Friday, July 16, 2010

Quasi Una Petroleum Fantasia

Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands

Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought

The Village Blacksmith, Longfellow

I was born in a crossfire hurricane
And I howled at my Ma in the driving rain

But it’s alright now
In fact it’s a gas
It’s alright now
I’m Jumping Jack Flash
And it’s a gas, gas, gas

Jumping Jack Flash, Rolling Stones

Here comes Speed Racer
He’s a demon on wheels
He’s a demon and he’s gonna be chasing after someone

He’s gaining on you so you better look alive

Speed Racer, Theme Song

Imagine a world without any trees,
without any grass growing on the ground,
no green above or below to be found.
Gray clouds. Gray wood. Gray dust in a gray breeze.

Gray rain falls to gray puddles, sidewalk seas
reflecting gray birds flying, somewhere bound.
Gray squirrels scraping gray dead wood, gray dead sound.
This gray world the gray iron sewer grate receives.

Red, yellow, the last refuge of bright green,
traffic lights will flash while power grids hold.
Above the sewer grates cars will pass, pass, pass.

When US paper currency is clean
it’s green and will buy things until banks fold.
The last thing I’ll buy will be gas, gas, gas.

Like A Bright Green Fantasy

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Like A Bright Green Fantasy

Adventure’s Waiting Just Ahead


Homeopathy And The Groupie Hierarchy

Sharks In Shoes

All That’s Left Of The Atlantic Ocean

These Are The New Days

The Flat Night

Shanghai In The Epipelagic Layer

A Shadow Too Dark For Atlantis

“Perfect In His Generations”

Modern Romance In The Noir

Is This A Junkyard Church

Industrial Landscape, Industrial Decay, Jazz

Fire Maidens From Atlantis Via Russia

The Built World Before The Wrecking Crew

The Occult Technology Of Lost Songs

Ancient Cities Of The Moon

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