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bottleful of ginsberg
"i lose sleep on farming distant dreams, sometimes til sunrise creeps up inside me
tasting ink when i'm full to the brink on all this fucking frustration
on these weights, i sink
how far does this mandible reach? i'm encased in the sin i crumble beneath
like i'm only underground no matter how often i try
to make a something out of anything, six feet of a climb
and that'd be totally fine with me if i could only find a
find a way of standing on my own two feet
an obligation of an anyone to try and live without some missing pieces of their circuitry
impassive and impassioned, work and earn the right to sleep and then to dream

i beg to live and i feel my guts churn at the atheist angels with noses upturned
bouquets of roses die in my arms
my fever breaks and my flesh ceases to burn
i try to find my relaxation hiding deep inside a catacomb, a condition
to relapse into explicit descriptions of illicit prescription abuse,
listening intently to the intentions and the failures of a father seeking vindication
clawing my way out of my own grave, looking for fascination
i am fascinated by the angel hair and baby's breath
enough to bleed myself out of the vein til i'm loved to death
hiding my intent behind the stumbles of an innocent, clumsy, uninformed
it only seems a crash is imminent
relinquishing control of what i assumed was tightly in my grip
it left me feeling naked and i'm stripped of my inheritence
fumbling over the words of a stranger
ashes to ashes, but she never saw the danger
didn't lift a finger when he stopped to drop a rose
on the grave where the memory lingers

as i search for the truth in a hangman's noose, i exist to reject
not accept my youth
choosing to carry all the weight and i cannot pay attention to the ache in my tooth
and i do all the things that the fuck-ups do
and i keep hiding from myself so i can hide from you
'just who do you think you are?'
i'm running in place, dodging mistakes, and i'm killing the vision of being a star
and i wrote the book on messiah's faith to keep my face inside this jar
just to play god
who turns tricks
to finance
his next fix
and i cannot breathe in this fiction i'm living
i'm sick and repulsed by the sins i've been given
the sins of the father, passed down to the son
as a statement of rebirth, tombstones on the tongue

in the dark, your skin is so lovely
even as the stormclouds gather above me
i buckle under pressure and i'm forced into gluttony
somebody made a slave of me, an agent of satan
worthless but so free
raped in the prison that fuels my insanity
a piece of blue velvet pressed against my cheek
misery eternally, reject responsibility
and all the obligations, inhibitions that crowding me
i got a lot of critics and they fuel my insecurity
the nature of the beast keeps me chained up, drained of energy
i gotta find some innocence, a piece of me imagines what is imminent
she said 'be gentle, ignorance is bliss'
and maybe someday i'll be sympathetic, right before the rainfall
and i listen to the ground before the memories in my vision

i flicker like the flame of a candle in the wind
the blood rushes to my head and keeps my chest pinned
and i'm caved in, collapsed in the middle
and i'm crushed
i guess this is the meaning of being
proper fucked
drowning in my own blood and i'm
fucking sunk
it's the holiest loneliness,
tied up in the trunk
and i'm gone."


Wrong Whale Song
by Jaymi Heimbuch, San Francisco, California  on 03. 1.11

World's Loneliest Whale Sings at the Wrong Frequency

We've heard about whales suffering from loneliness due to overhunting. There's simply fewer of their species for them to communicate with. But what about a whale who sings at the wrong frequency? One whale, recorded since 1989 and tracked since 1992, sings at a frequency of 51.75 Hz, whereas others of her kind sing at 15 to 25 Hz. She's lonely because no one else can hear her.

Good reports, "According to a 2004 New York Times article on the subject, this particular baleen whale has apparently been tracked by NOAA since 1992, using a 'classified array of hydrophones employed by the Navy to monitor enemy submarines.' It sings at 52 Hertz, which is roughly the same frequency as the lowest note on a tuba, and much higher than its fellow whales, whose calls fall in the 15 to 25 Hertz range."

Often, whales have trouble hearing one another because of human marine noise pollution -- they have to call louder or at a slightly different frequency in order to communicate over the din. But in this case, it's a wrong frequency altogether.

Not only does it sing too high, it also fails to travel along any known migration route of any baleen whale species -- so other whales can't hear it, and they don't run into it along migration paths. The best guess of researchers is that this lonely whale is either a "deformed" hybrid between two species of whale, or the last surviving member of an unknown species. Finding out for sure proves to be a nearly impossible task, as cryptozoologist Oll Lewis points out:

"The Woods Hole scientists were able to track the migratory pattern of the whale over several years, but this was only after the sounds had been declassified and released to them. Finding a moving target that you knew was in a certain place, say for example, last Tuesday, is a nigh on impossible task, and would require huge amounts of manpower. It is likely we will never know exactly what the 52 Hertz whale looks like, but the sentimentalist in me hopes that someday his calls are answered, however unlikely that may be."

No matter the species or whether or not we'll know what's the deal with this odd whale, it's definitely a sad story.



So I'm 90% sure I am completely done with the entire song musically.  Well, as far as chord progression goes.  Here it is in completion:


F - Gm6 - Am - Gm6
F - C - Cadd9 - A  - C

F - C - Gm6 - Am
A# - Asus4 - Asus - A
F - C - Gm6 - Am
A# - Gm - C7 - C

F - Gm6 - Am - Gm6
F - C - Cadd9 - A - Cadd9 - C

D - C - G5 - D#
D - C - G5 - D#

F - Fmaj7 - F - Fmaj7 (fade)

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