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Absurdity Under

by Tim Koehn

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1.
I can see your eyes straight into me illumining this place like moon beams that glow on the ocean. If I could only be here to see your eyes that shine like oceans as deep as your wounds, wide as your bleeding brow. Your eyes on me is my direst need. Your ocean laps at me; I'll have to take your water at my feet. If I could only see with your eyes into the hearts of people who are standing beside your sensuous ocean, Everyone would run into this: your eyes that contain oceans as deep as your wounds wide as your bleeding brow. Your eyes on me is my direst need. Your ocean laps at me; I'll have to take your water at my feet. Save us from our fashions, God-- somebody show me to the door. Save us from our fashions, God-- I want to get off of this floor. I'll take a crown of passion, God, just as your head was pierced by thorns. Crown me with compassion, God, just as your head was pierced by thorns. (I want to see your eyes and feel their penetration, then comes assimilation single cells at a time.)
2.
Rural intimations pass me; they blink into me-- they'll blink for you, too, where dogs curl up on ash from trash heaps, blinking into sleep underneath... Boys and little girls look up with no pity looking down; dust is choking the gutters and the leaves are turning brown. But sky cracks open with thunder, and gray absurdity under runs into the ground. I could get green grace from foliage, make this madness budge, but would it get through to you? Can these boring eyes bore into the caged bird in you? With all these... Boys and little girls look up with no pity looking down; dust is choking the gutters and the leaves are turning brown. But clouds crack open with thunder, and gray absurdity under runs into the ground. When you look down (or maybe just out from eyes of kids here on the ground), you must think how absurd we all look now fixated on finding things that never can be found.
3.
For at least a second each day, and then minutes at night, familiar ghost leaves its shell--forever lost for a spell. And the horror grows because madness dances 'round, face features melting blank into a cellar dark and dank. But then his takes mine to some forest glen where the turning grass is the hair of God and the spruce is so black. And up from the grass, my name is scrawled in the arms of fallen branches. That spinning-headed girl who thinks her arms are stone: "She cries when I hold her, she cries when I hold her. And what makes her eyelids fall makes mine flood each time-- it's his groping hands that crawl over bodies not mine." But the woman who's learning to lose her twins-- in her so strong eye there lives the mirror of God (and so precious were those twins). "But she's a great mom (I never had one), and she's melting my hands..." Everyday, autumn on the skin Everyday, spring within Everyday, autumn on the outside And yet still within, new robins come and sing again.
4.
Why are the cherry blossoms pink? Well, my lord was buried beneath, And his blood coursed up the roots To make the white flowers bleed. And my soul sick is sweet: Those blossoms touched my feet.
5.
Yesterday evening we were screaming and ready to kill all these blind bastards just for breathing and honking until A man on a rickshaw started singing (we'll take what we get). Like Esperanza, now we're weeping in the midst of these bricks. Something lovely grows loud around me... Shake the sky, you hundred violins! Someday I'll be free of me, and I'll jump right out of my skin. I starts to begin... Shake the sky, you hundred violins! Someday I'll be free of me, and I'll jump right out of my skin. I starts, then it ends... Coconut palm fronds: great green feathers, the roof for a pile of cats on a hot tin roof (they're playing and making me smile). Their cradle is secret like the barbet's on top of the palm: he makes a tok-tok-tok for no one, and it's making me calm. Something lovely grows loud around me... Shake the sky, you hundred violins! Someday I'll be free of me, and I'll jump right out of my skin. I starts to begin... Shake the sky, you hundred violins! Someday I'll be free of me, and I'll jump right out of my skin. I starts, then it ends...
6.
I feel a list comin' on— With so much beauty come and gone. Yet there's still so much that's still so strong. I feel a list comin' on. And if I don't record this, There'll be other things I'll miss, As magic and mundane as my lover's kiss. If I don't record this. So...I saw the moon and a street light, Each with its own piece of night. I got them all mixed up, moon was so bright. I saw the moon and a street light. I slept in my clean white bed— Head at the foot and feet at the head. It was so soft with my limbs all spread. I slept in my clean white bed. I was naked (I should've said) In that clean, wide, white bed, Like you come in at birth and go out when you're dead. I was naked (I should've said). I watched the world wake up one day: Bird's first cry and sun's first ray. It made me jump in the sea and the salt and the spray. I watched the world wake up one day. I felt the air and I felt the sun Make a strange mix that made them one: My first sure sign that autumn had come. I felt the air and I felt the sun. I saw wisps of clouds way up high: Pale pink and blue with palms nearby. I had waited long, so they heard me sigh. I saw wisps of clouds way up high. Then...that very same Moon that played with the street light Came through a crack in my curtain the next night. She, naked as I, and my bed still white, Sank into pink as the world woke up bright. I felt the fresh air and up came the sun— And for then and for there, my list was well done.
7.
I saw the moon come out and I started singing about it: I'll sing it out; I'll sing it loud. Its perfect circle shape makes a hole through which I can pour Complications now--they melt away somehow... And they'll go now, and they'll go now Like the leaves from the trees when the wind blows. Gibran, he wrote and told me to not forget that the earth Longs to feel my feet--soft, clean dirt beneath. He told me, too, that the wind, it longs to play with my hair, So I'll let it play and blow my cares away... And they'll go now, and they'll go now Like the leaves from the trees when the wind blows. Ahmad: Let the wind blow through your hair so carelessly; feel the breeze on my bare toes. I place them on the ground (this feelin's rare though): Oxygen tellin' me to breath and let the air flow. Let the wind go out the window with all the problems, complications--let nothing know. When life gets complex, keep it simple: Multiple problems? Just keep them single. Just play it out, live it out, stay dreamin'. Take a rest, take a breath, start breathin': Take a moment to appreciate your breathin'. Don't look back; keep it movin' with the seasons. Feel the fresh air all around ya; Feel it slowly creepin' slowly to surround ya; Defy gravity! Don't let it ground ya; Bury all the issues--let them bloom like the flower.
8.
Lullaby 05:13
I've heard the cranes, seen sky curl from their wings, and in the rain, heard every droplet ring. But does it matter? It's only in my dreams-- a strange darkness that brings a stranger thing: I know a strain of hope, a drunken offering, a winter coat, beneath an early spring. In spring... She'll sing a lullaby for sons and daughters. From lips it will fly to future fathers, and hope will still ring. When shadows come, eclipsing you and me, blink out the sun, moon behind a tree, beauty comes fractured; it comes painfully. A disaster--but broken on a sea you're spent better to hear the waves come carefully; they're soft and near, and meant only for me. For me... She'll sing a lullaby for sons and daughters. From lips it will fly to future fathers, and hope will still ring.
9.
When I felt the wind today, I felt it cold, so cold. It told what's old, Go away, come back someday When fearless newness has broken from its mold. Then we can stand here and say… As long as there's movement to feel, there's newness. As long as sunlight's shining bright, there's love in sight. Four letter words always help us through this: Love, Hope, or Time usually run through roughest day. When that old bitch-goddess bays, our hearts grow cold, so cold. Instead of breath, fur, and face, we get a waste Of plastic trinkets to measure out our days; We'll feel how much lightness weighs… But as long as there's movement to feel, there's newness. As long as sunlight's shining bright, there's love in sight. Four letter words always help us through this: Love, Hope, or Time usually run through roughest day. I can't tell how this cold air's gonna break this moment of greatness shapeless, then in a minute this blue bright trumpet makes this thousands of faces. I can't tell how this cold air's gonna break this moment of greatness shapeless, then in a minute this blue bright trumpet makes this a thousand little places.
10.
Here's to crux and complication, to climax and all imperfection. Their critical mass resolves us back to that place where we sit and stare in wonder at it all.

about

The original release of this album in 2012 was to raise money to help build schools and provide education for marginalized communities in Bangladesh and rural Nepal (contributing to the work of Bangla-Dash and Rural Classes). Because of the urgency of the need, it was recorded, mixed, and released in a very short amount of time. My generous friends and family responded quickly and raised $1000.

Starting in February 2018, all proceeds from the sale of this album will go to Celal Karadoğan who runs Genç Engelliler Gençlik ve Spor Kulübü, a facility in Turkey that trains young people with disabilities to become athletes. He is now expanding his training to young Syrian refugees with disabilities, and he hopes to build more training centers. Celal's perseverance, leadership, humility, and compassion are very inspiring.

credits

released March 12, 2015

Thanks to Eivind Lødemel, Buno (sound engineer), Christine, Seth, Jim, Steve, Ahmad, Fall Hollow, Kuwait Students for the Advancement of the Arts (Oops, I Just Arted), and International School Dhaka, Simon Cooke, and Ross Bradley

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Tim Koehn Nicosia, Cyprus

Tim Koehn, currently based in Cyprus, teaches for a living but writes and makes music any chance he gets.

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