The Ballad of Roger Water's Dad

So much depends on;
Roger Water's dad.
The dad he never had.
He was destroyed in World War II,
And as a result, all was sad.
Especially for poor Roger's mom.
She was always happy.
She really had it going on.
Now the house has one less person,
And all she has is Roger Waters, her son.
How exactly to you sum up the impact
Of Roger Water's dad?
Many overlook the influence that he had.
First of all, it formed a void in Roger's heart,
Often making him sad.
But it was Roger Water's dad who really wrote "The Wall."
For it would not exist had he not taken that fateful fall.
Roger Water's dad would have taken his son to the park,
And Roger would have smiled more.
He wouldn't seem so dark.
He'd buy him a pretzel in the theater after the show,
And young Roger would be so happy,
He'd be practically aglow.
And Roger's mom wouldn't seem so lonely all the time.
And the whole family would spend lots of quality time.
But through all the fire and smoke, on the battle raged,
And poor Roger Waters and his mom's lives were forever changed.
Young Roger would now endure an awkward early life,
Constantly being around other kids, who's dads were still alive.
And on top of that, his teachers all were mean.
If you watch "Pink Floyd: The Wall," this provoked a certain scene.
But for now, Roger's dad was gone, and things would never be the same,
As this tragedy had struck Roger at such a very young age.
His future would now be filled with threatening to hit people with his bass,
And other semi-violent incidents, like when he spat on that one guy's face.
And if all these little things were results of the construction of his wall,
Then perhaps his dad's demise was responsible for it all.
Maybe he too would sing of scarecrows, cats, and bikes,
Rather than the more realistic, sometimes bleaker side of life.
But now Roger's dad is gone, and there's nothing left to do.
His mom is forever alone now,
And Roger shall be forever blue.
It makes you sometimes wonder if instead of semi-splitting in '85,
Pink Floyd would have made the next "Meddle," if Roger's dad were still alive.
But instead, two years earlier, you got "The Final Cut,"
Filled with allusions to war, along with other sad stuff.
The void in a guy's heart can apparently never be filled,
If before he could remember, he's dad was needlessly killed.
He would often hear his mother sobbing late at night,
While he'd lay there in room, writing sad poems in dim light.
Never knowing how it feels
To have a dad who loves you, and keeps it real.
Someone to take you to fly a kite,
Or teach you how to ride a bike.
To feed you oranges without the peels,
Or take you to the zoo, to pet the eels.
Such a tale of woe is Roger's life.
His dad left behind a sad and lonely son and wife.
And so it's no wonder why Roger Waters screamed
In the 1968 single, "Careful With That Axe, Eugene."

Love and CHOW MEIN!!! (Full Version)

There's a universal hunger for two things;
Love and chow mein.
The latter of which pulls our strings,
And in kind, we play it's game.
Colliding through the sea beds,
Emerging from the pond...
Chow mein, your majestic ways are where we truly all belong.
Drifting past the planets,
I drift on past the space bars.
Water of the mouth flies out my rocket window
Like continuous falling stars.
I'm spinning around in circles,
In a blurry haze of blue.
My brain likes to imagine that everything is you.
I'm stranded in the ocean,
Reading Camus out at sea.
Clogging my arteries with you would be a happy death for me.
Floating through the flower shop,
Pedals suspended in the air.
I guess they love me not, but there's chow mein, so I don't care.
I'm lying on the rooftop,
Seeing the airplanes in the sky.
Dare I dream of you, chow mein?
You make me feel like I could fly.
I've chased many a rainbow,
I've crossed many a sea,
Only to find what's all around us,
Waiting here for you and me.
Now I'm sleeping in the kitchen,
Waiting for the sun to rise again,
So I can fill my mouth with you,
Wearing a smile that never ends.
When I'm feeling shattered,
Like the whole world has got me down,
Chow mein is easily accessed in restaurants in my town.
Not to mention Asian markets,
With stretched out rice galore,
Making guys like me happy forever more.
All the world could go and start a chow mein-eating brigade,
Hanging out after the party, so we could all get more chow mein.
It's true that all is fair within love and chow mein.
Tends to fill our hearts with glee,
Drying up all of the pain.
Oh, the ways of chow mein.
You're so close and yet so far.
I could reach you way more easily if I only had a car.
And so I lie here in my bed wide awake at half past two,
Gazing out my window pain,
And I see you in the moon.

Eat

The new species came to us with one message;
"Eat."
And we sink our teeth into towers of hamburgers,
Suck the oceans of milkshakes,
Wrap out mouths around fields of french fries,
And the valleys filled with blankets of pancakes,
And the whipped cream clouds in the eternal sunshine,
Rain your several syrups down on our heads!
This is our fix.
Fill your mouth.
Amen.

Rhonda's Dream

My first full on attempt at computer art, which may be evident in it's sloppiness. Inspired by the infamous cartoon character of the 90's, who resides deeply in my thoughts.

Note: For some reason, the quality on the small image is crappy. Click on the picture for better quality. Pretty stars.

Freedom Is Good

Freedom is good.
It’s a way of life.
Freedom is good.
It eliminates strife.
Freedom is good.
It’s really fun.
Freedom is good…
Until you jump the gun.
Freedom is good.
Because it allows us guns.
It was freedom that killed Bambi’s mom.
And I can still remember that sound.
The echoing explosion.
The doe falling down.
The dreaded crack that echoed across the snow beds and in my head.
Raping my childhood with terror and dread.
And it was clear to me that Bambi’s mom was dead.
So take your freedom and hug it tight.
Along with your gun investment rights.
And what is the right?
What is the right?
You and I, babe, we could go to the moon.
Perhaps via house and abundant balloons?
Create our own world.
A world of guns.
Killing deer.
Having fun.
I love you, freedom.
You’re my apple pie.
Throughout the down times and the high.

My Response to the Article On That Skating Rink That Burned Down

Jeepers, that old skating rink burned down, huh? You mean the one with all those pretty girls who never paid any attention to me because I couldn’t skate, and the only time they actually paid attention to me was when they were all laughing at me because I would always go out there, fall and hurt myself, and later come back in a cast, and then break some more bones to the point where I now have to spend the rest of my life in this wheel chair? That skating rink? Oh my goodness! I wonder how it burned down. They say that it seemed to have been done deliberately. Or was it an act of God?

Thinking of this place really brings back a lot of memories for me, and none of them happy ones. I think the word “frustrating” fits it better. That’s right. Frustrating. For me, going to this skating rink as a kid was like going to church. My parents would drag me down there every day, and I would fall and injure myself, and everyone would laugh at me. My mom wanted me to be the next Brian Boytonno. My dad, on the other hand, wasn’t necessarily hoping to turn me into Brian Boytonno, unlike my mother. He thought that going to this skating rink would make me tough. That it would build character and turn me into a man. But that just didn’t seem to add up, because when I think of guys skating, “tough” just isn’t the first word that comes to mind. In fact, when I think of Brian Boytonno, the name “Boytonno” doesn’t seem to fit. He needs to get rid of that “boy” part of his name and put “girl” there. In fact, looking back on it now, I think that just maybe, my mom might have wanted me to be gay. For after she would send me out onto the cold, hard ice to injure myself and later have to be taken to the hospital, the pretty girls there would laugh at and mock me, and I took it as a sign that my mom thought that if the girls were mean enough to me, then maybe I would end up like Brian Boytonno by ending up on a cooking show, making “yummy” tasting things that are “scrumptious” and “lovely” and “decedent” and “sinful” and, oh what else, “naughty.”

Yep, that was how I spent my youth there. It wasn’t as bad in the summer time, even though I probably got the same amount of injuries and humiliation, because I was at least able to escape the heat. But why did they have to take me there in the wintertime, when there is already snow outside? Couldn’t they at least give me some new scenery? Besides, in the wintertime, there aren’t any pretty girls there. Sure, they were cruel. Sure, they always did their best to humiliate me, but hey, they were good looking. There was just a big group of mean guys who would stuff me into trash cans on my way home. And they were much better at skating than I was. And to make matters worse, they didn’t even look like Brian Boytonno. They looked more like Marlin Brando. And they had motorcycles. And the girls who laughed at me were usually riding those motorcycles on the back. And they never crashed those motorcycles, because unlike me, they were coordinated. And they could stand on the ice, and not fall down and break their bones. They could stand still on the ice and not move a mussel. And they could look cool. They were as cool and cooler than Marlin Brando. My dad would say, “You’re a screw up! Why can’t you be as cool as THOSE guys on ice? These skating lessons aren’t cheap, you know!” And my mom thought they were hot on ice.

So again, I wonder how that place burned down. I just wonder how the heck that place burned down. On an unrelated note, I wonder if all wheel chairs have the same tire track markings. I sure hope so.

The "Beth Gibbons & the Big Cheese" Series

What you probably don't know is that I am actually an artist/album cover designer. Strangely enough, I was on Google images about two weeks ago, and I found some of my art online. So it got me in a mode of deep self-contemplation.
















This is one I did in December, 2010, and is titled "Beth Gibbons & the Big Cheese." It is deeply inspired by dairy products, and the lead singer of Portishead. An odd combination, but hey. I made a sequel of it in January of this year titled "Beth Gibbons & the Big Cheese 2," which I will show you simply because.



Apparentlyy, I have a little thing called Hollywood Syndrome, where the sequel is never as good as the first one. While both were just as inspired, this one didn't live up to the magic of "Beth Gibbons & the Big Cheese." The cheese was cheesier. The Beth was...Bethier.



Here is a random picture of the real Beth Gibbons:


















Does anybody here have Beth Gibbon's phone number?!