L.M. Mann's Blog: Dust Radio, page 3

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 photo by CT Cooper

Woke up this morning, everything was wrong

took to the dirt road and left you in the sun

walked to the horizon, empty sky overhead

thinking about all those things you said

so many lies that fill my head

this city of deceit sprawling across the land

want to burn it’s dogma down, burn it to the ground

find my way to some new town

In The End

In the end

if my hands and heart are scarred

then know I’ve fared well

for each scar is a memory, a medal of honor

for challenges defeated, battles won

and lessons learned

In the end I will not be pure

pure like mountain streams born of snowmelt

for purity is a lack of experience

and I am the stream when it makes the delta

a thousand miles from home

depositing my silt into the ocean of the universe

Home

There’s an abandoned school bus behind a darkened turkey barn

where I sit on the steps watching grazing longhorn

in a forgotten pasture outside the hills of Fredericksburg

where our congregation meets when the soul grows cold

absorbing vibrant sunsets breaking across an endless sky

and spend the night gathered around a fire in a soft rain

wet kisses falling upon the flesh and we don’t mind

on our knees begging to sense a creator’s touch

healing aches and pains and the wounds of the day

listening to Earth’s whispers carried on the wind

soothing a travelers’ weary soul

and I’m lost in the flame of a new religion burning

holes in my soul

this crackling campfire so hypnotizing I slip into a dream

drifting far away to another plane

where boundaries and limitations don’t exist

lost in the rhythm of gypsy guitars picking a soulful refrain

feel the chords falling down

falling like rain

while perched atop the bus angels sing

and we are the children of the sun

exiled offspring of the universe seeking our way back into her good graces

snapshots of the mind capturing these moments in time

engulfed by the energy of fleeting friends

fully aware that our time together is temporary at best

so we reveal ourselves and innermost desires

mistakes we’ve made and lessons learned

because there’s nothing left to lose

nothing left to gain through lies and excuses

we are monuments of being rising up from the valley of our souls

punching through fog of sleeping dreams

these children of the sun gathered around a fire in the hill country rain

wishing these moment could last forever

these moments etched in time

our vagabond souls bound

in love

friendship

and a gypsy’s soulful rhyme

here tonight and gone tomorrow

with no regrets or sorrow

because soon our paths shall part

for there are new roads we must follow

and somewhere further up the road we shall find

a new place to call home

for a little while

Static Radio

Where the road ends and asphalt fades to dirt

down a winding path leading to the ends of earth

miles removed from the nearest habitation

seeking one final attempt at salvation

we settle in for the night and she’s fast asleep

but our memories I tend and keep

weaving threads inside my head

a tapestry of all the things we’ve done and said

attempting to connect to the past

living on the edge of yesterdays

as reception fades in and out

Motionless between sheets I listen to her breathe

fragmented memories forming a dream

distant lightning flashes outside a cracked window pane

and there’s a song on the radio amplifying my pain

a mournful soliloquy

a faceless voice scratching my soul

as white noise crackles through this receiver brain

Clinging to the static thinking contact can be regained

with all the experiences I loved the most

relive the moments that set us apart from all the others

surviving lover’s challenges somehow enduring

storm after storm after storm

but tomorrow she’ll be gone and I’ll remain

for I am the one struggling inside this storm

and she moved on long ago

condemning me to seek redemption on a hollow plane

two lovers separated by distance and time

and miles and miles of empty pain

Jan Marshall on my stereo echoing a lonesome night

these sad songs fading in and out

Pavlov’s Dog

Found a new religion on the silicon prairie

theology born from psychedelic minds

of Ventura Highway refugees

gospels of semiconductor devices deciphered

by silicon valley high priests preaching

quantum physics to screw with the mind

Keepers of the faith

caretakers of this new knowledge

stationed in outpost churches on a new frontier

dwelling in pulpit cubicle caves like shamans of old

speaking Latin to a congregation naive

strange tongue of engineers educating factors of production in efficiency

I was tutored by a Hell’s Angel in high vacuum technology

Knowledge of ancients purged, brain reprogrammed with

A/C, D/C, digital devices, and Boolean Algebra

balanced with chemistry, biology, and trigonometry

learning to speak the language of Engineers

solving mathematical equations deciphering mind of god

Higgs Boson valance shells and free electrons

the more I learn the less I know

awakened neurons igniting tiny fires burning tissues of brain

constant whispering in my head as knowledge spreads

same below as above, same below as above

and I get it now

On the fabrication floor soothing hum of magnificent machines running

properties of the sun replicated in machines striking plasma

hidden state of matter shining like truth

unrecognized as it scorches lives

hardened targets melting Al Ti and platinum

laying down microscopic metal interconnects on silicon plates

where electrons flow like a river

Boron atoms shot into silicon altering conductivity

of devices spun

atom by atom creating high technology

electron microscope revealing blueprints of a city once unimaginable

electric pulses opening gates switching analog devices

off and on off and on off and on

discovering the universe is one giant algorithm yet defined

In pyramids rising across the globe

architectural monuments of this new technology

high priests train slaves to serve agendas of high priests rising

as demigods delivering

high powered hand held devices of functionality

distracting feeble minds

who declared the new boss is the same as the old boss

and nothing ever changes

so I earned a degree

and the engineers laughed and set me free

I am Pavlov’s dog, the one he let go

searching for a new master

Road to Ruin (for Jon)

Shrouded in fog of wayward youth

wandering, astray

stumbled down a wrong turn

lost my way

refusing to drive you hitched a ride

riding shotgun at my side

Foregoing the remains of childhood

took a leap into what we perceived as adulthood

spiraling into an intoxicated wasteland

while others planned for tomorrow we lived in the moment

moments I can’t recall

awakened in a bar ditch on a forgotten farm road

blood on cracked windshield

Skynyrd’s That Smell on the radio

knew it all too well

drive wheel spinning freely in the air

taking us nowhere

Symbolism imprinted on a hard wired brain

read the warning signs that lay ahead

saw my destiny in dead eyes of others

future eulogy etched upon tombstones of brothers

Died too young, is what they’ll say

so I turned away but you remained

a blind man in a dark alley searching

for gratification in a lifestyle that left you craving

never satisfying

Many years have passed and I’ve moved on

never knowing what became of you

until the other day

ran into your mom and dad

smiles evaporating at the sound of your name

so much had transpired

so much heartache endured

couldn’t recall that night I came to your house

to apologize for the stupid things we had done

no they couldn’t recall

so many troubles come and gone

Now you’re lost in a physical haze

justifying this journey as your rightful place

and I’ll always know

how can I forget?

that it was I that led you down this path

led you down the road to ruin

Candy Man

From The Evolution of Disconnect:

A sea of people in the streets with nowhere to go

homeless crack heads winos prostitutes and bums

colored by despair

tones of charcoal grey filtering

hope a distant light generated

from some other far away sun not reaching this world

dreams deflated by reality

so many dead eyed men surrounding

closing in

smothering

an ocean of charcoal grey tones storming

wave after wave crashing down

Deep into the concrete forest I ventured

graffiti on ramshackle shacks warning

bars on windows and doors symbolizing

desperation of men wanting

this territory of men forgotten

deep into this concrete forest I ventured

this place the king’s men refused to enter

heard the report from the shotgun blast

saw your soul splattered on a chevron wall

hung my head and whispered a prayer

down in the streets praying a sinner’s prayer

When the flood came you had my back

warning of plots from the graveyard hoard

those dead-eyed men conspiring

as the river crested over urban streets

.357 at a beggars head

clinging to the final dime-bag in your hand

ten-dollar whore on her knees behind a drugstore

overworked lips cracked with sores

cheat a man at dice over on Pine and you’ll get a pint

upside the head

liquor store pavement stained red

by the blood of a man who tried to make a difference

but Satan is the wind whispering your name

‘cause god already fled this scene

and I’ve witnessed too much to ignore the code

when another man has my back do what I can

to satisfy his needs for reward

so I offered up a square

and he walked away dancing without remorse

Down the road beneath a charcoal grey steeple deeply scarred

bars on windows and locked doors

providing safety from beasts roaming the hood

children found shelter

good people fulfilling a mission

to preserve the light in children’s eyes for as long as they can

anxiously waiting for my truck every Wednesday at two

and when I entered the room with hands full

all the children smiled and cheered

the candy man is here!

the candy man is here!

Vagabond (revisited)

 

  

He might be Woody Guthrie or Jack Kerouac

hopping trains or thumbing his way down the road

searching for a soul

bathing in desert stars around a campfire

raging against the machine with the ghost of Tom Joad

you can spot his aimlessness by that mangy, tattered look

he’s the guy along the side of the road you didn’t pick up

the reason you avoid truck stops

He’s the graffiti on the side of a boxcar passing in the rain

fresh footsteps in new fallen snow disappearing into the woods

the one in the garden of sound striking a Jesus Christ pose

he reminds of freedom and he’s the reason you dream of leaving

When times become tight he finds solace in a bone orchard

revisiting memories of old friends

taking refuge under the cover of the moon

and when road stake runs low

his conscious never wavers from following the code

He’s a vagabond on the roll trekking far and wide

seeking anything he can find  to heal a fractured soul

on a black river of disconnection he rides

an asphalt ribbon carrying him from Smokey Mountains to Denver

across red desert sands where grains are fused like glass

reflecting back this flight as destiny slips through his hands

When storms come he seeks higher ground

winding through mountain peaks where shamans dwell

shedding his load in temples where secrets of ancients can be found

Possible futures silhouetted against a perpetually moving horizon

his driving thirst to push on, find answers that lay beyond

has only been whetted

so this vagabond rides into a tangerine sky

into destinations unknown, so many days on the run

too many days he has spent

chasing the sun

Skies

 

 

 

Come away with me, take a trip into the deep country

an open highway, back road, dirt road, clouds of dust beneath rolling wheels

abandoned bridge over a forgotten creek where the paved road ends

a place civilization left long ago

come away with me

I’ll introduce you to the sun

 

 

Kick off those shoes and dangle your feet over the side

dip toes into the water and watch catfish float by

an insect on a leaf spinning slowly beneath crystal blue skies

sunlight kissing our skin as we lay on our backs in soft green grass

gaze up into the heavens watching puffy white clouds float by

what do they remind of? Freedom, baby

free your mind

 

 

Let’s go to that place, far removed from everything we know

escape to that place our demons can never go

beneath these wondrous skies, sounds of a river soothes

trees whisper hymns of tranquility

and the pulse of the land vibrates in rhythm to our own

this is freedom, baby

free your soul

 

 

Beneath these skies I give you a lost kingdom, now yours and mine

a place to rest your weary head after all your sacrifices have been offered

sanctuary from the day when there’s nothing left to give

beneath these skies we’ll find a dirt road back street to deliver us

into heaven and our truest selves, so come away with me

let me introduce you to the sun

Broken Highways ch1

Those who danced were thought insane by those who could not hear the music

Friedrich Nietzsche

 

1.

August, 2011.

 

I’ve fallen off the grid.

 

Forgotten highways and dirt road backstreets are my lifelines. Cow pastures, turkey barns, and asphalt parking lots in old, abandoned towns are my homes. Removed from the white noise of the city Earth’s heartbeat pulsates through the skin, recalibrating an emerging soul. Silently I dance a dance of chaos to the rhythm of a dying sun.

 

From the doorway of a converted school bus parked behind a turkey barn I sit on a step and watch as the sun sinks into the earth. An explosion of colors race across a deepening blue sky, reflected back into the universe from my eyes. Scent of rain hangs heavy in the air as storm clouds retreat in the distance.

 

Engulfed in emptiness I’m all that remains of a congregation that once gathered here for a weekend each month. Voices of ghosts echo inside the head. Closing eyes, a thousand faces stare back but the connection is gone. Energy has ebbed. Love has evaporated. Path fades in a diminishing light.

 

This is my church, my religion, my spiritual awakening. In the distance trees congregate to meditate. Flowers bow heads in prayer. Silhouetted against the horizon, mesas rise up to witness the ceremony. Stars emerge in the east, twinkling brightly with anticipation. Wind carries a sermon and I lean forward to listen. Eyes close and a restless spirit is soothed by the words. Weightlessness consumes the body. Mind is set free to roam the countryside, soaring across land and water, across space and time to a place where the lines of reality are blurred, a place where boundaries and labels can’t exist, into another dimension where limitations are not known. I am but an illusion in the physical world, just another soul trapped inside a host.

 

Everything is a symbol.

 

I am a child of the Earth, born of the elements, grounded in the soil. My soul was born from a seed planted inside this host and took root in the consciousness of the universe. I am the darkness and the light, the rising and setting of the sun and everything in between. My soul has merged with the force that sparks life into everything. I feel all it feels as it fills all of me.

 

Opening eyes, sun is a tiny red orb sinking over the horizon. Lightning from a distant storm illuminates the sky and I pretend it’s a thought passing through God’s mind. Scent of rain remains but storms have passed without releasing a drop. Fields have dried up. Vegetation is scarce. Ground is hard, deeply scarred by cracks. Ponds, creeks, and rivers run dry. The path abruptly disappears into the charred remains of the land. There is nowhere further to go. This is the end and I am but a symbol of something yet to be understood.

 

Everything is a symbol.

 

My name is Jason Powell and I was shoved off the grid.