OK – April 19th, 2011 here in beautiful Vancouver, Canada. I’ll keep this update relatively short, as I have a plethora of other things to do (like writing-resumes/invoicing/local interviews/…). I’ve included links to “two” songs that I’ve written & video-recorded as of late, “Time-Cube” & “Water“. Water keeps coming up as a favourite , particularly for the Live At Squamish entry piece I’m working on (deadline for that is April 22nd, but my own JeffaCubed personal deadline = Wednesday April 20th). “Time-Cube” is a cute-song that I wrote last week, and I generally would not use the word cute to describe many of the songs I’ve composed/performed over the past 23 years (yikes…). Time-Cube has also been an interesting songwriting experiment, in that I’ve tried to simply pick up lyrics around the house while I’ve been composing the song (i.e from bookshelves, random scraps of paper, mail, etc.). I’d like to take that songwriting-writing experiment a bit farther and perform live at the next East Vancouver Tweetup (@EastVanLove)- and use the power of the “interwebs” to add new sets of lyrics/verses to that song (or other songs) in “real-time”. We can all HootSuite about that later :)

A.

Time-Cube (April 2011 “wip”)

Verse I.
It’s time to look up now, cause you’re falling behind,
It seems that your luck now, has been finer than mine,
Early one morning, you woke up on time,
Early one morning, you woke with your mind.

Chorus I:
I couldn’t waste time, you couldn’t waste mine
I couldn’t waste time, you couldn’t waste mine;

Oh we tried, to be lost in time.

Verse II.
When you’re facing the crowd now, you’re facing your life,
It’s hard to deny now, when the feelings are right,,
We locked you away now, but it’s your time to shine.

Chorus II:
You couldn’t waste time, I couldn’t waste mine.
You couldn’t waste time, I couldn’t waste mine.

For too long, you’re so long gone.

Verse III.
“The Tropic of Hockey”, Bidini did write,
“Coming Through Slaughter, in “The Skin of a Lion”,
And there’s “No Great Mischief”, when you live on an “Island”.

Chorus III:
I couldn’t waste time, you couldn’t waste mine
I couldn’t waste time, you couldn’t waste mine;

Ramble on, till the poet’s gone.

Verse IV.
Your life is an update, and it lives in a cloud,
Of infinite storage and it don’t make a sound,
It’s also a story and we’re writing it now,
While we’re syncing to servers, through HootSuite somehow,
While we’re syncing to servers, in the Amazon cloud.

Chorus IV:
I couldn’t waste time, you couldn’t waste mine
I couldn’t waste time, you couldn’t waste mine;

Ramble on, till the poet’s gone, the poet’s gone.

by Jeffa āˆ† Cubed, April 2011

B.

Water (“daylight version”, April 2011)

Water,
You often feel nice,
But sometimes you’re ice;But ice cools us down,
And we’re glad you’re around,
Please stay for a while;And you’re often a gas,
But I never question,
What state you’re in;’Cause you’ve been around,
Much longer than me,
And the places you’ve been,
You’ve swam through the oceans;

With mermaids and submarines.

Chorus

And you’re often outside,
But more often than not,
You are inside with us,
You’re the cradle for us,
That’s why all the fuss;

And H20,
Where do you go,
When it’s too hard to flow?
When it’s 40 below,
You go home;

To mermaids and submarines,
And the things in-between.

Verse 2. (written to honour of the exceptional documentary work being produced for Midway Journey and the story that’s now unfolding as a result of their investigation into “Plastic Pollution” in the North Pacific Ocean.)
Water,
You treated us nice,
But these plastics ain’t right,
A tsunami of sounds,
And a visual landscape,
Of things that were found;
Like cigarette lighters,
And bottles galore,
Nature’s not your whore;And we navigate the globe,
With a satellite link,
And you don’t read a map,
And you can’t even think – for yourself;So many of you,
Don’t – give – a fuck,
But your time is up;And water,
You often feel nice,
And sometimes you’re life;

Chorus

And you’re often outside,
But more often than not,
You are inside with us,
You’re the cradle for us,
That’s why all the fuss;

And H20,
Where do you go,
When it’s too hard to flow?
When it’s 40 below,
You go home;

To mermaids and submarines,
And the things in-between.

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