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How Come, How Long (feat. Babyface)

Stevie Wonder and Babyface
There was a girl I used to know
She was oh so beautiful
But she's not here anymore
She had a college degree
Smart as anyone could be
She had so much to live for
But she fell in love
With the wrong kinda man
He abused her love and treated her so bad
There was not enough education in her world
That could save the life of this little girl
How come, how long
It's not right, it's so wrong
Do we let it just go on
Turn our backs and carry on
Wake up, for it's too late
Right now, we can't wait
She won't have a second try
Open up your hearts

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song performed by Stevie Wonder
Added by Lucian Velea
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Im Money

Cuz Im a user, a shmoozer, a big dollar loser.
That doesnt matter cuz my friends call me a brusier and I . . . get chicks, so many chicks want me (nope).
Cuz Im not funny, honey.
A big oafy dummy.
That doesnt matter cuz my friends say Im money and i, get drunk, too many drinks want me (yeah).
Yo, get out the get out the way of the money man.
Ladies know Im dope, so consider me contraband.
Fellas are just jealous, cuz theyre ponies and Im mustang.
Dont try to hang cuz Im out with a big bang.
Get get down, all the ladies wanna be with me.
Get get down, all the fellas compete with me.
Get get down, and I know that Im trippin, but I really dont care cuz this is how Im livin.
(chorus)
All the ladies wanna know me.
They ignore me-intimidated by me.
All the fellas, all the fellas wanna be me.
They ignore me-intimidated by me. (x2)
Who needs them anyway . . . cuz Im money.
Cuz Im a user shmoozer, a big dollar loser.
That doesnt matter cuz I drive a land cruiser.

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song performed by Zebrahead
Added by Lucian Velea
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Make You Wanna Stay

yea, Joe Budden here with the beautiful Kelly Rowland
Hold up, stop wait a minute, I gotta admit it shorty you did I ain't gotta
lie to you.hold up, stop. later. Girl you doin' it to me. You know you see me in the
benzy I'm schemin' lookin' you up, down, down, and up. and we both run both on the phone
you, but gotta play them games boobie we both wrong
Verse I:
It's been a minute
We been talking on the phone
Hit me on my two way turning me on
And I'm a bout to lose my mind
You say you wanna meet me
Baby it's been way too long
Time to quit playing
Let's get it on
Cuz I'm a show you, I'm for-real, for-real
Pre Chorus:
I'm gonna make you want me
I'm gonna make you come see me, never gonna want no-one but me
I'm gonna make you mine
I'm gonna make you want me

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song performed by Kelly Rowland
Added by Lucian Velea
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Magpie, My Keeper, Is Flying - Upon Freeing the Gift of Creativity Turned Inward

.
for Elaine Bellezza, Beloved Anima-as-Fate

'There is only one real deprivation, I decided this morning, and that is not to be able to give one's gift to those one loves most...The gift turned inward, unable to be given, becomes a heavy burden, even sometimes a kind of poison. It is as though the flow of life were backed up.' - May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

This afternoon while still somewhat hungover from last night's rich meal and several glasses of strong red wine, I stumbled as one does when hungover, only today without feet but with eyes, upon the above quote by May Sarton. I had awakened this morning with fragments of a dream, repetitive of other dreams the past few months, where I am carrying something precious and just cannot put it down in any old place or upon just any available surface. I cannot put it down until I find the right surface and location.

These dreams are full of torrential flood waters, or backed up, stagnant water, toilets full of filth and pungent bright orange dark urine days old and fermenting. I cannot unhand the burden even though the urge to pee or flee or drive a car away or into flood waters is strong. I must not put down the burden odd as it is; it is my laptop carrying case made of canvas. It is large enough to carry not only my laptop but also many books with which I cannot, will not be parted from as they are the must-have-with-me-always 'bread', my staple and stability in a given to me world out of balance.

I have understood the dreams only a little - something within the psyche is flooding up, over-spilling or has already, has not been adequately canalized, channeled, streamed and guided, shaped and formed. Or flushed. I knew that eventually, as dreams do when one sits consciously, patiently, persistently with them, they would yield their messages to me, and upon revelation these must be obeyed, brought out into the world, Carl Jung having said that one has a moral responsibility to dreams once they are kenned and must be conscientiously acted upon in the outer world. Just dreaming is not enough. Everyone dreams but not very many know to dream them out into the world, to let their messages unfurl, flood and flow to bring forth new consciousness, to reshape old forms no longer adequate to self, place and time into symbol and their sense, usually not literal.

And thus, only just now, upon opening up haphazardly in a book about Dostoevsky and his struggle with addictions which mirror the profound compulsion to create at any cost perhaps beyond one's capacities to renew oneself, I find May Sarton's quote and suddenly the dreams clarify and sharpen into focus; I understand them as the burden of creativity too long turned inward, the burden of writing, the burden of poetry which I have carried heavily for most of my life since middle school when I was 11 or 12 years old when books became my lifeline, my link to existence that I could live on in spite of not wanting to do so. Written words, books, kept me from disappearing though I was and remain a mostly invisible word.

And thus the floods. One cannot ignore them. Alphabets tumble and roil. One dare not ignore them. One must see them without a choice to not see them. In them I am suddenly made visible, bright orange p*ss pots and all. I am both appalled and pleased. My burden is upon my knees.

The backed up water, the urine, is creativity. A somewhat odd symbol of creativity, there is more than enough evidence that urination is symbolic of self expression which is creativity. In ancient Rome the highly valued dirt from the urinals of boys' schools was collected to be used as a cosmetic in order to restore youthful energy and looks. A young boy, or puer in Latin, is an archetypal symbol of ongoing creativity and inspiration, the puer aeternas, the eternal youth, well springs of ongoing creativity still imaged in solid fountains of the world where eternal waters flow from the peni of cherubic youth.

I have struggled my entire life with a strong urge to create, to write, to express in words that creative daemon within which torments no matter the completion of a poem or essay, a lecture, a psalm. And now my dreams have had me consciously, urgently seeking a place to put the burden down, to perhaps come to it anew. I imagine that landing the burden means bringing it down to earth, manifesting creativity all the more by bringing my efforts to others for the strongest part of the compulsive urge in my creativity has been to contribute one good thing, one good poem or piece of writing which in some way might further the culture even if only by a flea's leg length.

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poem by Warren Falcon
Added by Poetry Lover
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Streets Is Watching

Uh huh uh huh uh
Gee gee geyeah
Baby watchin streets
Uh huh uh huh uh
You don't have to look
Uh huh uh
The streets is watching
Check it check
Uh huh uh check
Look if I shoot you I'm brainless
But if you shoot me then you're famous what's a n*gga to do?
When the streets is watching blocks keep clocking
Waiting for you to break make your first mistake
Can't ignore it that's the fastest way to get extorted
But my time is money, at twenty-five, I can't afford it
Beef is sorted like Godiva, chocolates
N*ggaz you bought it, I pull the slide back and cock it
Plan aborted, you and your mans get a pass
This rhyme, you're operating on f*ck time
Y'all n*ggaz ain't worth my shells, all y'all n*ggaz

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song performed by Jay-Z
Added by Lucian Velea
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Stranger in Strange Crowd

STRANGER IN STRANGE CROWD

Dreams stranger’s path divide
from crowd’s uneven t[h]read
who's tissue, issues poorly understood, through dread
is left behind, swirls second rate as flotsam on life's tide,
noise windmills, senses silent, life-blood sped,
bled white, so often fearing fear, by wisdom wide,
unblessed, unsteady set sights low instead.

Despite stress, sentiments denied, imagination set aside,
stranger story stores till head heeds heart, until desires well led
fire understanding rich allied with empathy sustaining ride.
Swift Pegasus is supplied
with neither saddle, A to Zed accoutrements life tears to shreds
when vested interests, motives pure collide.

Defy temptations of soft ride
along straight road which, comfort fed,

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Sally Simpson

Outside the house mr. simpson announced
Outside the house mr. simpson announced
That sally couldnt go to the meeting.
That sally couldnt go to the meeting.
He went on cleaning his blue rolls royce
He went on cleaning his blue rolls royce
And she ran inside weeping.
And she ran inside weeping.
She got to her room and tears splashed the picture
She got to her room and tears splashed the picture
Of the new messiah.
Of the new messiah.
She picked up a book of her fathers life
She picked up a book of her fathers life
And threw it on the fire!
And threw it on the fire!
She knew from the start
She knew from the start
Deep down in her heart
Deep down in her heart

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song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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L’Invention

O fils du Mincius, je te salue, ô toi
Par qui le dieu des arts fut roi du peuple-roi!
Et vous, à qui jadis, pour créer l'harmonie,
L'Attique et l'onde Égée, et la belle Ionie,
Donnèrent un ciel pur, les plaisirs, la beauté,
Des moeurs simples, des lois, la paix, la liberté,
Un langage sonore aux douceurs souveraines,
Le plus beau qui soit né sur des lèvres humaines!
Nul âge ne verra pâlir vos saints lauriers,
Car vos pas inventeurs ouvrirent les sentiers;
Et du temple des arts que la gloire environne
Vos mains ont élevé la première colonne.
A nous tous aujourd'hui, vos faibles nourrissons,
Votre exemple a dicté d'importantes leçons.
Il nous dit que nos mains, pour vous être fidèles,
Y doivent élever des colonnes nouvelles.
L'esclave imitateur naît et s'évanouit;
La nuit vient, le corps reste, et son ombre s'enfuit.

Ce n'est qu'aux inventeurs que la vie est promise.

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poem by Andre Marie de Chenier
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Satan Absolved

(In the antechamber of Heaven. Satan walks alone. Angels in groups conversing.)
Satan. To--day is the Lord's ``day.'' Once more on His good pleasure
I, the Heresiarch, wait and pace these halls at leisure
Among the Orthodox, the unfallen Sons of God.
How sweet in truth Heaven is, its floors of sandal wood,
Its old--world furniture, its linen long in press,
Its incense, mummeries, flowers, its scent of holiness!
Each house has its own smell. The smell of Heaven to me
Intoxicates and haunts,--and hurts. Who would not be
God's liveried servant here, the slave of His behest,
Rather than reign outside? I like good things the best,
Fair things, things innocent; and gladly, if He willed,
Would enter His Saints' kingdom--even as a little child.

[Laughs. I have come to make my peace, to crave a full amaun,
Peace, pardon, reconcilement, truce to our daggers--drawn,
Which have so long distraught the fair wise Universe,
An end to my rebellion and the mortal curse
Of always evil--doing. He will mayhap agree
I was less wholly wrong about Humanity

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poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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I know my limits. But I simply ignore them.

classic quote by Friedrich Nietzsche
Added by Dan Costinaş
Comment! | Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian