So I was trying to go to sleep - wasn't working - and thought about the mental image I had in my head while writing Mars' Dirt: a gritty scene on the sidelines of what could be in Cowboy Bebop's world, in which a man contemplates his own sad state on Mars and considers how valuable Martian soil used to be and how much he could've used that cash when it mattered.
And I came up with this. I'm going to put a noir-style spoken word over the second stretch between the stutter-muting (3:17 - 3:33) and the end (starting roughly at 7:30). It takes about 2 and a half minutes to read it, the way I do it.
"Red dirt. [inhales a cigarette]
As far as the eye or some enhanced binoculars could see. Not that the horizon's real far, here. Used to be I could take some of that dirt back home and sell it for about the same price per kilo as gold, maybe buy Mom something nice. Buy a ticket back, in any case. Mom is at the headrest, now. Barely knows who she is, nevermind who I am. Always used to get upset when I called in the middle of the night but I had a hard time with area codes before, now ... well forget it.
She's lived a long time .. and I love Mom, but ... .... [takes a long drag]
People live a long time, now. but nobody wants to admit the last 30 years are a waste. Half the kids I've met that have great grandparents - great-great grandparents - in the headrest don't even know it... parents don't wanna to show them. Can't blame them, really. I have a good excuse for not visiting but... would I if I could? I got a big heart but it only gets so big when it's always getting crushed. [inhales again]
Some of that red dirt could've bought some care. Now, it's all just dirt again. And she doesn't know who I am anymore. Doctor says she's got 15 years ahead of her. I do love my Mom. [inhales]
I'm not a bad person. I'm not a bad person. I just ... "Labels: anecdote, demo, Ignition, Impulse Nine, jazz, music, true |
