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I was one of the first veejays to take the camera out on location, and that's what was unique about MTV at that time.

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No One Knows The Way Out (A Poem Of One Mood-Despair)

NO ONE KNOWS THE WAY OUT
(A POEM OF ONE MOOD -DESPAIR)

Nothing goes well,
The world is turning upside down-
One after one
The terrible surprises-
On the verge
Of a new kind of hell,
All is ugly and frightening
And no one knows the way out.

The world is falling down
And Darkness is everywhere
The hungry lose their strength to cry out,
And cruelty is survival’s only friend-

All is going into Chaos
And mankind is at the edge
Of its own
Ultimate Abyss.

No hope, no help
Only suffering and more suffering
Pain without end
The only prayer,
for Death-
and that too does not come
soon enough.

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Another One Rides The Bus

(parody of queens another one bites the dust)
Riding in the bus down the boulevard
And the place was pretty packed (yeah!)
Couldnt find a seat so I had to stand
With the perverts in the back
It was smelling like a locker room
There was junk all over the floor
Were already packed in like sardines
But were stopping to pick up more, look out
(chorus)
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus
Another comes on and another comes on
Another one rides the bus
Hey, hes gonna sit by you
Another one rides the bus
Theres a suitcase poking me in the ribs
Theres an elbow in my ear
Theres a smelly old bum standing next to me
Hasnt showered in a year
I think Im missing a contact lens
I think my wallets gone
And I think this bus is stopping again
To let a couple more freaks get on look out
(chorus)
(weird sound effects)
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus ow
Another one rides the bus hey hey
Another one rides the bus hey-ey-ey-ey
The window doesnt open and the fan is broke
And my face is turning blue (yeah)
I havent been in a crowd like this
Since I went to see the who
Well I shouldve got off a couple miles ago
But I couldnt get to the door
There isnt any room for me to breathe
And now were gonna pick up more
(chorus)

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One Of The Great Mysteries Of Nature

A bird or wild animal when they sense death is upon them will crawl under thick cover for to die
Why this should be great minds have often pondered though they did not come up with the answer why
Beast or bird to die will try to crawl to cover it's something way beyond them to explain
It's one of the great mysteries of Nature and as a mystery forever 'twill remain.

There are so many mysteries in Nature and us humans despite our advanced technology
Cannot unlock Mother Nature's deepest secrets and Nature to us still a mystery
Some seem to think that wild creatures die in cover from their enemies to hide themselves away
But that is just one of a thousand theories and I would rather stick with 'who can say'.

There are so many mysteries in Nature and her secrets she doesn't share with you and I
And Mother Nature to me still remains a mystery though I've lived near her since I was a young boy
And those who say they know of Nature's secrets they kid themselves or if not that they lie
For Mother Earth to us remains a mystery though to understand her ways we never cease to try.

The bird or beast for to die will try to crawl to cover even
from their own kind they wish to die alone
And why this should be to us remains a mystery and none of Nature's secrets to us known
As the years go by we acquire greater knowledge but people like the Seasons come and go
But Nature with secrecy will guard her secrets and her secrets are not for us to know.

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One Day The Earth Will Open Up For My Brother On What Would Have Been His Seventy- Second Birthday

One day the earth will open up
And take me also
As it has taken so many others I love

Dear Brother
Twenty years
Gone from this world
Will we ever see each other again?
I doubt it

As I walk home in the morning after davvaning
These leaves these flowers these trees
How I wish you could see them also.

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Doing One or The Other

Do not 'threaten' with promises,
To move and go away.
Do it!
Your perception will be enhanced.

You will know who misses you and why.
You will know the value of your opinions.
And that influence you believe you have achieved,
Over others?
Sit and wait by your telephone,
To hear how much you are endeared!

Do not 'threaten' with promises,
To move and go away.
Do it!
Your perception will be enhanced.

You will either perceive yourself,
As being an overused convenience.
Or you will quit leaving yourself voicemail...
To test an underused answering service.
Doing one or the other will snap you into reality.
And dramatically your thoughts will change.

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Make Sure The Camera Is On Your Best Side

I once had it said to my face
That I did not 'act' right
Therefore that person made a decision
To ignore me
The one walking up to me
To tell me this to my face
And that's why they have not been around
If I should be concerned with worry
As to the absence of their presence

This 'has' got to be a setup of some kind
No one is that stupid
To walk up to someone to tell them
They have been ignored and for what reasons
This 'has' to be a new approach to inflicting humiliation!

I began to feel extremely uncomfortable
Because I knew right then
Someone was hired to tape my reactio
And I was not dressed to impress
To be captured on film!
Not to appear to laugh for no reason
Blackmail material?
That's what I thought

If I was going to be filmed
I was not going to look the part of a fool
So I walked away slowly
As if I did not hear one word that was said
Hoping the cameras were fixed on my left side
My left profile is better to capture on film

My acting friends always say
'Make sure the camera is on your best side'

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Easily Bamboozled

Who knows 'who' is telling 'who' the truth these days?
Lieing is as common as ordering fish and chips.
Banana splits with cherries on top.
And...
Get a piece of delicious pecan or apple pie.
With a flaky buttered golden crust,
That melts within your mouth...
Inviting the next taste with a drool!
That's how good these lies are told today.
'Fools galore for sale! Three dozen...fiften dollars!
Per basket! '
And not a face prepared to express remorse.
In fact,
The more sincere the eyes these days...
It appears that's the one telling the biggest lie of all.
And nothing will there be mentioned,
About those pinching each other on the butt...
Throughout the halls of justice.
They are the worst offenders.
Some say this is acting.
I say...
These are lies told by liars,
And they are criminally minded people!
Habitual and needing clinical confinement.
These folks have no integrity.
None.
And they are the ones who will convince anyone...
Easily bamboozled,
They have the feet of 'angels' in daylight.
But in some sleazy darkened guttered crevice...
The foundation under those 'angel's' feet,
Is being sold at a nice profit.
To someone who's language is foreign.
Rich! No matter how they got it!
Or who they are!

And those with 'angel's feet'
Will be offered first rights to purchase!
That land where 'your' ancestors had the pleasure to steal!
'All of this can be yours...
And,
Once upon a time it was! '
But, if and/or only...
You have an updated passport to sign the agreement.
'That is inside the safe where it sits on our shores! '
AND the agreement 'with' the required transferral of funds,
Has been done in Euros!
To provide you with comfort on that U.S. soil...
Belonging to us to you we will be glad to sell!
Anything to begin to heal and mend,
Our re-established...friendship!

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Amy Lowell

The Basket

I

The inkstand is full of ink, and the paper lies white and unspotted,
in the round of light thrown by a candle. Puffs of darkness sweep into
the corners, and keep rolling through the room behind his chair. The air
is silver and pearl, for the night is liquid with moonlight.

See how the roof glitters, like ice!

Over there, a slice of yellow cuts into the silver-blue, and beside it stand
two geraniums, purple because the light is silver-blue, to-night.


See! She is coming, the young woman with the bright hair.
She swings a basket as she walks, which she places on the sill,
between the geranium stalks. He laughs, and crumples his paper
as he leans forward to look. 'The Basket Filled with Moonlight',
what a title for a book!

The bellying clouds swing over the housetops.


He has forgotten the woman in the room with the geraniums. He is beating
his brain, and in his eardrums hammers his heavy pulse. She sits
on the window-sill, with the basket in her lap. And tap! She cracks a nut.
And tap! Another. Tap! Tap! Tap! The shells ricochet upon the roof,
and get into the gutters, and bounce over the edge and disappear.

'It is very queer,' thinks Peter, 'the basket was empty, I'm sure.
How could nuts appear from the atmosphere?'

The silver-blue moonlight makes the geraniums purple, and the roof glitters
like ice.


II

Five o'clock. The geraniums are very gay in their crimson array.
The bellying clouds swing over the housetops, and over the roofs goes Peter
to pay his morning's work with a holiday.

'Annette, it is I. Have you finished? Can I come?'

Peter jumps through the window.

'Dear, are you alone?'

'Look, Peter, the dome of the tabernacle is done. This gold thread
is so very high, I am glad it is morning, a starry sky would have
seen me bankrupt. Sit down, now tell me, is your story going well?'

The golden dome glittered in the orange of the setting sun. On the walls,
at intervals, hung altar-cloths and chasubles, and copes, and stoles,
and coffin palls. All stiff with rich embroidery, and stitched with
so much artistry, they seemed like spun and woven gems, or flower-buds
new-opened on their stems.


Annette looked at the geraniums, very red against the blue sky.

'No matter how I try, I cannot find any thread of such a red.
My bleeding hearts drip stuff muddy in comparison. Heigh-ho! See my little
pecking dove? I'm in love with my own temple. Only that halo's wrong.
The colour's too strong, or not strong enough. I don't know. My eyes
are tired. Oh, Peter, don't be so rough; it is valuable. I won't do
any more. I promise. You tyrannise, Dear, that's enough. Now sit down
and amuse me while I rest.'

The shadows of the geraniums creep over the floor, and begin to climb
the opposite wall.


Peter watches her, fluid with fatigue, floating, and drifting,
and undulant in the orange glow. His senses flow towards her,
where she lies supine and dreaming. Seeming drowned in a golden halo.

The pungent smell of the geraniums is hard to bear.


He pushes against her knees, and brushes his lips across her languid hands.
His lips are hot and speechless. He woos her, quivering, and the room
is filled with shadows, for the sun has set. But she only understands
the ways of a needle through delicate stuffs, and the shock of one colour
on another. She does not see that this is the same, and querulously murmurs
his name.

'Peter, I don't want it. I am tired.'

And he, the undesired, burns and is consumed.

There is a crescent moon on the rim of the sky.


III

'Go home, now, Peter. To-night is full moon. I must be alone.'

'How soon the moon is full again! Annette, let me stay. Indeed, Dear Love,
I shall not go away. My God, but you keep me starved! You write
`No Entrance Here', over all the doors. Is it not strange, my Dear,
that loving, yet you deny me entrance everywhere. Would marriage
strike you blind, or, hating bonds as you do, why should I be denied
the rights of loving if I leave you free? You want the whole of me,
you pick my brains to rest you, but you give me not one heart-beat.
Oh, forgive me, Sweet! I suffer in my loving, and you know it. I cannot
feed my life on being a poet. Let me stay.'

'As you please, poor Peter, but it will hurt me if you do. It will
crush your heart and squeeze the love out.'

He answered gruffly, 'I know what I'm about.'

'Only remember one thing from to-night. My work is taxing and I must
have sight! I MUST!'

The clear moon looks in between the geraniums. On the wall,
the shadow of the man is divided from the shadow of the woman
by a silver thread.


They are eyes, hundreds of eyes, round like marbles! Unwinking, for there
are no lids. Blue, black, gray, and hazel, and the irises are cased
in the whites, and they glitter and spark under the moon. The basket
is heaped with human eyes. She cracks off the whites and throws them away.
They ricochet upon the roof, and get into the gutters, and bounce
over the edge and disappear. But she is here, quietly sitting
on the window-sill, eating human eyes.

The silver-blue moonlight makes the geraniums purple, and the roof shines
like ice.


IV

How hot the sheets are! His skin is tormented with pricks,
and over him sticks, and never moves, an eye. It lights the sky with blood,
and drips blood. And the drops sizzle on his bare skin, and he smells them
burning in, and branding his body with the name 'Annette'.

The blood-red sky is outside his window now. Is it blood or fire?
Merciful God! Fire! And his heart wrenches and pounds 'Annette!'

The lead of the roof is scorching, he ricochets, gets to the edge,
bounces over and disappears.

The bellying clouds are red as they swing over the housetops.


V

The air is of silver and pearl, for the night is liquid with moonlight.
How the ruin glistens, like a palace of ice! Only two black holes swallow
the brilliance of the moon. Deflowered windows, sockets without sight.

A man stands before the house. He sees the silver-blue moonlight,
and set in it, over his head, staring and flickering, eyes of geranium red.


Annette!

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Then there was the challenge to keep doing better and better, to fly the best test flight that anybody had ever flown. That led to my being recognized as one of the more experienced test pilots, and that led to the astronaut business.

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That Was Yesterday

Its finally over
But I cant even cry
So, dont you give me no sweet talk
You done told your last lie
I was your puppet
Just a dancin, dancin on a string
But when the sun went down last night,
Lord, it changed everything
Today I feel different
cause now I can see
That you care more bout yourself
Than mistreatin me
It took me a long time
To figure you out
But misery and pain
Aint what loves all about
(chorus)
I was your woman
But ya threw it away
I used to be your very own
Custom made, love slave, do anything for you, little fool
But that was yesterday
That was yesterday
And so it goes
Another lesson gets learned
And in the big book of experience
Another page gets turned
Now you say you need me
Well, honey, you got some nerve
I hope some sweet tomorrow
Well get what we deserve
(repeat chorus)
Im packing up and movin on
Your real good thing is good and gone

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Gravy On You

Well, I think youre obnoxious
And I think that you stink
I think youre a moron
A slob, and a fink
Youre one of the biggest turkeys I know
And that is the reason Im going to
Throw gravy on you
And throw gravy on you
And throw gravy, gravy on you-ou-ou-ou-ou

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Im Taking The Day Out

Im taking the day out
Im slipping away
I know what youre thinking
But please not today
Tell me tomorrow or never at all
cos I know so maybe Ill give you a call
Im taking the day out
Yea taking the day out
Tell me tomorrow or never at all
I know what youre after
Ill give you a call
Im taking the day out
Yea taking the day out

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Cut the Puzzle Out

Sometimes when you break up with your friend,
you make a mistake, you have a very bad situation.
Well, cut the puzzle out,
put it together,
that means to make a new friend,
or get along better.
It also means that when you have a friend,
you should help them out, that's how this song goes.
Now, when you have a friend, you should help them out,
help, help, help your friends.
Ooh, yeah!
You should help them out, help them out, help them out,
help them, help them, help them out.
Yeah!

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Midnight From The Inside Out

Written by: r. robinson & c. robinson
You, with your fast and furlined mind
With your disregard of time, virtue, horizon
Here where the angels never sleep
Where the waters dark and deep
You breathe molasses
Chorus:
Midnight from the inside out
Turn around and they all fall down
Screaming red and the lights go out
Turn around and they all fall down
You, madness dripping from your tongue
While starting at the sun
You speak explosion
Up, with the flies around the moon
Needle, mirror, spoon and cotton candy

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the poem that N A M E D itself

it crawls out
slithering snake
onto the paper
spread like the Bible
out before me
and I think:
what shall I write?
and it seeps out
bleeding black
onto the paper
words that form
from the hollow
places inside me
that sometimes
I can’t find
and it calls forth
emotions that
deserve the words
I can’t give
—except
I give them
my pen is sharp
and my hand aches
the words are
pouring out onto
the face
of blank paper
and I am staring
outside myself
not writing the
words but merely
a vessel for them
to contain themselves
when it is done
and the hollow places
are silent I ask:
what shall I
call it?
but it is already
N A M E D

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Running From An Angel

Dont look a gift horse in the mouth
Come on try and tell me what youre talkin about
Those things youre dealing with, youre living a lie
Every time I see you it makes me wanna cry
Sometimes wed laugh and talk, seems like yesterday
Then you let the white horse come and take you away
They came to get you, it was cold and black
The wheels were in motion, there was no turning back
Chorus:
Running from and angel, runnin to the devil
I looked up to you a long time ago
But theres something I want you to know
Your lying and cheating really tore us apart
Please dont come home if youre gonna break my mommas heart
Chorus
Ad lib (over solo section)
Chorus
Ad lib (over outro)

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The Harsh Truth Of The Camera Eye

Churchillian legs
Hair barely there
Mmm, the harsh truth of the camera eye
Your eyes signal pain
Because of the strain of smiling
The harsh truth of the camera eye
Telling you all
That you never wanted to know
Showing you what
You didnt want shown
My so friendly lens
It zooms into
The inner you
And it tells the harsh truth
And nothing but
Laugh with us all now, here
If you can
Then take the pictures home
And scream
Oh, ooh; telling you all
That you never wanted to know
Showing what
You didnt want shown
This photographer
He must have really had it in for you
Ooh, I dont want
To be judged anymore
I dont want to be judged
I would sooner be loved
I would sooner be
Just blindly loved ...

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Little Bit Of Emotion

See all the people
With hatred in their eyes
I cant help thinking that
Its only a disguise
Cause underneath that core
Theres got to be more
Than what we realize
Maybe theyre scared
To let the inside out
Maybe theyre afraid to
Show what theyre all about
So they put on a heavy front and hope that no one else
Can work them out
So they put on all the heaviness
But its only an illusion heaviness
Cant you see
Theyre scared to
Show a little bit of emotion
A little bit of real emotion
In case a little bit of emotion
Gives them away
Look at that lady dancing around with no clothes
Shell give you all her body
Thats if youve got the dough
Shell let you see most
Anything but theres one thing
That shell never show
And thats a little bit of real emotion
A little bit of true emotion
In case a little bit of emotion
Gives her away
But its a shame shes acting that way
Somehow shes gotta get through every day
And the only way
Is not to show one little bit of emotion
A little bit of true emotion
In case a little bit of emotion gives her away
People learn their lines
And they act out their part
Then they talk on cue
But its got no heart
Its all on the surface
And its all contrived
Theyre scared to come out
Somehow theyve got to survive
Look at that looney
With a smile on his face
He knows no shame
And feels no disgrace
Hes got a look in his eyes
That makes it seem that hes from outer space
Maybe that looney knows what its all about
Hes got something to say
But he cant spit it out
Hes unco-ordinated so we shut him out
In case he shows a little bit of emotion
A little bit of real emotion
Were afraid to see a bit of emotion
So we walk away
Show a little bit of real emotion
Show a little bit of emotion
Were afraid to see a bit of emotion
So we walk away

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Patrick White

Like A River In Its Running, Like Life, Like Time, Like Mind

Like a river in its running, like life, like time, like mind
no point of departure that isn't also a moment of arrival.
Toxic parasols and meteor showers shot precisely
out of the green radiants of the candling umbrellas
and half-hearted parachutes of the water hemlock.
Starbursts of flowers that scald like welding sparks.
Bouquets thrown backwards over the shoulders of mean brides.

Alone in the high, wild grass, I just want to lie down in the sun
until half of me leaks into my watershed and the other half
evaporates into the cerulean bliss of the oblivious sky,
just breathe myself out into unfathomable volumes of space,
a riff of sacrificial smoke from a guitar on a pyre
as unconcerned as fire about where I'm going from here.

I like the metaphors that spring up like wild irises
along the mindstream, so I guess this is flowing,
though I could as easily be walking down a dirt backwoods road
feeling many of the same things, as I exalted
in the early blossoming of the chicory as a cosmic event
with mystic implications for those who can see
eternity embodied in the earthly simplicity of flowers
and that time, in the long run, has nothing to do with enduring.

I'm going to trample out a deer bed and lie down here
sketching starmaps of this year's flotilla of waterlilies
until the light of the isoscelean Summer Triangle breaks
like chalk on a blackboard. I want to clear my mind
like the Nazca Plateau and let the fireflies build runways
like well lit jungle zodiacs for the extraterrestrials.
Not expecting the wind to whisper secrets in my ear.
The trees can keep their secrets to themselves.
I'm not here to read the private life of the moon
left open like a diary of telescopic wavelengths
too intimate to be revealed to the one-eyed peeping toms.

Just want to settle into my own wake awhile
like dust kicked up by a wheel, numb the turmoil
on the wonder of things that embrace me as if
I were a stranger to myself the same as them
and our chief function in life, if there's one at all,
were merely the expression of our presence here
arrayed in the eyes of all like moon rise in a dropp of water.
Things flashing into this openness like constellations
of fish and dragonflies in a mirror elaborating their ripples
into flying carpets of musical effusion
that are never out of hidden harmony with chaos
even when seeds are scattered like dice
on the ghost of a chance on the wind lamenting its luck.

Don't want to mean, or be, or do.
I've been through those doors so many times
I'm beginning to think my feet are retrogressive thresholds
or stone mill water wheels grinding out my daily bread
like a Mayan calendar with a new moon at harvest time.
Nothing's resolved except perhaps you perceive
how the sublimities of life arise like Arcturus
out of its utter insignificance through an opening
in the crown of the black walnut tree you're lying under.
Whatever I am, whether I bear a message or not,
or I'm just a witness that wasn't called upon to testify,
comes a time when it seems more fruitive to let
the medium adapt its grammar to me to say what it wants
than I should try to shape it to the unsayable
that always leaves the taste of abandoned books in my mouth.

It's possible to flute your emptiness through the top
of an empty whiskey bottle making nautical sounds below decks
like the s.o.s. of a lifeboat in distress. Or you can percolate
like a breakfast clutch of black-capped chickadees in the willows
trying to get them to take something seriously for once,
or mock the crows like lumps of coal too cynically short-sighted
to spot the diamonds in their soul. Or you can
stop imitating yourself as if you were the proto-type
of someone who hasn't made it to the showroom floor yet.
They're all feasibility studies in pragmatic absurdity.
Given time, any lifemask you've carved out of your unlikeness
will grow to resemble you as space
has become a similitude for the dead.
Me? I just want to lie here until all I've got left for a voice
is a bird homing in the twilight, and when I roll over
to look in the water and see what remains of me, is a face
as unrecognizable as the universe.

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Get Ethnic

(rap:)
Lying here in the sun just trying to get a tan
Trying to find a look to go with the plan
Everyones different
Everyones go their thing
Spinman give me a rhythm...swing, swing
You dont have to dance alone
You get on the floor and make yourself at home
Do anything you want to do
Its alright... its all up to you
(ethnic chorus):
It doesnt matter what skin youre in
Baby let the groove begin
Get ethnic...all day
Get ethnic...all night
gonna chill and ride the day out
People let me tell you what its all about
Get ethnic...all day
Get ethnic...all night long
(talk):
Walk my way!!!
Talk my way!!!
This is a new direction
Were gonna take it to the street
Spinman throw down a funky beat
Ooh sweet
Dont really care where you come from
You may move to a different drum
Jump right in and take you place
Were all part of the human race
(ethnic chorus):
Like you mama do
And your daddy too
Its an attitude
(ethnic chorus x 2):
Everybodys different
And we all have a song to sing
Spinman do your rhythm thing...swing...swing
Spinman do your rhythm thing...swing...swing
(ethnic chorus):
Cmon cmon baby
Smooth me out
Smooth me out
(chant fade).

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