Songs from the Valley

August 2, 2026

For decades the words sat quietly in notebooks, folders and drawers. I originally wrote the lyrics with pen on paper — remember those days? I never imagined they would one day return with actual voices.

Recently I discovered Suno, where I uploaded the old lyrics and described the atmosphere I imagined. Then something almost magical happened. The handwritten words came back carrying music, mood and emotion.

What amazes me most is not just the technology itself, but the strange collapse of time within the work. Words written by a younger version of myself suddenly became audible in the present.

On the page, lyrics exist silently. But once voice and music enter, another layer of meaning appears. The words become less flat, almost three-dimensional.

I’ve lived long enough to witness this transformation from ink on paper to sound moving through the net. Then, as part of the adventure, I had to teach myself how to create a YouTube channel just to share it.

Here’s some songs.

Bodhisattva Pyjamas

I wrote this after a friend joined Divine Light, the Guru Maharaji scene. He upset me because he believed he’d found THE ANSWER & when I questioned this he walked away saying I didn’t understand. So, he was something special!

I’m a Holy Man

I wrote this some years after being kicked out of a Sai Baba meeting. I brought a couple of kids with me & he & his followers didn’t want kids there. I basically told the Holy Man he was a hypocrite. Obviously no one liked what I said. He called out from his dais/throne – “Out! Out!” waving his hand towards the exit. I left.

Julia

The voice in this song is mine. I gave Suno an mp3 recording of me singing with friends playing guitars. So, the tune is mine too. Suno just added instruments & “cleaned” my taped recording of my voice. The recording was on cassette tape. Remember those?😀

Pictures of Sophie

These lyrics were just a stream of consciousness that I organised. I like playing with words & bending the thoughts carried by them into some semblance of meaning.

Views from Inside Out

Thoughts Into Swans

A Conquistador Cannot Tell a Lie

I wrote this a few years later after being employed as a trainee futures broker. I hated it.

Lines of Crazy Fortune

The Star

Not gonna mention names but this guy was a real rock star. Not gonna say how I met him but suffice to say I saw through his bullshit & I felt he knew I saw it.

Do You Remember

Prison of Time

Forgotten Madonna

Hexagrammic Calamities

Fortune of Unloaded Hips

Black Leather Night

Behind Locked Doors

Leave a Comment » | Uncategorized | Tagged: , , , , | Permalink
Posted by stavr0s

What Happened at a Bob Dylan Concert Near Stage

June 6, 2026

Over the last few days I’ve been in the haze and fog of Covid but funnily enough my mind is travelling back over many years. I get flashes of what happened, the people, the incidents out of the blue. Is covid digging around in my deep memory? Anyway here’s one memory that has arisen.

About forty years ago I found myself sitting in excellent seats at a Bob Dylan concert at Sydney’s Capitol Theatre. I could never afford those seats but a band I knew had scored some free tickets and they invited me to come along. As if I’d refuse! Top tickets for close up seats of a Bob Dylan concert!!

I’d never been so close to a stage before so like many others, I eventually drifted down towards the front of the stage. It was the first time I had been so close to Dylan. I remember feeling excited, almost privileged, to be there.

Then I heard a voice beside me.

“Die! Die, you motherfucker! Die!”

At first I thought I had hallucinated it even though I wasn’t on acid or anything. But the abuse continued. Then another voice joined in. The hatred was real. I wasn’t imagining the vibe. It was hatred.

I stood there stunned.

This wasn’t a politician. It wasn’t a dictator. It wasn’t someone responsible for war or suffering. It was a musician standing on a stage singing songs.

I wanted to tell the man to stop. Well, actually I wanted to grab him and tell him to shut the fuck up. Luckily the reasonable part of my mind hovered around and instead, I turned around and walked back to my seat, disturbed by what I had witnessed.

What struck me most was not the heckler’s anger but my own reaction. I felt mortified. Not for myself, but for Dylan. Here was a poet sharing his vision to a paying audience having to endure such crap.

The incident lasted only a few moments, yet I remember it clearly four decades later, now that covid has brought it to surface.

I wonder why it’s such a clear memory? Was it because it shattered my naïve assumption that everyone standing near the stage must have been there out of admiration?

The concert itself has largely faded from memory.

Those words have not.

“Die! Die, you motherfucker! Die!”

Forty years later I still find myself wondering what kind of hurt, disappointment or anger causes a person to spend their evening shouting death wishes at a singer.

1 Comment | Uncategorized | Tagged: , , , , | Permalink
Posted by stavr0s