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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 05/07/2018 :  08:38:29  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Lova ya too, E. Please give my very best to your family.
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 05/07/2018 :  08:41:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Meanings and associations came to mind as Mick wrote, but some layers were not evident. He frequently discovered new levels of significance in his work. “Not only do I continue to find new meanings... My songs are like a priest and psychiatrist rolled into one... waiting only for me to ask a question.” Townes Van Zandt said, “His voice is like from outer space,” and Kristofferson wrote, “Perhaps... he is a visitor from outer space.” From outer space or inner space or a conduit to the fifth dimension, Newbury’s music is art, uniquely beautiful art... expressed as a fusion of sincerity and simplicity.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 05/07/2018 :  17:31:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He made brief visits to the 5th dimension in April 2001. "It was beautiful," he said, "...a mist of light. Hey! not yet!" he said, and came back to us. But who knows what time is there...
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San Diego
Swinger

509 Posts

Posted - 05/07/2018 :  17:57:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
His art is timeless. As he is. He still scolds and cajoles. Oh, yes, he does. Ron and I had this conversation. Writing things down in the middle of the night...his fingerprints on every page. Love you, Joe. Send me an email so I can talk to you.

Edited by - San Diego on 05/13/2018 18:46:14
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 05/07/2018 :  18:08:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Book of Days. The index. The hand-drawn map with a legend. Bas-relief on the cliff side where waves ruffle edges blue and white the sky. All the star-sparked spangled places where he shuffles the deck in his dreams and wakes up with blue chalk dust on his fingers like ambidextrous da Vinci. Smoke in some doorway. Alive on both sides of the aisle before Passports were required. Notes in her pockets. Doodles and faces. His crowded slant letters. His blue heart way. His coast to coast area codes. "Jus' tell the story..." he says, "Don't explain it."

Edited by - Ailinn on 05/06/2019 17:37:58
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 05/10/2018 :  07:48:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hi Ro,

I'll call you soon, friend.

Love ya,

Joe
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 05/10/2018 :  07:53:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
As used in the song Sailor, “Double-headed eagle” could be a reference to “double eagle,” a 20 dollar gold piece first issued to the public in 1850 following the California Gold Rush; metaphorically then, it may mean money or riches. The term might also allude to the song Under The Double Eagle, the benchmark Sousa piece, used by pickers to acknowledge a master guitar player... metaphorically then, mastery of music.

Say you double-headed eagle
Say you can teach me how to fly


Double-headed eagle is also the oldest crest in the world, a symbol of power more than 2,000 years before the building of King Solomon’s Temple. It is an emblem of Masons, the oldest and largest worldwide fraternity dedicated to the brotherhood of man under the fatherhood of a Supreme Being. Below the Masonic double-headed eagle is the phrase, “Spes mea in deo est,” meaning, “My hope is in God.” When Mick sings, “Say you double-headed eagle / Say you can teach me how to fly,” perhaps he is communicating a fundamental cabala. Faith in God can teach us how to fly.

In the end, he leaves it open, allowing the listener freedom to interpret what will “teach me how to fly.” Riches, music or God... King Solomon pursued the subject as well. The song is a fine example of how Newbury’s music can get to the bottom of things but also lift us up to the highest heavens.


Edited by - Joe Z on 05/10/2018 07:55:03
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 05/13/2018 :  18:53:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I never saw my mother perform a domestic chore. She spread cream cheese on a slice of white bread for me after I scraped my knee on a forbidden maypole. She cut off the crusts and covered it with maraschino cherries.
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San Diego
Swinger

509 Posts

Posted - 05/20/2018 :  19:34:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Watermelon day. Rosy in the center, green at the edges. Paper streamers and balloons in the trees. Hamburgers, hotdogs and tacos. A farm to table salad bar with produce for guests to take home. A picnic for Sunrise House. Kids and grand kids and great grands. My old friends Robber and Garret with new baby Ian. Elise and McKenna. His blue BIC still behind his ear. A brand new iPhone clipped to his belt. Marco's "Royal" lemon cake, and a Guess Who? picture gallery. The park full of music. A spell on the crowd clapping to Michael Row the Boat Ashore. Hands on their hearts for America. An old fashioned Sunday afternoon to remember.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 05/27/2018 :  21:38:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Cityscape scraping the clouds beyond Shelter Island. The Bay so crowded you can step from one boat to another. And a last one that takes you out beyond the fog where you board something fateful. Leap of faith, he says. It happens like that. Don't hesitate. Hands on the rail. Chevron wake on the water slipping under the bridge.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 05/27/2018 :  21:42:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Doors that open and close. Rooms with the past intact. Hummingbirds in the bougainvillea. Footprints in the grass. Pinches of jasmine sticky and sweet in the courtyard. Evenings stippled with stars. A tree with low limbs they could sit in looking up a long time.

Edited by - Ailinn on 05/30/2018 18:25:16
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 05/27/2018 :  21:44:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Air 71, water 64. Mostly sunny. Back to you, Blaine.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 05/30/2018 :  18:30:46  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Wild dogs and freight trains. Rails cradled in dust. Sky full of fever. Horizon fractured with light. The ground humming under their feet. Afternoons at the easel painting what he can see. His intense concentration catching green. "Every leaf has a reason to be there," he says, drinking tea with a name like a hurricane. He likes the heirloom edge on copper hours. Everything saved. His palms up and open. His prayers on their slow way to Heaven.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 05/30/2018 :  18:39:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

...on the condition of anonymity... When he walks in. Along the fault line. Powder blue sky with condors. Wind farms eerie flicker and roar. Sanctuary of a dream in the heart's wild places. "...holding your heart out of harm's way..." he says, one hand on the wheel racing away from. 112 degrees. Faces and hands pins and needles. Shimmer mirage on the windshield. Who can say if they knew time was a number? What is truth? What is trust? What is wonder?
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 06/08/2018 :  16:28:36  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Old photographs. Time-stalled places. Mecca and Niland and Salvation Mountain. The surreal sea visited decades ago. Slab City and Bombay Beach. "Sanity's a choice here," he laughed, "hahaha." Death Valley shadows on an eerie Last Supper. Two names on the Rhyolite Station. Ghosts at home in that arid dark.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 06/08/2018 :  16:32:19  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
North of the dam rooms are cold and AC frost etches the windows. Dusty weather. Uneasy ground shift. Logo note pads in hotel desk drawers. Triple A maps. Living Bibles. No frame around the big picture. No clocks in the apocalypse casino.

Edited by - Ailinn on 07/25/2020 18:01:24
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 06/08/2018 :  16:38:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"El lugar sin pasos," the gardener said. The place with no footprints. Odd assortment of plants in blue pots on the sills. Little house on the coast with stone patio. Cold summer deck slick with rain. Clouds scuffing the sky that morning. Sea sounds beyond the fog. Photo of him with his back to the sink drinking coffee in black and white. Lantern reflection on the window glistening mystery.
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San Diego
Swinger

509 Posts

Posted - 06/16/2018 :  18:10:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Well... Salem is always strange. Especially if you're driving through at night. Gloucester, "They that go down to the sea in ships..." Cobbled Newburyport. Salisbury Beach Fun-O-Rama. Fried clam land. Coastal towns narrow zigzag roads. Historical plaques on the houses. White steeple churches. Broken fieldstone fences. Darker air and heavier water. Fireflies and lawn croquet. A game I played in another century. Curtains covering the windows. Smaller, sweeter strawberries. Places where you know Summer ends.
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San Diego
Swinger

509 Posts

Posted - 06/23/2018 :  16:19:03  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ogunquit and Kennebunkport. York Beach Goldenrod Kisses where they make taffy in the window. Cranberry soap in the scrimshaw shop. Fortunes Rocks house where the tide left the Atlantic in the driveway. Clam cakes and lobster rolls. Chowder. Homemade ice cream and whoopee pies. A row across Etherington Pond. The dishes I left behind. (Don't stand there looking so long.) Towns where the past is alive as the present.

Edited by - San Diego on 11/20/2019 14:23:48
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2197 Posts

Posted - 06/23/2018 :  16:29:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Tourists. Street trees. Kites in the sky. Sun over everything. His white shirt shining turned up at the cuffs. Curb crowded with exotic flowers. Birds of Paradise preparing to fly. His face clean-shaven and open. His eyes so grave when he stops mid stride. Reaches out and takes her sunglasses off. "Don't say anything," he says. Across the boardwalk the tambourine man. His streamers. His colorful racket.
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