November 22, 1993: I sang my Penis song and the song I wrote for Angeline

Thirty years ago today 

            On Monday I posed from 13:00 to 19:00 at the Ontario College of Art. After work I met Angeline at the Express. When I finished my coffee I went over to her place because she wanted me to be with her while she called her mother. She didn’t talk to her for long but she was very depressed afterwards. She asked me to go ahead to Crickets, so I did and she came an hour later. I didn’t get on the open stage until late. I sang the song I wrote for Angeline and my penis song: 

Angeline 

When I saw you in the café there

You seemed nervous and alone

Like a short circuit with your heart frayed bare

Until you stood to read your poem 

I felt fire I felt ice attack 

I felt the ripping of a hole 

Deep in my chest and even further back 

Toward that place they call a soul 

Oh Angeline

I feel I’m falling through your sadly spoken dream 

But since I can’t see the bottom with this tiny flashlight beam 

I’ll just resign myself to falling Angeline 

You weren’t quite what I was looking for 

Though I’d been looking hard and long 

But my machinery felt a search of power 

That night I listened to your song 

My skin felt all electrical 

My mind unraveled with the tape 

My heart then tumbled into a free fall 

That it’s reluctant to escape 

Oh Angeline

I feel I’m falling through the soundtrack of your dream 

But since I can’t see the bottom with this tiny flashlight beam 

I’ll just resign myself to falling Angeline  

You’ve problems heavy as a mountain range 

Yet you have joys that brush the skies 

I didn’t know how these two interfaced 

Until your paintings blessed my eyes 

You showed hopeful nights of restless prayer 

Restless days of hopeless sleep 

There was so much information there 

I hope my mind will always keep 

Oh Angeline

I feel I’m falling through your painful painted dream 

But since I can’t see the bottom with this tiny flashlight beam 

I’ll just resign myself to falling Angeline 

And since I can’t see the bottom I’ll resign myself to falling 

And since I can’t see the bottom I’ll resign myself to falling 

And since I can’t see the bottom I’ll resign myself to falling

Angeline 

Love Song 

I love my penis

I love it so 

I love to squeeze it love to please and make it grow 

but the church of my penis

needs a priestess 

don’t ya know oh oh oh oh 

I love my foreskin

every vein

I roll it back a sharpened wave fellates my brain 

But the tide of my foreskin 

needs a shoreline

to wash away 

Well the world’s not big enough for me and my cock 

We crave a quaking planet made of lava and rock 

where we’ll penetrate some crater till the comets come home 

to wrap their wide ellipse around my glistening dome 

Yeah the world’s gonna have to face 

my penis is the zenith of the human race 

I love my phallus 

I watch it rise 

to nail my lust into a cross-bound paradise 

But my wandering phallus 

Needs a palace 

To occupy 

            They went over pretty well. When we left Angeline came to my place.