She said she said

I said who put all those things in your head
Things that make me feel that I’m mad
And you’re making me feel like I’ve never been born.

Beatles:

In the presence of the Lord

I have finally found a way to live, just like I never could before
And I know I don’t have much to give, but I can open any door
Everybody knows the secret, I said everybody knows the score
I have finally found a way to live in the colour of the Lord
In the colour of the Lord.

Blind Faith:

Dumb

I’m not like them but I can pretend
The sun is gone but I have a light
The day is done but I’m having fun
I think I’m dumb.

Nirvana:

Virtually Speaking Sunday

Tonight: digby & Gaius Publius – 9p ET/6p PT – Listen live and later http://www.blogtalkradio.com/virtuallyspeaking/2013/04/15/digby-gaius-publius-virtually-speaking-sundays

President’s budget and the politics of the Chained-CPI, how that affects the 2014 campaign. (What are Republicans really up to?)

Is Obama a “transformational” president?

The new openness on social issues (except women’s rights, of course)

Gaius’s climate change elevator speech.

Plus political satire from Culture of Truth.

Follow @digby56, @gaius_publius,@JayAckroyd, @Bobblespeak

More at virtuallyspeaking.us/virtually-speaking-sundays/2013/4/14/digby-gaius-publius-vs-sundays

digby — American political writer and founder of the liberal blog Hullabaloo, Digby has contributed to Campaign For America’s Future’s blog The Big Con, Salon Magazine,  Huffington Post, Crooks and Liars and Firedoglake.

Gaius Publius — Professional writer of stories, poems, and books on education & technology. Frequent writer and Contributing Editor at AMERICAblog.com. Occasional guest on Ring of Fire Radio, The Matt Filipowicz Show and other venues. Gaius has two political-themed works in process; one fiction and one non-fiction.

Transcendental blues

In the darkest hour of the longest night
If it was in my power I’d step into the light
Candles on the alter, penny in your shoe
Walk upon the water
Transcendental blues.

Steve Earle:

Sigh no more

Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you
It will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be
There is a design, an alignment to cry
At my heart you see
The beauty of love as it was made to be.

Mumford & Sons:

Here comes the sun

Little darling
I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling
It seems like years since it’s been clear…

George and Eric:

Here’s to life

So here’s to life and all the joy it brings
Funny, how the time just flies
How love can turn from warm hellos to sad goodbyes
And leave you with the memories you’ve memorized
To keep your winters warm
There’s no yes in yesterday
And who knows what tomorrow brings or takes away?

Shirley Horn:

Philadelphia, City of Creepy Crimes

The wingnuts were raising a ruckus last week over the alleged refusal of the media to cover the Kermit Gosnell story. (There was a gag order on the case, for one thing.)

I was thinking about why I didn’t write about it, and the answer I came up with surprised me — because I do love my city, and was always very annoyed when director David Lynch said how creepy Philadelphia was.

The fact is, we do have a history of crazy, creepy, disgusting crime stories.

Also two years ago, not far from where I live, this.

In 1992, we read about Eddie Savitz: “An American businessman who was arrested for paying thousands of young men for either engaging in anal and oral sex or for giving him dirty underwear and feces, which he kept in pizza boxes in his apartment.”

In 1986, it was Gary Heidnik.

1979 brought us the tale of Ira Einhorn, the Unicorn Killer, who cut up his missing girlfriend’s body and kept it in a trunk in his apartment. (I knew Ira; he was an asshole.)

In 1975, there was Joseph Kallinger, a schizophrenic cobbler who was a serial killer and rapist. (The thing that sticks out in my mind was his conviction that all human ills were related to poorly fitted shoes, and he tested his theory with custom-made shoes — for mice.)

So when the details of the Kermit Gosnell story came out, I pushed them out of the way. Another horror story in Philadelphia? Ick.

Old and wise

And oh when I’m old and wise
Bitter words mean little to me
Autumn winds will blow right through me
And someday in the mist of time
When they asked me if I knew you
I’d smile and say you were a friend of mine
And the sadness would be lifted from my eyes
Oh when I’m old and wise.

Alan Parsons Project:

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