The End Of The Deserteer

Who could enjoy Borges as I did? I was a teenager when I discovered him. And read him, and then read him again, and then guess what? Yes, read him again.

True, it was Marquez who was the master of the phrase (one often lasting for more than 5 pages). But it was Borges who I thought was the master of the thoughts. But hey! It’s my desert! So take your hands off it!

How about Hesse’s The Glass Bead Game? Now that’s indeed literature! It’s both the music of the words, and the words of the thoughts. But hey, it’s mine! Take your hands off my desert!

But I’m also into music. And who can beat that beat? Who can hear those many instruments in a tune? And who can follow them through? Hey, don’t you dare come near my desert!

How about Friday Night in Frisco? Now that’s guitar playing! Whoever thinks the best guitar player in the world (by far!), for decades in a row, was not one of those three (my money would be on Paco, although Al keeps up, not to mention John) is severely mistaken. And boy, didn’t I listen to that when I was fifteen? Wasn’t I in the company of giants? Dreaming of joining them some day? Sure! So take your hands off my desert!

How about Saga, how they fuse guitars and keyboards and drums, can anyone enjoy them more?

pitchman, pitchman
show me that, pitchman
can you make it sparkle
can you make it shine
pitchman, pitchman
sell me that, pitchman

That shining nothing, it’s mine! Take your hands off it!

wind him up, he can't stop
he's wound up tight just like the clock
that's winding its second hand down

Or how did Don Davis fuse violins with brass in his magnum opus, can anybody enjoy him better than me? Forget the movie, he’s the true Wagner of our times! So play it loud! And how about James Newton Howard’s violin in the village? Or Lisa Gerrard’s voice? Waiting in the shadow of the towers (gortoz a ran)? But hey, it’s all mine, so take your hands off my desert!

I remember when I gave some of my music and some my books to friends - and some never received back. Such heavy words were spoken. Such as: oi! get your filthy hands off my desert!

In a cake shop, people looking with envy on my dessert. I have to tell them: hey, it’s mine! Keep your hands off it! And I enjoy that cake for half an hour. Don’t you dare come near. After all, it’s my desert!

Look at what beautiful house I built on my sand. It’s my house! It’s my desert! Mine alone! My precious! And hey, take your hands off my desert!

So there I am, deep in Plato’s cave. Unaware of a reality immensely more than me. Tightly chained to a wall deep inside. Seeing but shadows, and taking them for the real things. Meanwhile, my imagination is restless. So hey, keep your hands off my desert!!

My illusion gets populated with even more shadows. And I think to myself: look at my kingdom! How rich I am! Who is like me upon the face of the Earth? So keep your hands off my desert!

There I am, in the company of physicists. And cosmologists. And throwing away their universe with only two words! There’s the trash, throw it in! Who can throw away Einstein’s spacetime with only five words? Tell me, who can be my equal?

What? That old lady, she needs help? Who cares? I've got a million things to waste! Look at that one, he is wrong! Put him up against the wall!

so ya
thought ya
might like to
go to the show

But, hey! It’s my show! I know what I like and I like what I know! So take your hands off my desert!

well, i just feel that every minute's wasted
my life is unreal
and anyway, i guess i'm, i'm just not rated
at least twice, that's how i feel

well, i just don't know the reason
i don't know what to say
it just seems a normal day
oh, and i've got to live my own life
i just can't spare the time
you've got strange things on your mind

Indeed, never mind that! I've got to live my own life! What, you think you have a heart? I’m too busy claiming my desert! The brightest of all the deserts in the world! Tell me, who on Earth has a more shining desert than mine? Look at the beauty of all that nothingness! The treasure of all treasures!

What? Everything under the sun, behold, is all vanity? It’s all meaningless? How can that be? Look at that gold, it’s so shining! Pitchman, gimme more! And please take your hands off it! It’s mine now! My precious!

What’s with that bell? What, my time’s up? Never mind that! I can talk even more!

yes, we had it all, had the key gripped in our hands
we could see the fall as a martyr understands
when the chorus calls there's no room for hope inside
lose it all when the scream subsides

(and we talked) just the two of us
(all the time) nothing serious
(we pretended) time is on our side
('til the end) when the scream subsides

What? My time’s really up? Then write this down: here lies the deserteer, together with all his desert. And put many locks on it. Because you wouldn’t want my desert, would you? Keep your hands off my desert!

“Here lies nobody, in the midst of his full splendor of nothingness. After living life to the full, he managed to gather more nothingness than anybody. There are no more records to be broken. His nothingness is now complete. Let’s bring him the proper homage: oblivion. So someone please remove this inscription. And cover his tomb with something useful for others. Like a tree or something.”