Pete Drake Forever ♾ Talking Steel Guitar (chopped & screwed) Hank Williams is in the middle of that last, lone, lost highway, silently illumined by the purpled sky overhead
"There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history fully unfold."
– William Shakespeare
An Internal Shifting of Chess Pieces in the Shadows
Hank Williams is in the middle of that last, lone, lost highway, silently illumined by the purpled sky overhead
slowly, the lessening tempo of the engine which pumped out
pain, tragedy, and cause for cures never ending to all
Luke-driftin' men, his malady maladroitly began shutting down the lonely
with just a couple air swallows a
minute, imagine shuttin' down that cotton turbine, or when Le Croupier lets go that lucky ball, its volition provides bettors enough tension, then -- ball hops out and lands on
something -- too lonesome to cry anymore.
Hank Williams is in
the middle of that last, lone, lost highway, silently
illumined by the purpled sky overhead which hides the falling star on whose wishing no one clue came, only from his rigored question mark-shaped body's pose,
dressed in Nudie boots, rhinestone special musical note jacket and all
round cowboy suit to beat the band, but his bowed head is not in prayer,
the sickled ovoid cove of his lolling head, made
known someone finally had something to tell somewhere, but it did no good
to wonder what or who it was, because that lonesome, weary from waitin'
heart stopped hours ago: it needed a break, a kiss, a guitar, a shot and a beer, to catch the tear that was in his eye, so
lonesome he could cry.
Years
before, and inching toward a sliced illumination which took
breathless Hank a second to reflect his location, all squirreled over
and bent and bony was he, trying to cast a beam or two; Hank Williams was
stooped by malnutrition and hobbled by liquor and morphine sulfate,
derived from unscrupulous, harelipped, wardening men whose Hippocratic
oath given hypothetically and enacted hypocritically while it was administered
transactionally.
and now add to his misery, wife Audrey,
waiting at home for whichever malevolent version of the Irving Berlin of Country & Western music happened
to stagger through a door, which by now, he might just have easily and
quietly had someone deliver his disappearing frame through the mail slot, so
emaciated and gaunt was his condition.
His
ruination started as happiness, ended unbidden in the back of a Cadillac -- dead on arrival was the Country Keith Richards
-- except for his dying -- multifarious mendacity from the writing arms of scumbag showbiz docs from
the hills and hollers dotting the outskirts of Nashville like the
multi-colored pilules they doled out. They over-keeled,
ground-wheeled, drag-crawled and hobble-heeled him by their two-fisted (two-to-Tango),
slow motion overdosing -- turning him into the Pharmonster whose
Hydra-head spoke to imaginary dream lovers through morphia's moribund meridian.
yodeling
that most antique of all evangelical adaptations from the Holy Lands
to the nomadic Tuaregs, now to the hot tents where money-made
miracles solely from the Holy Spirit told you in a
language which only you, It, and the preacher understood, a new form of
American ululation as communication to the bank; its Swiss version
thankfully relied on less extreme emotion and false faith,
and was shared by Hank's mentor Jimmy Rogers, sounding like the Alpine
Minnie Pearl had a baby Muslim son who slouched more toward a mosque in
Mecca than a tent in Tutweiler. Then one day he got himself lost in a
holler
with a خفتان khaftān
and his Koran -- so they set to making noises that he might hear ... later
analysis of his remains speak to his injuries by bear, but consider the
underpinning of a successful life as part hard work and part intuition.
men (9)
saw (7)
making (6)
wheel (6)
boat (6)
mark (6)
five (5)
gurdon (5)
cause (5)
shuttin (5)
lonely (5)
voice (5)
music (5)
been (5)
vesty (5)
put (4)
performance (4)
child (4)
hand (4)
life (4)
middle (4)
sky (4)
question (4)
cry (4)
lonesome (4)
head (4)
dead (4)
mum (4)
sea (4)
face (4)
ending (4)
released (3)
created (3)
notely (3)
old (3)
williams (3)
country (3)
live (3)
development (3)
known (3)
malady (3)
pain (3)
last (3)
gasoline (3)
luke-driftin (3)
lessening (3)
ball (3)
people (3)
pumped (3)
slowing (3)
waitin (3)
wonder (3)
hop (3)
belle (3)
hank (3)
account (3)
guitar (3)
saved (3)
media (3)
owner (3)
waves (3)
maladroitly (3)
tragedy (3)
air (3)
did (3)
sound (3)
women (3)
eternity (3)
supermarket (3)
engine (3)
sinking (3)
drake (3)
pete (3)
fishing-boat (3)
cure (3)
good (3)
song (3)
tempo (3)
wesley (3)
frail (3)
shot (3)
time (2)
mother (2)
imagetagramathesis (2)
western (2)
love (2)
door (2)
wind (2)
establishing (2)
stood (2)
What does Purpled look like?
Purple is
a color intermediate between blue and red. It is similar to violet, but unlike violet, which is a spectral color with its own wavelength on the visible spectrum of light, purple is a secondary color made by combining red and blue.The complementary color of purple in the RYB color model is yellow.
Perversions:
The perversion of the creative will is a fear of the unknown, which is expressed as an
ability to abuse power in order to control one's circumstances, including other people.
There is a fear of engaging in activities where the outcome cannot be predicted or
guaranteed, which obviously stifles creativity. People with perverted first ray qualities
are often engaged in a variety of power games with other people, all based on the desire to
control the outcome. This is an attempt to quell the very life force itself, which always
points towards self-transcendence, and instead protect the separate self and what it thinks
it can own in this world. This can lead to a sense of ownership over other people, which is
one of the major sources of conflict on this planet. In milder cases, people have a fear of
being creative and a sense of powerlessness, feeling that nothing really matters and that
an individual cannot make a difference -- thus, why even bother trying.
Hank
Williams, slowly slowing the lessening tempo of the gasoline engine
which pumped out pain, tragedy, and cause for cure's never ending, only
to all Luke-driftin' men, his malady, maladroitly shuttin down the
lonely 14-18 minutes Sad pop songs have Bee Gees confessions
ffffffffffffffffffff Images for mellifluous eerie sound into a doleful
ode to eternity fffffffffffffffffffff Hank Williams, slowly slowing the
lessening tempo of the gasoline engine which pumped pain, tragedy, and
cause for cure's never ending, only to all Luke-driftin' men, his
malady, maladroitly shuttin down the lonely Comfortless saints walk
among the saved, speak truths, the worst life offers -- heartbreak,
trauma, bereavement -- drawn from harrowed events.
Pete Drake
Forever ♾ Talking Steel Guitar (Chopped & screwed) Pete Drake
performs to playback 'Forever,' written by Buddy Killen, released by The
Little Dippers and Billy Walker in January 1960; now beautiful, now
haunting musical film/video, now common, performance documents,
perfected with the inclination and budgetary backing of, among other few
and far between backers, the first mass popularization of the form,
this film vignette at the Ryman Theater's Grand Ol' Opry, whose use of
these live filmed song stories are nothing if not direct antecedents to
the continuing iteration of the then expensive but profitable and wildly
popular format which included a literal interpretation of song
storyline, or most often, just lip syncing and faux performance done
straight to the live in studio recorded and released single, and
released as closely to the single release of that master reference
product as possible, for promotion purposes, almost of its own except
for the less familiar but contemporaneous presentation of Scopitones,
this same format for pop and rock records, discs played in coin-operated
video jukebox machines, groundbreaking and portable, but limited
compared to the broadcasting prowess of the mighty 50,000 watt behemoth
radio stations of Nashville, establishing themselves as the true voice
of America's music, storied and ultimately responsible along with their
development of the three pronged attack in place which included, radio
and live performance, making success of Country & Western music and
then used as the business model for Rock 'n' Roll, even with its
comparatively meager budget and resources, and then finally establishing
it today as the ultimate successful form as established with MTV ca.
1980s.
Here
is an iconic moment frozen in a distant-looking, almost contemporary
time capsule, highlighting the musically advanced, always-fertile
invention of the behind-the-scenes forward thinking men and women whose
influence can not be underestimated as to its influence of what we see
here as one example: Pete Drake to Peter Frampton and Joe Walsh to Zapp
and Roger Troutman and Stevie Wonder, to Hip Hop and Rap, finally to
scientific wizardry of one of electronic music's most oddly resonant and
mesmerizing sound oscillators, since the Theremin, both enjoying
short-lived and brief spans of popular, novel appreciation in brief
minor, interesting spurts of popularity, the Talkbox, in the crucial
period of its development which sees the addition of a rubber hose
allowing spoken or sung vocalization effects produced i with sounds
vibrations and the subtle shaping of his mouth.
He also changes
its mellifluous sound into a doleful ode to eternity important as seen
here by exhibiting on film one of the most bizarrely appearing
encumbrances its functionality, possibly penultimate end of road to less
remaining elegant solution and probable ending of innovation,
invocation, or iterative development, without it different deviced,
different application, style, or tonal quality, decades before David
Lynch may as well have, and may well have foundered among hauntingly
cleancut Nashvillian musical genius en ensemble performance, no less
Lynchian for his nascence, this recreation of their materialization,
this Forever memory-made maudette, this strange day, famously
conservative except it 'clean as a whistle,' hairless, where its redish
pills and blue pullules and all in fineness their multi-hued pill proud
prodigies, were settin' next to the Shine of the silvery moon, ahead
straight over Mother Church, Rynan, GOO, and inching toward a little
sliced pie of illumination it took breathless away to cast a beam or two
toward Hank Williams' stooped malnutrition by morphine sulfate from
unscrupulous men whose oath were taken hypocritically, and added to his
misery, was Miss Audrey, waitin there at home for whatever malevolent
iteration of the Irving Berlin of Country & Western music happened
to stagger through a door which he could have just as easily been mailed
through, whose ruination started as double-happiness, ended unbidden,
well-ridden, the back of a Cadillac -- half-ridden, all the way dead on
arrival, the Country Keith Richards, except for survival, keeled,
wheeled, crawled and heeled by that two-fisted Sci-Pharm monster whose
Hydra-head spoke imaginary dream lovers of morphia's comorbid,
moribund preoccupation, invitation accepted, now in attendance
two guests, announced at door, until it lit its lungs, built up from projecting to the bathroom, back row of all those Honky Tonks,
yodelling that most antique of all American ululations, shared by his
mentor Jimmy Rogers, sounding like the Alpine and Minnie Pearl had a
baby Shiite Muslim son, who towards Mecca got himself lost, him in a
holler, so they set to making noise which he might hear...
Snowin’ on Raton
Townes Van Zandt
1987
No one understood what
Hank Williams was getting at on Lost Highway better than Van Zandt, a
figure as wracked and tragic as Hank. Raton is characteristically
bleak.Townes is driving through the hills of New Mexico, escaping a sour
romance and heading for the woman who holds his heart. The song becomes
a meditation (“I’m thankful that old road’s a friend of mine”) while
Townes listens to the hills and “the silence they are keeping”. A
country epiphany. NS
Letter
Analysis M M's consider that the underpinning of a successful life is
part hard work and part intuition.
A 'A' is for ambition and being driven in life by a special motivation to persevere.
U
Within the boundaries of the 'U' it turns out there is a reliable and
thorough stance, as this is someone who doesn't trust their emotions too
much and who has an objective nature.
D As this letter
resonates with the energy of the number 4, which is a very stable and
domesticated one, these people loving to make plans.
E E's core is connected to life principles such as not worrying about succeed but working towards it.
T The 'T' may be burdened because of their tendency to easily surrender to becoming upset and callous.
T
Those under the effect of 'T' can be perceived as critical, but they
are actually the opposite, making for sensible and objective friends.
E The E's three equal sized branches, that are prolonged outwards, remind of the power of resourcefulness and originality.
Supermarket Flower Muse
"She was the nicest women you'd
ever meet, was my mum's mum, as written from my mum's point of view," a
song his dad insisted he'd serviced his grandfather while it was written: "My grandfather turned on -- good memory
there."
Imaginative, puddle splashed
on his peppermint hot photo op.
Comfortless saints walk among the saved
But the
saint, though tall and bearded, wore such as the unchaste belles of society sport upon earth, a profuse skirt, with
flashing train; and he was walking quite alone.
"Where are the 'saved'?" said Belle, with ghastly hope.
"They are just around the corner," said I cheerfully; "where that suggestion of clouds is—see!" "N-no, but I guess they are.
Ain't he the lookin'est thing you ever saw?" "Quite the lookin'est!" Belle giggled.
I bore her out in it sympathetically.
Wesley, who observed how we were at least keeping the crows off of the clams, smiled upon us with feeble indulgence.
But
as we read on, Belle did come to a lesson of such useful terror that
she decided to take her rake and assist Wesley among the flats.
I
approved her, and lay back, smiling, in the I heard Wesley's little old
voice pipe up, considerately: "You'll scare 'em jest as well if you do
go to sleep, major." I kept on smiling.
The sun seemed a lake of
glory and I a boatman, fair and free, sailing vast distances upon it
with just one stroke of my wand-oar—and here I began to scare the crows
unconsciously.
The air of the Basin anon exhilarated one, anon soothed one into wondrous, deep, peace-drunken slumber.
When I awoke Vesty stood over me, calling me.
There
was a purple, dark sky—now but little after mid-day—glowing with red at
the edges like a sunset; the wind was blowing strong.
It was dark, yet all was distinct about me.
I sprang to my feet with a sort of solemn exultation and bared my head.
"Wake, major, wake!" Vesty cried to me.
She drew me and pointed out to sea.
"Notely's
boat—it was trying to make home—it is on the reefs." I saw it then by a
flash of that unearthly light, the wind descending like the last of
days.
I hastened with Vesty to the low beach, where the people
were moving strangely, looking out on the sea with its swift-crested
breakers.
From the yacht, beating helpless on the ledges, Notely
and the few who had sailed with him that morning were putting out the
life-boat; but Captain Rafe kept running his weather-stained hand down
his white face, his head shaking.
"Bare chance t'save half of
'em in the gale—they'll swamp her; nay, they'll never get her home
with that freight; and it's no sea—it's a herricane, above and below.
I
see the sky in broad day like that but once before, and then——"His
voice was hushed, the boat was off, was lost; then once again we saw
her; we felt the gale rushing; when we could see again, there were a few
struggling in the waves, a few climbing back upon the sinking masts of
the vessel, with wild signals.
The little Basin boats were old and frail; only Gurdon had lately been building a new fishing-boat.
While we were looking off he had been hauling it down the steep bank by the cottage.
Now when we saw him Vesty ran to him and put the child in his arms and clung to him.
I saw a great light come over his face.
"Gurd,"
said his father sternly, the old stained hand still stroking his white
face, "ye have strength and skill above the most—but look at yon! Put up
your boat, lad; it's no use.
Moreover, there are five men
yonder on the masts—your boat, tested in an ordinar' sea, holds but five
alone!" "Will ye go out jest to give them another chance to wrack
themselves, and ye put yerself by to drown?" said another, with a
trembling, half-ferocious laugh.
"Look to yer wife and child.
Don't
be a fool!" "There 's not one o' ye," cried Gurdon, "but if ye had a
boat fit 'u'd do all ye could, an' men sinkin' and a-wavin' ye like
that—let me off! There 's no other way——" His voice broke.
He looked at his wife and child, a look the woman understood for all eternity.
Vesty
stood like marble; her shawl had escaped from her own throat, but was
warm about the child that Gurdon had placed back on her breast.
As
we waited, watching, transfixed, Fluke came running breathless from the
woods where he had been as guide with the party of Notely's
pleasure-seekers who had stayed behind that morning.
Captain
Rafe ran to him, with the hand still stroking his pallid face: "That was
Gurdon out there, making so near the sinking boat—he would go—only
five——" But Fluke heard never a word.
He saw; his face flushed
with a kind of mad joy; he tossed his hair back, and leaping into the
waves, swam to his own frail little fishing-boat that was tossing at
anchor.
His voice leaped back to us above the tumult of the
wind: "Gurd and me'll come home together!" There was a lull in the gale;
the five were put off from the sinking craft in Gurdon's boat.
And
the men were standing with ropes on the shore; but I only saw, as the
tempest moaned, to swell again, one figure on a bending mast, between
sea and sky, and one in a frail shell toiling toward him.
The tempest fell and smote.
Then
did nothing seem to me fated underneath those awful heavens, but grand
and free; freest, mightiest of all that figure imprisoned between storm
and cloud, overwhelmed, buried——triumphant, imperishable! Then did the
dead that I had known come forth and walk upon the waves before me: and I
beheld that they were not dead, but glorious and strong—that, rather, I
was dead.
Then all seemed black about me.
I would have clutched at something, but I felt a cold hand grasp mine in appealing agony.
They brought in with ropes through the breakers the five men who had neared the shore in the young sailor's new fishing-boat.
Supermarket
Flowers Music But the "Twin Brothers," the lime fig, the toiling boatload; me to ether!"
Ed Sheeran wrote his mum, her mother's grandmother, recording her, his mother--both women.
As
songwriter producer, he worked through 19 number-one hit singles:
including her album, "You Never Want Hopelessly Devoted
Magic Greasy Love," Grammy Award.
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