Paul Fidalgo's Blog, page 3

Via

Via

the cure

A solid bit, an easy laugh

“Running Gag”
An original song by me, Paul Fidalgo.

Lyrics:

Alright, you know, how on Saturday Night Live they tell a
Joke, a lot, until it isn’t funny anymore
Well that’s as good a way as any to tell 
You about myself and how I manage to
Relate to those unfortunate enough to find
Themselves involved in intimate relations with a 
Man who can’t assemble a coherent personality
I guess that what I’m sayin’ is I’m a

Punchline
A solid bit
An easy laugh
I can be your running gag

Hold on, I thin...

uh oh.

uh oh.

This just came right out of the blue.

A cover of Marshall Crenshaw’s “Tell Me All About It,” performed by me, Paul.

Like a sore thumb

“Jut”

An original song, written and performed by me, Paul.

Lyrics:

Back when I was lonely oh I could not comprehend
Why my species had decided that I was not one of them
Got my diagnosis and I wrestled with my pain
I made friends with my weirdness, now I’m lonely just the same

But perhaps I only serve as a reminder of the truth
That not everyone is beautiful or revels in their youth
And while no one will admit it we all feel it in our guts
That while all the pieces fit so nicely
All I...

Like a sore thumb

“Jut”

An original song, written and performed by me, Paul.

Lyrics:

Back when I was lonely oh I could not comprehend
Why my species had decided that I was not one of them
Got my diagnosis and I wrestled with my pain
I made friends with my weirdness, now I’m lonely just the same

But perhaps I only serve as a reminder of the truth
That not everyone is beautiful or revels in their youth
And while no one will admit it we all feel it in our guts
That while all the pieces fit so nicely
All I...

Phrases as frenetic as a moth’s flight

An original song, written and performed by me, Paul.

I’ve got much to think about.

My cover of Letters to Cleo’s “Here and Now.”

An Offering to the Gods

Photo by Kerensa Pickett on Unsplash

I must confess (though to do so is to slash 
At my own grapevines), we poets often do 
Great harm to ourselves — for instance, when you’re weary 
And distracted and we bother you with our poems; 
Or when our feelings are hurt because a friend 
Is brave enough to criticize so much 
As a single line; when, uninvited to do so, 
We recite all over again a poem or passage, 
One of our own, that we’d just got through reciting; 
When we lament the fact that people never 
N...