Moonwalking Into the Future

by Fulton Lights

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Little town of not no more, hook it up but the beat won’t go. Engine ain’t worked since lord only knows. Pimp that rascal with racing stripes. Best you fellas believe the hype. I’m the king of dominoes. No it ain’t no shame. No head hang low. I used to be so tore up, but not no more. They took the keys and locked the door back in 1974. Moved it on down to Mexico. Now I’m the shaman of the Avenue. Self-help guru with neck tattoo. Pied piper of the surly and the morose. No it ain’t no shame. Don’t let that head hang low. I used to be so tore up, but not no more.
Always play to the back row of my mind. I’ve been keeping time with a heartbeat. As if time were something to hold. As if time were something to keep. Always keep a diamond in your mind. (Oh wait, that’s a Waits line. Never waste a line.) As an old man I hope to say that I never wasted time. May have lost that sparkle but dammit I never lost my shine. All of my friends are dead and singing to me from the veins in my head, from the depths of the sea. All the cities buried under these stones, still broadcasting, still moving my bones. The children dance and we all get scared. Like the spirit changed. Like they’ve broken their brains. I really should have written down what I heard. Signals deep in the past, I still make out the words. Beware beware. It’s just another empty boast. Just a little gibberish. Channel changing with the Holy Ghost. Saying on and on and on on and on. Sly and the Fam sing a simple song. And Bolan said to bang a gong. And Dre said ring a ding ding dong. I hear them. Saying nothing. I hear them still.
Honey come and shake the worry from your brow. Sad and blue is just a concept just a construct anyhow. Well we all get lonely now. We all get lonely. Softly humming is the way the world spins round. A steady pulse, a gentle thrumming underground. That’s that inner ocean sound. That’s that inner ocean, oh the holy inner ocean. I’ve got nothing on my mind. Wave my hand and pass the time. Waves that shimmer in the light. We are waving back the night. Mind’s a cackling, it’s a kookaburra call. Mine’s a corn maze, it’s a mirrored funhouse wall. And I don’t know myself at all. I don’t know myself but I’m steady trying to find my way back home. We’ve got nothing on our minds. Pop that bubbly pour the wine. We’ve got nowhere left to go, but there ain’t nowhere I’d rather go.
Oh contrary country. Oh the way we twist and shout. We fold up inward, contract and contort, explode out. Oh nostalgia’s a bitch. Thank god for short-term memories. I am disposable but I run around shouting “I am the greatest.” I am the greatest. It’s a love train. It’s a G thang. Well it’s ok. But oh lord, we’re sinking. Well it’s ok, it’s ok. Oh faded from the elements, all that inclement weather. Oh ancient honkytonk medicines, red-haired strangers, my favorite Rhodes Scholar is Kris Kristofferson. And oh cracked like old leather, ultimate breaks and beats, ultimately broken, beat down, recycled, rinse and repeat. Oh three decades later I figure out that there’s nothing to figure out, old man. Suddenly you’re old school, you’ve been around the block. Save your politrickin’, I’m voting Gelb/Callahan.
I was watching Yojimbo, feeling down on my luck. It was Fort Greene 2008, feeling empty, feeling stuck. You were out there somewhere, running around. I couldn’t even have dreamed of you. I couldn’t even have dreamt of the world we would create. I place my hand on your belly, we watch and wait. You take my hand. I touch your face. The baby kicks and says what is this place? And when I get down, and I will get down, remind me that I couldn’t have imagined a life so full. Remind me that love is creation, and creation is light. Remind me. Babe if you can hear me in there knock twice. Alright.
General Mills leads the Rush’n Attack gassed up on the sugar rush of afternoon snacks. That was a lifetime ago, before I couldn’t relax. Now I’m moving forward looking back. Moonwalking into the future. Nights I’d lie in bed listening to the clock radio. 1090 on the AM always had the O’s. And I’d fall asleep to double plays by the Ripken bros working the glove. I’ve got a single freezy-freaky on my left hand. No sequins, just thermochromic chemicals on my left hand. And when I wear it around you know I’m the goddamned man.


released December 3, 2018

Produced/mixed by Andrew Spencer Goldman at Here & There Studio. All words and music by ASG, except words on #3 by ASG and John Lindenbaum. Little Town of Not No More mixed by Eamonn Aiken at The Bastille Studio.

Recorded by Steve Silverstein at Steveco Worldwide in Brooklyn NY; Eamonn Aiken at The Bastille Studio in Arlington VA; J. Robbins at Magpie Cage in Baltimore MD; Peter Hess at Fort St Marks in Brooklyn NY; John Lindenbaum at Nadalands HQ in Fort Collins CO; ASG at Here & There Studio.

Mastered by TJ Lipple.

Jason Caddell - slide guitar on #6
Abrielle Cecilia Jurmo Goldman - syllables on #7
ASG - guitars, bass, keys, vocals, misc.
Peter Hess - saxophones
John Lindenbaum - backing vox on #3
TJ Lipple - drums, marimba, vibraphone
Patrick McMinn - trumpet on #2
Steve Silverstein - melodica on #4

Art/layout by Austin Stahl.

For Abbi with love.


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Fulton Lights Baltimore, Maryland

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