Glissade… pas de canard…
Tag: for free
“Blurtso begins to fit in”
“Pablo sings his songs”
Here are some songs I’ve written.
Audio PlayerCliffs of the heart
Audio PlayerYou can’t say yes
Audio PlayerThe best we can do
Audio PlayerThe snow is melting
Audio PlayerSlipping into stone
Audio PlayerOut of line
Audio PlayerKindness
Audio PlayerUndo what’s done
Audio PlayerDevil’s Sister
Audio PlayerLiar sun
Audio PlayerBecause I love you
Audio PlayerThe hope it is
Audio PlayerLetting go
Audio PlayerCrossroads night
Audio PlayerTake me there
Audio PlayerAll I want is a breeze
Audio PlayerThe beginning of you
Audio PlayerHell on the inside
Audio PlayerThe kingdom meant for me
Audio PlayerEight ounces of water
Audio PlayerGo around
Audio PlayerCatch, glide and shove
Audio PlayerToo late for you
Audio PlayerThis girl do
Audio PlayerSleeping where the rich people play
Audio PlayerOf all the gold
Audio PlayerEcho
Audio PlayerAfraid this time
Audio PlayerTenderness
Audio PlayerA safe place to go
Audio PlayerSeize the moment
Audio PlayerHaven’t had yet
Audio PlayerMy Michelle
Audio PlayerCruel shapes
Audio PlayerYou made him a promise
Audio PlayerSeventh day
Audio PlayerMy baby’s arms
Audio PlayerMore than the blues
Audio PlayerDrink beer on stage
Audio PlayerI’m in you
Audio PlayerSave me
Audio PlayerGiraffe
“Bonny and Pablo go for a walk”
“Blurtso and Harlan watch the snow” (II)
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)
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.