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Blues For Planet X (Believers Edition)

by My Favorite

You’re stoned in the capsule, alone. It's true. Because God is asleep and dreaming that he is you. Engines on and up the Voyager flew. And Planet Earth is blue. Planet Earth is blue. (Computers now have primary control of critical vehicle functions) But you are not the comet, you are the crater. The violet void in which swims the space invader. Into the crypts and caves of sleeping saints, While the hungry goths are chanting in the rain. Sundown in a ghost town, with Jupiter rising. Staggered by daggers, on the Killing Horizon The Shepherd is lost In the wild fields of night. And you kid, you are not alright. I walked the black streets of doom searching for you. Pressed against railings, staring down into The purple pools where broken sparrows dive. How many lies/lives does one have to live to survive? Sundown in a ghost town, with Jupiter rising. Staggered by daggers, on the Killing Horizon The Shepherd is lost In the wild fields of night. And you kid, you are not alright. Because nowhere over the rainbow. No birds sing. Because nowhere over the rainbow, nobody had nothing. You think you're dancing, but are you there at all? Or just dead light spinning in the mirror ball? A sensor trembles down in ground control. But they see nothing, no one, not a soul.
There are no Absolute Beginners on the Night Shift. The endless summer of The Young Idea has given way to Fall. And since you are still in your University clothes (Tweed blazer & Skull N Bones Tie) You should well know where to go when the bells ring. In truth, all you learned at that school they built like a prison— (Cardboard yachts sinking behind Roth Quad) Was to love your cellmates, and how to escape. Are you sure they were the happiest days of your life? A new face darkens the window of your old apartment. Smokes cross-legged out on the egress. Paces a figure-8 upon the linoleum floor. His band is called 99c Dreams. At Alphaville you haunt the bar, while they play in the back room. Not much of an investigation. Still, it’s your life to live. Always has been. But how do you start? Where do you go, who do you need to know? I’d begin with that ghost in the mirror. And then maybe the one in the machine. You walk in the rain beneath the elevated tracks. You want noodles, but you don’t know where to get them anymore. So you drive home alone on that serpentine parkway, The eyes of Dr. Oppenheimer peer out upon the Valley of Ash. We said we would ‘burn it to the ground!’ And so we did. The Lost Detectives are now Nightwatchmen, slouching in cubes in front of flickering screens, Leaving only to do their rounds— lonely beams scanning the salvage yards and cargo containers. Why does it feel as though the only way to go on is to go back? What if you could? Would you stop howling at that green light, and row? Would it matter that your friends— your band-mates— aren’t there anymore? Would you still tear at the stars like a fray of old silver lace? It doesn’t matter, For you are here, afloat in this emerald pool, shot full of bright holes like the night. In the nick of time, carried away all over again. On this wheel of days Marcell∞ was both giornalista and romanziere. But you were just a traveling salesman— door to door with your bible of dreams. It was a dirty job but somebody had to do it. And you were some body. For Dean and Diana, Laika and Lancelot— A final beggar’s opera. All gospel is just the overdrawn accounts of miracles dis-remembered. And time is tender in The New Jazz Age.


released April 6, 2023


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My Favorite New York, New York

FIRST EMPIRE: 1993-2005. Teenage misfits gather around black mass of water called Lake Ronkonkama. Release 7"s, release 2 LPs. Go to Sweden. Die.

SECOND EMPIRE: 2014-Rise from dead as mechanical angels. Cultural significance yet to be determined.
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