RED MIST & EMPTY BOXES

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‘Empty Boxes’ by Zoolon

All along the coast I keep seeing empty boxes no one lives in or ever seems to use. All around the towns I keep seeing homeless people sleeping in shop doorways. A bit like the Jewish proverb, ‘A penny is a lot of money, if you haven’t got a penny’.  In this case, ‘A box is somewhere to live, if you haven’t got a box’. I’m guessing the boxes will stay empty; the homeless will still sleep rough. Just a random thought. 

The basic lyric I wrote for my song, ‘Red Mist’ back in 2013. 

RED MIST

Red mist rising

I can’t think, I can’t think

Words I shouldn’t have spoken

Take me to the brink

 

What if nothing is real?

What if it’s all inside my head?

How do you think I would feel?

Knowing reality was dead

 

Red mist rising

Where do I belong?

Words I never meant to say

Words without a song

 

Grey clouds above

Storm brewing down below

Colours melt away

I don’t know friend from foe

 

Red mist rising,

I don’t know who I’ve become

But I’m going to stand my corner

Not trade the fiddle for the drum

Next my piece of sound art, ‘Leaving the City Behind’ composed for the Cosa Nostra album. Maybe the mood of the piece works for homeless who’ve left/lost everything behind?

Here’s an interesting song. She never does cover version usually, yet with her talent Tori Amos doesn’t disappoint with this one, ‘Losing my Religion’. She turns the song into a piece of pure art.

As of just now I have made a number of my songs that do not appear on my albums are available as singles to purchase and download on:

ReverbNation

or

Facebook

Also, my albums are still for sale on Bandcamp;

Apart from the Tori Amos number – Copyright © 2013 Zoolon Audio.  All rights reserved.  Unauthorized copying, reproduction, hiring, lending, public performance and broadcasting prohibited.

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46 thoughts on “RED MIST & EMPTY BOXES

    1. Hell! How did I miss this Lady Yasmin. Being busy doing things that make me glaze over isn’t a good enough excuse. I apologize and say ‘thank you’.

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  1. JGC, your photo of, ‘Empty Boxes’ is a great capture. On first glance it looks like happy little pastel bungalows, yet the colors are misleading, the windows are boarded up, the doors are locked shut, the property looks abandoned. ‘Red Mist’ ‘and ‘Leaving the City Behind’, adds to the commentary and thoughts that this post brings to mind. Two words, ‘sad’ and ‘why’. Good one, George! ~ PM

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    1. Thanks, PM. The little boxes are beach huts that people own and use on the odd days we get hot sun. Other than that they are never used – while others sleep on the streets. That can’t be right. I think the beach hut idea came from when the Victorians decided they needed somewhere to change clothes when going swimming in the sea. Odd really because Victorian women – from the old photos I’ve seen – wore just about as many clothes to go bathing in as they were wearing before they changed into their swimming stuff. ~ JGC

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      1. You’re welcome, JGC. What a shame they’re not used or rarely in use, the potential for good will often dismissed. No doubt there’s another lyric waiting to come to life. I hope you’re having a good Monday. ~ PM

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  2. I once did an installation piece with boxes – really awesome that you viewed/thought this way. The music is wonderful… always like seeing Tori again and my husband and I were just revisiting REM’s Losing my Religion last week – might have been after sharing one of your songs with him (my husband).

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    1. Thank you, Ka. Life can be hard; music can be an escape as I know you knew already. Tori is close to Agnes Obel as my favourite artist – male or female.

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      1. Yea – I’m kind of obsessed with Anges Obel’s song, “Familiar” right now. It’s good to have music take us to where we want to go…and remind us where we’ve been! :0) One day I’ll make music on my PC again. lol. For now, I just play drums every now and then (look at my guitar) and try to remember how much I used to enjoy singing (and then do it). Thanks Zoo….

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      2. Never give up your music if you can help it. Like everything else it’s an art form. I guess you know the Agnes song ‘Riverside’ – that was the first number of hers I picked up on. What’s killing me right now is having around 15 melodies and a mass of words for my next album but struggling with time. I think ‘time’ is the most annoying thing. Anyway, start that music again, you sound like you really enjoyed it.

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      3. Thank you. Best wishes to you on your next album, and the time issue becoming a non-issue. Your content will lead the way….

        So glad that your music inspires me, and our shared music interests, even though I don’t have time, either, to actually be doing that right now. 🙂 feeling inspired is always helpful! I really have enjoyed making music 🎶 and singing when I did, and now appreciating your musical expressions here, and your humorous blog posts. Inspiration is continuous! Keep inspiring me! 🙂

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  3. what a remarkable string-of-thought pushing memories to a busy fore…around here there are habitat-4-humanity efforts to build near-400 Sq. Ft. homes, especially for veterans tired of woodslife. The song lyrics stun and at the same time bathe me in somehow softness that troubles will come aright afterall. Thanks.

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    1. Thanks for the words. So many of the street sleepers in the UK are ex army who didn’t do that well in the ‘shock & awe’ Bush/Blair inflicted on Iraq. These guys deserve to be remembered not forgotten.

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      1. Likewise, here. Some – and I confess – call them Urban Outdoorsmen, though not all in jest. A fair number have lost their trust in convention and society’s norms and decline to go search for same or a replacement. Long have we tried to force these round pegs into our manicured square holes and perhaps a few more forests strategically place in and around urban areas – convenient to medical/psychological and social and welfare services and mass transit – instead of “shelters” where one-size mostly is all, might be an (partial?) answer. I invite some homeless wanderers into the sideyard garden for a snack on what’s fresh – right now yellow pear, cherry and grape tomatoes, collard greens, kale and herb salads with – if any is about beer and homemade sourdough or my version of rye. Soon, however we may sup on “spiked” or “plugged” watermelon: cut a triangle into the rests-easily-on-top portion of a sacrificial watermelon and generously baptize with vodka. Top and spoon out somnambulance as practiced locally: and it encourages an early departure and never yet have I had to sweep the back yard of vagrants. These guys police their own. But rarely do they bring dowager empress?(ii the plural?) to these soirees, more’s the pity. What I have seen of the distaff version of outdoorsladies the less-said usually the better. I wonder why that is – my failing sensitivity or perhaps theirs? You provocate, George: I do appreciate that.

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      2. The military bloke I know who fought in The Falklands and Iraq doesn’t drink alcohol or anything like that, he just can’t cope with loud noises behind him. It sends him insane; makes him dangerous, sadly.

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      3. So I can not blame the booze for my aversion to lound “bang” type noises? Damn. There goes another excuse. George: when I am caught unawares by a startling white flash – whether on the television or in actuality, I can taste burnt cordite well back in my mouth, and I sometimes whirl around in search of a declivity. Worse, when I get touched while unawares on my back, head or shoulders I can respond less than gently. I almost quick-killed my mother while I was sound-adrunk-sleeping in my childhood bed – whose front door I had broken (and later that day fixed and then “fixed me”) while my Parents were visiting in Colorado and I had just turned up Medically Evacuated from Vietnam. I had already hurt one nurse at the Air Force Evacuation Hospital in Danang for trying to awaken me to take my temperature and blood pressure after I had dosed myself with rhythmic breathing and a modified mantra to slow my heartbeat and breathing rate because I still was dealing with the shock of being dead and then not-dead and now a ward of The Freaking Air Force for Chesty Puller’s* sake! (*obscure reference to onetime Private and later Lieutenant General Lewis Burwell Puller, USMC). Mom tried to hug her middle son so great was her joy that she did not heed her husband’s admonition: “Honey, don’t touch him, shake the bed. Look at his head all bandaged.” All of which I did not hear. Thankfully the left hand had yet to entangle her hair on the back of her head and the right hand had just stopped as I smelled her and opened my eyes to see I was going to kill her with a throat punch. I still shudder 47 years later. So, I sympathize with vets who prefer alone. Mostly, so do I…and the ‘puter provides often welcome-though-distanced human contact.

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  4. Oh yes…so many empty buildings in Madison and Milwaukee, yet homeless have nowhere to go. So damn angering, especially when we have winters with -30 F windchills.

    The lyric has a tragic flavor. A self-imposed loneliness in order to survive the chaos thundering through the world, a chaos you will not join. Beautifully written. x

    PS–Swanky new layout, by the by. 🙂

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