Marcie is obsessed with this song. We are at her house, in her room (upon the carpet that I gleefully bought and installed) discussing it. She lounges on her bed as I sit before the stereo. Our relationship is knitting together unlike it ever did before. The civilized gentleman is gonna be nice. It is the peak. All is downhill from here. I skip my classes. I do everything to satisfy my obsession to be with her. Her parents approve. At first, this bewildered me, but then came as a natural thing. Adaptabili...
Jayson and I sit listening to this song. He comments on the guitar part, the vibrato and its repititions and how it creates a mood of otherworldliness. It is 1991. We shared many scintillating hours with this album. We go to Chili's and discuss how Tony and Chris have become close, moved in together and how he and I were doing the same. He says it may be as life should be that we become close as we are the most lyrical of the gang. He always sang along with everything. (I lapse into past tense again.) He w...
I am walking with my iriver playing insistently in my ears waiting for another message from Honeybunicka. It is the posh part of Dejvice. Near Podbaba. I walk often these days, often to rid myself of the alcohol which permeated endless (seemingly) hours before. My recovery phase. She is my only deep contact at this time. I send her a message (You can't spend the whole song in space). She replies with something along the lines of ... why can't you then spend it on earth? I purchase a sandwich and head for...
I am sitting not at my desk before my computer and laptop, but behind, adjacent to Karen's empty place. I am playing with scanned photos, preparing them for places on a website I have not created yet. I am at EIN, my first job in Praha. This is one of the only CDs I brought with me on my flight from NYC through Warsaw to Praha. It strikes me as something Draza would love, though I don't know her well, only know that she made me welcome in this alien place. I have only been here a few weeks, nigh a month. R...
Marty Willson-Piper makes a good point. ...
I am walking from a small town in north-western Spain with this song playing in my ears. Ah, the whole album, not just this song. The most telling and touching one comes next. The sign says 100 metres to the turnoff to the campsite and the beach. I count steps along with the 4/4 of it. I am glorified in my solitude. I am not looking forward to reaching the tent, intend to purchase a flask of beer before arriving though I know she'll be angry, questioning the reason though she knows it gives me temporary esc...
I am in El Paso. Perhaps this is playing in the background. Acy is on the phone. I am running up a bill that I'll never be able to pay. We speak and laugh. We always laughed at our absurdities. It healed me whilst I was alone. I lie on that small, uncomfortable bed. Papers are scattered on the floor around a keyboard on which I wrote the bass part for 'Tomorrow Never Came'. Tony played it pretty much to perfection. He is always diligent in that manner. It plays also in my truck, uncared for but functional, ...
I am on my bed in Jester Hall in Austin ... the University of Texas. John is not with me in the room. I am alone with his posters of Stryper and other hair-metal bands of the day. (Days long gone.) The chords Marty Willson-Piper fades in and out grip me with their raw value. I would say power, but this is not metal. Acy introduced me to this album and it remains etched even to this day. But I am flying to the future. I wonder were there days when I wandered around the campus listening to this very song - th...
I struggle with the guitar part in my flat in Seattle whilst Brynn does other unknown things in the bedroom. When my guitar sits in my lap and my lips try to force the syllables which churn from my breast. I don't complete it. But the sentimentality of the piece coats me senses as I begin again and again. Brynn enters and I show her the chords and the melody. She dares not play, so I do it. She sings a bit. We retire to hear the original (the same which plays in my ears at the moment, sometime in the future...
It's 1991 and I am in my room in College Station. It is only a few minutes walk to Chris and Jayson's place. I am staring blankly at the white walls adorned with a few posters (one of Kate Bush). This song plays and I am melancholy, as the music demands. Kindle floats through my mind and ideas of a liaison with her taunts. It is an unrequieted future. I should have known from the outset. ...
I cannot understand it, though many years I have listened to it. It is grand, but bizarre. I calamyty.I grant my soul as a bitch. Scratching pages don't matter. I am wasted. ...
