Wednesday, April 22, 2009

 

The Songs of Theo Schaffer - part 3

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This is the last of his songs my young friend Theo has given me permission to post. Some have said this one sounds a little bit world-weary for the work of someone so young. Perhaps, but Theo is a student of song and has read more books thus far in his life than many adults have in theirs… and sadly if anyone has a right to be weary of the world for all it has shown them that they never wanted to see it’s these kids.

The final installment of The Songs of Theo Schaffer:
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Since Baltimore
Words by Theo Schaffer music by Ian Brady & Theo Schaffer

You ever get the feeling
That there’s really little meaning
To the things we have and hold
And try to keep
I’ve moved around so much now
Swear I don’t even know how
I tell this place is my home
Or just where I sleep

It’s been a long time now since Baltimore
Can’t see it clearly anymore
Funny how some memories can slip away
Long time gone from Baltimore
So what is it I’m waiting for
Come on babe, let’s just fly away


If home is where the heart is
I’m wondering what the part is
We play keeping each other
Safe, sane and warm
Is this the happy ending
Or just foolish hearts pretending
To roles we had learned to want
But just can’t perform

It’s been a long time now since Baltimore
Can’t see it clearly anymore
Funny how some memories can slip away
Long time gone from Baltimore
So what is it I’m waiting for
Come on babe, let’s just fly away

I’m just so tired of questions
Have you got any suggestions
How we can make the world just
Go far away
Foolish hearts can do wonders
They’re full of fire and thunder
If you let me be you’re home
I’ll know where to stay

It’s such a long long time since Baltimore
Can’t see it clearly anymore
Funny how some memories can slip away
Long time gone from Baltimore
So what is it I’m waiting for
Come on babe, let’s just fly away

Fly away

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Monday, April 06, 2009

 
Here on this spit of sand
Curling into the vastness
Of an old world ocean
Like a gem in the surf
Mysteriously returned
As suddenly
As it was once taken away
Shaped by your journey
Rounded at the edges
Made all the more precious
All the more wondrous
All the more beautiful
By the tumbling
In time’s own sands

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

 

Revelations and reunions on a Cantabrigian night

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Last night was a strange one. Mostly delightful, occasionally a little nervous-making, all in all a good time spent outside my usual and predictable realm of socializing. The evening began with the unexpected and very happy news that our darling lesbian duo is expecting. They will no doubt be wonderful parents however the two of them pushing a moppet-laden stroller at the Pride parade might just exceed all tolerances rolling directly into cute overload. There was the impromptu reunion of those who had passed through the doors of the same university so many years ago – some departing possessed of credentials others not. This far out though that seems much less important to anyone but the Alumni Association. Scars and memories, lasting bonds and wistful delusions, a certain underlying commonality of philosophy, we all left with those things no matter the degree to which specifics vary. It was a time. It was a place. I digress. Anyway, much to my surprise included among the sheepskin wielders was my friend Michael whom I hadn’t seen since we passed for a few weeks nearly sixteen years ago as I moved into and he moved out of Boston. Time and memory… there is little sense to either of them. I found myself in constant flux, vacillating between the feeling that we had spoken not more than a week previous and that I knew almost nothing about him. This was I’m sure thrown into higher relief by the presence of his adorable and talented partner Tom whose arrival in town had precipitated this little gathering. We had congregated at this particular bar in this particular shadow of MIT to attend a performance, Tom’s “Boston” stop on his cross-country tour. A singer songwriter in his Subaru headed from the northeast to the west coast and back by way of Nebraska, Texas and any number of other places that summon up images of Kerouac and The Hills Have Eyes. Now that is indeed an adventure. What more and what else transpired? Details. Discussions of discovery probing for current or future social crosspollination. Talk of food, whiskey, music and “big gay drinks”. Promises of continued or renewed contact. How all nights end, we parted our separate ways dispersing into the night each of us remembering a different evening than the ones remembered by the others with which it was shared.

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