douglas brent smith

selling out selling out selling out is so much fun you look at me and whisper you look at her and run look into the mirror and tell me who's the one selling out selling out selling out is so much fun you say all those decisions are driving you insane you've got a first level problem and a third rate brain selling out selling out selling out is so much fun the dollar signs are shining right before your eyes reach into the money bag and pull out a surprise selling out selling out selling out is so much fun.  

  converging urges pull power plays pull lost switches pull shades thru the blades hanging pendulously; sharp edges dulled fast focus slowed merging dervishes sing in the distance youth grabs a number and waits in line. -- douglas brent smith

  a mask or so ago we felt the river flow an endless rippling wave eternal moments saved within its ceaseless motion the river meets the ocean absorbed in all its glory it learns another story of larger issues when the flowing never ends a cycle set for spinning eternally and winning loud and rich and bold producing newfound gold a nudge a mighty mod of prayer offered to God (listen. when the answer comes let's be ready to write down exactly what we hear...) -- douglas brent smith

  when it isn't enough to be weird when it isn't enough to be funny reality gathering speed pleads for shelter and just enough money when the middle class values scream what! ever happened to all that we've got? the air in the chamber starts moving in sounds that the masses can hear so the forces of wealth weave and hide oblivious to working day pride until with a shock wave a change the power is all re-arranged don't grab it or stab it, remain the journey discovering new plains the mountains are there for the climbing and the essence is all in the timing. -- douglas brent smith

in form not constant higher planes people versus civilization drains knowledge so much wasted rain seeping with the tide away in visage not former outer ken struggles heaped on burdens when awareness flashes now and then ghostlike disappearing end. -- douglas brent smith

are you looking for secrets? shortcuts and delight? perhaps someone's questions whose answers are right? is the sport in the victory but not in defeat? or does struggle with strength in itself seem complete? when the game hits conclusion and one side has won does your playing with passion surrender to fun? let's gather again when the tournament ends. -- douglas brent smith  

do you think the hoops'll play? no, we'd better go with fire they just eat it up when i swallow the flame bit but it's too windy we might set each other on fire (how's that for a big finish?) no, the balls, we'll do the juggling steals maybe some magic (slight of  hand) hey! did you bring the accordion? the guitars will never carry in this wind and yes it's cold but we're down to our last dollar and Quick! here comes some kids put on the big red shoes we are on! -- douglas brent smith NOTES: When Peter and I did these types of shows (not sure if this one was sponsored or if we were busking) our hair (yes, we once had hair!) was so long that catching on fire was a legitimate concern. At times, we could smell hair burning.  The hoops that we used were hand-made by Peter and covered in cloth tape. They were not completely round. If we had more money in our pockets then maybe we could have put fresh strings on our guitars so that they would resonate louder, even...

there must have been three or four reasons why the cards in your hand shook waiting on the meld smoke swirling around your lip (swollen from the mouthpiece of a stubborn trumpet) sky writing secret indecipherable signals playing your hand against your partner's  lack of bullets "nothing but clothes" you said a handful of jacks and queens powerless in the endgame of tricks but that's not what you were thinking of i could tell with the gin nearly empty and the ashtray full of roaches some sweet lucid larceny was taking place and for a moment eyes meeting eyes you pick-pocketed a parcel of unsung refrains from within me and never cracked a smile. -- douglas brent smith

the cold wind blew uncut as ocean waves kicked stone gray jetties large gaping cracks between the rocks long suggestive pauses in our dialogue steps away a homasote haunted castle beyond a secret mist two blocks in the distance a single block between what we said and what pooled below the surface moist light beach sand crisp night air a buoy on the horizon this is your turf your haunting ground the smells salt sweet gulls and mussels and popcorn blended inseparable from that late summer visit our individual yet tethered travels returning each of us again to us in our own ocean so deep we may not swim beyond the mystery of the tingling unhinging phrases unstrung broken guitar strings a chipped boardwalk recollection stunning afternoon thru evening tones incidental sublimations consequential quirks of fate probing endless questions colored by scattered sighs barely audible experience unsaid unconsummated ties that clouds cover us and the moon that night one of our full moons stalking us ...

there were chance meetings distributed miles and months touching us taunting us locking us into a long tight wire of vibrating nuance you knew this, and kept on dancing i knew this, and...what? what  did it mean? how would it turn? oh how we would yearn...oh how we would learn.  

you dance to any number of different melodies counterpoint included shadows and obscure warnings aside what matters is the moment of decision the direction (the action) the tree limb that bends in the wind never curses the rain it takes many different notes to complete a symphony and the twelve tones of reason serve as aids not limitations the only lies we tell (whispered to shadows) as rests in the measure (the measure of our beat) the heat from growing pressure cuts the tension with release. -- douglas brent smith 

in the land of collage the parts of the whole are not merely parts of the whole touching convincingly embracing connection they ARE the whole picture functioning as one.                                        the vision                                        amounts                                        to                                        everything. -- douglas brent smith

sleepless resting scattered flecks, invisible wisdom floating sending encoded messages in slumberland tones nearly imperceptable the white noise of unknown visitors walking as ghosts spirits in disguise inside pulsing faces in the mist in the midst of eval or a ion... -- douglas brent smith   

she watched me repeatedly cutting random pictures from stacks of magazines, old books, catalogues, yearbooks, newspapers, and never questioned why and gave secret smiles and all was right whatever else we've done you did make it more fun. -- douglas brent smith The Green Kiss of Departure - collage by douglas brent smith  

the cityscape skyline triggers figures certain wild untamed sophistication gathered neon electric smoky fast gathered                     forces forces our focus beyond the eye's  tries for unity into the scattered invitation to collage. -- douglas brent smith  

maybe the cosmic scheme of things looks like a jigsaw puzzle to you because you have a box full of missing pieces but they could easily have been found falling from another puzzle and together (if you can picture this) could be. -- douglas brent smith  

  she sits writing notations thoughts reflections in her journal and i am filled with stillness she is really here and happy quietly unassuming as traffic on parkway pours by with a steady flow and she goes on radiant, content, perfect. -- douglas brent smith

stealing's a way of life in the city if you've got it hold on someone else wants it and will take it looking or not you'll lose it classic redistribution of property (not Marx but marks) here and gone drug money means no limits no fear no more here here and hey robin hood you ain't, and neither am i rockefeller fella. -- douglas brent smith, May 1978 

seriously she said do you know that some people are so poor they have to watch black and white TV? as if evidence enough of suffering and i replied (later to the clown who stretched my hoops to balance the laughs) hell there are people who would  eat a black and white TV if they had one. -- douglas brent smith, 1978  

  we split totally quit                         took off took a cab went                         to lunch detours paramours (here no more)                         we're gone (so long) other places golden traces burned by the self-appointed authoritative church                         (who's church not mayan) snuck off cleared out no trumpets shout no plain fair                         (fairly drawn                         we're gone) take it, embrace it, grab your maze crazy whites tonight's our flight                 ...