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Return to Sender

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Return-To-Sender

I gave a letter to the postman,
he put it his sack.
Bright in early next morning,
he brought my letter back.

She wrote upon it:
Return to sender, address unknown.
No such number, no such zone.
We had a quarrel, a lover’s spat
I write I’m sorry but my letter keeps coming back.

So then I dropped it in the mailbox
And sent it special D.
Bright in early next morning
it came right back to me.

She wrote upon it:
Return to sender, address unknown.
No such number, no such zone.

This time I’m gonna take it myself
and put it right in her hand.
And if it comes back the very next day
then I’ll understand the writing on it

Return to sender, address unknown.
No such person, no such zone.

So it’s just an excuse to put a few postman songs… should I just put 2, since he always rings twice?

Anyway, I can’t but post this one.

(Stop)
Oh yes, wait a minute Mister Postman
(Wait)
Wait Mister Postman
Please Mister Postman, look and see
(Oh yeah)
If there’s a letter in your bag for me
(Please, Please Mister Postman)
Why’s it takin’ such a long time
(Oh yeah)
For me to hear from that boy of mine
There must be some word today
From my boyfriend so far away
Pleas Mister Postman, look and see
If there’s a letter, a letter for me
I’ve been standin’ here waitin’ Mister Postman
So patiently
For just a card, or just a letter
Sayin’ he’s returnin’ home to me
(Mister Postman)
Mister Postman, look and see
(Oh yeah)
If there’s a letter in your bag for me
(Please, Please Mister Postman)
Why’s it takin’ such a long time
(Oh yeah)
For me to hear from that boy of mine
So many days you passed me by
See the tears standin’ in my eyes
You didn’t stop to make me feel better
By leavin’ me a card or a letter
(Mister Postman)
Mister Postman, look and see
(Oh yeah)
If there’s a letter in your bag for me
(Please, Please Mister Postman)
Why’s it takin’ such a long time
(Why don’t you check it and see one more time for me, you gotta)
Wait a minute
Wait a minute
Wait a minute
Wait a minute
(Mister Postman)
Mister Postman, look and see
(C’mon deliver the letter, the sooner the better)
Mister Postman

And here’s the Beatles version

So, to round it up here’s The Letter by The Box Tops

Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane
I ain’t got time to take a fast train
Lonely days are gone, I’m a-goin’ home
‘Cause my baby just wrote me a letter

I don’t care how much money I gotta spend
Got to get back to my baby again
Lonely days are gone, I’m a-goin’ home
‘Cause my baby just wrote me a letter

Well, she wrote me a letter
Said she couldn’t live without me no more
Listen, mister, can’t you see I got to get back
To my baby once more?

Anyway, yeah gimme a ticket for an aeroplane
[ From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/the-letter-lyrics-the-box-tops.html ]
I ain’t got time to take a fast train
Lonely days are gone, I’m a-goin’ home
‘Cause my baby just wrote me a letter

Well, she wrote me a letter
Said she couldn’t live without me no more
Listen, mister, can’t you see I got to get back
To my baby once more?

Anyway, yeah gimme a ticket for an aeroplane
I ain’t got time to take a fast train
Lonely days are gone, I’m a-goin’ home
‘Cause my baby just wrote me a letter
Because my baby just wrote me a letter

Last but not least, a small gift. You could just as well read it. Thanks Lou!
Read it till the end though, it’s crazy!

Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now Mid-August which meant he had
been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had
to show was three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone
calls. True, when school had ended and she’d returned to Wisconsin, and he to
Locust, Pennsylvania, she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would
date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful.

But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when
he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning
underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he
pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothing of
some neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion.
It was more than the human mind could bear.

Visions of Marsha’s faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual
abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn’t understand how
she really was. He, Waldo, alone understood this. He had intuitively grasped
every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile. She needed him, and
he wasn’t there (Awww…).

The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers’ Parade was scheduled
to appear. He’d just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar
fifty and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from
Marsha. There was nothing but a circular from the Amalgamated Aluminum Company
of America inquiring into his awing needs. At least they cared enough to write.

It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. Then it struck
him. He didn’t have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion,
true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself
parcel post, special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to
purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a
medium sized cardboard box just right for a person of his build. He judged that
with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few airholes,
some water, perhaps some midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as
going tourist.

By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post
office had agreed to pick him up at three o’clock. He’d marked the package
“Fragile”, and as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam rubber
cushioning he’d thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and
happiness on Marshas face as she opened her door, saw the package, tipped the
deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She
would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he’d only thought of
this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne
up. He landed with a thud in a truck and was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough
weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about
it though. After it was over he’d said he still respected her and, after all,
it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no he didn’t love her, he
did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what
Bill could teach Waldo – but that seemed many years ago.

Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend, walked in through the porch screen
door and into the kitchen. “Oh gawd, it’s absolutely maudlin outside.” “Ach, I
know what you mean, I feel all icky!” Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton
robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on
the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face. “I’m supposed to be
taking these salt pills, but,” she wrinkled her nose, “they make me feel like
throwing up.” Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she’d
seen on television. “God, don’t even talk about that.” She got up from the
table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue
vitamins. “Want one? Supposed to be better than steak,” and then attempted to
touch her knees. “I don’t think I’ll ever touch a daiquiri again.”

She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the
telephone. “Maybe Bill’ll call,” she said to Sheila’s glance. Sheila nibbled on
a cuticle. “After last night, I thought maybe you’d be through with him.” “I
know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place.”
She gestured, raising her arms upwards in defense. “The thing is, after a
while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all I didn’t
really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him. You know
what I mean.” She started to scratch. Sheila was giggling with her hand over
her mouth. “I’ll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while,” here
she bent forward in a whisper, “I wanted to!” Now she was laughing very loudly.

It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang
the doorbell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson
opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his
green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen cent tip that Marsha had
gotten out of her mother’s small beige pocketbook in the den. “What do you
think it is?” Sheila asked. Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back.
She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living
room. “I dunno.”

Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the
muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down
the center of the carton. “Why don’t you look at the return address and see who
it’s from?” Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the
vibrating footsteps. It would be soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. “Ah, god,
it’s from Waldo!” “That schmuck!” said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation.
“Well, you might as well open it,” said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the
staple flap. “Ah sst,” said Marsha, groaning, “he must have nailed it shut.”
They tugged on the flap again. “My God, you need a power drill to get this
thing open!” They pulled again. “You can’t get a grip.” They both stood still,
breathing heavily.

“Why don’t you get a scissor,” said Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but
all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her
father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs, and when
she came back up, she had a large sheet metal cutter
in her hand. “This is the best I could find.” She was very out of breath.
“Here, you do it. I-I’m gonna die.” She sank into a large fluffy couch and
exhaled noisily. Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the
end of the cardboard flap, but the blade was too big and there wasn’t enough
room. “God damn this thing!” she said feeling very exasperated. Then smiling,
“I got an idea.” “What?” said Marsha. “Just watch,” said Sheila, touching her
finger to her head.

Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could
barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat, and he could feel his
heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and
walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her
knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath, and plunged the
long blade through the middle of the package, through the masking tape, through
the cardboard, through the cushioning and (thud) right through the center of
Waldo Jeffers head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red
to pulsate gently in the morning sun.

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Written by audiogrammes

June 30, 2013 at 14:17

Paradise Lost

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Phantom Of The Paradise

It all started when I realized that Paul Williams was on Daft Punk‘s latest album Random Access Memories.

Paul Williams is an amazing songwriter. I discovered him listening to the soundtrack of Phantom Of The Paradise.

It was an old cassette of my mother’s and I used to listen to it a lot, and I hadn’t even watched the film yet. It’s a cult classic by Brian De Palma, released in 1974 and could be compared to Rocky Horror Picture Show if you really need a reference…. even though it’s just a mix between Faust and Phantom Of The Opera with glam/retro feel. Actually you can’t really compare it to anything… sorry

The Daft Punk connection is obvious: The Mask/helmet.
But I was listening to a podcast on NPR and the duo talked a lot about the end credits: The Hell Of It

Roll on thunder, shine on lightning
The days are long and the nights are frightenin’
Nothing matters anyway,
And that’s the hell of it.
Winter comes and the winds blew colder
While some grew wiser, you just grew older
And you never listened anyway,
And that’s the hell of it.
Good for nothing, bad in bed
Nobody likes you and you’re better off dead
Goodbye, we’ve all come to say goodbye (goodbye)
Goodbye (goodbye)
Born defeated, died in vain
Super-destructive, you were hooked on pain
Though your music lingers on
All of us are glad you’re gone
If I could live my life half as worthlessly as you
I’m convinced that I’d wind up burning too.
Love yourself as you loved no other
Be no man’s fool and be no man’s brother
We’re all born to die alone, you know, that’s the hell of it.
Life’s a game where they’re bound to beat you
And time’s a trick it can turn to cheat you
And we only waste it anyway,
And that’s the hell of it.
Good for nothing, bad in bed
Nobody liked you and you’re better off dead
Goodbye, we’ve all come to say goodbye (goodbye)
Goodbye (goodbye)
Born defeated, died in vain
Super-destructive, you were hooked on pain
And though your music lingers on
All of us are glad you’re gone

Wow the lyrics… I hadn’t realised how dark they were. Even though I sang along to it mindlessly.
the obvious weird suicide one was the opening track on the Album which was so catchy and fun! But used to make me feel weird. Would I kill myself and become an overnight rock sensation for my sister’s operation?

Goodbye, Eddie, Goodbye

We’ll remember you forever Eddie
Thru’ the sacrifice you made
We can’t believe the price you paid
For love

Little Eddie Mitty born in Jersey City
Started singin’ when he was five
Never knew his father mother didn’t bother
To catch his last name fast as he came

He was off and flying
Times were really trying
Eddie and his mother alone
Soon another mister soon a baby sister
Mama kept swingin’ and Eddie kept singin’

Ah ya ya ya ya ya
Ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya
Ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya
Ya ya ya ya for love for love

And now the tragic story
Eddie’s sister, Mary Louise
Needed an operation
To get the money he would have to become
An overnight sensation
Eddie believed the American people
Had wonderful, love giving hearts
His well-publicized end
He considered would send
His memorial album to the top of the charts
…And it did

Ah ya ya ya ya ya
Ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya
Ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya
Ya ya ya ya goodbye goodbye

When a young singer dies
To our shock and surprise
In a plane crash or flashy sports car
He becomes quite well known
And the kindness he’s shown
Has made more than one post mortem star
Well you did it Eddie
And though it’s hard to applaud suicide
You gave all you could give
So your sister could live
All America’s choked up inside

We’ll remember you forever Eddie
Thru’ the sacrifice you made
We can’t believe the price you paid
For love

Anyway, I could choose any song from this album. I really recommend you watch the movie and get your hands on the songs.

I can’t resist the urge… Here are another two

Faust

I was not myself last night
Couldn’t set things right
With apologies or flowers
Out of place as a cryin’ clown
Who could only frown
And the play went on for hours
And as I lived my role
I swore I’d sell my soul
For one love who would stand by me
And give me back the gift of laughter
One love who would stand by me
And after making love we’d…

Dream a bit of style
We’d dream a bunch of friends
Dream each others smile
And dream it never ends

Old Souls

Our love is an old love baby
It’s older than all our years
I have seen in strange young eyes
Familiar tears
We’re old souls in a new life baby
They gave us a new life to live and learn
Some time to touch old friends
And still return

Our paths have crossed and parted
This love affair was started long long ago
This love survives the ages
In its story lives are pages
Fill them up
May ours turn slow

And by the way, Paul Williams is the guy behind another soundtrack from my childhood: Bugsy Malone

You Give A Little Love

We could’ve been anything
That we wanted to be
And it’s not too late to change
I’d be delighted to give it some thought
May-be you’ll agree that we really ought
Two, three, four

We could’ve been anything
That we wanted to be
Yes, that decision was ours
It’s been decided we’re weaker divided
Let friendship double up our powers

We could’ve been anything
That we wanted to be
And I’m not saying that we should
But if we try it, we’d learn to abide it
We could be the best at bein’ good guys

And yes, it’s with Jodie Foster just after Taxi Driver and Scott Baio before Charles in Charge

PS: since we’re talking about random memories, I’ll leave you with a stream of Random Access Memories Memories by Daftside (aka Darkside aka Nicolas Jaar & Dave Harrington)