Strange as this paradox may seem

You will do this best by not trying to do it at all

You must quickly make up your mind

Or as quickly, be cast in yonder mud puddle

Two things must occupy your thinking powers

To the exclusion of every other thing:

First the goal

Second, the momentum required to reach it!

Do not look down!

Do not look down!

Do not look down, like an imbecile

upon the steering wheel in front of you:

that would be as wise as for a nauseated voyager

to fix his instruments upon the rolling waves!

It is the curse of life that nearly every one looks down.

But the microscope will never set you free:

you must glue your eye to the telescope

glue your eye to the telescope:

look up  look up!

look off  look off !

look on  look on!

look out  look out,

look out look out

Look out!

spin me like I have already spoken

like a spoke holds its tension

like it’s together that the spokes are the invention of a wheel

that a wheel is only as round as it’s tension

that a wheel is a round invention

She gets on her bicycle, She gets on her bicycle,

She gets on her bicycle: she rides!

fragile bodies soaring through the city

on two-wheeled cycles through the traffic and people

steering clear of the potholes and car doors and the streetcar tracks

tuned into our own personal soundtrack

I’m singing out loud as I pedal through the streets

spinning to the rhythm of  4.5 million heart beats

I tend to miss my turnoffs when I’m tuned in to my turn-on’s

I tend to write sentences that turn into run-on’s

I tend to recycle the same thoughts that circle round

the way I re-cycle the same stretches of ground

on my two-wheeled bicycle that gets me around.

She gets on her bicycle…

I get this feeling on my two-wheeled steed:

when I pick up speed: it feeds something free

the desire for autonomy, moving outside the dominant economy

under my own steam two wheels, not four:

no gas, no oil, no war for this machine

all I need is air, two legs, two wheels,

a crank and a chain, two pedals and a frame

A revolution that keep me arriving, again and again

She gets on her bicycle…

Bridge: The back wheel is attached to the chain!

It’s the back wheel that’s attached to the chain!

The back wheel is attached to the chain!

The past that drives us forward, again and again

The past is behind us; the back wheel is the power

The front wheel freewheels, hour after hour

You can’t ride a bike in 30 pounds of petticoats

You don’t have a voice in a democracy without a vote

A wheel would collapse if it wasn’t for the spokes

chorus: oooo, oooo, oooo….oh, oh, oh,
love sounds sweet, love sounds so sweet,
love sounds sweetest on the radio

back in the old days, love was hard:
you kept dropping your keys
into the water in the middle of winter
and watching them freeze.
now I’m driving the high ways you told me about,
and you’ve got that ring
and over the airwaves I listen to you, I hear you sing

chorus

You kept me company in that little café,
I played you loud.
You came to town, no one knew but me,
I brought you a crowd.
Now you’re on your way,
and I guess I’m on mine, and I guess that’s the thing,
out here in the middle of nowhere, i hear you sing

chorus

Looks like I’ve lost another hero to love,
guess I should have known

Everyone always sings about their love

Here we are in a tent, West Virginia:

Mountains, and the shiny stars above.

Big dipper hangs upsidedown in Australia:

Water there goes backward down the drain.

We’ll drive off in opposite directions,

Find ourselves together once again.

And the summer leaves a sunburn, like a memory

But while your kingdom waits patiently for rain,

the North star is calling homeward:

Her love the shiny tracks, and I, a train.

Canada’s always dreaming about California,

Everyone always wants what they can’t have

We talk into the dark: sleepy bandits,

Stealing the night as though it’s ours.

And the mountains are really blue, like they said they were

and your blue eyes are threatening to rain,

and the North star is calling homeward:
her love the shiny tracks, and I, a train.

Canada’s always dreaming about California

All those deserts: all our snow.

Our children would be melted glaciers:

we’d build an arc, like Noah, then we’d go

sailing around the world until we’d wake up,

on a mountain, under canvas, in the rain,

with the North star calling me homeward,

her love the shiny tracks, and I, a train.

Canada’s always dreaming about California:

Restless, and longing as we are.

But I hear those rails humming:

A train: my heart: a star.

Ó evalyn parry SOCAN 2004

To name a sensibility,
to draw its contours and to recount its history,
requires a deep sympathy
modified by revulsion.

Stand inside! Stand outside!
Even if they have been named, many things have not been described
Stand inside! Stand outside!
These notes are for you, Mr Oscar Wilde

Make a note! Make a note!
Make a note! Make a note!
Make a note!  Notes on camp

Shall we start very generally?
Camp is a certain mode of aestheticism, it is one way
of seeing the world as an aesthetic phenomenon
not in terms of beauty, but of stylization

It is a victory of “style” over “content”
“aesthetics” over “morality”,  irony over tragedy
Convert the serious into the frivolous
Rejoice in the unnatural, the love of artifice

It’s not a woman, but a “woman”
It is not a lamp, but a “lamp”
Put everything inside of quotations
See only surfaces through the lens of camp

Stand inside! Stand outside!
Even if they have been named, many things have not been described
Stand inside! Stand outside!
I made these notes for you, Mr Oscar Wilde

Camp is the answer to the problem
Of how to be a dandy, in the age of mass culture
Camp finds delight in coarse, common pleasure
Camp taste transcends the nausea of the replica

It asserts that good taste is not simply good taste;
that there exists, indeed, a good taste of bad taste.
The discovery of the good taste of bad taste
can be a liberation

The relation between boredom and Camp
cannot be overestimated.
Camp taste is by its nature only possible in societies
experiencing the psychopathology of affluence.

Stand inside! Stand outside!
Even if they have been named, many things have not been described
Stand inside! Stand outside!
These notes are for you, Mr Oscar Wilde

Make a note Make a note!
Make a note Make a note
Make a note, notes on camp

I must attempt to explain the peculiar relation
between Camp taste and homosexuality
While it’s not true that Camp taste is homosexual taste,
there is no doubt a peculiar affinity

Homosexuals have pinned their integration into society
on promoting the aesthetic sense.
Camp is a solvent of morality.
It neutralizes moral indignation, sponsors playfulness

I will call Camp a kind of love,
A love for human nature
What it does best is to find the success
in certain passionate failures.

Stand inside! Stand outside!
Even if they have been named, many things have not been described
Stand inside! Stand outside!
I wrote these notes  for you, Mr Oscar Wilde

Make a note Make a note!
Make a note Make a note
Make a note, notes on camp

One is drawn to camp when one realizes
“sincerity” is not enough.

Please, stop following me.

They say it’s a small world, and I have found it true:
I found a new job,
and she found it, too.
I found a new home, I tried to start anew
but opened my closet, and found her standing in my shoes;
I asked politely

Please, stop following me.  Please, stop following me.

How many years ago, yes, how many years ago?
Stubborn as winter,
she will not let go,
I try not to look, but she’s sitting in the front row,
She’s singing along, she tells me she told me so
and I asked politely

Please, stop following me.  Please, stop following me.

Do do do, do do do dee do dee doo doo doo

Stranger than fiction, this story uncovers
the dangers inherent
in taking a lover
who tells you her ex’s have all gone crazy.
In retrospect, you think maybe
they weren’t the problem.

Please, stop following me.  Please, stop following me.
Do do do, do do do dee do dee doo doo doo

©  Evalyn Parry SOCAN 2007

Wake up in the morning, heads full of sleep and we
listen to the news as we drink our coffee.
Didn’t need to be there, you can watch it all on TV,
but now we know  that they’re only telling half the story,
‘cause we were there, we saw the dancing and the drums.

And what they are showing us looks like a battlefield,
but what they fail to mention is why they had to build a wall
all around the leaders, as if they were in jail
or as if they were an empire about to fall.

Friday night, before the revolution,
thought I should call you, thought maybe the solution
was to take my courage and to walk into that landmine,
but three in the morning came and then it was closing time,
and I know you well enough to know that it’s too late to call.

And sure love, love can be a battlefield,
and sure I made my protest, tried to break down the wall:
Inside some countries people disappear, and maybe I am one of them,
or maybe we’re the empire that’s about to fall.

Five in the morning, sun’s still rising when we
hit the road, gotta get there to make history.
The old Dodge rumbles toward the trouble in the city
we’re dressed for protest like it’s halloween, we’re giddy:
the sun is shining and it feels like it’s a holiday.

Saturday, what a day for the revolution!
Walked into a wall of tears before I could stop them
everyone’s shouting “Who’s watching the watchmen?”
Everyone’s crying ‘cause the air’s full of poison
but it’s here we’ve travelled to and here we are going to stand.

And this revolution turns into a battlefield,
they have a tea party while we try to break down the wall.
Inside some people the revolution disappears,
and maybe that’s just apathy, or maybe it’s just easier,
or maybe it’s the reason that we’re gonna fall.

Monday morning, after the revolution
i never called you, my silence absolution.
But now the miles are flying and my eye’s on the road at hand,
I keep on driving like the sea searching for land,
my tires spinning revolutions that never end.

And maybe you’d be hurt if you knew why I didn’t call
or maybe you were marching too, holding your own sign
and if I had seen you there,
maybe we”d have put down our masks,
faced the fear and breathed the air
stood with the rebels by the broken wall
and watched the empire fall.

When I fell for you, I fell too fast:
I was bare feet, you were broken glass.
And when I fell for you, well you know I fell too far,
now you try to tell me about the way things are.
But I know sometimes things, they fall together
and just like you can’t predict the weather, sometimes they fall apart.
And sometimes none of the broken pieces seem to fit,
and sometimes everything turns to shit
and all you get is a broken heart, yeah all you get is a broken heart

Well I hear you now, sounds like nothing’s changed.
Same old words, it’s the same old games.
And it’s the same old tune, and it’s the same old sky,
same old time that’s still flying by.
But look at you standing there like nothing’s changed,
time is still time, it’s me who’s rearranged,  now you’re on your own again.
But look at me standing here, everything’s changed,
and I’ve only got the road to blame, yeah I’m on the road again.

And you wish fate had brought us a white picket fence,
you say there’s no such thing as coincidence, you’re trying to turn back time
but time runs on, it’s a leaky faucet
and I couldn’t catch all those drips in a bucket
even if time were mine to keep
yeah even if time were mine,
or if this road was a straight line,
yeah even if time were mine.

evalyn parry all rights reserved SOCAN 2002

That night the Stone and the Bee are having their differences.
They lie on their bed like princess.
Bee says “Stone, why won’t you speak?” Stone says “Bee, why won’t you sleep?”
Bee says “I feel a pea underneath all these mattresses.

And it’s driving me crazy, my pebble, my Stone.
It’s driving me crazy!”
Stone says “Leave me alone.
I don’t know what to say or how we should end this day.”
Bee says “Look outside, the moon is bright.”

Stone and Bee are awake in the middle of the night.
Bee lies still, wishing she could take flight.
She says “Stone, oh stony Stone,  Stone my Stone, am I alone?”
Stone says “I feel your wings beating inside my head.

And it’s driving me crazy, my bumble, my bee.
It’s driving me crazy, but I wish you could see
even after such a day, I don’t wish your wings away
I just wish you would stay here with me.”

“But I’m here, my stone. I’m here, my stone!
Stone, you so love the ground,  and I love to fly around.
We are as different as the day and the night.

the Stone and the Bee in the dim dawn light,.
each one thinking maybe the other one’s right.
Bee say “Stone,”
Stone says “Bee,  if I were you, and you were me,
then maybe we could give up this fight.”

Bee says “yes, I think you’re right.
So kiss me Stone, and say goodnight.
I’ll be you and you be me,
I’ll lie still and you fly free,
Bee so heavy and Stone so light
But Stone is the place where Bee will alight.”

evalyn parry all rights reserved SOCAN 2002

I’ve got friends all over the place, think I’ll drive ‘round to see them,
stop and play a few tunes, ‘cause music is my freedom,
so I set out driving

Drive through in America, drive through in America,drive through in America,
Drive through America

I’ve got gasoline on the palms of my hands: the life blood of a nation
I stop every 300 hundred miles to pray at the holy gas station
I take communion

When I turn on the radio, it says “do your duty!
we’re fighting for the American Dream, keep buying for the economy.
Your country needs you.”

god blesses America, god blesses America, god blesses America
god bless America

If god is on the bill boards, does that mean god’s really watching over us?
I’m writing while I’m driving which I think must be dangerous
so I hope someone’s watching

And god takes care of everyone here, bring your hungry to the window
at the Golden Arches, you can get your meal and then just drive on through
yeah just keep driving

Drive through in America, drive thru in america, drive thru in America
Drive through America

I watch the highways slip away across my windshield
I’m heading back for the border, hope this country’s customs will yield
and let me cross that line

The guard says “ business or pleasure, ma’am?”as he searches my belongings
and I say “the pleasure’s all been mine, but now I am just longing
to go back home, where I belong

Drive through in America, drive thru in america, drive thru in America
Drive through America

My friend Katie’s got a white horse, she rides it far and wide,
rides it to the frozen north, calls to tell me
that she’s found god, and she’s alive
yeah god is still alive

evalyn parry all rights reserved SOCAN 2002