Wish you were here
So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from hell,
Blue skies from pain,
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail,
A smile from a veil,
Do you think you can tell

And did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts
Hot ashes for trees,
Hot air for a cool breeze,
Cold comfort for change,
Did you exchange,
A walk on part in the war,
For a lead role in a cage.

How i wish, how i wish you were here,

We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground,
What have we found,
The same old fears,
Wish you were here.
Wish you were here

@

Shine on you crazy diamond
Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun,
Shine on you crazy diamond
Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky
Shine on you crazy diamond
You were caught on the cross fire of childhood and stardom
blown on the steel breeze
Come on you target for faraway laughter, come on you stranger
you legend, you martyr, and shine!

You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon
Shine on you crazy diamond
Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light
Shine on you crazy diamond
Well you wore out your welcome with random precision
rode on the steel breeze
Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter
you piper, you prisoner, and shine!

Nobody knows where you are, how near or how far
Shine on you crazy diamond
Pile on many more layers and I'll be joining you there
Shine on you crazy diamond
And we'll bask in the shadow of yesterday's triumph,
and sail on the steel breeze
Come on you boy child, you winner and looser
Come on you miner for truth and delusion, and shine!
Shine on you crazy diamond

@

The Story of O

'... he (Rene) told her it was his intention that henceforth she should be shared by him and those of his choosing .... That she was dependent on him, and on him alone, even though she might receive orders from persons other than himself, whether he was present or absent .... That he would possess her as a god possesses his creatures .... He gave her only to reclaim her immediately, to reclaim her enriched in his eyes, like some common object which had been used for some divine purpose and has thus been consecrated. For a long time he had wanted to prostitute her, and he was delighted to feel that the pleasure he was deriving was even greater than he had hoped, and that it bound him to her all the more, as it bound her to him, all the more so because, through it, she would be more humiliated and ravaged. Since she loved him, she could not help loving whatever derived from him.

'The very idea that Rene could imagine giving up any part of her left O stunned. She had taken it as the sign that her lover cared more about Sir Stephen than he did about her. And too, although he had so often told her that what he loved in her was the object that he had made of her, her absolute availability to him, his freedom with respect to her, as one is free to dispose of a piece of furniture, which one enjoys giving as much as, and sometimes even more than, one may enjoy keeping it for oneself, she realised that she had not believed him completely.'

'... However offensive and insulting his conduct may have been, O's love for Rene remained unchanged. She considered herself fortunate to count enough in his eyes for him to derive pleasure from offending her, as believers give thanks to God for humbling them.'

'What lifts this fascinating book above mere perversity is its movement toward the transcendence of the self through a gift of the self . . . to give the body, to allow it to be ravaged, exploited, and totally possessed can be an act of consequence, if it is done with love for the sake of love.'

The Story of O

@

Lady Writer
Lady Writer on the t.v.
Talk about the Virgin Mary
Reminded me of you
Expectations left to come up to yeah

Lady writer on the t.v.
Yeah, she had another quality
The way you used to look
And I know you never read a book

Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
Then I recall my fall from grace
Another time, another place

Lady writer on the t.v.
She had all the brains and the beauty
The picture does not fit
You talked to me when you felt like it

Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
Then I recall my fall from grace
Another time, another place

Yes and your rich old man
You know he'd call her a dead ringer
You got the same command
Plus you mother was a jazz singer

Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
Then I recall my fall from grace
Another time, another place

Lady writer on the t.v.
She knew all about a history
You couldn't hardly write your name
I think I want you just the same as the

Lady writer on the t.v.
Talking about the Virgin Mary
Yeah you know I'm talking about you and me
And the lady writer on the t.v.
Lady writer on the t.v.
Talking about the Virgin Mary
Yeah you know I'm talking about you and me
And the lady writer on the t.v.
Lady Writer

@

Comfortably Numb
Hello.
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone home?

Come on, now.
I hear you're feeling down.
Well I can ease your pain,
Get you on your feet again.

Relax.
I need some information first.
Just the basic facts:
Can you show me where it hurts?

There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're sayin'.
When I was a child I had a fever.
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I got that feeling once again.
I can't explain, you would not understand.
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb.

Ok.
Just a little pinprick. [ping]
There'll be no more --Aaaaaahhhhh!
But you may feel a little sick.

Can you stand up?
I do believe it's working. Good.
That'll keep you going for the show.
Come on it's time to go.

There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're sayin'.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone.
I cannot put my finger on it now.
The child is grown, the dream is gone.
I have become comfortably numb.
Comfortably Numb

@

Remembering Jack Kerouac
REMEMBERING JACK KEROUAC

Writers are, in a way, very powerful indeed.
They write the script for the reality film.
Kerouac opened a million coffee bars and sold
a million pairs of Levis to both sexes.
Woodstock rises from his pages.
Now if writers could get together into a real tight
union, we'd have the world right by the words.
We could write our own universes, and they would
all be as real as a coffee bar or a pair of Levis
or a prom in the Jazz Age. Writers could
take over the reality studio. So they must not
be allowed to find out that they can make
it happen. Kerouac understood this long
before I did. Life is a dream, he said.
Remembering Jack Kerouac

@

Afternoons and coffee spoons
What is it that makes just a little bit queasy?
There's a breeze that makes my breathing not so easy
I've had my lungs checked out with X rays
I've smelled the hospital hallways

Someday I'll have a disappearing hairline
Someday I'll wear pyjamas in the daytime

Times when the day is like a play by Sartre
When it seems a bookburnings in perfect order -
I gave the doctor my description
I've tried to stick to my prescriptions

Someday I'll have a disappearing hairline
Someday I'll wear pyjamas in the daytime

Afternoons will be measured out
Measured out, measured with
Coffeespoons and T.S. Eliot

Maybe if I could do a play-by-playback
I could change the test results that I will get back
I've watched the summer evenings pass by
I've heard the rattle in my bronchi ...
Afternoons and coffee spoons

@

Nobody home
I've got a little black book with my poems in
I've got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in
When I'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone
I got elastic bands keeping my shoes on
Got those swollen hand blues
I've got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to chose from
I've got electric light
And I got second sight
I've got amazing powers of observation
And that is how I know
When I try to get through
On the telephone to you
They'll be nobody home

I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm
And the inevitable pinhole burns
All down in the front of my favourite satin shirt
I've got nicotine stains on my fingers
And I've got a silver spoon on a chain
Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains
I've got wild staring eyes
And I got a strong urge to fly
But I got nowhere to fly to
Fly to, fly to, fly to, fly to, fly to, fly to, fly to
Ooh, babe when I pick up the phone
There's still nobody home

I've got a pair of Gohills boots
And I've got fading roots
Nobody home