Archive for July, 2009
There I was sitting in the sound room, the studio of Michael Philip Jagger, aka Mic Jagger, as his humble guest to listen to his first song recorded outside of the Rolling Stones. I could feel the awe and starstruck feeling of watching a music Icon of so many generations begining his career on his own. On the otherside of the partition, Jagger and his duet vocalist, who’s name I had not got to know yet where sitting on stools, with the headphones on, microphone’s set, and they where smiling to each other. Their eyes where connected, and you could see them getting into the mood to begin their song.
Flashes of thoughts went through my mind as if I was holding a cam corder on myself, and I could see myself doing an interview, saying “And so there I was, sitting there, just watching Mic Jagger doing his first opening song of his album, never seen before by anyone, and I am the only person sitting in his sound box. I felt so blessed and honored, it was because my father brought Mic Jagger to Vancouver Canada for the first time in the late 60’s or early 70’s with his company Green Grass Productions.”
My mind flips back to the now, and I am watching as his big lips start to form a word, the music starts and it sounds like a hit. The guitar begins, followed by the keyboard, I lose track of the instruments as it builds up to
Jagger: “Hello my love, how are you, how can I help you, what can I do”, jagger looks to her with intenese eyes and she answers
Female Singer: “It’s him again, he has hurt me, i don’t know what to do, can you help me, can you”, she begs with her angelic tone
Jagger: “I will do anything in my power, I would do anything for you, I will lift you up and empower, if you want me to”
Female Singer: “He hurt me again, can you take him away, can you stop him, can you help me, can you make it end”
Jagger “I said I would do anything in my power, anything at all, but I can’t help you, its an echo, its you, the war is you, it’s you”
The music plays louder and then cuts. The girl begins clapping, and crys and gives Jagger a big hug and the studio and I have heard the begining of the first song being prepared for recording.
Of course, at this point, as any good sagway would lend itself, especially when dealing with the mysteries of ones mind, I awoke to find myself at home in my bed. The very bed in which I had been awaking with anxiety for the last 5 years, after the nights of drinking, stress at work, divorce from my wife, seperation from my child, and many other pains, trials, and tribulations. My mouth was still making out the last line of the song chorus “ I can’t help you, it’s an echo, it’s you, the war is you, it’s you.”
Looking for immediate analysis of the dream I began to ask myself, why did I have this dream. How could something so profound approach me in a dream like this. A flash memory came over me as I remembered the morning before sitting in my car, where I was playing a CD on Love, it was a recorded conference of Paul Ferrini. Paul is a man who dedictated his life to the studying of love. As he spoke he mentioned the christ mind, and god, and just the mention made me feel uneasy. I was not willing to take any message in, I asked myself while I was driving… “Isn’t there a way to get the point across about what he is trying to say without mentioning God.”
On that note, I find myself in my bed again, murmering the words, “I can’t help you, its an echo, its you, the war is you, it’s you.” What did Paul Ferrini say the day before that would make my mind think of an echo. And then the pieces came together, I recalled a step-mother asking Paul about her problems with a child, the child’s mother, and the dynamics of the problems she was having. He told the woman to close her eyes and then he began to tell her, that the little girl she is having problems with is her, that the maternal mother is her, and that it is all her. That it is all voices inside of her.
I went back to the song and thought, then “him hurting me is me” that no one can help me inside of their power, not even the highest power, because it’s me. It’s all me. It’s an echo of me.
And then I asked myself a very simple question “Am I loving myself right now?”
By Ryan Gibson
April 27th 2008
Posted in 
Lover,
who are you,
Can you show me your heart,
Can you love me all the day tomorrow,
Show me love,
show me that it matters.
Waiting, for your word,
Waiting in the silence,
as i stare into your reflection,
On the glass, of a store you pass,
without notice,
Show me love, show me that it matters.
Fears, I have none now,
I have lost them all long ago,
I removed myself but not my soul,
I love you, show me love,
Show me that it matters.
Breaking glass,
the sound, the shatter,
A crowd gathers around,
All staring at the ground,
And I see you reflected,
In 1000 pieces,
Torn apart,
Wishing I could put it all back together,
Show me love,
Show me that it matters.
Saddened behind the chatter,
I wish to hear your voice,
Just the words,
I love you,
I love you too,
But there’s nothing but the noise
Of a busy street,
And nothing seems to matter.
Show me love,
Show me that it matters.
April 27th 2008
Title of this poem is “Where “I” Equals Infinity.” I being for the roman number one and also meaning I, as in the individual in English, or “I” which stands for Interest in accounting if you want to stretch it out that far. The purpose is that no matter what, this author is one with the person he writes of and at the same time, he is alone. If Death and Taxes where the two things sure in life, this poem speaks of the most malice tax, an immortal tax beyond death, which are the lies of his loved one. Almost humorous in the words, it also realizes the weight of the harshness he must face that in his words and child exists this immortal tax, the lies she has told him and the world. Believe it or not, this is a love poem, for he immortalizes a character of his loved one, whom he refers to as his love by suggesting that this poem he is challenging all “Lover’s Rhymes”. The way her thoughts infect him annoys him, and he realizes he is powerless, effecting his ego and personal well being, submitting him to do the only one thing he can, write of it, and immortalize her for the very thing he hates about the one he loves.
Where “I” Equals Infinity
If I could write the malice of your eyes,
Like rings of a tree from the dinosaur times,
I could count the many million lies,
That would challenge any lover’s rhymes,
Back to the time the devil fell,
Back before there was even hell,
Shakespeare himself would say this poet fibs,
For I write of a time before Adam’s ribs,
Before even an animal or man was pure,
But lingered a black thought in space for sure,
Unearthly darkness untouched by light,
That fills my head with your words at night,
In a child’s eye who believes your words are nice,
And in my rhymes your skill is immortalized twice,
Guaranteed to tell the shame of this antiquity,
That taxes my life of a peaceful equity.
Written By Ryan Gibson,
December 14 2007.
EDITTED< SAME DAY >
Where “I” Equals Infinity
If I could write the malice of your eyes,
Like rings of a tree from the dinosaur times,
I could count the many million lies,
That would challenge any lover’s rhymes,
Back to the time the devil fell,
Back before there was even hell,
Shakespeare himself would say this poet fibs,
For I write of a time before Adam’s ribs,
Before even an animal or man was pure,
But lingered a black thought in space for sure,
Unearthly darkness untouched by light,
That fills my head with your voice at night,
In our child’s eye who believes your words are nice,
And in my rhymes your skill is immortalized twice,
Guaranteed to tell the shame of this antiquity,
That taxes my life of a peaceful equity.
Written By Ryan Gibson,
December 14 2007.
Title of this poem is “Where “I” Equals Infinity.” I being for the roman number one and also meaning I, as in the individual in English, or “I” which stands for Interest in accounting if you want to stretch it out that far. The purpose is that no matter what, this author is one with the person he writes of and at the same time, he is alone. If Death and Taxes where the two things sure in life, this poem speaks of the most malice tax, an immortal tax beyond death, which are the lies of his loved one. Almost humorous in the words, it also realizes the weight of the harshness he must face that in his words and child exists this immortal tax, the lies she has told him and the world. Believe it or not, this is a love poem, for he immortalizes a character of his loved one, whom he refers to as his love by suggesting that with this poem he is challenging all “Lover’s Rhymes”. The way her thoughts infect him annoys him, and he realizes he is powerless, effecting his ego and personal well being, submitting him to do the only one thing he can, write of it, and immortalize her for the very thing he hates about the one he loves.
In addition, the poet suggests that he has proof of her lies, in that of a child and in his words. Rather than this being a procreation poem, where the poet would speak of”needing” a child to prove the beauty of his love as is traditional in many love poems, the poet suggests the child exists and embodies the very nature and fiber of these lies in the words the child believes, possibly passed on by the child, but definately immortalized in his words.
si podría escribir la belleza de sus ojos
y en nuevos números numera todas sus gracias que
las personas futuras dirían estas mentiras de poeta
tales toques celestiales las caras terrenales nunca tocadas
If you were blind my friend,
You would still know where I was,
As one wrong step could tell,
As I grab you under your arm.
Not my scent my friend,
Although the scent or smell could tell
Of the liquor and such were I dwell,
This is not how you’d see me well,
You’d know I was there.
My dear friend have no fear.
Make no mistake,
For if you were to make a million me and you,
As many of us that it would take,
We could stack upon each others shoulders,
Such a structure could not ever break
From earth to the Sun we could reach,
Not even such heat could ever breach,
The weathered friendship and years that teach,
Us how to be true in writ or speech
How to be true my friend at ones side or feet.
