Leben mit Herman Melville

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I Hate the Sea

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Und diese Umdichtung hab ich länger als zwei Jahre vor mir hergeschoben; wenigstens 2011 sollte sie noch fertig werden. Den zaudernden Schreibern unter uns kann ich jetzt verraten: Das Geheimnis ist: Nicht denken — hinschreiben. Irgendwie wird’s immer.

Tune: Carter Family: Bury Me Under the Weeping Willow, 1927.″

Gil Elvgren, Sitting PrettyChorus: I hate the sea, and I hate the ocean,
the sailors and the mermaids sicken me.
For fish and ships I’ve no emotion,
I’m their fiercest enemy.

1.: I was born in a land on firm ground,
where the buffalo run free.
Where I come from, we despise all sea-bound,
even in the rivers do we pee. — Chorus.

2.: Dirty sea-dogs do their laundry
singing shanties with a bonny glee,
but I’m a supporter of the Country
which is found in Nashville/Tennessee. — Chorus.

3.: On the sea, there grows no flower,
on her rocky islands grows no tree.
I never drink water, and I never shower,
I’m never clean, and you don’t think I’ll ever be. — Chorus.

4.: Every day I climb the mountain,
and I fall gratefully on my knee
to stuff my plug into your fountain,
and oh! how proud I am the sea hates me. — Chorus.

Image: Gil Elvgren: Sitting Pretty;
Sound: 78 RPMs & Cylinder Recordings on Internet Archive.

Written by Wolf

22. December 2011 at 12:01 am

Posted in Vorderdeck

The Whiteness of the Whale

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Update for With kings and counselors
(and Der Fluch des Albatros):

120 years without Herman Melville (August 1, 1819—September 28, 1891).

But I doubt not, that leathern tally, meant for man, was taken off in Heaven, when the white fowl flew to join the wing-folding, the invoking, and adoring cherubim!

The Whiteness of the Whale

Tune: Greenland Whale Fisheries.

1.: In eighteen hundred and ninety-one,
when I drew my last breath,
the world that I’d travelled
     went turning on and on,
          and I died myself to death
               (great whales!)
          and I died myself to death.

2.: I lived my life and loved my wife,
for the seas and the islands I set sail,
worked and toiled day and night
     and had jobs from nine to five,
          and saw the Whiteness of the Whale
               (and I’ve seen)
          — saw the Whiteness of the Whale.

3.: For six score years you friends were here
to sing and tell my tale,
before it all blurred,
     you made books and spread the word
          and continued on my trail
               (so you heard)
          of the Whiteness of the Whale.

4.: All through the night by torchlamp light
until the morning dawn went pale
you read books of love and fight
     till your face turned paper white
          and your bed swayed in the gale
               (girls and males)
          from the Whiteness of the Whale.

5.: The words I found have been around
for longer than me, and were more right
than my ways that I walked
     while I sailed and sung and talked
          and my whaling fortune tried
               — so you might
          feel the Whaleness of the White.

6.: My dream is, for some centuries
you bold boys and gay girls shalt still me hail.
Thou shalt quote what I wrote
     on my deathgown that I showed
          life and death are not a fail.
               So behold
          all the Whiteness of the Whale!

(For 6 score years: 6×7=42 lines for Chapter 42.)

Casey David Muir-Taylor, You Step On All My Parts, March 19, 2011

Image: Casey Muir-Taylor: You Step On All My Parts, March 19, 2011.

Written by Wolf

28. September 2011 at 6:32 am

Posted in Vorderdeck

Ishmael’s Song No. 41

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(Update for How Things Go)

I was not the first
I will not be the last
I am not even the best

I try hard not to be the worst
but the small shadow I cast
can’t even bring darkness to your light
I am a man with two balls in his pants
one ambitious brain to direct two hands
and a heart in his chest
but heck sing at my grave at least I tried.

Images: The Art of the Girlie Mag: If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger, There’d Be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats:
Ace, vol. 4, #3; October 1962;
Ralph Steadman: The Whale.

Written by Wolf

17. February 2011 at 7:40 am

Posted in Vorderdeck

Rentnerlied (Midder Kibbm in der Babbm)

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Update zu Nichtschwimmerlied und Bilzbar:

(Musik so ungefähr wie der Düsenclipperhocker von Rudi Madsius und Günter Stössel 1984. Darf ruhig überinstrumentiert sein.)

Pinup RDJ, Robert Downey Junior in Lecherous! Oh, Creeper Jude1.: Seid mei ledzdn boor Brozende
zohlns mä endlich doch mei Rende,
seid i mi zwischerm Rumfedzn
zwischä Fernseh, Glo und Gredzn
ä weng af mei Kautsch hiileech,
bin i endlich ausm Weech,

2.: schau vo mein Luuch fidel und munder
af die andern Debbm nunder,
hau ma nu an Zwedschgä ninder
und fühl mi scho glei vll xünder,
wal i um di Uhrzeid scho
mir a Seidlä köbfm koo.

3.: Seid i wöi a Schlugg Dai Ginseng
in der Sofaridzn drinhäng
und in Underhemd und Schlabbm
midder Kibbm in der Babbm
haubdberuflich Nosn buhr,
gäihds mä bessä wöi zuvur.

Fade-out: 3. Strophe als Kanon.


Bildlä: Robert Downey Junior starring in Lecherous! Oh, Creeper Jude on Pinup RDJ by Saxifragous Personette, 29. September 2010, found and recommended by our dear shipmate Hannah:

Vintage pinups are the pinnacle of art. Robert Downey Jr is the pinnacle of sexy. It’s not rocket science.

Ruhig weiter durchscrollen! Die Sammlung hat einen Pinnacle im April/Mai 2010, da sind sie hinreißend bescheuert.

Written by Wolf

4. October 2010 at 6:53 am

Posted in Vorderdeck

Lobster Song

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Update zu Anaxagoras’ Revenge (Since The Best Girl Is Yet To Big Bang)
and Die Zeit vergeht rund um die Uhr (Die Vergangenheit ist birnenförmig):

Oh the river knows your name
And your tears falling like the rain
All around you suffering and pain
Oh the river knows your name.

John Hiatt: The River Knows Your Name, from: Walk On, 1995.

The Little MermaidAvoid the Oceans of Emotions,
the Seas of Love and Hate and Fears.
Wade shallow waters to the Islands of Silence,
mind the pressure in your ears.
     Oxygen is scarce in water,
     but your life depends on air.
          Behold the wisdom of the Lobster:
          the Lobster does not care.

Do not listen to the Sirens,
they cast their songs and you fall pry.
Their doom is lovely, still their love is doom,
but no one ever heard men cry.
     Hold your head high to the sky,
     or spare your prayer: God is not there.
          Behold the wisdom of the Lobster:
          the Lobster does not care.

The Whales keep singing, pretending to be heard.
Girls cry, though smiling, wet holes in the ground.
The time you can’t tell begins every second,
but assume that a falling tree makes a sound.
     God lives in Sirens and Whales and you
     did not not hear Him promise that Life would be fair.
          Behold the wisdom of the Lobster:
          the Lobster does not care.

Image: The Little Mermaid.

Written by Wolf

13. September 2010 at 12:01 am

Posted in Vorderdeck

Talking Captain Ahab Blues

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Update for Captain’s Blues and How Things Go:

1.: Listen to my story, listen to my song:
Captain Ahab was a madman who told what’s right and did what’s wrong.
The old pegleg thought he was world’s greatest sailor and whaler,
but really was a total failure.

2.: What the sirens sang rang true that the skies and seas were blue
and a madman’s gotta do what a madman’s gotta do,
and he forced poor Ishmael and his sponsors to devotion
and sank the Pequod in the ocean.

3.: Their manhood was emerging while that white whale they searching,
but their figurehead was an Indian virgin
with hair so fair and lips like a rose,
and that’s how far my story goes.

Verse 3 line 3 + 4, Rotschopfwochen Special Remix:

ruby red from her head to her wood-carved toes
(pretty ten not petty five, as you can’t walk on those).

A Treasury of Spicy Sea Songs Cover

Image: A Treasury of Spicy Sea Songs was raised by Bethlehem High Fidelity.

Written by Wolf

1. March 2010 at 12:09 am

Posted in Vorderdeck

Country Rap: Fuck You!

with 12 comments

Subject to changes. Music in progress by What about Carson.

Chorus: Fuck yourself or fuck each other
fuck your knee or fuck your mother
fuck your fucking misery
but don’t fuck with my time and me!

1.: Fuck that bastard always stopping
by at work, to start some mobbing,
sitting in my office rested,
in all my affairs interested,
and pretends a little chat,
though I don’t know a thing, just that
he’ll spread each word from me along,
especially those he got wrong.

Fuck that compulsively friendly
grinning fool, who accidentally
could not quite recall my story
save some words in his own glory:
Trust any quote midnight to twelve
you ripped from context by yourself,
and keep in mind that when you lose it
to be grateful when you use it.

Chorus: Fuck yourself or fuck each other
fuck your knee or fuck your mother
fuck your fucking misery
but don’t fuck with my time and me!

2.: Fuck all fuckers who are clever
enough to fuck, but later never
know what to do with little creatures
with hands and feet and facial features,
hunger, thirst, and mental needs,
whom they’ll keep in the deep-freeze,
next to junk-food and canned beer!
Fuck and blast them, hate and fear!

Fuck and hate them still, when they
raised their child to live and stay
at home and go to school
to work it out and play it cool,
not to grow up like these losers,
Mum and Dad, the hopeless boozers,
lying drunk in bed and soon
fuck away the afternoon.

Chorus: Fuck yourself or fuck each other
fuck your knee or fuck your mother
fuck your fucking misery
but don’t fuck with my time and me!

3.: Fuck all sickness and diseases
regardless if on soul or physis
that affect innocent folks
more often than the utter rogues
of a brazen health, while they
soft at heart fall lightly prey
to apoplexia and depression
after the depressed ones’ fashion.

Fuck when malady comes nearest
to the folks that you hold dearest
for living, loving, caring, kissing,
for the bloody thing won’t listen
when you helpless watch and cry:
There’s nobody to ask them why.
Blind infestation will not care:
No one promised life was fair.

Chorus: Fuck yourself or fuck each other
fuck your knee or fuck your mother
fuck your fucking misery
but don’t fuck with my time and me!

4.: Fuck those girls who are just females,
and spend their time painting their toenails
to stay pretty and dumb, and never
anything but this endeavour:
standing in the clubs and bars,
feeling like the bloody stars,
and every time some douchebag blinks,
strip him off some freebie drinks.

Fuck them girls especially when
they take that douchebag home and then
enrage about their new apprentice
when he goes for her pink panties.
Fuck them all, hear me, Lord Jesus,
the fancymen like the cockteasers,
let all in celibacy fall:
Never let them be fucked at all!

Chorus: Fuck yourself or fuck each other
fuck your knee or fuck your mother
fuck your fucking misery
but don’t fuck with my time and me!

5.: Fuck those boys who let their friends down
for a girl our of her nightgown,
new on block, all hair and tits,
with four seductively split lips,
for they gamble with their lives,
with their living, and their wives,
and tear down, what their happiness is,
with their cheating horny asses.

Fuck self-opinioned spare-time heroes
who are five days a week just weirdoes,
and Friday evenings get struck
by what their lives have else in stock:
Don’t mess with reality,
and accept my life and me
rule the world, at the least the town,
when I some day get around.

The Fürbitten: Fuck idiots who refuse to learn,
fuck I’m late with tax return,
fuck that bitch who would not kiss me,
fuck my world view shaped by Disney,
fuck my sweetheart is not here,
fuck bars with warm expensive beer,
fuck my sweetheart will not stay,
fuck my last beer yesterday,

fuck disharmonious flat sept chords,
fuck trains full of overslept hordes,
fuck bread and rolls with sesame strewn,
fuck guitar strings out of tune,
fuck screaming wreckless neckless kiddies,
fuck my ex who kept my favourite CDs,
fuck the songs by gay Rex Gildo,
fuck the batteries for my pocket lamp,

fuck ugly girls and drooling nerds,
fuck song lyrics with naughty words,
fuck the swine flu and the plague,
fuck Bond movies with Daniel Craig,
fuck fingerprints on DVDs,
fuck expired guarantees,
fuck the April Playboy bunny,
fuck I still depend on money.

fuck white socks in plastic sandals,
fuck September Christmas candles,
fuck potato-peeling labours,
fuck my moaning porno neighbours,
fuck useless music contraptions,
fuck my brainless preconceptions,
fuck my face on party snaps,
fuck awkward rhymes in country raps!

Chorus: Fuck yourself or fuck each other
fuck your knee or fuck your mother
fuck your fucking misery
but don’t fuck with my time and me!


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Written by Wolf

26. November 2009 at 3:28 am

Posted in Vorderdeck