In my dream last night, I was talking to a woman about an old song called “The Song the Wind Sang,” I wrote years ago. Here are the words to the bridge.
with flowers for hands
the snow dance man
begs me to followo you snow dance
I will follow if I can
On looking at a woodcut I did of the snow dance man, my father remarked to me once that he had pictured the snow dance man much differently, more realistically, I guess.
I was surprised he thought of the snow dance man at all. I have written dozens of songs. It feels weird to have all this work stuck in my drawers and brain.
So I woke up thinking about an old song. My body is sore from cleaning the basement (flood). The coffee tastes good as I flip through today’s spam. I always thought that my conversation with robots would involve the cosmic stuff of the philosophical ones in Blade Runner.
Instead I get email from robots about Viagra and Car Insurance. At least they shoot off comments to me. I delete them and rudely don’t respond I guess.
I decided to perform Bach’s little piece on “Wer nur den lieben Gott lasst walten” BWV 647 this Sunday. The gospel is about the woman who reaches out and touches the hem of Jesus’s robe. I relate to the people in the gospel who are the outcasts. The first line of this German chorale seems to me to be slightly appropriate:
Wer nur den lieben Gott läßt walten
Und hoffet auf ihn allezeit,Whoever lets only the dear God reign
and hopes in him at all times,Georg Neumark, translation by Francis Brown
I know this is subtle, far too subtle to expect anyone to pick up on. But whippy skippy.
This story makes me think of Blind Willie Johnson classic:
I Know His Blood Can Make Me Whole (link to stream of this song)
I know his blood can,
know his blood can make me whole,
I just touched…(the) hem of his garment.Blood of Jesus,
blood of Jesus,
I just touched (the) hem of his garment.Well his blood has,
well his blood has…
I just touched (the) hem of his garment.I was a gambler just like you,
I was a gambler..I just touched (the) hem of his garment.
Oh his blood have,
well his blood have..
I just touched (the) hem of his garment.I was sick and I couldn’t get well,
I was sick and I couldn’t get well…
I just touched (the) hem of his garment.Well his blood have,
well his blood have..
I just touched (the) hem of his garment.Jesus blood can…
Jesus blood can…
I just touched (the) hem of his garment.Ohh his blood have,
well his blood have..
I just touched (the) hem of his garment.I was sick and I couldn’t get well,
I was sick and I couldn’t get well…
I just touched (the) hem of his garment.
I didn’t really get a chance to composer yesterday. Today I have a ton of things to catch up on. I have to take my Mom to her old apartment and make sure the stuff that family wants to keep is taken to my porch and stored. Mom is supposed to sort through her belongings and decide what she wants to keep and what she wants to discard. I need to finish her medicaid application take 132 and mail that off. I really should pick out some more hymns for upcoming Sundays and write the bulletin article for this Sunday as well.
Instead I think I’ll listen to pomplamoose
I fear that their song, “Beat the Horse,” might be a shot across the bow to people who think music, art, and information wants to be free:
Don’t you like what’s on your plate, it’s not free
shaking fists at this debate, woe is me woe is theeit’s all for show so please bake me cookies.
The stage lights glow and we stare like rookies.Take your cause and pass it around.
Take one down and pass it around.
I’m not fair and you’re not sound.
Pass it around now you’re not sound.Take your turn in beating the horse.
Take him down now take him down.
Gee I hope we’re not off course.Take him down now take him down.
Don’t you like what’s on Tv? It’s not free.
We’ll agree to disagree. Woe is me. Woe is thee.It’s all for show so please call this number
You’ll never know. And you’ll always wonder.
Okay. Okay. I still like this song and I will BUY your dang product. And continue to beat my own horse.