Two Tickets to Paradise

All Art is Martial Art!

First, check out this song! This is demo for a song called "Paradise". I recorded it with the mysterious Richard Feaster at the legendary Castle Studio in TN. Paradise will be on my upcoming CD-LP, now known as "Blue Turns Black".

In other CD news, Jerry Hager and I will soon be visiting the reclusive Mr. Feaster down at The Castle to listen to the final mixes on our CD.

The 12 songs on the album are all but completed and the CD will definitely be finalized within the next few weeks.

Go here to check out some other songs, download MP3's and buy my other CDS.

Tell you friends!

While you listen, read these poems and lyrics. Don't be ashamed if you begin to become aroused...

In the Event of the End of the World

now,
with the moon tucked
in the corner of your eye,
will you see the night for what it truly is,
or insist
again
that stars are shards of daytime's ruin
and that wine is just
a purple
lie?



Valentine’s Day, 2006

We meet where catacomb
machines dream
another world -
myself and
the girl
with the opal laughters that
shatter
with smoothe smells
of antique pleasure.


Faraway Sound (Lyrics)

Seen my baby walkin'
Seen her turn away
Seen my baby leave me
On a Winter's day

When a raindrop hits to the sidewalk
it makes a tiny crown
When a teardrop hits to the sidewalk
it makes a faraway sound

The day I met my baby
The day of the eclipse
I thought to myself maybe I should kiss those secret lips

When there's a black shadow on the sun
There's no shadow on the ground
And the shadow of your lover leaving
Makes a faraway sound

Ma cheri est la mer
Oui ma cheri est le soleil et la lune
Elle est printemps, elle est automne
Elle est septembre, elle est juin

Seen my little baby
Smiling in a Dream
Like a stack of bullets
In a black magazine

And a Dream ain't nothin' but a Slave
who's bonds have come unbound
And a Slave rushing through the rushes
makes a faraway sound



The Thirteenth Stream

Open books of Autumn
in green-dappled
black coffee
mornings-
mourning summer spent
and lifeless-
dying by rows.
Pale
sun.
Purple
crows.
These words written in
secret
crimes and sacred
forgeries.
Not desperate in need
but in desire.
Desperate like fire
yearns for fire -
and rivers
run in ruin
to the sea.

Be humble in your sleepy hands on this world.
Be a killer in Heaven.

Love, Joe Nolan