
He got good with his 4′s and his 2′s.
Community service was the best job he ever had.
Cleaning up.
He got sick on the floor and his shoes.

Oh and she said “It’s your birthday,
Are you feeling alright?”
The next one’s the MD.
You’ll be feeling just fine.
Your brother is just sat there,
You said you felt snide.
You hope that that boy will be alright.

Yeah, If you wanna find love then you know where the city is [x4]

Yeah well she said “It’s your birthday,
Are you feeling alright?”
The next one’s the MD.
You’ll be feeling just fine.
Your brother is just sat there,
You said you felt snide.
You hope that that boy will be alright.

Yeah, If you wanna find love then you know where the city is [x4]

 

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Ticket To Ride, Book 2, Chapter 31: Almost everything had fallen into place…

Loving Couple by Vickie Wade, www.vickiewade.com
Loving Couple by Vickie Wade, http://www.vickiewade.com

The painted desert can wait ‘til summer,

We’ve played this game of ‘just imagine’ long enough.

– Natalie Merchant 

Waiting. This time, hopefully. Waiting for a response to resumes sent to the islands two weeks ago in the hope of obtaining a position with one of the small publications based there. Things were different in the islands now, Morgan thought. They were opening more to the world, becoming more cosmopolitan and might offer an opportunity for a young family to realize their dreams. Life is good. Only better by hearing word from the islands. Sometimes I can feel them, taste them, smell them. Do the islands want me back? Life is good.

Morgan and Olivia had now been together for nearly a year. Their love was like a comfortable raft with one oar. And with only one oar, they had to take turns in maintaining a course. Almost everything had fallen into place.

She was able to wire her work so they could wander. And while wandering Morgan had written, written about her and the things they did, and wrote about what he hoped for.

“You’re the perfect compliment to my life.”

“And you mine.”

“Just after finishing with my therapist, I felt so completely whole. But there was this feeling, a yearning, a knowing that I could be more than whole and… well… you came into mind… and New York… the New Yorker and you’re ‘little bits.’”

“Bits and pieces… and peace.”

“Yeah peace.”

They both smiled.

“I love you.” Morgan said.

“And I you sweetie.”

Ticket To Ride, Book 2, Chapter 22 (Livy’s Perspective): A friend of mine told me it takes a leap of faith…

28Livy

Office in the sky. Too early for lunch, she thought, but it’s time somehow. Not entirely hungry, but it’s time. Business, busy-ness, the details. Livy got up from her desk, closed the drawers and turned to leave.

“Where you going Liv,” asked Ramie.

“Out, lunch I think.”

“You think?”

“Just out I guess. Maybe lunch.”

“You want company?”

“Thanks Rame, I’m going alone.”

At the elevator Livy felt it again but this time with the sense of something pulling and something impending at the same time. Impending like an audition, like it was time for the show. Inside the elevator she pushed the button for the ground floor. No one was in the elevator with her but she could smell oranges, ripe. Oranges in the dead of winter she thought. Where had she smelled them like this before?

At ground level the lobby was full of others scrambling for the elevators and the doors. The light from the glass doors at the front reflected off the floor and into her face. She looked up and beyond the doors and caught a glimpse of a sun-kissed head of hair close to the street. She smelled oranges again. Portugal, she thought, then no, it couldn’t be. The Continental for pastrami she thought now, I’m a little light-headed, need to eat.

She walked through the revolving door in the crush of others. She broke free a few feet from the sidewalk, moving slowly. She walked past him and toward the light of the sidewalk. She hadn’t seen him.

“Excuse me!” he said.

“It’s you,” she said, “it’s really you.” She smelled oranges again and saw Portugal in her mind. He’s grown up, she thought, looks almost knightly.

It became just the two of them, all else disappeared. It was a deep breath taken in as far as it could go, then the exhale and the tingling and the clarity and levity, the knowing and a fusion.

“I’ve been dreaming of this,” she whispered.

“Me too.”

Morgan stepped about five feet away, and before Livy could ask, he jumped toward her.

“What’re you doing?” she said.

“A friend of mine told me it takes a leap of faith.”

She looked at him and smiled.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he said, “anywhere.”

“Yeah,” she said, not knowing the sweetness of her own voice but feeling it all over.

Ticket To Ride, Book 2, Chapter 22: I’ve been dreaming of this…

28Twenty Two

Morgan

At 4 Times Square, “The New Yorker,” he stopped and looked up. Like a fucking monster he thought. There was a revolving door in the throat of this dragon where people spun in and spun out. He knew he had to go there, turn with it. He breathed deeply through his nose, pushed his hair back and started walking slowly as if into battle. The revolving door was spinning faster now and it seemed he might have to dive. Within a few feet, in the blur of suits and dresses spinning in and out, a slow moving creature stepped casually out of the twister, high-heeled, black-skirted and business sexy, it was her. She walked past him and toward the light of the sidewalk. He couldn’t move but a shout rose up through him from all over his body.

“Excuse me!” he yelled.

She stopped then turned slowly, her auburn hair shifting from her back and flipping over her shoulder and coming to rest on her silk blouse and covering her right breast.

Their eyes created a tunnel between them that rotated slowly as each read the other’s face, he reading a sonnet, and she studying the strong contours of his face.

“It’s you,” she said, “it’s really you.”

They moved toward one another and all the space between them was vacuumed away.

The multitudes on the sidewalk disappeared. The millions of people with their designer clothes and stress and needing to get there and keeping time with the march.

They held each other and she whispered, “I’ve been dreaming of this.”

“Me too.”

They knew each other, had known each other, would know.

Morgan stepped about five feet away, and before Olivia could ask, he jumped toward her.

“What’re you doing?” she said.

“A friend of mine told me it takes a leap of faith.”

She looked at him and smiled.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he said, “anywhere.”

Ticket To Ride, Chapter 8: Have fear, the island is full of noises…

welcomeEight

Events, daily or otherwise, are

connected solely by the struggle to

maintain a consistent identity.

They themselves are innocent.

– Narrator

 

When they reached the airport there was a strong northwestern wind blowing. Morgan and Psalm can hear a faint voice coming from within the loading dock. As they step out of the truck and move closer to the voice Morgan can see that it’s Zach working on a forklift and Morgan calls out, “Zachariah!”

“Is that you Morgan?” Zach replies, “I’m in here…Jonah with ya?”

“Jonah?”

“I mean Psalm, sorry.”

“Yeah… Psalm would you grab the invoice, Zach’s in here working on the forklift.”

“Damn this thing!”

“Broken down again ay Zach?”

“Just some loose wiring, would you hand me that screwdriver.”

As Morgan hands him the screwdriver, Psalm walks in.

“Hey Psalm, how are ya, any news from Nantucket?”

Zach and Psalm share a hometown in Massachusetts.

“Not really… they’re all looking forward to your visit.”

“Me too, it’s been a while… well that should do it.”

Zach hands the keys to Morgan.

“Would you give it a try Morgan, I’m just gonna keep an eye on these wires and make sure nothing burns.”

The forklift starts.

“Well there we go, let’s getcha loaded up.”

“I’ll take the sides off the truck.”

Morgan runs to the truck, Psalm follows slowly with Zach close behind on the forklift, now carrying a metal shipping container.

“Sure is windy today!”

“Yeah it is!”

Psalm suddenly starts reciting Shakespeare:

“Have fear: the island is full of noises,

sounds and sweet airs that give delight may cause harm.

Sometimes a thousand jangling instruments

Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices

That, if I then had waked after long sleep,

Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming,

The clouds methought would open and show riches

Ready to drop upon me, that, when waked,

I cried to dream again.” *

 

“Excuse me?” says Zach.

“What was that all about?” from Morgan.

“It’s Shakespeare,” replied Psalm.

“I know that but…”

“I’m Caliban,” said Psalm.

“Ok, whatever you say.”

Morgan looked to Zach as he threw the last box on the truck.

“Well there you go, all loaded up.”

“Thanks Zach… I guess we all know our Shakespeare,” Morgan said with an incredulous look on his face.

“Hey tell Aristotle hello for me and tell him I’m not sure what to make of this “Dinner with Trimalchio,” it’s nearly two-thousand-years-old but strangely current. Kinda strange… Romans… the fall…

Zach hands Morgan the book and Psalm freezes.

… he’ll know what I mean.”

“Easy Psalm,” Morgan says, “remember what William Blake said about the wayfaring Christian, not my dad but the poet… you can’t stay cloistered… you have to move in the world… your beliefs have to be tested.

Psalms pupils turn black.

“See you in church tonight Zach,” Psalm says, struggling to speak.

“Yeah, maybe,” replies Zach.

“Maybe?” questions Psalm.

“Yeah maybe.”

 

* from William Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Act III, scene ii, Caliban

You don’t really hate anyone…

signs-no-hateYou don’t really hate anyone. It’s all them. They’re in your computer, your TV, your phone, your rearview mirror and they’re even in your head. Sound like science fiction? Yeah, I thought so too until I remembered what a mild-mannered person I had been most of my life and couldn’t understand why I was suddenly so angry at ridiculous things and not focusing my energy on the real problem. It’s honest to goodness voodoo folks. Struggle with yourself to overcome it. Remember what great and good things you wanted to do and be as a child.

You don’t really hate anyone. Hatred is a learned behavior that can be unlearned if you can unpack the baggage of your subconscious and get rid of everything non-essential. They thrive on hatred because it’s all they know. No one ever truly loved these people and they are incapable of feeling love or feeling loved, of giving love and receiving love. These monsters are bent and broken, disfigured demons so possessed of hate and lust and desire and avarice they can’t possibly ever understand what you and I know to be true: It all comes down to love.
Think about what kind of person would want to do the work of the NSA or the CIA.
Pity them and move on, it’s all they really deserve. They’re pathetic in the real sense of the word pathetic, defined as deserving of your pathos or pity.

Schematic of all Things – All Things Being Equal?

Worth a second time around…

activistThis poem came to me a few days after 9/11. It was originally part of a short story called “Love Among the Anthrax.” It’s now part of Ticket to Ride. It’s about coming together to achieve common goals. Which goals are up to you.

schematic of all things

by philip scott wikel

I think myself not superior,
but apart,
or better,
and at the same time,
a part.
I think of the things I do as not greater,
but lesser,
at least,
of less apparent impact.
I will not shine in your eyes erudition
on the subject
but instead give you a dim view.
And it’s the you of this that must be figured,
you figure,
and I’ll do the same and am doing the same.
because the definitions are that grey;
the sea joins the sky on a day heavy with fog,
that we must do so together.

Inspirational Youtube Videos

The sun in myself on you and the apparent them,

What first they are not,
what you are not,
and then what I most certainly am;
the I being you as you become the eye in this and not superior,
but apart,
or better,
and at the same time
a part.
And then as a part of the greater,
or the higher,
reaching down to perform the lesser,
or less apparent,
the minute,
the trivial task that strikes like flint,
the power fed feeds.
I,
or now you,
won’t speak in specifics.
I,
or you,
and finally we,
will not give logistics or diagramatic signs of the specific.
Specificity dims the impact of the metaphor,
(the intellectuospiritual machine)
in which to plug the act,
the response,
the thought,
or the feeling,
and then push “play.”

An Artist's Journey

activist This poem came to me a few days after 9/11. It was originally part of a short story called “Love Among the Anthrax.” It’s now part of Ticket to Ride. It’s about coming together to achieve common goals. Which goals are up to you.

schematic of all things

by philip scott wikel

I think myself not superior,
but apart,
or better,
and at the same time,
a part.
I think of the things I do as not greater,
but lesser,
at least,
of less apparent impact.
I will not shine in your eyes erudition
on the subject
but instead give you a dim view.
And it’s the you of this that must be figured,
you figure,
and I’ll do the same and am doing the same.
because the definitions are that grey;
the sea joins the sky on a day heavy with fog,
that we must do so together.

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She’s Immune – Her Best Sarah Mclachlan…

saraImmune

 

smiling eyes pouring together

with a voice

that drips like sweet maple

 

her best sarah mclachlan knows

distress

but the first three lines

diminish the difference,

and when one is within their

gaze and song

sweet fawns and flowers

appear in dreams around her

 

dream-dipped tiki girl

lives outside of time,

the “old girl” she says she is

is forever ten,

precocious and immune.

Coy, Honeyed Mistress (Makes Me Long for Shakespearean Love & Language)

KeiraKnightley3Coy, Honeyed Mistress (Makes Me Long for Shakespearean Love & Language)

by Philip Scott Wikel

 

 

Likely,

were you not yet betrothed,

twixt with you would I seek

engagement

and bathe thee

with a thousand charms,

admirations,

and salutations.

 

What of this “yours”

addressed to me?

the better of me interprets

possession offered, an invitation.

Coy, honeyed mistress

this wishing of being

equally measured against

that woman penned

leaveth me to believe

that which I dare not equate.

Thou art more and forever.

Thy beauty is such that

mine eyes wish no other.

 

So then wherefore wouldst thee such address

this intrepid and envious heart in such manner?

Have care sweet maiden

for my intent follows thy lead,

and this “yours” holds implication and power.

Common closing or enticement?

Let it not be cloaked.

Shiny Boxes – A Love Poem by Philip Scott Wikel

good-things-come-in-small-packages-1Shiny Boxes by Philip Scott Wikel

 

If we could but place

afternoons like these

in shiny boxes

 

God damn the bittersweet

give me the lotus

and let me dream

 

damn the cold

and how it creeps

and shame on me

for letting it

 

If we could but place

afternoons like these

in shiny boxes

I’d open the rainy day in december

and never close it again