time clock

we're all on the time clock
no matter where we are
no matter what you do
time's gonna come for you
me, I do the best I can
always wishing on a star 
Lord, let this not be the day
when a loved one goes away

          seasons come and seasons go
          where they are I do not know
          we'll get through someway, somehow
          we're all on the time clock now

Art is your fate. Don't debate.

I tell ya man, it's hard. It's so fuckin' hard.

So the songwriting is giving you challenges, eh? Good. It's good for you to be challenged artistically. I mean, you are an artist, farmboy. Remember once you got a fortune in a fortune cookie that read "Art is your fate. Don't debate." That was meant for you.

Oh, I know. I just get impatient, that's all. But I like what you're saying, that it's good to be challenged. Maybe that's what I need, I don't know. But it's better than writing the same stuff over and over, you know, man?

I think that's true. You've got to keep things interesting. There needs to be change. Time moves forward. Perhaps think of some subjects -- or even single words and phrases -- that are different than what you've used before. Try different subjects or new ways of looking at life.

Well, this could be a real adventure. Which brings up the next question: What if I fail? What if I'm not up to the challenges?

You just continue to write every day. You show up and suit up.

t's like fuckin' PE.

It's like pretty much everything worth working towards.

(laughs) That's what I'm afraid of. More frustration.

And you'll get that. But you'll also reap the benefits. At some point you'll write something that catches your interest. And then you'll work on it and your subconscious willl work on it. And you'll work on it, too.

Yeah, I love when that happens. It's all a mystery, this songwriting stuff. I've been doing it most of my life and I feel like I still don't have a clue.

And you've written some very good songs, farmboy.

Thanks. I try.

my imagination

when I was a boy
I dreamed of pianos
in basements and hallways
in churches and bars
I'd practice with fingers
tapping on notebooks
I learned you can play
wherever you are

          my imagination
          has always been overused
          but my imagination
          makes me less confused

I've lost myself somehow

I'm tired of writing lousy songs.

But, farmboy, you love writing songs.

I do. And I love having written songs. But lately I just can't seem to locate that part of myself that thinks my emotions are worth writing about. Look, I write every fuckin' day. And sometimes it's the hardest fuckin' thing you can imagine. It's like I look at myself and say "Where the fuck am I?" Because I've lost myself somehow.

I'm sure you're searching, though...

I am. 

And maybe that's where the songs begin.

I suppose. But it's so long between songs. And then I don't really have an audience any more, so what's the point?

Never mind, man. I'm just whining and complaining now.

You've earned the right, farmboy. You've been writing a very long time. Ever think about taking a break?

I'm afraid to. I'm afraid that if I stop writing -- and practicing, for that matter -- it'll just be harder and harder and that I'll hardly ever write.

That could be a good thing.

I guess.

The fact is, though, I love writing and I've written a whole lot during these past few years. An accident and a mental breakdown will do that to you.

Yeah, farmboy. That and hard work and discipline. A strong work ethic. A willingness to explore yourself. Don't give the credit to something that causes you harm. 

I know. It's ridiculous. 

I don't want to sound like some old self-help book, but maybe you might try letting up on yourself. Just a little.

Okay, I'll try it. But it ain't gonna be easy.

I don't live there anymore

you talk to me of old days
everything that went before
I appreciate you asking
but I don't live there anymore

you talk to me of home
life behind the old screen door
I know you like nostalgia
but I don't live there anymore

          memories 
          don't mean nothing to me
          burn them all to ashes
          scatter them upon the sea

you talk to me of family
I do my best to ignore
your words of human kindness
but I don't live there anymore

          memories
          don't mean nothing to me
          except days and times
          where I'd rather be

you talk to me of old days
photos in a drawer
she's someone I used to know
I don't live there anymore

so fucking angry

sometimes I get so fucking angry

that I beat my head against the wall

over and over and over again

sometimes I get so fucking angry

that I hit my face with fists

so I can fucking feel something

because if I don't

I am going to fucking

explode

rough rider

he's a two-timing man
in a one-horse town
and he don't need no woman
keeping him down
just because they're married
don't mean a thing these days
he don't give a damn
about your old-fashioned ways
he's a rough rider
he don't know where he's bound
he's a rough rider
and he's gonna ride you clear out of town