Americana Abstract

Americana Abstract 

The Next Big Thing

Wake up; you don’t want to be late for your dreaming lessons, He shook off the covers; just a boy and his obsessions, Learning the science of sabotaging art, A dream so big it’ll fit into a package for sale in K-Mart, He’ll be the spiritual ecstasy for all true believers, A new point of reference for the great deceivers, And what will happen to this kid who can’t wait to grow up, The next big thing is just waiting for him to show up.

He would look in the mirror and pose for the camera's critique, He supposed this common calling is what made him unique, Delicately poised on the cutting edge of conventionality, He says this untranslatable pout will be my specialty, There will never be a place that I don’t look right at home, With a drink a moon and a comb, He wants it to be truth so bad that he lip syncs the lie, The animal just knows how; cannot pick up the scent of why.

We often can’t see the light for the light bulb and we don’t trust the sun, He accepted his place with the grace of the chosen one, Didn’t realize it was just a line in his story, He thought it was the closing chapter in a book of glory, It’s the psyche of the killer who feels sorry for his prey, He feels the pain of the bullet but pulls the trigger anyway, And we all know what happened to that kid who took to the wing, He’s crushed in the dirt under the foot of the next big thing. 

Nov. 00

Paragon Mills

Paragon Mills when I was a child was miles and miles of woods, I used to wander alone for hours at a time, Across Citrus drive up Pennfield past the graveyard and then behind the school into the woods, We used to have huge football games behind the graveyard there, I remember skipping school one time and hiding in the bushes in front of one of the houses on Pennfield drive, A woman came out of the house with cold cream all over her face, It scared me half to death; I was very young so she took me home and turned the truant in to its mother, I remember another time I skipped school and didn’t get caught, I sat up high in a tree in the next door neighbor's yard all day long, I could see the neighbor; Beverly; thru the window; eye level with the second story; I must have really hated school, In the winter-snow we used to sled down Gary drive and on down my steep driveway, We would get going so fast we could barely stop before we ran thru the ditch and into the fence at the end of the yard, We had some terrible crashes; even left some marks in the bricks on the side of the house, There was a tree on that side of the house that always racked across my window at night, It always scared me; so me and my little sister would sleep together and this gave great comfort, I remember the morning I woke up when what was left of hurricane Camille came so far inland, That tree was whipping around; scratching at the window and the sky looked like a scene in some horror movie, We had four giant White Oaks in our backyard they were beautiful trees, Two of them fell during tornadoes; one on the Bennett’s fence and the other on our house, There was a farm behind our house and during one of those tornadoes the barn was almost completely destroyed, And there was also my favorite tree in the front yard that I fell out of once and broke my arm (broken bird), My old house is still there but it’s all houses around it now, The farm behind my house; the woods behind the school; all gone, I still carry Paragon Mills in my secret soul, And though I don’t think much about those days anymore; perhaps I should.

Dec. 00

Educating Ed

Now; Ed’s hair was always army cot neat, His smile was a rerun but it was an honest deceit, He ran the garage down on Eighth and Dean for old man Blake, Who always said the dumb son of a bitch would leave three hours early before he’d be three minutes late, You see; Ed was in the army but he only learned the discipline; not what the discipline was supposed to teach him, He was so out of touch not even his wife of thirty years could reach him.

I worked for Ed about three years; me and Bobby Thornton and Steven Pate, They were both good guys and I don’t think Stevie even knew the meaning of hate, He was always kind of quiet with a quick shy smile and man he would help you haul in the moon, Now; we all hated Ed but you had to work so we put up with the buffoon, We all called him dick Ed and Sargent shit-for-brains for a laugh behind his back, But it was no joke the way he could make your life miserable; man; he never cut you any slack.

Well the days of our youth slip by unnoticed; no surprises we pretty much knew what to expect, When suddenly from the depths of chance Stevie’s girlfriend Kim was killed in a car wreck, They had lived together for over a year and were talking about getting married someday, But they were just shacking up to Ed; who was sort of reverse color blind; he could see all the colors but gray, Stevie missed the day she died; the funeral was the next morning; Ed wanted him back that afternoon, Well; Stevie came back that afternoon and man it looked like his eyes were missing; he looked like a hundred years would have been too soon, When Stevie told Ed he needed more time Ed said you leave now and you might as well hit the street, With all the rage of the helpless; Stevie landed a blow that took him right off his feet.

Ed had to have his jaw wired shut; he was out for quite a while, When he came back he was still the same asshole but his smile looked a little more like a smile, It’s been years ago now but when I think back to when he took that lick from Stevie, I guess it’s the trapped steam of my rage but he had it coming and he needed it; and I wish it would have been me.

Oct-Nov. 00

Miss America

Miss America I’ve been waiting for you to notice me, But I know you're always so busy being free, You know I love you; anyway I guess that’s you, Your big idea eyes draped in your red; white and few, But you're always humming some stupid song that I hate, And you always leave the best part of the meal on the plate, What’s that you said if you could only have one wish, Peace on earth; well that’s a mighty big fish.

Her mother wanted a doctor and her father wanted a dancer, Now the politician with the strap on smile avoids the question as he greases up his answer, As the judge tries to have himself declared legally blind, She has her seeing eye dog put to sleep out of fear of what they might find, She learned to love it so much she could force the infidel to leave it, Clever enough to prove she doesn’t exist and dumb enough to believe it, But our eyes are so sore that you’re an ointment for our sight, We’ll do the number on what is wrong in the name of what is right.

You can’t even notice the fangs in such a pretty smile, She casually omits good taste and formally declares it style, On the cutting edge of conventionality she always carries this razor blade, So she can threaten suicide at her convenience if someone else seems better made, The raw sewage of her thousand ships worth of base and blush, Has drained into the mirror's pool of glass and turned it into mush, And you’ve turned your tears into an environmental issue, But we will move mountains for the irony of bringing you a tissue.

You’re a really good actress but what you really want is to direct, And here comes your therapist with another script you can reject, I could write a book about how you have absolutely nothing to say, You're so ugly in a beautiful kind of way, And now I’m not so sure that you’re my type after all, When I got a look at your will and it said you want to be buried under the mall, When all that’s sacred can be kept in your makeup purse, I’ve been dying to met you and now I don’t know which is worse.

Nov. 00

Street Level

As he watched the stripper show off her implants, He got a hard-on but he felt like crying, After the fall and the taste of the dirt, Trying to pick yourself up is much harder than dying, He cheated on his wife so she got all the money, And as they say he’s just left with what he deserves, But he still dreams of his average ex-wife’s body, As he pouts over the stripper's curves.

Siren screams thru the city; can’t tell where it’s coming from, But it’s easy enough to tell where it’s heading, The seventh seal just broke on a bottle of Jack, And the motion just feels like Armageddon, He swallows his drink and can’t find himself lost, The world's full of reflections every way you turn, But a stranger's eyes hold the truest mirror, You just never know; all you do is learn.

"You know I really had it all"; he says to his new friend, "A beautiful wife; a good job and two great kids, I didn’t mean to take the meaning for granted, But a wrong turn led me to a left turn; here I am on the skids, They say shame is the deepest river but let me ask you this, What if the wrong you did was simply a mistake, They call it shame; I call it life; are you with me my friend, We all seem to go thru hell for Heaven's sake".

And up; skyward in the towers of Babylon, Where they build the beast of business on rumor and whim, The rules of street level don’t mean a thing up here, He looks down; no animosity it simply just doesn’t mean shit to him, He’s got his wife on hold and his girlfriend on the line, He covers the receiver; "hey Paul what’s going on down there", "Some fucking drunk got hit by a car; coming out of that strip joint", "Great they’ve got my car blocked in; babe I can’t go no where".

Nov-Dec. 00

Memorial Day

He graduated high school in May and went to war in September, It was cloudy that day that’s all she can remember, If anything was left unsaid it wasn’t; I love you, They said the war would be over soon and that was something to cling to.

Well; he was killed; officially they said on the last day of the war, While a whole country and one mother wondered what he was even there for, She didn’t cry; she didn’t sleep; she didn’t eat; until his body was home again, Then she broke apart over all that was left of what might have been.

He had wanted to be a writer but he really loved music too, She was so proud of him there wasn’t anything her boy couldn’t do, It was true he had a lot of talent; in the ninth grade he had written a play, She would often read the last letter he wrote; it had a poem in it called Memorial Day.

If they could see this blinding
Sight,
They wouldn’t call it Memorial Day.

They would be more delicate with
The memory’s burden,
Than to bind it to this loathsome
Spectacle.

There, that pulp of fresh John Doe,
Used to have a name, and his friends
Called him Shiner, because he had
Once been hit with the butt of a rifle
And had a black eye for a week.

No one can ever really remember him
Now.

No one except me, for I fear I shall
Never be able to forget.

After all these years she still sobbed every time she read that letter, Knowing he joined Shiner six days later at certain times it actually made her feel a little better, In his sleep her baby is safe; out of the harm of memory’s way, And she always speaks his name on Memorial Day.

Oct. 00

Ballad of the Uncertain Salesman

He knocks on the door as timid as a saint wakes temptation, His nemesis answers the door with generic sensation, Hello sir I represent the Every Man corporation, And I am prepared to offer you the wings of your elevation.

He balked over the next line and felt so phony, Looked down at his hands; fingers so bony, Ok; pull yourself together you need this sell, Don’t qualify the story just tell the tale.

Sir; have you ever wanted to change your life’s slave, Excuse me; soul; I can’t seem to make my tongue behave, We all take most of our true potential to the grave, And if you buy right now you can really save.

I knew that would be next; just what are you selling, The billboard behind the eyes; there’s really just no telling, Well sir; you really won't know what it is till you buy it, You mean you won't even tell me what it is and you expect me to try it.

They won't tell me what it is they said that makes it easier to sell, That doesn’t make any sense at all; you should probably be in jail, It’s what you need that’s what they told me to tell, Meaning is an option but I’ll tell you it’s expensive as hell.

Well can you at least tell me what it cost, All I know is they’ll replace it for free if it ever gets lost, He glanced nervously into his eyes and then down at his feet, Finalized the deal and then hit the street.

Jan. 01

Song in First Person

I sit waiting for the train to pass; looking at the commemorative plaque, Something about the first steam engine in Tennessee in eighteen fifty, I wonder someday if all our achievements will be seen as mere mistakes, As we create a thousand victims and one planet for every single beneficiary, But some days I’m so full of love I can see the beauty in every ugly little detail, Most days so full of rage I can barely see at all, I just feel a little forsaken I guess; much like most everyone else, Which leads to forsaken by whom; and I always dismiss every answer that comes to mind, Yet I know the answer is; this land; this America; this work.

I drive down Jefferson street there is a house that is no more than a broken down shack, A women in the front lawn trimming the hedges as if it were the work of the lord, I smile and it sends a shiver down my spine and I’m not really sure why, It’s just like Springsteen said people always find some reason to believe, They continue to believe even when their back is broken by the wheel of their labor, I have seen people struggle; win; lose; and even watched them die, I have stood at their sides; shaken their hands; and nearly broke down when they confessed their fear, Strangers yet brothers; I’ve always been so unplugged; but oh how I have felt connected, It’s a vapor like realization of equality that brings out this true compassion, But it can be so hard in the face of all the petty little indecencies, People pull off these little games of advantage that won't do half the good and twice the damage, And I don’t really know my place in all this except maybe to sing this song, But as I sit trying to frame all this in words I think how the calculation of art can seem so cold, But I truly feel somehow warmed by it all; though many days I struggle to remember this, And I’m no patriot; this is simply my home; America land of opportunity and doom, I may never be a believer but I will get up every morning and lay my fingers on the pulse of this land.

Nov. 00

The Company

He thought well; maybe that’s the good life, When you don’t even wonder why anymore, He used to feel like he was the company’s wife, And since realized he’s the company’s whore, He thinks well; it’s not so bad as he closes the door of the company car, The benefits are good and it really pays, The back nine on Fridays; maybe come in under par, And he doesn’t have to shave on Saturdays.

A little job here; a big job there you know you're our man, The company needs you so bad; we know you understand, The opportunity for growth is so strong and you’re a big part of our plan, Door's always open let us know if you need a hand, That’s the kind of lip-service; yuck; you have to wipe up the drool, Dedicate your life to building a bigger stronger enemy, And he may be the company’s whore but he’s never been their fool, He just listens to what he supposed to hear and stares at what he’s not supposed to see.

He’s worked for the company twenty two years now; and done a better job than most, Never really done anything to be proud of but he has no shame on his resume, Showed up everyday; dying for a while; dead for years now he feels like the ghost, Just do what you have to do; put the stitches in the wound of another day.

Well; he’s fifty six years old now; but his mortgage is much younger, The economy’s cooling off a bit Bill; we're going to have to make some cuts, And you just don’t seem to have that drive like you used to; you just don’t seem to have that hunger, His stats are fifth best out of eight younger men; but you can’t argue with the company; they just kick your ifs; ands and buts.

The company took the best years of my life from me, Now they're just going to leave me here to bleed, God damn the company.

Oct. 00

The Fisherman

He told the story these days with hardly a trace of bitterness at all, He said god put that tree in my road to help me hear the call, You see; Billy Bateman and I were fishing buddies for six long years, Every single Sunday we’d hit the lake with our rods and a few beers, And my life was a simple routine that made perfect sense to me, Didn’t realize I was taking so much for granted if you don’t look you don’t see, But trust is like a tool that never gets taken out of the tool box, And it can leave your fishing boat smashed upon the rocks.

The fisherman will always be lost, The fisherman learns to pay the cost, A world contingent upon the will of the bate, A life delivered to the palm of fate.

We had some hard times and my Katie took a job at the plant; Billy was her boss, We celebrated that night; I watched her and Billy dance a waltz, We all joked; Katie what if your new boss wants more than a slow dance, She said; you’d have to give me a lot more than a job to get in my pants, It was the best of times; seemed like nothing could go wrong, But “heaven has a trap door” as they say in that song, I’ve often wondered how Billy could bear to sit with me in that boat every week, But thinking back there were some days when he didn’t hardly speak.

Well; when I first found out I couldn’t believe it and then suddenly I knew it was true, It made more sense than the sense of two and two, It was Billy’s wife Alice that came to the house and told me that day, She cried and cried and talked about how she would make him pay, When she left; I got my thirty eight and I really felt like I could kill, I hit the gas with a rage but on the way there I pulled off and just slumped over the wheel, It’s all over now and god and the church helped pull me thru, And I will find myself a new bride someday; one who loves the lord just as much as I do.

The fisherman will always be lost, The fisherman learns to accept the cost, A world delivered by the balm of belief, A life contingent on the will of grief.

Nov. 00

Elvis Souvenirs

It doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t really need to, A road is not the father of what it may lead to, It’s just a joy ride into obscurity, You don’t even need a song if you can sing, It’s easy to turn a pawn into a king, To know the flesh you must sacrifice its purity.

And it’s really all so convenient, That it’s hard to complain about the cost, And the rules are so lenient, That it’s hard to really say what’s been lost.

Before he died death was an enigma but the ghost is see thru, Back when it was cool to be aloof; now it’s only cool to say me too, Can’t walk on the water but he can walk on the rain, So now your hunger can pass for desire, And all this hot air can pass for a fire, Wait for the shrink or the lawyer to sanctify your pain.

It’s such a game of mutual consent, We know the hook no need to wink, It won't break it’s been pre bent, Don’t waste your time on what you think.

So maybe rock and roll can’t change the world, But it can sure change your hairstyle, The sign said; Elvis souvenirs; next exit, Free tank of gas with every purchase; just one more mile.

It’s like all the traffic took the same wrong turn, So we only memorize what we should learn, The philosophy of advertising slogans, We listen to our radio hearts, The one in the million dollar song at the top of the charts, We learn to express ourselves in tokens.

It’s such a tangle of feelings and wires, Electrical impulse; dry thunder, You can’t tell the truth to liars, Our nonsense of wonder.

You are what you eat regardless of what you're hungry for, The money on the dresser promotes a slut to a whore, You stare at your favorite movie like it was a mirror, It’s a map to the home of the stars, An aphrodisiac for the engines of their cars, This stained glass won't get any clearer.

What do you expect it’s a grave digger's grave, Now we have the means to fossilize our fears, Spend our grace; but Graceland we can save, We don’t really need Elvis just Elvis souvenirs.

Nov. 00

Mr. Bridges

The first time I met Mr. Bridges he looked like a walking skeleton, Eyes set deep; sunken cheeks; I bet he didn’t weigh ninety pounds, He was an old world character; talked tough but you knew he was really tender, I was Mr. Bridges route man for about three years; every Friday I’d bring in his clean uniforms, It was what we call a house stop; just one man on the invoice and Mr. Bridges never kept a copy, I’d walk into the dirty garage that had piles of relics from engines now at rest, He’d always say something like; do you have all my uniforms; you shorted me last week; you little cock sucker, It always smelt like dog piss; and in the winter it was dark and warm.

And those big dogs he had chained up in there were mean as hell and wouldn’t hardly let you get near him, He loved those dogs and they loved him; they would roll around at his feet like puppies, And he would smile so childlike; so oblivious; and pet them and tell them what good boys they were, It was a c.o.d. account; and Mr. Bridges would always pay me a little over and tell me to keep the change, He would always say; smiling widely; I’m the only one that does that ain’t I, I would always smile and say yes Mr. Bridges; you are; you’re the only one left who appreciates a good route man, He would often tell me he had started the service back in nineteen and fifty two, Back when Joe Barnes started the company and was going door to door himself; selling shop rags.

Did you know Joe Barnes; he would ask and I’d say; no Mr. Bridges that was before my time, The guys name was actually Barr; but I never corrected him, But now for some strange reason that I can’t really put my finger on; I wish I would have, There was one story he told me a few times about his first route man back years ago; when even he was a young man, His name was Jerry Bell; and he was a great guy; Mr. Bridges said, They even had a beer or two on Christmas when he’d make his stop, But you can’t do that these days; and I would agree; and say no; they would fire my ass in a second, He said Jerry had some kind of problems with his marriage; he didn’t know the details.

But one weekend Jerry drove down into Alabama; late at night; and they found he had parked and shot himself in his car, He always said at the end of the story that he thought about that a lot; and that it always hurt his heart, Toward the end; when I would come in he would say; oh son I’m in a hell of a shape, He always either called me cock sucker or son; I’m not sure if he even knew my name, He would say; I’m bleeding inside and they can’t stop it, I didn’t know what to say when he would tell me this; it just seems embarrassing; when someone tells you they're dying, But I kept coming every Friday; till one day he just wasn’t there.

His name was Hershel; Hershel Bridges; but I always called him Mr. Bridges, I still drive down Wedgwood by that old garage behind his house every Friday, And that old brown truck he used to drive is still parked out in front of it, I can still see him sliding slowly into the front seat to go pick up some parts, I can still hear that pained and puzzled voice saying; oh son I’m in a hell of a shape, I still think of that story he told me about that other route driver and how that hurt his heart, And you know; I believe it really did.

Nov. 00

Released May 1, 2001

All Songs Composed, Performed and Recorded by M.M.