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roaming on

by Camden Joy

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1.
Holy Water 02:34
They say that you barely feel a thing, say that you can hardly notice the cold. Then your clothes they quickly kill you with the weight the water brings. How is it they claim to even know? They tell me in an instant it’s done once the moment of decision is past. I grow less sure every second while the waters grow more calm. And once more there’s no answer as I ask: If I were right in the center of the Sacramento River Would I drown or would I drift until I’m free? If I fall into the middle of the Sacramento River Will I sink or will it carry me to sea?
2.
Nothing 03:21
This evening they turned on a Christian television station. My eyes could scarcely believe what they were seeing. I would have laughed if I weren’t so sickened, sickened and sad. Ministers call one another Satan, fervently pray for your donation, and then bless you in the name of religion-- a faith I once had. Now it’s nothing nothing at all. Tonight as the President addressed the nation, I found I could not follow a thing he was saying. I asked a fella, Tell me. Can you understand him? He smiled and went away. Down on the streets below there were people cheering for the actions that the president had taken. And I knew I couldn’t stomach hearing what had happened. There are 5,000 cells in this prison, one for each and every will that has been broken, With hearts so hardened they no longer listen when anyone calls for help. In the mornings, the dead are awakened, and taken to watch another being beaten to the sounds of a Christian television station. Then we’re led back to our selves.
3.
Lincoln 03:21
I was born in the Great Beyond. I was raised by bears and wolves who boxed my ears each night until I learnt the golden rule. For a single thread of clothing, for a simple scrap of food, I have endured without warning the very worst in you. And it gets no easier at all. It gets no easier at all no easier being Abraham Enemies called my reign "tyrannical." Democrats: “muy fantastico!” Ford made me a Continental. Abe Lincoln was my name-o. When it comes your time to go may your spirit rest well-fed. Pray it’s not your most fragile love who discovers that you’re dead. They say, go easy on Johnny Reb. Then they shoot me in the head. It gets no easier being Abraham I was standing in the statehouse divided in my heart staring at the fireplace as my country fell apart. They were laughing as I entered. They were weeping when I left. Andrew Johnson only had them feeling more bereft. Now I’m a dollar no one uses, a penny everyone abuses no easier being Abraham
4.
MAKE ME A COIN Don’t ever put my face on US currency that spot’s reserved for hypocrites and thieves. Make me a coin that says, Death awaits thee! Pennies from heaven turn to autumn leaves. Make me a coin that says quite honestly, I’m worthless you see, from sea to shining sea I doubt we will survive the century now that there is a fact I’d pay to see Make a coin that says things don’t look good now extinction or collapse that’s all we got Sorry for the mess we made of your town just the way Americans are taught Make a coin that says don’t ring my doorbell I am bathing go to hell. Come back never. My time is filled. Make a coin that says fuckheads you’re free why do you receive this as defeat? Make a coin this all belongs to China make a coin good luck not getting hurt Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah some immigrant who’s doing all the work Make a coin that tells the truth for once sir instead of how grand things once were back when war was pure Make me a coin we have no answer. The one thing known for sure is we want more. We all want more.
5.
THERE’S A STORY IN THE PAPER There’s a story in the paper of an impresario falling for the painting of an earring he had lost. There’s a picture of his daughter at the airport in Ontario. Her father’s in the background of her thoughts. There’s a decoy in a suitcase and a bomb at Tompkins Square, an ancient Druid cookbook left back in the taxicab. There’s a cop who can’t stop working in the parking lot down there. Somehow, in the paper, it’s less drab. There’s a letter from a reader about the fireworks in the graveyard from downwind where the ashes lose their flame. In this letter he rehashes all the glories of his youth. The upshot is his jump shot saved the game. You read the paper off the shoulder of the impresario, realizing he has found the earring he had lost. His hands are in my pants in a screen grab by the stereo. It’s like I’m in the news, I often josh. There’s a book called, There’s a Season They Call Sadness in Berlin, the musical’s a bomb in Tompkins Square. The cop thinks he might see a link. The stories are his everything. Meantime, there’s a bomb most everywhere.
6.
Tomorrow 03:18
You won’t find me here tomorrow I'm a sparrow moving on I dream of flight light a few candles every night and then I’m gone This will all spark up a fire but I’ll never feel its warmth I will only fight the battles won’t be here when the war is won It’s important to be strong to be fast to be smart to stand tall not to falter just to go not to stop to get mad not to worry to be sad not to cry You won’t see me here tomorrow like an arrow straight and true I am moving toward a target it is all I know to do I am always ever onward always saying my goodbyes I am building a cathedral I will never step inside There is always one last word one more chance to be heard one more town where I’m sure I’m in effigy burned one more speech one more turn to be spat on and spurned Tomorrow… Moving on...
7.
Hayes 02:16
Are you stubborn, or just stupid, or just scared that it looks weird to collect the coins of presidents, debate the longest beard? It was Rutherford B Hayes you know and Hayes you know be bad. He was wounded five times fighting to advance the rights of man. He out-Bush-v.-Gored Sam Tilden in the ’76 election. The way B Hayes behaved in this deserves some condemnation. Behind the whiskers, there were whispers from the Wormsley Hotel fixers, in exchange for these conditions, you can have this thing of Tilden’s. So the hero of South Mountain ended Southern Reconstruction. Gave up hope there, kept not shaving. Gave up drinking for currency-saving. Battled for respect in Congress. Vetoed several bills as racist.
8.
You were springtime. I was winter. Still we ended up together. Falling for each other to the tune of merry laughter. For they laughed at us together. Those two y’know like daffodils in snow. There is something to the snow. Something in the things that grow. Most beautiful is knowing Am I shivering from freezing? Or was that shiver just a feeling? How we glowed we were daffodils in snow. Opposites attract the rumors. An accident or through some failure love connects us to the other. But the night can’t hold the day back. And the sun all wide awake then. And you happy. And so lovely. Some were meant not for together. Somehow love connects the other. Love connects us to the other. I won’t make light of how it went. We both have to live with it. A frozen heart a frozen flower; you familiar with survival. And their laughter growing louder. One will melt and one will grow: daffodils in snow.
9.
It's raining and I’m thinking of you. Memories of things I wish I’d done I did not do. Things I wish I’d said I did not say. Promises both you and I betrayed. My love for you stays strong but loving you feels wrong. And if I saw you would I love the you I see now? and/or love remembering how… Sorry. It’s just the rain. It’s nothing water falling on dry ground. Darling clouds come in as I remember how happier and happiest we were. Standing in the sunlight we felt sure our love is shining strong. But years have come and gone. If you saw me now would you love the me you see now? could you? can’t you love me? Sorry it’s the rain. I’m crying. And I’m thinking of you hiding on rainy days how you’re thinking of me too. How we parted leaving us both sad. Broken-hearted people behave bad. The past is dead they say. The old will pass away. And if I saw you would we lose our hearts and heads? or by then would we be dead? Sorry it’s just the rain.
10.
11.
Woke up on the side of the road. Turned around and headed home. Felt sure the folks would love and hold me close wonder where I been. But no one there knew who I was. I stayed until they chased me off. I thought that I was home but now I just don’t know. I don’t know where I am. Last I knew the whole wide world belonged to us me and my girl we walk with great big steps jumpin cartwheels and flips all around the land. When we baptized our baby daughter we held her head softly in the river that was somewhere down south of Johnson town Now I don’t know where I am. My feet wear someone else’s shoes. The mirror shows a face I cannot use. A crowd gives up a cheer but the few words I can hear I still don’t understand. I know I must be somehow damned. I reached out for my last chance. There rose another dawn now I can’t say where it’s gone I don’t know where I am.
12.
I was out on the highway when in the moonlight I saw the Angel of Death glide by at midnight. And a church bell was ringing as I remembered with fright my son was fighting a fever in his bed that night. So I ran right home though I was surely too late. But my son lay there sleeping his fever all gone away. I felt this warm rush of gratitude as my wife said Did you hear? They just pronounced the boss’s only son dead. So it was Johnson’s child. And I tried but I could not help but smile. Johnson’s child. The only thing that brought pleasure to that old man’s eyes. For every time I was led to the back room and whipped when a foreman heard me threaten to quit for every hand that was lost when the steel saw slipped and for every union boy found shot in a ditch. If I believed in justice this would be it: that the cruel would fall victim to something like this that would steal upon them quiet and quick and take the future from Johnson before he knew what had hit. Johnson’s child mourned by the papers buried in style. Johnson’s child as their limousines traveled off in single file. Johnson soon followed his son to the grave. Once the foundry burnt down his factory went away. The whole town disappeared in a matter of days. But I held out my hope with the few who remained. Fifty years now have passed and they’re moving back in. And I can hear Old Man Johnson’s cry in the wind and a child’s voice too that comes now and again. I feel like I know what it was like to be him. To be Johnson’s child and look down from the mansion across to the slag pile. Johnson’s child and face no chance of escape all the while.
13.
Opium 03:55
When I said farewell to Whisky Hills I meant it o those fun trips to Rum Springs they had to end. no more Mexican death breath that’s freshly minted I’m just here to say we won’t see me again. So I sold the place that faced Talkin’ Beer Mountain our times together drinking there I’ll miss said adeau to Mountain Dew with Gordon’s So I’m here just cuz this here’s the end of this. I got a new boyfriend and his name is Opium he restores my equilibrium my new highness Royal Opium things that once would make us smile now make me feel like such a child now I pledge allegiance to my one my royal highness Opium There is only room for one in my affections so this business with the cannabis will cease though our totally baked lifestyle’s become legend I’ve come to find I find no memories Marijuana now our long affair is over I felt so sure that what we had was love tho you never failed me as my daylight number at night there’s now another I dream of I got me religion my soul belongs to Opium he quells the pandemonium Lord God Almighty Opium we all grow up sometime we leave our childish ways behind there is more to life than fun there’s the sacred church of Opium You be a flying crying crocodile of vengeance You be on your knees tweeting Jesus thanks You be free from all these distracting illusions You be on your way to how it all began You be sensing all the things you thought were gone now You be getting how the holy ones transcend You be caring not so mucho who but how now You be on your way to how it all will end Witness all the bliss within this cornucopia from an iceberg of euphoria calm and cool you kill Colosio we all will die someday then all of this will float away still never will I long forget her heated breath upon my neck
14.
The kids are at the amusement park. I’m in the armchair half asleep. Night is falling on the house when He comes to me. And He says Oh help me please it seems I don’t know where I am. I only can recall I am the son of some Johnson. When the factory closed on Black Jack Road I had cursed his holy name and as the whole town fell into fever and rust I knew I was to blame. For years I sat by myself awaiting His return alone as I waited by the weigh station watching people come and go. He may not look like the Savior but I can see it’s Him inside so I hold Him and I bathe His wounds and He holds me as I cry. Day by day He grows stronger and a little more at ease but He still can recall nothing about just who He might be.

about

I came through before. I was a hostile takeover. I sacked libraries. I raided boats. I firestormed the centers of broadcasting. I found a few things. Now I've stitched a map of my findings. It starts with the small winding highways drawn in blue by Joni Mitchell. I knitted these around and around the Brill Building. I dyed them with the sounds of the dead. Revivalist tents. Girl Groups. Prison chants. Protest songs. Into this hue I was careful to stir self-doubt which had sat for weeks soaking up moral outrage. Also there was this desire to dance.

credits

released March 4, 2022

"Holy Water" and "When He Comes to Me" produced by Mark Lerner, the rest produced by Camden Joy. Engineered by Jason Sarubbi in New Paltz NY and Ben Collette in Burlington VT. Mastered by Robert O'Dea in Burlington VT.

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Camden Joy Middlebury, Vermont

lo-fi americana and caustic wit swirl about a 1970s suburban garage where a 1950s country band plays timeless originals and succinct gems.

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