home, biography, critics, gigs, discography, highlights
lyrics, movie, friends, newsletter, dinocopter
I work this burnt black landscape,
the sun beating rhythms
on my burnt red back,
planting rows of trees
in tight stitches
to sew a broad green garment
for the earth momma's back
I do the step, cut, wrench, man,My blood beats along my electric veins.
I do the two stamp shuffle,
to crank another tree
into the soil.
I do the step, cut, wrench, man,
I do the two stamp shuffle,
to add another day
to this lifetime of toil.
I'm so alive. I am so fast.The rock rises from the gutted land like the spine on that Indian girl's whip-scarred back. Do you remember? Yeah I remember. I was 16. She took me by my hand and led me from the Friday night dance to a group of trees behind the skating rink, unzipped my jeans, bent down and took me in her mouth. I was so frightened, just 16. My knee quivered in fear. Leaning against a tree, I could feel the rough bark against my smooth back, could feel her pulse of her blood with the pads of my thumbs. Oh, her blood pumped in syncopation to the beat beating of my heart which rocked my frame, rocked my frame. I moved my hands around, moved them down the neck of her t-shirt - heat mixed with heat. Fingertips felt the scars, the disruption of flesh and skin. What animal has done this, I thought? What animal has done this? Just 16. Mosquitoes descended in clouds sensing heat and pulse and probed for blood and sucked at life and sucked at meat and heat rose. I touched the stars on her back and stared at the night scars in the sky.
I'm so alive. I am so fast.
I'm so alive. I am so fast.
I have become a machine.
Nothing matters but the pace of the trees
and my mind drifts uncontrolled
through past memories.
I work this burnt black landscape
the sun beating rhythms
on my burnt red back
planting rows of trees like tight stitches
to sew a broad green garment
for the earth momma's back
my blood beats along my electric veinsthe tribal beat of my heart
my blood beats along my electric veins
my blood beats along my electric veins
Sucked of blood, sucked of semen, I rolled in the gravel ,took the beating. There were 4 of them, Indians in work boots and baseball caps panting from the exertion as they worked me over. Just 16. At first I resisted, tucked in tight to protect my organs, my balls, my head. But I soon gave into the blows to get it over with. Bones bent towards breaking, Ribs audibly strained towards cracking. Do you remember? Yeah, I remember. I was 16. There was pain. They weren't serious. They didn't want to kill me, wanted surrender instead. They had a message, had something to say that couldn't be spoken, something beyond words. I got it. I understood and they left. I lay there and I listened to the beat beating of blood in the veins of my bruised meat, my flesh, my body. And I felt the bass and the drums from the band at the dance rock my frame. I stared at the sky. Twinkle, twinkle little scars. All light moved out and all dark moved in.
I do the step cut wrench man
I do the two stamp shuffle
to crank another tree into the soil
I do the step cut wrench man
I do the two stamp shuffle
to add another day to this lifetime of toil
I'm so alive. I am so fast1987. Summer. Friday night. The Trash brothers, Small Fry and myself sat at the kitchen table in the apartment above King Street mixing and fixing into the night; the table cluttered with cotton balls, bleach, spoons, glasses of bloody water, razors and mirrors, carefully divided piles of coke. I was the envy of the table, the veins of my inner arms a clear road map to Heaven. I could hit every town on the way, easy. Do you remember? Yeah, I remember. I was 21. I soaked a tab of white clinical acid with an eighth gram of coke, loaded, probed, found the meat of the vein, viewed the red flag of blood rise in the clear liquid in the syringe and plunged home. The clock ticked 5 audible seconds. Heartbeat accelerated. The mind rushed up and the body followed. Meat filled with electricity, screamed upwards, a gleaming missile of bright metal flesh pierced the sun and the world was a roar moving past me. Just 21. Hours later in the dim light of the filthy washroom, I shook in the mirror, shirtless, my pale thin body a bag of filth and I couldn't recognize myself. I couldn't recognize myself. What animal have I become, I thought? What animal have I become? Just 21 and I couldn't meet my own eyes in the mirror.
I'm so alive. I am so fast
I'm so alive. I am so fast
I have become a machine
Nothing matters but the pace of the trees
and my mind drifts uncontrolled
through past memories
my blood beats along my electric veins
the tribal beat of my heart
rocks my frame
rocks my frame
I'm so alive. I am so fast.I reach for a tree, fail to feel the prick of black spruce needles so I undo the catch of my belt, lift off the shoulder straps, dump the excess dirt to the ground and sit on a stump to roll a Drum. God, it feels so good when the bags are empty. I inhale deep, the smoke, my sweat, the damp sweat of the sweet dirt, the burnt odour of charred twigs and stumps. Suddenly, from a nearby pile of duff scurries a small brown mouse, running like hell, a 3 foot long snake in pursuit. Instantly the Indian girl returns to me, the mosquitoes, the boots, the grit of life, the guilt. The million slights of history and time come to a fixed point and I thrust my shovel out, separate the snake clean, send it twisting into the twigs bleeding, squirting gore and the mouse scurries to safety. Oh, I am 25. I am...alive.
I'm so alive. I am so fast.
I'm so alive. I am so fast.
home, biography, critics, gigs, discography, highlights
lyrics, movie, friends, newsletter, dinocopter