Dream Radio: What Will Have Happened

by Jordan O'Jordan

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about

A discussion of decisions and future perfect tenses, with special attention paid to the advice of our former and future selves. Here's to hearing antique and anticipated transmissions.

Cast:
Our Perplexed Protagonist: Jordan O’Jordan
His Sweet Memory: Colleen Johnson
His Honest History: DavEnd
The Sirens of the Nebulous: Parveneh Angus, Barret Anspach, Bruce Bond, Jack Carroll, Rhea Dorsey, Whitney Ford-Terry, Seth Garrison, Jacob Jaffe, Lexi Lee, and Briana Marela

credits

released 01 May 2014

Recorded and Mixed by Bob Schwenkler
Mastered by Ephriam Nagler
All songs by Jordan O’Jordan
Choir Arrangements by Barret Anspach
Cover Photo by Joseph P. Traina
Nebula Photo by NASA

With Deepest Thanks for Inspiration to:
Our DreamSelves; Adam, Terry, and Vickie Smith; DavEnd; Colleen Johnson; All the Sirens of the Nebulous; Kerry Farrell; Alison Maurer; Onyx of Olympia; Joseph P. Traina; Clyde Peterson; Ashlee Hunter; Ryan Weadon; Gallery 1412; Billy Joe Miller; Shirley Collins; Jonathan Tierney; Francis McWhannell; Theo Hilton; Morrissey; Madeline ffitch; Elspeth Vance; The Radich Lab

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Track Name: Bifurcation: Introducing the Sirens of the Nebulous
Now, it’s not unexpected
that these things happen in the dark
But the shadows you cast
on the wall of my room
With the moon at your back
Made indelible marks:
Made of silver, made of autumn,
Made of skipping stones that sunk
and then went straight to the bottom;
Made of copper, made of clay, made of cardamom pods that I put in my tea

Now, there’s some good in waiting,
and there’s some good in not
And there’s Sirens that sing
of this nebulous state:
Between spinning the bottle
and sex in the street;
Between honest intention
and outright deceit.

Memory:
Hush now, dear friend, do not speak!
There are words unsaid and they shouldn’t be.
Too much talking makes a man run far.
Surely, he’ll understand if he really cares.

History:
Don’t be coy, boy, don’t be shy!
There are words unsaid,
but they shouldn’t be.
Now, I know it’s hard to say
all these things out loud,
But it’s okay—you can talk to me.

Go on Useless! Go on Obvious!
Go on Well-wished-And-Bemoaning!
Go on Stainless! Go on Seamless!
Go on all these things that I’m wanting.

But, Oh! Did you feel this coming on?
Like a snowstorm making wet tracks
up the path of my spine.
And, Oh! Did you hear that distant sound?
Like an old drum being thumped
in some bunker that sunk underground?

It sounds like: O!
Track Name: Vigils for a Fevered Dreamer
Did we die in our sleep?
And let our dreambodies
take over our senses.
Or was there some slip?
From the previous world
to this new universe.

It’s my old sense of self,
that I’ve held for so long,
that seems hard to recover.
Or should I just switch tactics,
and simply step backward
through some silver mirror?

Was there something I missed?
In that brief, subtle shift
between further and nearer.
Did new laws get passed?
Where the waves of your brain
are the gauge of your fervor.

Each measurement made,
As can easily be said,
Is a fact worth repeating.
But a scale of assertion,
Without calibration,
Is, frankly, misleading.

And this strange, unassailable age,
Like the view from the edge of a cliff,
Leaves us dizzy and churning,
And this world, with its treasures untold,
Like some sirens of old, golden throat,
Sets my heart quickly burning.
Track Name: The Sirens' Chorale
The Sirens of the Nebulous:
There is room for the righteous at my table,
There are scores of untold treasures to be found,
There is hard work to be done
by the ablest of bodies,
And each heart made light by virtue
wins a crown!

Go on! Be Done!

Now, friend, seek not the visions of your fathers,
Nor ask for the burdens of the old,
But instead, friend, set forth
to attain beyond the others,
All the beauties that the nebulous might hold!

Go on! Be Done!

Do continue to renew your true beliefs, friend,
Make your honesty a grand and golden shield,
Turn away all your betrayers,
in an effort to be lighter,
When the gravity of truth shall be revealed!

Memory: Here I was, your Memory.
Here I was, encased in time.

History: Here I am, your History.
Here I am the things you said.

Memory: Here I was a maiden once.
Here I was an epic poem.

History: Here I am, unfinished form.
Here I am to take your side!

Memory: I have known him. I have gone.

History: I have tried, friend, but there’s no end.

The Sirens of the Nebulous: Go on! Be done!
Track Name: Lauds for Your Lost Time
Memory:
Slipping silent through the trees,
Smelling night and skinning knees,
Oh, the wind it blew; Oh, the wind it blew.

There we heard and there we saw,
There was hay and barley straw,
There it grew; there it grew.

And you explained what you had seen,
But you didn’t know
what you did think of me, yet,
I knew that, By God, I should bet
You would be gone by morning.

Here it comes: Silence.
Here it looks Golden.
Hearing those Sirens,
Telling me, “Go, then!”

The Sirens of the Nebulous: Go!
Track Name: Elegy from a Cell Phone
Now, it’s not gold explosions,
Nor leaves on the breeze,
Falling down from the tops
of old tawny oak trees,
That reveals how I feel
when you stare straight at me.
I’ve been told it’s these things,
but I must disagree.

And my blue eyes won’t change
at the sound of a bell,
Nor my skin color turn dear,
you know this right well,
There’s no sudden exposure
or shape-shifting spell,
That can alter my form,
as far as I can tell.

You call six times again,
from the phone of a friend,
You call three times across from my street,
But despite sonic blows, I remain in repose,
In these dreams, dear, it seems
I’m awake, though asleep.

And this present senescence
refreshes my thoughts,
And reminds me of finals,
and books that we bought,
For our classes, to classify
colds that we caught,
While we may not have passed,
well we gave a good shot.

And this blustery wind
can bend branches like strings,
And this staunch second hand
starts me timing small things,
Like the moments I spend
while my cell phone just rings,
There’s no answering for
what fortune fate thus brings.

But, you call six times again,
from the phone of a friend,
You call three times across from my street,
But despite sonic blows, I remain in repose,
In these dreams, dear, it seems
I’m awake, though asleep.

Now, It’s not obvious. It’s not nice.
It’s not missed calls or voicemails
that make this thing not-right,
It’s a color this morning I saw in the leaves,
Like an icicle forming on my true love’s eaves.

But, you call six times again,
from the phone of a friend,
You call three times across from my street,
But despite sonic blows, I remain in repose,
In these dreams, dear, it seems
I’m awake, though asleep.
Track Name: Revelation: Autumnal Equinox
There was no radio,
singing sweet and soft and slow,
That you could have danced to if you chose.
Nor was that any sense of exhaustion,
Nor a wild wind, to which caution
could have been bagged up and thrown.
No, what struck you was the silence—
so hard you almost lost your balance,
Falling headlong in the road.
And it seemed odd and rather sad,
That something supposedly so grand,
Could have turned out so distressingly mild.
No, it didn’t drive you wild.
Nor was it some sacred call.
You didn’t even feel that fall.

So, you decided at that moment:
You said: Now, these data aren’t consistent
With what I know, and thus it cannot be the case.
There was no storm, no flash of lightning,
No revelation sweet and frightening,
No amazement when I saw you angel face.
And that thought was disappointing,
Nearly verging on revolting
that your feelings weren’t appropriately fierce.
Your illusion was thus broken,
And your hope so swiftly taken,
That you thought: well, all relation
must just be some kind of fatal farce,
Or an empty act so crass.
And I don’t need this shit at all.
I didn’t even feel that fall.

You got no time at all.
Track Name: Analysis: Time, It has a Gravity
Now, Time, it has a gravity.
The 4th and 5th dimension
are in fact, attached inside of me,
And I am so attracted
to this mass that’s made of memory.
The further I fly from it;
thus, the closer it does seem to be.
It’s like that song that’s sung by Morrissey.
He goes: The more you ignore me,
the closer I get. You’re wasting your time.
The more you ignore me,
the closer I get. You’re wasting your time.

But the problem with nostalgia,
is that all the things that happened,
Through my imprecise remembering,
seem to soften out and flatten,
Like a postcard of the ocean
lacks the weight of the horizon.

‘Cause perspective only feigns a 3rd dimension.
‘cause perspective is an optical illusion.
‘cause perspective only simulates our vision.
Track Name: Threnody for False Impression
Now, it’s not impossible to be beyond belief,
But let’s be honest though:
I’d rather be deceived.

Now, here is the prickly peel,
Of all of the times we’ve tried,
To feel how we didn’t feel.
To leave all these things unsaid.

And here is an orange rind,
Made bitter with icy pith,
But, let’s see it as silver-lined,
With sweet citrus fruit underneath.

‘Coz, it’s not impossible to be beyond belief,
But let’s be honest though:
I’d rather be deceived.

So, take time in healing, Hon.
Make space with your spinnerets,
Keep on weaving that silk cocoon,
That glitters like diamond flecks.

Hang that hammock there from a tree,
Stare up at the dusky stars,
I’ll dream of you, if you dream of me,
Dancing there in you fancy clothes.

‘Cause, it’s not impossible to be beyond belief,
But let’s be honest though: I’d rather be deceived.
No, it’s not impossible to be beyond belief,
But let’s be honest though: I’d rather be deceived.
Track Name: Revelation: Vernal Equinox
So, we ducked that crazy cloud,
and we ran right into a crowd,
Holding signs with some acetylene heart.
They were chanting ‘bout damnation,
making manic proclamations,
‘Bout the way this world is fallin’ apart.
And we were a couple drinks from plastered,
but we were drunk enough to ask ‘em,
What it was that they were tryin’ to say.
They said: we’re all gonna die—
here and now or by-and-by—
so in the meantime,
we better live in God’s way.

But we jumped up, we said:
Hold up! What you tryin’ to pull?!
Now, we’ve heard enough
of this hellfire-and-brimstone stuff.
These Endtime-fears, we know full-well.
And we got no idea where
we’re going from here,
but we know it’s nothing new.
And we got no way to tell, honey,
but let’s just wait until we all get through.
No, there is no way to tell,
so let’s just wait until we all get through.

But, you got this old VCR that you bought
at a yard sale down the street,
And you go this old machination,
making clackin’clankin’ sounds,
just like stompin’ feet,
And you’ve got a spinning wheel
and a wishing well
in a box above your bed,
And you got these homemade lists,
deep inside of your chest,
of the things you still might need.

Sirens: And I know that it comes on
awful slow without someone.

But, you gotta know
there’s no hope in your views
when the bulk of your news
starts to verge on fanatic,
You got a note from the Pope,
that you found in the bottom of a box
that was sealed in some attic,
And it said: “Wait! Don’t forget
that the end of this world
hasn’t happened yet.
Don’t let doubt and regret
make you bitter for life
when it tastes so sweet.
It tastes so sweet.”

But, you got this old VCR that you bought
at a yard sale down the street,
And you go this old machination,
making clackin’clankin’ sounds,
just like stompin’ feet,
And you’ve got a spinning wheel
and a wishing well
in a box above your bed,
And you got these homemade lists,
deep inside of your chest,
of the things you still might need.
Track Name: Battle Hymn for a Young Cynic
So, bravely up, fair allies!
Though I know you’re tired all the same,
You got a stove at home that’s warm,
a pot of soup still simmering,
Your woven hats, your molded masks,
your minds with cells as thick as trees,
You’ve got these ancient rune tattoos
along your arms, and up your sleeves.

But that’s not gonna stop what’s a’coming.
No silk spiderwebs will staunch
the storms that they’ve summoned.
Nor your Talisman-schools
turn their raindrops away,
Nor the books that you’ve read
make blue skies from the grey.

But, have hope, my friends!
I know you’ve got capable hands,
Mighty ropes may be braided
from gossamer strands.
And we’ll lash up our lofts
to build rafts from our beds,
And build levies from novels
to hold back the floods.
Track Name: The Sirens' Reprise
Sirens:
Here we are again, my friend:
we’re filled with virtue.
Here we are again, my friend:
There is no time.
Here we are again, my friend:
With all these garden plots to tend to.
Here we are again, my friend:
It’s all the same.

Go on! Be Done!
Track Name: Conclusion: Survival is not Virtue
Have caution, my son,
in deciding where to learn,
‘cause not every man
has good secrets to discern.
Have patience. Take time
in the choosing of your path,
‘cause all men with stray
in that wilderness of self.

And don’t be honest
in your words or your opinions
Don’t be righteous
in your dealing with the world
Don’t think all your years of virtue
won’t come back again to hurt you
In those first unbridled minutes
when the final table’s turned.

Now I’ve held diamonds,
and I’ve fought demons,
And I’ve made friendships
that didn’t last,
And I’ve jumped canyons
and I’ve known kinsmen,
I’ve seen the first light
breakin’ in the East.

And I’ve had saviors and I’ve had seizures,
And I’ve made choices in my beliefs,
And I’ve held vipers and I’ve had visions,
I’ve heard these voices all my life.

They say: Don’t be honest
in your words or your opinions.
Don’t be righteous
in your dealings with the world,
Don’t think all your years of virtue
won’t come back again to hurt you,
In those first unbridled minutes,
when the final table’s turned.

Now, son, don’t listen
when men tell you that they are holy,
that they are true,
‘cause life is sinful and life is evil,
and survival is not virtue.

So don’t be honest
in your words or your opinions.
Don’t be righteous
in your dealings with the world,
Don’t think all your years of virtue
won’t come back again to hurt you,
In those first unbridled minutes,
when the final table’s turned.
Track Name: Caveats for a Gladsome Light
Was it Grace that taught
that man to see?
Or, would he have caught on,
on his own?

Now, I have known things,
I have gone ways,
I have all these dreams,
Of the Old Days.

So, be still my child;
don’t you cry anymore,
There are words
for the pools in your eyes.

Now, it’s surprising,
How we hold on,
But, my mind clings,
To these nouns.

And it tears my expectations.
But, I don’t fear what our next phase is.

But, it’s not ominous,
it’s not sad,
It’s not just bad luck
that you’re leaving.
Don’t you know all of us
have already had
Our hard times with decisions.

But, son, there’s no staircase,
no single straight road
That’s made out of gold,
no highway that’s hidden,
There is no clear path
of which I’ve been told, son,
That leads us to heaven.
Track Name: Vespers for an Old Pragmatist
Hold this, just for a moment.
Hold my hand for my will it is weakened

Oh, Crabgrass, don’t you cry.
We’re not orphans.
Crave not, friend, their path of gold.
We’re not going.

Make of me an ivy vine,
Make of me a cherry stone,
Make of this a time that I’ve
not squandered with the things I’ve done.