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© Alan Reade, 1991 and 2020
View the Show Notes
Just Tell Me Where It Hurts
(Just tell me where it hurts.)(Just tell me where it hurts.)
I've been to California, where the rain burns off quickly in the sun.
You never stay one place too long; that way you're not pinned down to anyone.
Every house is an estate--making wide patches spined by grids of gray.
Water's for swimming pools,
- But the immigrant kids don't drink any Perrier....
We've got the cars set up--we've got 'em 50 in a row;
We've got the architects--building, building, never have a home;
We've got those neon strips--megabillions swallowed by desire;
And if you're so cool,
- Why are you always burning me like a fire?
(Just tell me where it hurts.)
(Just tell me where it hurts.)
I know this woman; she's seeing some physician on the side.
You see, they're trading services: they love to take each other for a ride.
She says, I hate his silences,
- Or when he asks me questions about my childhood;
- But I like it when he puts me in pain, physical pain....
We've got the cars set up--we've got 'em 50 in a row;
We've got the architects--building, building, never have a home;
We've got those neon strips--megabillions swallowed by desire;
And if you're so cool,
- Why are you always burning me like a fire?
(Just tell me where it hurts.)
(Just tell me where it hurts.)
We go to what we know--
- Just tell me where it hurts.
- Just tell me where it hurts.
- Just tell me where it hurts.
And tell me where it hurts.
Deep Space
Blue Planet Music
I was in Syracuse, New York, a couple of Novembers ago, staying with a book-dealer friend. While I was there, a letter arrived asking him to join "The Messiah Corporation." This corporation sold stock in the second coming of Christ, with additional options of bonds or a no-load mutual fund. And I thought, "Great--every three days your profits would rise." Ha ha.Which brings me to some other spiritual issues. Like this spate of New Age religions. One thing I both admire and hate about that area of spirituality is that there's nothing about it you can actually prove. Call me a skeptic, but all those crystals and all those seminars...how much of it has been researched and accurately documented...in this lifetime? And also, what about astrology? "The stars do this, the stars do that"--"Hey, I couldn't come to work today because my moon was in Aries!" Right!?
I wonder if people on other planets see us as an important astrological symbol. For instance, in astrological terms, Mars represents war and devastation. Jupiter is a planet of catastrophic change. And Saturn has to do with the elimination of old ways and old stuff, letting go...yeah, the bathroom planet.
But then, what is Earth? The planet of fashion?
I like to think of us as a precious blue stone spinning watchfully, elegantly in deep space....
But if aliens ever visit,
we're not dressed for the occasion....
Editing Dance
As some of you know, I've worked in Corporate America for years as a technical editor, rearranging words to be clear, concise, understandable. Software engineers, graphic artists, even architects have asked me to make what they say better than the way they said it. It's a desk job; but even while I'm sitting still, my pen and mind are doing a dance across the page, across my reference books. A lot of stops and starts; taking things out and adding them back in. The dance of red ink on black type on paper. If it were set to music, it would probably sound like this....When I came back to work after my appendectomy, someone said it was like I had been edited. There was even a red mark. And when you do a thorough edit, they call it bleeding all over the page. That's because this is my body and ink is my blood. I bleed red ink. I'm a blank page and the doctors are cutting their names into me. Into me.
1-2-3-4!
I have a dream that instead of fingers, I have red pens coming out of my hands. And there's not one picture of you in my house, just your letters and the appointments that I wrote down in my schedule book. And in my dream, my thumbs are containers of liquid paper, and I'm editing the letters you wrote, and I'm whiting over and blanking out all the appointments we had, especially the missed ones so I can pretend we never planned them. The liquid paper and the ink become sticky pink. The color of your skin. And the pages start breathing and crying. The pages start crawling up to my chest. And I know that if I get them to the file cabinet, everything will be all right. All right.
1-2-3-4!
In satellite pictures, I'm re-editing whole continents so I can take Caribbean vacations easier. And I wonder, does anyone on Earth notice the labels in the sky above our countries, above our cities? Does anybody notice that the atmosphere is crowded with words? The borders and labels that give our planet meaning? They float and fall and change, or even disappear, depending on who owns them. And nobody seems to notice the words all make a black cloud, a stink, an icy shadow. The words collide and fall onto the land, into the seas. The sky is overcast with charcoal words, and even the sun is turning black. An eternal night of words. A verbal winter.
1-2-3-4!
Rewriting The Pledge
I don't need to tell you that our Constitutional Rights are being eroded away daily; you can read about that in the headlines. But, isn't it nice that the one thing that we Americans can all hold near and dear to us--besides the "Star-Spangled Banner"--is the Pledge of Allegiance? I'd like all of us to say it together now, right here, with our hands over our hearts....
I pledge allegiance
To the flag
Of the United States of America,
And to the (money-based) Republic for which it stands,
One (strong-arm) nation under (an intolerant Christian) God,
Indivisible (yeah, right),
With liberty and justice for al...a lot of people....
Unless you happen to be Black or Latino, in which case,
"Maybe your people should really learn to calm down from all the rioting
And get jobs."
Or unless you happen to be one of those homosexuals,
In which case, "Why don't you stop marching down the streets
And just go back to where you came from
With your immoral lifestyles--you're not from where I'm from!
I have kids!"
Or unless you happen to be a mother on welfare:
"You shouldn't have had the fucking kid anyway;
But abortion is wrong too because it's murder,
But, anyway, it's your problem now,
So stop relying on the State
To support the results of your sinfulness!"
Or unless you happen to be from another country
That doesn't understand our ways,
In which case,
"Why don't you go back to where you came from?!"
Oh yeah...with liberty and justice
For all.
Amen.
Wait a minute.
Let's try that again.
They never asked me if I wanted a war.
They never told me what my money was for.
They say it's murder not to carry full term;
But flags are waving
While dark-skinned people, queers--the new witches
- Burn.
Well, Mr. Moneyman,
This pledge is for you:
I pledge allegiance to my body
Because it rewrites history every day.
I know the Constitution, the Bill of Rights,
Are things you don't want me
- To understand.
To read between the stripes.
So get your hands off my laws!
Get your hands off my money!
Get your hands off my vote!
And get your hands off my body!
Hands off!
Hands off!
Hands off.
I'm Not Your Baby!
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby doll.You'd better believe it or your pride will take a fall.
Don't try to touch me, don't try to hold my hand;
Men like you make me wish for another kind of man.
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby doll.
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby doll.
Real estate--living on a heating grate,
Or up in some Hamptons mansionette, doesn't matter--
Because home is where the body is, that's right!
He touches her arm and says, "Your eyes are so pretty...
You should keep wearing things that make you look this good."
And she's fixing her lipstick, fixing her hair,
And she's ready to leave because she's not for display--won't play.
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby doll.
You'd better believe it or your pride will take a fall.
Don't try to touch me, don't try to hold my hand;
Men like you make me wish for another kind of man.
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby doll.
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby doll.
So I went to the supermarket--to the meat section--
And all these boys were checking out the action;
They got their hang-dog eyes and their cat-hackle hair--
Bulge in their 501s, like plastic-wrapped veal.
And I push my cart past the desperate bodies--
I push my cart at 100 miles per hour!
I gotta run, gotta escape this situation;
Good thing I'm going...vegetarian!
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby doll.
You'd better believe it or your pride will take a fall.
Don't try to touch me, don't try to hold my hand;
Men like you make me wish for another kind of man.
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby doll.
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby doll.
Hey, baby, what's the word? And I said--
What difference when you don't speak my language? Yeah,
I speak the body--spirit and rhythm--and your eyes,
Your eyes are just predatory tools, like on a
Jackal, on a pit bull, like on an '81 Camaro;
So you move on over to the other side--your little
Hints and innuendoes are under my feet, not
Over my head where you wish they could be!
So, just move on back to the alphabet, learn to
Talk to me without your savagery; learn to
Rock to the rhythm, lock-into-my-beat, move your feet,
Shake it sweet, learn to rock, baby,
Rock
the baby rock; rock the
Baby rock; rock the baby rock;
Rock!
2-3-4! 2-3-4!
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby doll.
You'd better believe it or your pride will take a fall.
Don't try to touch me, don't try to hold my hand;
Men like you make me wish for another kind of man.
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby doll.
Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby!
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