 The
Bullet That Screamed Through Her Mind (or) Codex
(4:20) [8/21/00]
MP3
Liner Notes
When does a hit morph into murder?
When the soul snaps back to its conscience's rants.
Why did Old Pat never do more jobs?
'Cause he a-ten-hutted details of chance.
A silencer for witnesses against the mob
Means extra cash, a simple B & E & Job:
Let yourself in, sneak up on the jane, & squeeze.
What kissed "Gesundheit" when she began to sneeze?:
It
was the bullet that screamed through her mind
That had paused her there forever,
& it's a trap you'd do well keeping out your head.
It was the thought that ka-chooed through his mind:
There'll be no more sneezes for her,
Then he saw her (not as cacked) but really dead.
Yeah, really dead .
Old
Pat's first love was breaking a code
&
making ones harder. I'd always say,
"He could've been a great novelist.":
His eye for small things never faded away,
But unless you use them, the callouses won't stay;
They're like the scales from Paul's eyes that fell away.
Her sneeze had short-out his need to problem-solve,
& no fancy codes can help you do what you're appalled of.
It was the bullet that screamed
through her mind
That had paused her there forever,
& it's a trap you'd do well keeping out your head.
It was the thought that ka-chooed through his mind:
There'll be no more sneezes for her,
So to cope, he'd write codex & stare in bed,
Re-capping Bulls'
Finals in his coded play-by-play:
e.g., "The Glowworm passes crysknife off to Fremen," he would
say,
Or, "Max calls for a tarriff tax while Paul A dunks his way
On through that old Shield Wall!"
& none of this made sense to even those of us who'd read
Frank Herbert, didn't see Pat painting over shadows of his dead,
& the black hole winking at him 'cross the room that always said,
"My God, you've killed them all,
You've killed them all . . ."
It's like standing by this old juke from 80's-land
With no Bruce Cockburn, but money in your hand.
Now Pat opened a shop, watches grunts fix minivans;
If you see him, say I finally understand:
It was the bullet
that screamed through her mind
That had paused her there forever,
& it's a trap you'd do well keeping out your head.
It was the thought that ka-chooed through his mind:
There'll be no more sneezes for her,
Then he saw her (not as cacked) but really dead.
Yeah, really dead. |
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Redemption found in the crummiest moment of realization. This track’s
unlikely hybrid of mid-tempo Erocktronica & Bo Diddley power riffing has an even more unlikely title, but, as
Agent Cooper says, "Crack the code &solve the crime!"
Steve Taylor - “We Don’t Need No Colour Code” &
“Guilty By Association” / The Breeders - “Happiness
Is A Warm Gun” / Bo Diddley - “Bo Diddley’s A Gunslinger”
& “Pretty Thing” / Bruce Springsteen - “She’s
The One” / Los Lobos - “Georgia Slop” & “Peace”
/ Hangmen 3 - “Holla Back (Holla Boston)” / Wicked Beat
Sound System - “Church Of Al Green”
“I was
so out of things, I'd never heard
of the Jehovah's Witnesses.
"Are you a C.O.?" I asked a fellow jailbird.
"No," he answered, "I'm a J.W."
He taught me the "hospital tuck,"
and pointed out the T-shirted back
of Murder Incorporated's Czar Lepke,
there piling towels on a rack,
or dawdling off to his little segrated cell full
of things forbidden the common man:
a portable radio, a dresser, two toy American
flags tied together with a ribbon of Easter palm.
Flabby, bald, lobotimized,
he drifted in his sheepish calm,
where no agonizing reappraisal
jarred his concentration on the electric chair -----
hanging like an oasis in his air
of lost connections . . ."
- Robert Lowell, “Memories Of West Street And
Lepke” (1957)
""Some
men get the world, some men get ex-hookers and a trip to Arizona.
You're in with the former, but my God I don't envy the blood on your
conscience."
Ed kissed her cheek. Lynn got in the car, rolled up the windows. Bud
pressed his hands to the glass.
Ed touched his side, palms half the man's size. The car moved -----
Ed ran with it, hands against hands. A turn into traffic, a goodbye
toot on the horn.
Gold stars. Alone with his dead."
- James Ellroy, L.A. Confidential (1990)
"I've
got planets in my palm ----- there's a red smear on the sky
A star has just exploded somewhere behind my eyes
I n the dead of night the city seems to break down into tribes
You stare at too much concrete ----- you forget the earth's alive.
Outside in the starshine you can see beyond the wall
So take a look and tell me, can you hear those black holes call?"
- Bruce Cockburn, "Outside A Broken Phone
Booth With In My Hand" (1976)
"Big City Europa ----- July of '64 ----- It's AM
Weather blowing bitter off the Baltic
Car slows beside him as he walks
Hubcap slow revolution
Jaundiced looking pockmarked face round in the window
Short greasy black beard
A couple of language stabs settle on English
"It's cold ----- I give you a ride
Don't you want to kiss me?"
This goes on halfway across the cobbled bridge
Driver pulls ahead ----- gets out by the construction fence
Ambles toward him rubbing the bulge in his pants
In his jacket is the revolver
The hand is already in the pocket for warmth and
Fingers slide easily around wood grips
Slow as that predator's footsteps the gun comes out
Arm straightens ----- sight blade bisecting yellow forehead
Wind ----- blue metal streetlight ----- faint twillight
Shining on the corners of stones.
Wave on wave of Life
Like the great wide ocean's roll
Haunting hands of memory
Pluck silver strands of soul
The damage and the dying done
The clarity of light
Gentle bows and glasses raised
To the charity of night."
- Bruce Cockburn, "The Charity Of Night"
(1994)
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