Byrne’s Music – 11th November 2021

It’s a sex diagram
A time machine
Program Annihilator
A heartbreak scene
Messages subliminal
A Smith’s repetition
Gimmick harmonies
A metaphor competition
Ambiguous lyrics
A chaotic romance
Banging the drum
A community dance
Disturbed facilitator
A melodic personality
Layered catalysts
A concerted reality

Inspired and mangled from here: http://davidbyrne.com/explore/tree-drawings-arboretum/photos/music-tree-2002/1 with added references to SST, The Fall and Scream. The tune in my head is the Minutemen’s ‘One Reporter’s Opinion’.


The Week That Was – 11th February 1979

Split Idea – 13th August 2021

The birth of morning,
— begin it all over again
The pen on paper,
— pondering what it means

—— The curse of ideas,
——– coursing through my head
—— The blessing of words,
——– buzzing about my brain
—— The lack of time,
——– lurching ever onward
—— The thread of images,
——– turning me more insane

The death of days,
— dying sunlight fades
The soothing sleep,
— succumbing now to dreams

We’ll talk about life and what is right – 16th July 1994

This is the little brown blob calling. Blob comes and goes with various rocking motions, similar to that of a pendulum, back and forth behind the decorative glass of the grandfather clock.

Sat in the chair, blob examines the needlelike lines of ink across his A4. Symmetry can be.

Yellow may burst into a flowing red-breasted robin as the whale took up the soot and the ash from the dirty cigarette hand. Just a flick of the switch. The red and the black jelly ladies danced inside their plastic hall while the greens stood waiting for partners. Too self-conscious to go and ask. The little red riding hood spilt forth the liquid paper across my chest and the rats nibbled away at the knotted hairs.

The squares keep following me around the room unable to take their eyes from my blobular body. Die, servant, die. They cry.

Unable to stand the intensity of the stares, I light another cigarette and take the comfy chair, folding it quietly under my left arm. The golden wonder of it all.

The shepherds rounded up the crowd and they did surely follow like sheep.

I thought of the clever people and their 18 seater jets carry them about until they crash into the ground. And the train of thought revolves into spirals. Spiralling away to it’s happy oblivion. And when the oblivion descends it starts all over again.

Different place, different time, different people on a different line all descending and to ascend you must reach the highest order of psychological power.

Fruit Salad – 2nd June 1993

The real banana said “You’re an imposter” – she was the apple of his eye. The yellow skinned imposter smiled. His face twisted like he’d just sucked a lemon.

“No I’m not” he objected. It was their first date. He had sucked her dry. Once a grape, now a raisin.

The man with the pineapple haircut interjected “Excuse me. I don’t think the cream and cottage cheese were necessary in such large amounts.” He thought the imposter was a pervert. He wasn’t wrong. The cream was whipped.

The imposter slipped on the banana. He fell – it was a peach! Caught in the act. Plum-dumb.

Still life isn’t a bowl of cherries.

Poems on this day – 18th September 1988

Baby Imitation Doll

Baby’s imitation call
On the electoral roll
Sign on the dotted line
Buy me Newcastle-Upon-Tyne
Intimate imitation
Double sister trouble
Imitate automation
Single silver bubble

One Thing Leads To A Mother

Pleasant evening in the company of a friend
Something’s going to start and it may not end
Because when you lay me on the bed
One thing just enters into my head
And mother told me
One thing leads to another
And daddy told you
Be careful with your lover

Ice Cream Mind

Vanilla manilla
Banana Dalai Lama
Artificial insemination
Ice cream mind invasion
My brains have turned into mint choc chip
In a sea of Rum and Raison I sail my ship

Bank Raid

Bank raid air shelter
Johnny said Beta Delta
Gamma ray lucky number
Odds-on could be longer
Flying start car crash
Should be going splish splash
Chances are it can’t be made
Chances are it can’t be made
Chances are it can’t be made
Bank raid

Don’t Watch Your TV Tonight

Tonight there’s a monster on your TV
Ready to jump through the screen
Spewing forth language so obscene
So don’t watch your TV tonight
They said it was reality
But it looked like insanity
A monstrous thing it had become
I wouldn’t want my daughter to marry one

Clever Rob

Clever Rob was well to do
Had been to all the right schools
Should be wed to the best
Cos he was better than the rest
Picked a girl so sweet
Picked her up off her feet
Picked on cos she was weak
Clever Rob doesn’t have to cheat