Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass/guitar, Jack Perron, synthesizer, Michael Hurwitz, drums/percussion, Seanchan Owen, vocals/words, John Girton, electric violin - Art by Frank Skillman

Click 'Show more' to see the words
--------------
And she walks into the room.

She knows what she’s doing.

She’s putting it on.

and she puts it on so good.

This girl knows:

Life is the greatest art form there is.

She moves with her whole being.

You know she knows you know the game.

Inside of her there is a dream.

The dream is that

she live her own life.

Oh yeah, live It, baby!

And she does.

She walks so well,

and she talks so good

that it makes you see the world

from a totally different perspective.

You find yourself wondering why and who you are,

and what games you’re playing.

She does it so well

that you feel like you’re the one asking the questions.

And you find out,

yeah, you find out so much

Like, Art is not something you sell,

it's something you live.

She makes the world so much bigger than it is

by being her.

She does it so gracefully,

you cannot resist it.

It's so much like destiny

when you kiss, kiss, kiss.

And you kiss her every time you think of her.

It's not a physical kiss, no, no, no, no.

It's one of those “oh, uh, yeah, I see it.”

You’re puttin’ it on,

and you’re puttin’ it on so well.

And I want, yes, I want, I wanna put it on, too.

Oh yeah.

Uh-huh.

Life is the greatest art form.

You can be whatever you want to be.

Just let it be.

Let it go.

Be free, uh-huh.

Oh yeah.
------------

Putting It On

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass/guitar, Michael Hurwitz, drums/percussion, Jack Perron, synthesizer, Seanchan Owen, vocals/words
Billy Dunaway, guitar(Guest musician) - Art by Frank Skillman

Click 'Show more' to see the words
----------------
He had laced himself up so tight that nothing could get in or out.
And even though he wasn’t true to himself,
in many people's eyes he was a great success.
Someday he would have to undo himself
and see if there was anything left to warm.
But not today.
-------------

Absolute Zero

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass/guitar, Jack Perron, synthesizer, Michael Hurwitz, drums/percussion, Seanchan Owen, vocals/words - Art my Frank Skillman

Click 'Show more' to see the words
------------------------
Hey Austin, great little get-together.

So, ah, who's that girl over there by the salad.

I think I am going to go and introduce myself.

Huh, that all looks awfully good, doesn't it?

This dressing tastes delicious!

So, how long have you known Austin?

Oh, really?

I think I'll have some more of that, ah, green stuff. Salad. Yeah, yeah. Good, Huh?

Did you have anything to do with putting this together?

I think I'm going to put some, ah, I think I'm going to put some more croissants on this. Huh, croutons! Crou…, I'm going to put some more croutons. Oh.

You know what? I've had salad most of my life, and it's never, it's never been this good. Yeah. Do you do salad? Ah, do you do a lot of salads? Things like that?

Oh, me too. Oh, yeah. Oh, I've done a, I've … This? Nothing like this, though. Ah, say, what could, Ah. I ... I came by myself.

Oh, sh..., no. You don't, you don't have to give me a ride. Though, I appreciate it, though.

Let's just take a little bit of this salad, okay?

Do you think it's okay to have an open salad in a car when you're driving on the road? I don't know.

Sure, yeah, let's get my hat and coat.

Wait, I got to say goodbye to, ah, what's his name? Ah, Austen! Wait, ah, wait. Hold it right here.

Austin, she's really great. Thanks a lot.
-------------------------------------------------------

Drunk On Salad

Order of creation:Jack Perron, synthesizer, Frank Skillman, bass/guitar, Seanchan Owen, vocals/words, Michael Hurwitz, drums/percussion, John Girton, electric violin - Art by Frank Skillman

Click 'Show more' to see the words
--------
Fog, crept through the gate, crawled across the bay, and swallowed the city.

The only company I had, was the reflected sounds of my footsteps.

Gray covered all, the lights haloed, the bars of mixed laughter which seemed so cold to me.

I had hoped, in this city, filled with people, crowded with souls, that I might find someone, someone, some one.

But no. No, I have never found anyone who can see me.

And so in my loneliness, I look for company.

Cold company.

Which I buy. Yes, I buy.

And it doesn't make me feel warm. 

But it wraps me in its own way, like the fog.

And I always wear my protection against the fog.
--------------------------------------------------------------------

Order of creation: Jack Perron, synthesizer, Frank Skillman, bass/guitar, Seanchan Owen, vocals/words, Michael Hurwitz, drums/percussion , David Graves, keyboards, John Girton, electric violin - Art by Frank Skillman

Click 'Show more' to see the words
-------------------
I wake in the morning, fresh and clean, clear. 

All the world and the senses fresh.

And then it begins again.

Forming, forming and remembering, and fitting.

My whole life experiences leap up upon me and wrap up the child.

And there is no escaping.

None.

Try as I like, I fall back into it. 

I am my past.

I am tainted.

Do what I will, drink what I must, imbibe all thing to make myself free. And yet, 

I can never, never really be free.

If I could only, one day, wake up and see the possibilities of a new, fresh outlook.

Not layered upon me from my past.

But one, where the experiences of the day would be fresh and new, and my responses open and giving.

How I could let myself fly, fly and be, and laugh.

And meet people as they are, not as I remember them. As I remember them. Their images formed when I was but a child.

Each day locks me in.

Oh, what possibilities there could be.

And yet, once a day I am greeted with this suit of clothes I must put on.

All those pattern makers, 

so well they have tailored my being, 

I cannot but repeat what they taught me, 

I cannot respond but as they taught me.

And so, once a day, again, I put it on and wear it.

But secretly I dream. 

Secretly I dream.
-----------------------

Once A Day

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass, guitar, art; Seanchan Owen, vocals, words; Jack Perron, keyboard; Rich Simon, keyboard; Michael Hurwitz, drums, percussion

Click "Show more..." below for words
--------------------------------------

Hello everybody, how are you doing tonight?
Or this afternoon?
Or this morning?

You know, it all depends upon where you are in the world,
like so many different things.
Doesn't it?
Doesn't it?
What time it is, who you know.

But let me stop for a second and
get back on the track. 
Because I, personally, me, 
I want to tell you a story.

This is a story I think you're gonna like.
Now you tell me, 
Just stop me right away
if you've heard this one before
because I do not want you 
to have to go through another moment 
of your time 
in the repeat mode.

Now it's true 
we have a bunch of records 
that we play all the time
and we love those songs 
and we do play them over and over again 
and I think it's wonderful wonderful great and wonderful thing 
but that is not, 
that is not what we are doing here today. 
What we are doing here today 
is telling you a story, 
yes, 
a story you're going to remember.

It started a while ago.
It started on a wonderful day. 
It started with your birthday, yes.

When you crawled into this beautiful world of ours. 
When you looked around 
and saw how great it was 
and the birds were chirping in the trees 
and the sky was all sorts of wonderful shades of different things.

You said to yourself, 
you said, 
I remember you saying this, 
Mind you, I know you did.
you said, ah, "waaah, han ha." 
or something like that. 
It was basically something like that. 
I'm not about to pin you down.

And the rest of your life 
you pursued the answer to the question. 
And here you are today. 
listening eagerly and open mindedly 
to the possibility that, 
yes, 
you were born.

You were born of humans, 
or cows, 
or chimpanzees, 
or praying man tie. 
I mean I, really, 
I don't know who's listening to this 
but whatever you are, 
I can safely say this, 
I can safely say this one thing.
You were born. 
From then, 
it's pretty much guess work, 
but I know 
that you are now 
taking this moment 
to listen to this.

And in that realization 
you know that you exist. 
And that existence,
in itself,
is something very important.

My question to you, 
here's my question to you, 
What do you want to do with it. 
Hey, you, 
I'm talking to you. 
What do you want to do with it?

Yeah, 
you got a lot of choices. 
You can do a almost anything except for all those things you can't do
and we won't even think about those. 
Yep, you take your time.
There's plenty of it. 
Or not.

Okay, Mac, 
I think we've got the whole song wrapped up.

Story in a Time Capsule

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass, guitar, art; Jack Perron, keyboard; Seanchan Owen, vocals, words, Michael Hurwitz, drums, percussion

Click 'Show more' below for words
-----------------------
What,
what am I now?
What,
what am I now?
Am I a dragon, 
or am I some freak 
of nature. 
Am I some god damn genius 
springing forth with ideas.
And ideas that everybody, everybody, everybody, 
yes, 
is waiting, 
is waiting, 
is waiting for me to reveal.
Is that, is it that what I am now? 
Yeah. Is that what I am? Could be?
Am I the sexiest thing, 
am I the sexiest thing that ever, 
am I the sexiest thing that ever walked the earth.
Look at my footsteps in the sand. 
Yeah. 
Even them, they, even those are 
sexy.
Yeah.
I just wonder, 
what I 
am now.
Uh, uh
uh, uh, 
uh, uh.
And what are you?
You ever give that any thought?
Are you like me?
Are you amazing, are you fantastic?
Do you look good? 
Do you, do you feel the day? 
Do you feel the vibrations of the people around you? 
All of them. 
All of them.
All absolutely complementary to your existence.
Oh,
Oh yeah.
Sometimes I cannot help myself.
Sometimes I cannot hold myself back, 
because sometimes I get these doubts, 
I don't know where,
I do not know where they come from.
Doubts that I might not be the most wonderful guy in the whole god damn world,
somebody who can radiate goodness out from his soul, 
from his heart, 
from his mind 
to everyone, everyone, everyone, 
and then, 
yeah, that's you.
Can you feel it? Can you feel it now?
How about now? 
Okay, how about now? 
Oh, come on. 
Give it a chance. 
Open up, 
come on, open up.
What are you now? 
What are you?
You're all closed up. 
You gotta,
You gotta free yourself. 
You've got to come out.
You've gotta visit me.
You gotta visit the world. 
You got to feel that you are beautiful 
because, you know what, man,
you really are, 
beautiful.

What Am I Now?

Order of creation: Michael Hurwitz, guitar, drums, percussion; Jack Perron, keyboard; Frank Skillman, bass, guitar, Seanchan Owen, vocals, words; Rich Simon, keyboard

Click "Show more..." below for words
___________________

Pork chops
taste so good to me
on an August afternoon.

I sit here
on the Prairie
looking at the coyotes, out there.

I see the sun setting far away.
I scratch my left leg
and pet my dog.

And I say,
what a wonderful thing
to be out here.

All alone,
on the Prairie,
the world is my toy.

I have to bow to no man.
(Except my boss.)
I get to do whatever I choose.

But still, I give myself pause
when I think back on my childhood.
When I ran away.

Was that the right thing to do?
What would I have become?
It just makes me wonder a bit.

My dad was an asshole.
At least I thought he was an asshole,
at the time.

Now I am a bit older,
and I see that
I have a lot of the same problems.

And my mom, well,
I'm supposing
she did her best.

It all looks different,
looking back.

But I had to get out
on my own.
I had to be a man.

That's what I wanted to do:
really get free,
live my life.

But then,
I have to wonder,
did I really have the brains to do it?

You never know
if you have the brains,
I guess.

I'm just going to be happy with where I am.

I've heard stories of other people,
some are great successes.
And some, well,…

They're probably
out on their own prairies
thinking about what a great life they had.

Can't live them all, I guess.

Running Away

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass, art; Jack Perron, keyboard; David Hemphill, Trombone ensemble; Michael Hurwitz, drums; Seanchan Owen, vocals, words; Rich Simon, keyboard

Click "Show more..." below for words
_________________

Tonight, when I want to Doybee’s, 
I got this weird, weird feeling
that somebody 
was watching me.

I didn’t know who. 
It could've been 
that brunette 
in the corner.

Humm.

I asked for a highball.
Doybee passed by and said 
there was a call for me
in his office.

I went back to his office.
The phone is sitting there.
I put it up to my head, and then I remember 
Doybee doesn't wear perfume

But I know who it is.
I hang up the phone
and just walk out,
right through the back way.

And a black cat runs down the alley way
into a pool of light,
and there she was all dressed in black. 
She looked so cool. 

And the last thing I see 
is a flash of light... 
from her gun.

Doybees

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass, guitar, art; Jack Perron, keyboard; Seanchan Owen, vocals, words; Rich Simon, keyboard; Michael Hurwitz, drums

Click "Show more..." for words
_________________


I was walking, 
and I had a feeling that I knew 
more than I knew. 
Yeah. 

There was something, 
something coming in, late in my life.
It was, it was, it was, 
the animal 
that lurks 
deep inside. 

Oh yeah, 
I say, the animal came late 
came in late 
came in like really late in my life.

I was so official. 
I was a businessman. 
I was a success. 
I did everything right. 

I was so cool.
I could answer any question you gave me.
But yeah, 
oh no.

I didn't know what it was 
living inside of me, 
living inside of me, yeah. 
Trying to come in to my psyche.

Let the animal come in 
to your psyche. 
Because that's where you are, 
that's what you are, an animal. 

Did you ever think about that?
where your words come from, 
where your thoughts reside. 
They are all hidden in a furry thing all locked inside your mind. 

It's the animal that remembers, 
it's the animal that forgets. 
You know it frets about 
why, who, what you are. 

Hey, what are you? 
Are you your education? 
Are you your language?
Are you your culture? 

Or are you 
the animal 
that lurks 
deep inside? 

It has clothes
it has words, 
it has all the nice things now 
and it just wants to come in to your life 
and be, 
express, 
dream, 
laugh and,
and express itself. 

You can do it now. 
Go growl, 
go growl, 
say something really clever right about, oh, now.

Coming In Late

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass/guitar/art; Seanchan Owen, words/vocals; and Jack Perron, keyboard/synthesizer.
---
Walking on a night cold and lonely,
On a beach far, far from here.
In another sphere
Where there were no men, never were, never will be.

And in this freedom of yours
That I have always existed and died
Will always be.

But without, hmm…no.
For I am just a fiction.

Oh, I make the sounds of massive intelligence
Which is judged by a book.
And that book is in steel locked in our society,
Our golden society.

Sacred, above all else.
We all know, we all know
That we are right,
Even though we all contradict ourselves.

But is that a problem?
Contradiction?  Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…
Sure, two things that are entirely different
Can exist, or can they?

Come here, come here, look in my eyes and tell me.
You think that everything is true?

But now, don’t worry.  Lean back and go to sleep.
Everything will be OK in the never-never land
Of your mind.

Transcribed by R. Simon, 15-16 November 2019

Beach Night

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass/guitar/words/vocals/art; Jack Perron, keyboard; Michael Hurwitz, guitar/drums/sound engineering; and backing vocals by John Girton, Rich Simon, Seanchan Owen, Jack, and Michael.
---
Gonna tell you about a man I know,
I’ve known him for a long time (long time).

And ever since we were kids, he liked playing with matches.
Making pipe bombs, giving guys the hot foot,
Lighting the big guys’ cigarettes.

I like fire (I like fire).

And over time, his blazing love of setting things on fire intensified.
Got a little outta hand (hmm, yeah).
He became a firebug (firebug),
Lighting things up all over town.

Well, he got caught, the night he burned down the carpet mill.
Just for fun.
The cops who took him in said he was standing in a kind of ecstasy
Bathed in the flames with a wild-eyed grin on his face.

He wept, as they put him in the paddy wagon.
A pyromaniac, pyromaniac, he was a firebug (firebug).

Oh yeah.

The guy liked fire (liked fire).
Some people build ‘em up,
Some burn ‘em down (burn ‘em down).

Pyromaniac, a pyromaniac, a pyromaniac, a pyromaniac.

Transcribed by R. Simon, 15-16 November 2019

Firebug

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass/art; Michael Hurwitz, drums/sound engineering; Jack Perron, synthesizer; Seanchan Owen words/vocals; Rich Simon, keyboard.
---
No parentheses:  modern voice
Parentheses:  medieval voice
---
I was sitting in my hospital room, looking out the window
After my quadruple by-pass surgery.
Anyway, watching a supersonic jumbo jet
Pushing its way into the deep blue sky.

(Just a few hundred years ago, I was a peasant
Adhering to what the king said,
And doing what my master said.)

I couldn’t imagine any other way that life could be.
Why, the whole idea of learning just totally skipped by me.
I didn’t even know what it was.

(As far as the king was concerned,
We were just animals.
That was until somebody stood up and put forward the idea
That we are not the center of the universe.)

Then the enlightenment came.
The concept of universal knowledge and equality.

Now, we no longer have to be serfs.
We can make our own choices.
We can live our own lives.

(Hmm, but I remember there are those who want us to strive for a fool’s paradise
Where everything is prescribed by an invisible hand.)

Nope, I’m not going to let my forefathers down,
Who brought forward the concept to re-evaluate reality
Using the tools of empiricism.

(What, you don’t know what empiricism is?
If you don’t know the empirical method,
Well, you’re just not doing your part.)

Transcribed by R. Simon, 15-16 November 2019

Burlingame Slip

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, guitar/bass/art; Jack Perron, synthesizer; Michael Hurwitz, drums/sound engineering; Seanchan Owen, words/vocals.
---
His wife Molly had gone over to see her sister Ruth
And had left him alone for a week.
And now he found he had no more clean underwear.

He was forced to go to Molly’s vestibule
To find protection from his heavy canvas pants.

He felt a tremendous conflict within himself,
As he stepped into this fragile garment.
Hmm…so he took very heavy, forceful steps down the stairs to the kitchen
Where he grabbed a heavy metal pan and slapped it down on the stove.

But as, as he broke the eggs and heard the sizzling sound of the food,
He felt a nurturing, even though he’d…he’d…he was just doing it by himself.
He felt a weird kind of anxiety that left him,
facing the schism within himself.

He remembered the heavy strokes made by Molly chopping wood
While she was wearing her canvas overalls, just like a man.
And yet, there was something still graceful and human and real about her there.

As he thought about her, he relaxed.
And the silky feeling of being a human
It had nothing to do with sexuality,
But having everything to do with pleasure, mutuality, and equality
And maturity, and all those “-ilities,” you know?

As he floated in this area of understanding,
He felt the cry of culture’s mindless call for social conformity,
And he just, he just tossed it aside.

From now on, he would understand
That one was not what one wore.
We are all human.
Clothes is just…clothes.

Transcribed by R. Simon, 15-16 November 2019

Molly's Drawers

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass/art; Rich Simon, keyboard; Michael Hurwitz, drums/sound engineering; Julius Maier, visiting musician, French Horn; Seanchan Owen, vocals/words.
---
I was sliding backwards
Sliding backwards into my past.
It seemed the more I knew about the world,
The more I hated what I had done.

The immutable Past.

I gave it up, you see.
I just said, there’s no way to change it.
But I had to find someplace else I could live:
Not in my memories, not in my past.

And so I slid, softly, into The Now.

Now The Now is nice ‘cause it starts right now,
And it ends right now.
And it keeps on going, starting and ending.
It’s wide open; it’s infinite.

And yet, besides appreciating it,
What can you do with The Now?
The Now is so….well… now.

And so I’ve flipped my wig.
I took the power of The Now
And I focused it onto the future.
A year from now, a month from now, a week from now,
A day from now, a minute from now, a second from now.

You might deny tomorrow,
But you still have in this next second…the future.
And what are you gonna do to make a better now world?

You, friendships, places, growing,
Always growing into The Now
Of the future in this beautiful, always opening future.

Transcribed by R. Simon, 15-16 November 2019

The Now

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass/vocals/words/art; Jack Perron, synth; Michael Hurwitz, drums/sound engineering.
---
Over 100 years ago, in a basement in Sarajevo,
Carbonovic, Vlada, Princip, Danilo, Dragan and Mohammed got together
To talk about their oppression,
And to plot the assassination of the Archduke.

They had to take the Archduke down.
Carbonovic handed out grenades and cyanide pills
He’d just got from the Black Hand gang.
And gave Princip some extra bullets for his FN Model 1910 pistola.

They positioned themselves along the planned route.
Mohammed got spooked by the cops, who’d been tailing him all day.
He couldn’t pull his pin.

Carbonovic’s pineapple was dodged by the Archduke’s skillful driver
And exploded under and Hispano-Suiza carrying some military dignitaries.

About a dozen spectators got hit with shrapnel.
The police sprang into action and went after him.
He gulped his cyanide and jumped in the river.

The poison didn’t work!

Cops fished him out and threw him in the clink, trying to take the Archduke down.
Not an easy job.

The other guys split the scene, faded into the crowd.
But just as Princip was taking a breather,
He spotted the Archduke’s car coming down the street.
He knew he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn,
So he walked right up and shot the Archduke and his loving wife point blank.

A bunch of cops jumped him; his cyanide didn’t work either.
He died in prison four year later
From degenerative bone disease.

He took the Archduke down, and the whole world with him.
 
Transcribed by R. Simon, 15-16 November 2019

The Arch Duke

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, guitar/bass/art; Jack Perron, synthesizer; Seanchan Owen, vocals/words; Michael Hurwitz, drums, sound engineering.
---
Hmm, I opened my eyes this morning
I’d had a tough night last night.
And so I opened my mind, I opened my mind up to the many possible stories
I could have for not, not going to work.

It was hard.  I said, how about, uh, I-I just got eaten by my, my dog, 
I don’t know, that doesn’t sound very good.
Or, or my house blew up, and I had to sleep in the street.
Nah, that doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.

And then I had an ingenious idea!
Finally, everything came clear.
I knew exactly what to do.
I was gonna call them up and say
Hi guys, it’s me, yeah.  Well, I quit.

Oh, that would be so good, how I’d love to do that.
Or, or, or this is just a thought, but…I-I was thinking of saying
That I had become a religious person.
And I was going to go around the world and tell people
That I knew the way.  That I had the light.
And that light could block out the darkness.

And we would live in this cocoon of safety
And we would be immortal.
And even in death, they could, we could go, I could take care.
There’d be no doubt.

I-I could…all the things they do not know,
They would never have to explore or learn anything new.
That I, that I could be their leader.
I could be their paths to greatness,
And they could continue to pay me every week.
So that I could tell everyone to continue to be afraid of the unknown.

And after I took a nice hot shower, I went to work.

Transcribed by R. Simon, 15-16 November 2019

Lazy Thinking

Order of creation: Michael Hurwitz, drums/percussion/sound engineering; Seanchan Owen, vocals/words.
--
I, do not I, am alone
Why, why, why, why, oh, oh, ooh, oh, oh
There, there, there, there.

Family, humanity, 
I have empathy with everyone.

I, I hear them.
They, they, I hear them, they, they, they, I hear them.
We are, we are together, humanity, we are together.
Mother, father, family, community, world, mankind, kind man.

Oh, I am secure, I can stand up, I-I-I-I-I-I-I, can-can-can-can-cannot be-be-be-be
Count-count-counted.  I can’t be counted, I am more.

I am…more.  I want…more.  I am distinct from others, from others, from others, from others.
I-I-I need not-need-not need-not need-not need-not…
Emote, care for you.
I can lead, I can…lead, I am…one amongst others, others, others, others, others….

You all are not like me, I am separate in nature, I am all.
I am…my universe.  I am…my universe.

Now I have everything, and yet I am the only one who has EVERYTHING.

I am…alone.  
I cannot, I cannot relate, relate.
Who are you, who are you, what, what are you if you’re not like I am.
But I am alone, but I am alone.
Wait for me, wait, I don’t understand.

Transcribed by R. Simon, 15-16 November 2019

Bump In The Road

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass/guitar/art; Michael Hurwitz, drums/percussion/sound engineering; Jack Perron, synthesizer; Seanchan Owen, vocals/word; Rich Simon, keyboard/synthesizer.
---
I’ll be driving on the freeway,
And I knew I would not be there on time.
For the party I was supposed to arrive at,
The joy I was supposed to have.

‘Til a light shined down from above
And the radio started to play.
I knew it was the spacemen
Coming to take me away

Lucky I had nothing to do tomorrow that really mattered.
But I didn’t care, but I didn’t care, I didn’t care.
Because I knew I’d help some alien understand
Human life better than we can.

And as my car shimmered and shook,
I was drawn up into a flying saucer.
Wippity-do, wippi-wippity-do, wippity-whippity-do.

And the bottom of the spaceship opened up and sucked me in.
And I smiled and I waved from my convertible.

The green men were quite happy to see me that night, 
‘Cause normally they get complaints but not from me,
I bent over pleasingly.

I knew they were learning, 
Just as my government learns about me:  from the web.
Isn’t it great, isn’t it wonderful, that the universe cares about me?

Everybody knows, everybody knows, everybody knows, everybody knows.

That they’re likely to be a dark <><><><><>
But you have to wait for the very right night
‘Cause they’re very, very busy.

The conversations are kind of slow,
Because all the say is a lot of gibberish to me, if you know what I mean.
But they’re really nice guys, really nice guys, 
Really really really nice guys, really nice guys.

Transcribed by R. Simon, 15-16 November 2019

They Came And Went

Photo by Frank Skillman of painting by Hank Widmaier
Players in order of creation: Michael, Rich, Seanchan, John, Frank
Words by Seanchan Owen
--
C’mon Blue, that’s a good dog
Where do you think we should sleep tonight?
I know, I—that doesn’t look right, let’s go on further.

Here’s a dumpster, let’s go diving,
Dinner time, huh?
You’re a good dog, you look tired, a little cold’s OK, OK, it ain’t new to us
C’mon Blue, let’s go down this alley way, maybe something here.

Oh, you want to chase that cat, ha, ha, ha!
Hey, you’re getting a little tired, aren’t you boy?
Yeah, good dog.  C’mon, c’mon Blue.
Blue, wake up, Blue.
Wake up.

Hey, don’t leave me alone.
Aaaah, shit.

You were a good dog.  

Yeah, no boots, no bootstrap to pull us up from, boy.
Yeah, it didn’t work anyway.

You’re standing in the boots, and you pull up on the straps,
And it does nothing, nothing.

Transcribed by R. Simon, 13-14 November 2019

Blue Dog

Art by Frank Skillman
Players in order of creation: Frank, Rich, Seanchan, Jack, Michael
Words by Seanchan Owen
---
At the bottom of the sea
Sleeping…a creature who roams through your mind
Has come from far, far away.

Its octopus face and large wings
Make you think of funny things.
But the humor is soon lost
When you sense its power.

It’s a spawn from the stars.

At one time it had an island all its own,
Made of rock and stone.
And then that island, like Atlantis,
Sank into the sea.

But it made no difference to this being,
It could roam infinity with its mind.
It could rule all that could be ruled.
Some say it was the Creator of our consciousness.

These dreams, the ability to dream, to dream that we are who we are.
Is made by a monster from a distant star.
And though, when we see others as insane, it is us.
We are this monster, who had been mentally named.

And though we will never realize that we are:
Puppets, puppets, puppets of a space creature.


Transcribed by R. Simon, 13-14 November 2019

Cthulhu Never Sleeps

Art by Frank Skillman
Players in order of creation: Frank, Jack, Seanchan, Michael, John, Rich
Words by Seanchan Owen
---
I find myself in a scattered view of time.
The clocks are backwards, and the hands are pointing 
straight at me.

And the progress of my life is wound up in itself.

I walked into the refrigerator 
and went up to the North Pole.
And all of a sudden it became…the South Pole.
Influx, spin around, chase your tail.

I was talking to a polar bear, 
When a penguin came up to me and said
What am I doing here?
Good question:  yeah, what am I, what are we all doing here?

Taking up time, I have a feeling we’re just taking up time.

I met someone the other day, cool, huh?
A real person, we talked.
I think, I think we said something.

I see the creation of the Earth, and I can see its end.
What are we going to do?  What are we going to do?

How can you pick up the pieces, if you haven’t put them down?
What are we doing here?

We can have fun. 
We could control the world.
Or we can try, try to understand.
We can evolve.


Transcribed by R. Simon, 13-14 November 2019

Cold Blast

Art by Frank Skillman
Players in order of creation: Frank, Jack, Seanchan, Michael, Rich
Words by Seanchan Owen
---
I got thirsty.
I don’t know why.
It was a hot, hot summer day,
And I got thirsty.

Mmm, I coulda gone for some pale ginger ale.
Or some ice cold lemonade, mmm...
A hot dog, well, no,
A hot dog, no!
But a pale ginger ale, that would have been OK.

How much of our lives do we ask ourselves:
What would make me feel good right now?
A pale ginger ale.
Doesn’t cost too much, no, doesn’t cost too much.
Not with the amount of money that I make.

But sometimes you find yourself in a circus
Surrounded by clowns.
And no matter how much money you have,
They’re unable to produce any ginger ale.

This might sound like a message of truth,
Something that we should have known long ago.
But the economical system that we find ourselves in
Is a bit, just a little bit, slanted, twisted, turned around.

There must be something we can do about it.
Now I’m not talking bitcoin, uh-huh, no.
How many computers do you have on your side?
Let’s count them:  1, 2, 3.

Hey, could somebody get me some ginger ale?
That would go down really good right now.

Transcribed by R. Simon, 13-14 November 2019

Pale Ginger Ale

Players in order of creation: Frank, Jack, Seanchan, Rich, Michael
Photo and words by Frank Skillman
---
I stood between cars on the overnight train to Shanghai,
Having a cigarette with another guy.
Watching the red earth pass by.

I’m Frank the Courier, I’m not a spy or anything like that.
I just pass things around.
My boss, I’m not going to tell you who my boss is,
But it’s a good job, gets you on the overnight train to Shanghai.

The train stopped; a couple got on.
Well dressed, nice luggage, first class.
(He) gave me the hand sign that is known to all couriers.
(He) slipped me a package for Mr. Blue,
in a red envelope for good luck.

Which I would need, for out of the corner of my eye, 
I spied two guys in shades getting on behind.
I headed for the dining car, where a group of Army officers were having a meeting.
They’d left their coats and hats in the hallway.
I grabbed a set and hopped to the platform in my disguise.

The cats in the shades missed me:  guess I fooled them!
You need all the luck you can get when you’re a courier.

I just pass things around, bring back something from town.
Need anything?  I’ll bring it to you.

Think I gotta get practiced up in my tae kwon do,
Because when you’re a courier, you just don’t know.
You just don’t know.

Transcribed by R. Simon, 13-14 November 2019

Frank The Courier

Art by Frank Skillman
Players in order of creation: Frank, Jack, Michael, Seanchan, Rich
Words by Seanchan Owen
---
Matter, lifeless matter.
Being, shaking, shocking, 
Life is formed on Earth.

Wild, insanely chaotic,
Lashing here and there,
Vanishing until stabilization forms.

And each to move, merely movement.
And then massive muscles, teeth, talons,
Earthquake, meteors, the world in chaos changes
And it’s gone.

Not all gone, but it comes back this time furry.

And then man arrives:
Imagination, emotion, manipulation,
Kingdoms and rulers, directions, orders,
Images that are justified by pure allusion.

And then…reason comes on to the playing field
And creates the ability to take control of the Earth,
Of the society, of one’s own mind.

What is the next evolutionary step?

Transcribed by R. Simon, 13-14 November 2019

Spy Glass

Art by Frank Skillman
Players in order of creation: Rich, Frank, Jack, Seanchan, Michael
Words by Seanchan Owen
---
Penelope, my sweet, can’t you understand?
Numbers, love, chairs, they’re not real things.
They’re constructs made by humanity.

The aborigines of Australia, they’ve only got two numbers:
One and many.
It’s like colors, you know, how different languages cut up the spectrum in different ways.
Some countries have one blue; others have two.

So you gotta break away
And realize that humanity can make its own
Measurements, reality, values, structures, love and numbers,
Unlike caring and earth, are constructs that we have total control over.

But I know my sweet, my love, my angel, my pet
There are things that are very hard to understand.
But I tell you, you needn’t worry about this.
Because us humans can make our own list.

Let’s deal with caring, with energy and…and matter.
Let us make our own measurements.
Make the world matter.

My sweet Penelope, let us just understand
That we have a chance to re-measure the world
In the image that best suits all mankind.
In a way that lets us grow.
In a way that makes us, well…

What can I say, sweet Penelope, what do you know?
No, yes, sweet Penelope, 
Why, why, why?

Transcribed by R. Simon, 13-14 November 2019

Why, Penolope?

Players in order of creation: Frank, Rich, Jack, Michael
Art and Words by Frank Skillman
---
Not very far away, a little bit away from Earth
Lunar sisters took me by the hand,
Led me to their cave.
Gotta keep a lookout in the cave…for the spiders.

In the dark of the cave, stalactites, stalagmites.

There’s oxygen in the cave,
So, I took off my spacesuit,
Hid it near a rock.

(They) took me to their boudoir.
Oh, moving slow…
Due to lack of gravitation, you can let your backbone slip.
Oh, Rose and Leah. 

They have secrets
They might tell you—priceless whispers.
Closer to the stars, the planets are their gods of a kind.

Now the Lunar Father did not think so highly of our orbital adventure,
and he called the guards.
And they were big guys.

So, I started to run back through the cave,
Dodging lizards and bats.
Had to get my spacesuit.

One guy threw a trident, the other one threw a net.
Huh, just missed me.
Drip, drip, water drip in the dark of the cave
Is that a light I see?
Had to blast out of that place—
Never going back again.

Not very far away, a little bit away from Earth.


Transcribed by R. Simon, 13-14 November 2019

Lunar Sisters

Art by Frank Skillman
Players in order of creation: Frank, Jack, Seanchan, Rich, Michael
Words by Seanchan Owen
---
My brain is born, sensual shock.
A screaming tangle of endless needs, which are wiped away by the surrounding warmth.

Falling back into a pre-natal nap, I wake again:
Focused eyes, reaching for what is seen, kicking feet.

And the form comes; I am raised up and fed, again.
I am full, warm, happy brain.
Then they make a sound and withhold the warmth,
Which made me such a happy animal.

And they will not give me the warmth until I have made the sound,
The sound as they do.

And then they smile and pick me up, caressing me.
They try to make their words the same thing as the world.
But their sounds are symbols, and symbols are not the world.
Then they use these symbols to speak of “The Other.”

Are there others?  Are there words like symbols?
Are they based on senses?  Do they have senses?
Are they like me, learning tricks to be fed and held?
Are all these others caged in a complex weave of words?

Then, an echo comes.  
I look into a pool, which reflects a face.  They say:
“That is who you are.  See that image, you are a symbol; you are your name.”

Then I am told that I am a conscious thing.
But I know that consciousness is just a tool made of symbols and words.
But I am a brain, which uses trained symbols to produce the sensation of consciousness to evaluate the world.

With symbolic language my brain has free will. 

Transcribed by R. Simon, 13-14 November 2019

Brain Birth

Art by Frank Skillman
Players in order of creation: Frank, Rich, Seanchan, Jack, Michael
Words by Seanchan Owen
---
Put It in a Bag
The Europeans came to America
Fresh and clean, and their eyes glowed
As they imagined how they might be able
To take all of this beautiful country, and put it in a bag,
And take it home.

All this beautiful land is open and free,
And no one owns it.

If anyone objects, if anyone has any questions,
If anyone can speak this European tongue,
Tell me, tell me, tell me why,
Why I can’t just make all of this mine?

Nobody owns it; it’s mine!

That is, unless anyone has any legal rights,
Anyone?

All of this that I can put into my own bag.
A present, a present of something which should belong to every living thing,


Transcribed by R. Simon, 13-14 November 2019

Put It In A Bag

Art by Frank Skillman 
Players in order of creation: Rich, Frank, Michael, Jack, Seanchan
Words by Frank Skillman & Seanchan Owen
---
(radio operator in parentheses, narrator’s voice is not)

(Here we go baby.)

A computer, who does not know it is a computer.  (Techno Five, come in, Techno Three here.)

Screeching out its wavelengths into the void.  (Techno Five, do you read me?)

Its empty voice hoping, (we here you’re having some trouble up there)
Hoping that there’s others out there, when there’s no one, (Techno Five, come in!)
No one in the spaceship but itself.

(You’re breaking up, now.)

Attributing all sorts of worries and struggles,
It screams out for another.  (You’re breaking up.)
Its mind reaching across the huge void
Finds no other speck of life.

It has no way of knowing how much time has passed,
While it has been alone.  (Ah, Techno Five, come in.)
And without time, floating in this black void, (I can hear you now)
He imagined the creation of another being,
A creation that echoes in its own circuitry.  (Yeah, tell me about it, what’s going on?)

And his mind imagined this voluminous conversation
Which gives him such hope to live, to be, to scream, to laugh.  
(Ah, Techno Five.)

And its own inner working supplies its own reality.

Not knowing that its ever said this before (Are you coming in, you’re coming in, I hear you.)
Desperately hoping for the door to open, for the airlock
To allow this being from the outside world of his mind. (Techno Three, yeah!)

And he sees, he sees and feels, and imagines:
Nothing.

So, so lonely, and yet, so full of timeless hope.

(Techno Five, Techno Five, you’re breaking up again.  You’re breaking up again.)

Transcribed by R. Simon, 13-14 November 2019

Techno Five

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass/guitar, David Graves, keyboards/sound, Michael Hurwitz, drums/percussion , Jack Perron, synthesizer, Seanchan Owen, vocals/words, John Girton, electric violin - Art by Frank

Click 'Show more' to see the words
----------
I was driving through the country when I saw an old coal miner's 
shack on a dirt road.

As I was walking toward it I could see the waves in the wood through 
the window that had never had glass in it. I couldn't see the 
chilling wind, though, that had blown in night after night.

The rustic fire place imbedded with interesting stones which the 
coal miner must have found and carried home. I didn't see the many 
times the fire had not been lit for want of food.

The busted frame supporting the skeleton of bedspring which lay under 
the faded picture of Madonna pasted on the wall kept me from seeing 
the birth that took both the mother and the child.

When I got home I put all my pictures from my iPhone onto the internet. 
What do you see?
----------

Coal Miner's Shack

Order of creation: Frank Skillman, bass/guitar, David Graves, keyboards/sound effects , Seanchan Owen, vocals/words - Art by Frank Skillman

Click 'Show more' to see the words
---------------
When I was a child
a traffic guard talked of Thomas Edison,
light bulbs and candles.

After summer break  he was gone,
and a traffic light stood in his place.

I got a piggy bank.
It looked like a little computer. 
When it was full  I took it the bank 
where my Aunt Becky worked.  She wasn’t there.
A computer stood in her place.

Conversations have changed.
When you ask someone  who they are,
they look at you blankly
and say they don’t know.
But they’re looking for a job.

I got a haircut the other day.
A fellow put a helmet on my head,
handed me a tablet
with hundreds of different styles.
I pressed one.
Tingly sensations gently pulled my hair.
Thirty seconds later
I was done.

Won’t it be great
when they finally
perfect the robot that can do  all the jobs there are?
I mean,  who wants to work?
 They produce the same amount of production as we do.  Right?
Of course, I always wonder,
who gets it?
----------

Last Haircut

The Intellectual Monarchs (IM) group came together in 1995 over ideas about combining music with a philosophical, spoken base. At first improvisational, then later cinematic, the end result would depict life’s intellectually dispassionate yet fervidly disruptive (even comic) events in music and animation. Crafting words that captured his humanistic tugs lie at the heart of Seanchan Owen’s poetry which kept the group together via the web. Crafting cinematic sound evolved via the talents of musicians David Graves, Frank Skillman, John Girton, Michael Hurwitz, Billy Dunaway, David Hemphill, Rich Simon, and Jack Perron, who formed the crust of the post-2005 IM. Over the years, IM has combined musical styles: improvisational jazz, rock, fusion, pop, country, and classical to establish a growing body of cinematic sound and the animated, spoken word. 
Art by Frank Skillman.
Words/videos by Seanchan Owen.
Sound mastering by Michael Hurwitz.
Web work by Jack Perron

Intellectual Monarchs

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