k. diable

FIRSTS

I’ve set up shop out here on the False River. It is a world away from New Orleans and for that I am grateful.  The purpose of this “retreat” is to finalize in concept, lyrics and arrangement the songs and ethos for this new record we’ll be recording in a week.

I packed only what I needed. Notebooks from the past few years, a hard-drive with all my writing since 2004, a few books (Bukowski, Emerson & Dr. John to keep me company), the guitar.

Digging up all of these “lost songs” and lost writings has been quite a process. Thousands of pieces. Where do you begin? 

I found this piece of prose and it still really resonates.  Can’t believe how young I was writing it…. it’s funny our younger, less evolved selves somehow always seem the most aware and in-tune. I’m trying to get younger every day.

FIRSTS  -  06/06/2005 

There have been a series of firsts
All of which I was unable to commit to memory
When they were a first
Because fresh minds do not know of their impending life’s significance,
Until the moment has passed

I was thinking of a friend, a special friend
Remembering when he had sent me postal mail
Inside, a creation of true form, made by hand
With intent and ideals placed beneath its crisply sticky package
It like was Christmas for a kid, with faith not only in an imaginary man,
But the good of man kind

Upon unraveling his gift, a creation meant to serve as tangible evidence of loosely placed feelings
I received a sharp pang in my belly
Like had never been there before
The mundane day had broken it’s own skin
And now there were streams of tears turning from the source
It was good to be alive again
And there was God in that package in that way,
Making me see God in the man.

And when you see God in a man
You love the man
But the man is no more than a hazy façade of atoms and skin tone
Tactile charms, curious fingers and open wide tongues
You think you have found what is worth holding on, but
it’s really the God you want

And sometimes a simple man will deliver
Deliver the gifts you did not know you needed or were even looking for
He’ll get caught in the doorway, between the words that prophets read
And the uncertain spaces left waiting on the pages in between

But now as I have seen the ghosts divide
and the mystery distill from the science
of this
I have seen that the man is no more than a myth
Charming, warm, but nothing more than an imaginary magic man is to a wishful kid 

He is not the bible or the serpents tongue,
Or the apple, or the cavalry’s guns
He’s a man who showed you some,
Some of what now you can’t remember

We were just searching for truth
And once, we knew we had found it
In the God that we could channel by
Mortal fingertips and two dreamer’s prowess

There was a first evidence of truth
Progress
And the love that a man can deliver
Thought he was not the one, who should deliver you

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kristin diable