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“Pablo sings his songs”

blurtso3083

Here are some songs I’ve written.

Cliffs of the heart

You can’t say yes

The best we can do

The snow is melting

Slipping into stone

Out of line

Kindness

Undo what’s done

Devil’s Sister

Liar sun

Because I love you

The hope it is

Letting go

Crossroads night

Take me there

All I want is a breeze

The beginning of you

Hell on the inside

The kingdom meant for me

Eight ounces of water

Go around

Catch, glide and shove

Too late for you

This girl do

Sleeping where the rich people play

Of all the gold

Echo

Afraid this time

Tenderness

A safe place to go

Seize the moment

Haven’t had yet

My Michelle

Cruel shapes

You made him a promise

Seventh day

My baby’s arms

More than the blues

Drink beer on stage

I’m in you

Save me

Giraffe

 

“Bonny and Pablo go for a walk”

blurtso2072

That was a nice walk, said Pablo, what should we do now?
Let’s go home, said Bonny, and play Sudoku.

blurtso2076

That’s 127 for Ditto, 96 for me, and 16 for Pablo.

“Blurtso and Harlan watch the snow” (II)

blurtso3041

I guess there’s not much snow in Borneo, said Blurtso. No, said Harlan, but there are many palm trees. I like palm trees, said Blurtso. So do I, said Harlan, there’s nothing like napping in a palm grove… listening to the wind in the leaves, and feeling the shadows on your skin. Yes, said Blurtso, a palm grove is a great place to nap, and so is a recliner, under a palapa next to the sea. Yes, said Harlan, there’s nothing like napping to the sound of waves, with a cap pulled down on your eyes. A Red Sox cap? said Blurtso. Of course, said Harlan. The snow is nice too, said Blurtso. Yes, said Harlan, there’s nothing like napping in a loft, with a cup of hot cocoa, listening to the slosh of cars in the street. Yes, said Blurtso, or napping under an oak, on a summer day, in an empty field in Maine. I still can’t believe, said Harlan, the Red Sox didn’t win the World Series.

“Blurtso takes a trip” (XVI)

blurtso5232

What is it in Venice that makes us feel we have been transported in time? Is it the ancient buildings and bridges, the palaces with their frescoes and the moss-lined canals? Is it the smooth-worn stones or the fountains of the piazze? Is it the stillness of the water and the echoing barcarole? No, it is rather the simple sound of voices and footsteps, heard, as if for the first time, in a city without engines, in a civilized world before the automobile.