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Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Matters of Time, The Indianapolis Quartet: Robert Paterson - String Quartets 1-3, In Real Life, Claremont Trio - Spheres: Music of Robert Paterson, Eternal Reflections, Winter Songs: Vocal Music of Robert Paterson, Wood And Forest, Six Mallet Marimba: Works by Robert Paterson, and 5 more.
1. |
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“Click any and all qualities you desire in a mate.”
Hmmm...
I’m a regular woman with regular taste,
in search of a normal, everyday man.
Just your average lady ready for a date,
with a fairly predictable set of demands.
Click. Click. Click…
I want a biracial,
bilingual,
nonsmoking,
semi-vegan locavore,
with impeccable taste in clothes.
Who is outdoorsy,
but also domestic,
a culture vulture,
but unpretentious.
I hope this is someone you know?
He should be spiritual,
but not dogmatic.
A dreamer,
yet pragmatic.
Worldly, sophisticated,
with an all-American, can-do attitude.
I don’t expect a miracle,
(I know the Earth is spherical),
all I ask for is an ordinary dude.
Click. Click. Click…
Blonde-haired, nice build, and hazel-eyed.
And when I say blonde, it’s okay if it’s dyed.
And please, no tattoos—alright, one or two.
Piercings? Can I get back to you?
No drugs, no scars, and you must drive a car.
No mommy issues or time in jail.
No kids, weird pets, or mortgage debt.
And yet, say “yes,” and you might be the male!
I’m a regular woman with regular taste.
An everyday lady waiting for a date.
Click. Click.
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2. |
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Woman seeking…woman…seeking…women.
Woman seeking...
women.
Woman seeking women.
The phrase curls up like a cat and purrs.
A palindrome, almost. So anyway...
But when I say that I’m a woman seeking women,
I don’t mean women, like two dozen,
like I’m starting a harem.
Just one will do!
This is new to me, ladies; please be patient.
Happily married for twenty-three years
to a man I loved, a storybook guy.
Then I land on the far side of forty.
Something has shifted, the angle tilted.
I’m staring at Karyn from work.
Her hair, her eyes. Karyn’s laugh,
her yoga legs, and perfect size.
Karyn from Human Resources.
She glowed from within.
I was always what they call a late bloomer:
Blossoms open as everyone sleeps.
A late bloomer, growing slowly,
deep in the night with the secret I keep.
After work at a bar after drinks,
Karyn kissed me,
wrecked me, trashed me.
It’s like I’m driving along, flowing with traffic,
Karyn leans in and I’m suddenly Sapphic.
(Don’t worry, won’t get graphic.)
I mean there’s a fender bender
regarding gender.
Through smoke, fire, sirens wailing,
only option: Surrender!
So here she comes, girls: the late bloomer.
Takes a little longer, but well worth the wait.
A late bloomer, out of step with the crowd.
But you have to start somewhere, with someone,
start living out loud.
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3. |
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This is crazy but I do it—
throw myself out there
to you in the space.
My aspiration is you catch me,
and hold me tight.
My character is not very wide,
but all my girlfriend say,
I have the golden heart.
I enjoy mountain walking, small animals
and sunset just dying.
Maybe you live in city, maybe you live in field;
maybe you are cowboy?
I dream in American like I dream in color.
Here is black and white and gray.
Here is only sleepwalkers.
Maybe you are prince to kiss me awake?
I am good girl, loyal as dog, but beware bite!
Ha ha ha!
And, as you can see, humor.
Laughing is salubrious,
I hope you would say yes,
and we can chuckle together.
I would tell you my life, not a happy life,
but I believe in happy conclusion.
My life I tell you later.
Look at my picture: See I stay busy with dance.
You will not be bored of me; I keep the flame high.
I am almost certified Ph.D. physiotherapy.
Body and age do not matter to me.
I want to find a kind man.
Lies I don’t need, children’s games: stay in nursery,
don’t you think, dear?
I have lots of concern, care, fret in my life, and no soothing.
You are the friend of my future, I believe.
This message is not very large,
and if I have something to say and write,
then I think we should first make a small pace,
which may be followed by fast run.
And we know each other more!
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4. |
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I lost my man in a burning land.
They took a wrong turn down a bad road,
front two tires dug into the sand,
something down there had to explode.
Maybe that bomb wasn’t so big,
but we heard the blast in San Antonio.
Two years in the rearview.
After all the medals, letters, cemetery guns,
the grief groups and the TV interviews,
I’m putting away the black.
God help me, I’m folding up the black,
like they folded up the flag,
and handed it to me.
Maybe that bomb wasn’t so big,
but we saw the flash in San Antonio.
I’ve got two kids, growing so fast.
Maybe one of these mornings they won’t even ask:
When is Daddy coming home?
I’m telling you because you have to know:
I’m collateral.
The torn, the deaf, the blind.
Some pieces so small they get left behind.
Collateral, the walking wounded.
We heal up fast, but we never forget.
Maybe that bomb wasn’t so big,
but it ripped through my heart In San Antonio.
They say the war is over.
The armies have gone home.
Cannons still and silent,
treaties signed, caskets closed.
The war inside is never over.
You can keep your peace!
I’m looking for a fighter.
I’m looking for someone to fight for me.
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5. |
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Divorced at thirty-five, I feel
time is running backwards, world in reverse.
I’m a teen again, green and seventeen again.
Aching for a boy to take me to the prom.
Not that I care, not that I care.
Brittle. Jokey. Awkward. Dreamy.
What can I learn from the girl that I was?
Rewind:
Let the years fall away.
Rewind:
Feel the fire in your heart.
Rewind:
You were scared but you fought
against the lies you were taught.
Rewind:
From a woman to a girl
in a strangely spinning world.
Rewind.
I did go to the prom with Darren Pulaski,
who was gay—which he noted, when he asked me.
He was a good dancer, he made me look good.
We cleared the floor for several songs,
stole cheap rosé and watched the dawn.
And Darren cried,
which made me cry.
Rewind:
When summer went forever.
Rewind:
When no one understood.
Rewind:
The future was right now,
and we would show you how.
And now the future is thirty-five and divorced.
Clicking strange pictures, being clicked on by strangers.
What would she say, what would the girl say?
When I was seventeen, and stupid, and brilliant, and brave?
Don’t waste a moment,
but don’t chase the moment.
Rewind, but remember:
Only love has power over time
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6. |
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They say the ladies have to kiss
a lot of nasty frogs
before they find a prince,
a man to be their boss.
Well, I am here to let you know:
The frogs have left the palace.
They’re hoppin’ on their little legs;
I wish those toads no malice.
Yeah, I am the real thing:
a masculine phenomenon.
A man to be your king,
whose attributes go on and on…
I slayed the IQ test.
They said I was the best.
I work out every day—well, almost every day.
Not on Thursday.
That’s the day when Man Up meets.
Man Up is my men’s rights group.
I bring coffee and cupcakes. Anyway…
I am a Shaolin monk who took an oath of purity.
A tenth-level wizard who casts a spell of ecstasy.
A four-star general in the war of love.
Can I hold your hand? WHAM! Fit you like a glove.
We can take the party back to your place.
I live with my mom, it’s okay, it’s temporary.
One thing about my back, it can get a little hairy.
Hope that’s okay; I like to manscape when I can,
but it can get expensive, and speaking of expenses,
I’m starting my own bitcoin, it’s the future,
Message me: I’ll hook you up.
If you like what you see,
this prince don’t come for free;
It will cost you several million kisses.
You ladies must be sick of mackin’ on the toad,
Cash in on the love bonanza you are owed.
Just got a text my Toyota has been towed. Shit!
This prince has got to go and he’s no frog.
I ain’t no frog. No frog. You’re the frog.
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7. |
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If y’all clicked on my picture:
Yeah, that’s my chest; that’s my ink.
Got it the night before we deployed
from Fort Bragg to Afghanistan.
I was hungover pretty fierce
and the tat burned under my fatigues
dry heaving on liftoff,
and didn’t think about tomorrow.
“Sola Fide” inked over my heart.
“By Faith Alone” is what it means in Latin.
And no, I don’t speak Latin.
It’s a dead language,
A million years old,
but it lives on me.
Landing at Bagram, my first tour,
kinda like we landed on the moon—
a moon of ghosts and dust and bombs.
Place felt a million years old.
They didn’t train us for the boredom.
Every day was one extreme.
Either contact with a bad guy
or a family invites you to tea.
Don’t ask for my stories.
Don’t search for my scars.
Don’t try to fix what’s broke.
Just hold me.
When dreams in the night wake me up,
I got pills for that.
When the anger rises, got pills for that.
And if the pills run out, hold me.
“Sola Fide,” by faith alone.
May be a dead tongue,
a million years old,
but it lives on my skin,
and I’m still young.
I’m breathing through it,
I’m breathing today.
And I want to have faith in you.
“Sola Fide,” “Sola Fide…”
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8. |
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The longer you live,
the older you get,
the older you get,
the less you live,
the less you move,
the less you speak,
the less you feel,
by the window sill,
on the vacant bench,
a table for one,
in line for meds,
an empty crosstown bus takes you home,
a stranger calls
whom you keep on the phone,
and the TV watches you sleep.
This is dying alone, kids.
All your meals are frozen.
None of your days are fresh.
And that persistent rotting odor
is rising from your flesh.
And so I got the neighbor’s son
to set up a profile on this site.
I’m offering that lucky lady,
in search of a mature gentleman,
one final dance!
Won’t you die with me?
Croak with me?
Accept this rose,
and decompose
beneath an oak with me?
We can cuddle and kiss away the hours.
Then our remains may fertilize the flowers.
Expire with me.
Be toast with me.
Kick the bucket,
just say, aw fuck it!
Give up the ghost with me.
I’ll light a scented candle for romance,
Then we can snuff it out and do the boney dance.
Won’t you die with me?
Perish tenderly?
See unquenchable passion in my eyes,
as we synchronize our dual demise,
ending like heroes who died only for love!
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9. |
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The irony is, my last boyfriend and I:
We both adored pussy.
I mean cats.
Get your minds out of the gutter!
But he was bad with money,
didn’t get Kenneth Anger
and never heard of Proust.
Classic twink, to use le mot juste.
Why are we discussing ancient Mesopotamian history?
I’m vamping.
I’ve been ground through the gears of Grindr.
Got an irritating rash from Scruff.
Called 911 on Bear411,
and basically, boys, men, and other, had enough.
Now I’m here.
See how low I’ve fallen?
A site for…relationships.
Isn’t that just the sexiest word?
Relationships.
What could be sexier?
“Spreadsheet” is sexier.
“Compost” is sexier.
“Tupperware” is sexier.
I know; I’m vamping.
Isn’t everybody gay now?
I was told that everyone, by now, would be gay.
That’s the Agenda, right?
It’s 2020, people!
Twenty. Twenty. A same-sex year.
Still vamping.
That’s me: Romantic Vamp.
The same two chords to fill time,
to pretend I’m fine, don’t ask if I’m
fine, of course I’m fine. I’m alone.
Just me and the cat and the cat’s not sure
this relationship is going anywhere.
That pussy has ceased to care.
The cat’s vamping.
He’s called Beardsley, by the way.
After the late Victorian illustrator who died tragically young? No?
BUH-bye.
By the way, for all you straight-acting conservative Daddies
who think I’m too-too…
I’m a paramedic and who works the graveyard shift.
So before you respond, remember:
I responded first.
Suck on that.
Still, still, still, still, still vamping.
What comes after the vamping?
When does the song begin?
The repetition is cute, then it bores.
Its circular motion resembles an ocean,
but then you can’t swim any more.
You wait for your rescue ship
and wonder: Has that ship sailed or no?
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10. |
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When I say I’m a nice guy, I get:
“Nice is easy, nice is cheap, nice is next to boring and boring people say ‘nice.’”
So, instead:
I’m organized, highly focused, always on time.
Slow to start, but once I do…!
You can’t stop me connecting to you.
I like to go fast when fast is safe,
sometimes slow is safe, it depends
on the surface, the incline, the curves.
When I’m near the end, I like to go slow.
You can depend on me.
Set your clock by me.
Six figure job, never married, no kids.
Mortgage. Spare room. Two actually.
One is my hobby room.
You see…
One thing about me you could call “nice-plus.”
Obsessive, I guess you would say.
My hobby. My passion. My pride.
I hope you don’t think that it’s weird.
It’s not a kink. Or a secret. Just nice-plus.
I like…trains.
Really, really like trains.
In England they call us trainspotters.
In America it’s railfan. I’m a railfan.
We photograph trains from the platform,
build models, photograph the models, share online,
memorize engines, signals, schedules, interiors of vintage cars…
Why trains?
Trains are organized, highly focused, always on time.
They are slow to start, but when they do…!
Nothing stops them where they’re zooming to.
They go fast when fast is safe,
sometimes slow is safe, it depends
on the surface, the incline, the curves.
You can depend on trains.
Set your clock by trains.
Would you like to travel together by rail?
It’s like falling backward in time.
I know the coziest cars,
where the champagne flows
as the landscape goes flying by.
I don’t always like moving so fast,
but it can be very nice, the view,
in an antique restored red mahogany velvet lined sleeping compartment,
for two.
Me and you!
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11. |
Extraordinary
08:52
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Extraordinary
A park before dusk. Brian, in mask, enters. He looks around, checks phone. After a moment, Angela, also in a mask, appears. They see each other. Wave. They remove their masks for recognition.
BRIAN
Are you JaneAustenSpace22?
ANGELA
KimchiWolff with two effs?
BRIAN
Right.
ANGELA
Sooo....
BRIAN
Is this a date?
ANGELA
I don’t know.
BRIAN
So. JaneAustenSpace22.
ANGELA
Yes?
BRIAN
Ever meet JaneAustenSpace21?
ANGELA
A total bitch.
BRIAN
That’s what I heard.
ANGELA
So, Kimchi—
BRIAN
Brian.
ANGELA
Angela.
BRIAN
Hi, Angela. Sit?
(They sit on a bench, judging the distance subtly—six feet apart?—
adjusting slightly. They remove their masks entirely. Awkward pause.)
ANGELA & BRIAN (to themselves)
This is the best date I’ve had in months.
This is the first date I’ve had in months.
Do we hug?
Can we kiss?
Is it safe?
Will I catch something I can’t handle?
Will I feel something I can’t handle?
BRIAN
It’s nice to see you I-R-L.
ANGELA
Huh? Oh, “In Real Life.” Yes.
BRIAN
You’re really funny online.
ANGELA
Thanks.
(Pause. He looks eagerly at her, expecting “funny.” She’s at a loss, so all she can blurt out is:)
ANGELA
That’s. A. Suit.
BRIAN
This? Yes. It’s a suit.
ANGELA (to herself)
You’re bombing.
You’re super bombing.
Like carpet bombing the date.
This date is a war crime.
And now you’re in the Hague.
BRIAN (to himself)
You’re boring.
You’re super boring.
She’s practically asleep.
You’re human Ambien.
You’re even boring me.
(to Angela)
I haven’t read Jane Austen’s books,
but I was hoping you could tell me about them?
ANGELA
I don’t know what you’ve heard,
but I don’t do English Lit on the first date.
BRIAN
See, that’s funny!
ANGELA
What do you do?
BRIAN
Malware protection.
ANGELA
Not funny.
BRIAN
Unless you make a virus joke.
ANGELA
Pass!
BRIAN
Can I ask why you said yes? To this?
ANGELA
I liked your smile.
BRIAN
I liked your jokes.
ANGELA
I liked your dog.
BRIAN
I liked your bookshelf.
ANGELA
I liked your eyes.
Present tense! Like. I like your eyes.
BRIAN
I like present tense your eyes too.
I’ve been alone a while.
ANGELA
Me too.
BRIAN
I’m not sure I remember.
ANGELA
I’ll draw you a diagram.
BRIAN
PowerPoint?
ANGELA
Paper.
BRIAN
How quaint.
ANGELA
Ain’t it, though?
Fancy paper. Real handwriting.
BRIAN
Real hands.
I wish we could hold hands for a moment.
ANGELA
I wish we could hold hands for a moment.
ANGELA & BRIAN
But it’s not safe, not safe.
If this were a date on an ordinary day,
a boring, dumb, humdrum day,
anything could happen.
Anything, anything, anything!
But today…
Touching hands would be extraordinary.
Sitting close would be extraordinary.
A goodbye kiss would be extraordinary.
But it’s not safe, not safe.
Must be careful, must protect.
Wear a mask to deflect
the sudden fleck,
which infects,
and don’t even think of having se—
ANGELA
Want to walk a bit?
BRIAN
Yes, let’s stroll in the gloaming.
ANGELA
Look at you: “the gloaming.”
BRIAN
Thought you’d like that.
ANGELA
Jane Austen would approve.
ANGELA & BRIAN
If only this were a date on an ordinary day…
(They walk away, as dusk falls.)
[The End]
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American Modern Recordings New York, New York
American Modern Recordings (AMR) specializes in recordings of contemporary classical music, with an emphasis on music by living American composers. AMR is also the house label for the American Modern Ensemble (AME) and its affiliated ensembles. Our albums are critically-acclaimed and top-sellers on Amazon, CDBaby, iTunes, and everywhere recordings are sold. ... more
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