I was working up some songs with my old friend Mr. Unicorn Man today, and it occurred to us that our gringo friends are still clinging to their self-righteous indignation and virtue like a person who falls overboard will stubbornly cling to a bloody piece of meat in a kiddie pool full of sharks.  Some of them are even celebrating their "victory," and believe they have voted themselves out of the judgment of God.

We lamented this denial of the infinite capacity of human incapacity, Mr. Unicorn Man and me, and decided to play a low-key version of "California Hills" as an expression of the paradox of the appropriate non-sequitur, the random, unrelated thing whose lack of sense makes perfect sense.  There's no reason to get political.  We are way, way beyond all that.  You can't vote your way out of the judgment of God.  Pride is a sin.  Mr. Unicorn Man does not possess it, even if his sartorial sense shares the same children's breakfast cereal aesthetic of a postmodern social engineering project with identity issues.  Unlike the dyed, unnatural pelts that advertise the spiritual incapacity of man like a sinful, colorful billboard, Mr. Unicorn Man's hair color is natural.

Mr. Unicorn Man wanted me to clarify that while a negative, nihilistic worldview is useless at best, it is equally unwise to believe oneself to be infinitely capable.  The truth lies somewhere in the middle.

Thanks for listening.

California Hills

I was born in the East
raised in the Midwest
somethin' my grandpappy told me
before'n I moved west

He said all the world's a junkie
we're merely the syringe
all the world's a bottle
we're a drunkard on a binge

And out west them streets are paved
with hunnerd-dollar bills
so keep your head on straight, boy
in them California Hills

Now I got mudslides in my bowels
earthquakes in my thighs
a water shortage in my bladder
and blackouts in my eyes

I'm a casting couch potato
I got tofu for my brains
I've had so much plastic surgery
my face melts in the rain

And I don't know what to do
when the traffic lights turn green
this porno's full of lead
this drinking water is obscene

And all my friends are cokeheads
me I'm strung on pills
but I wouldn't change a thing
about them California Hills

     Lord I'm goin' goin' home
     goin' home home
     goin' home
     goin' goin' home
     goin' home home
     goin' home
     goin' goin' home
     goin' home home
     to them California Hills

I got helicopter pilots
tangled in my hair
my sugar mama lives in Malibu
she is a millionaire

We're toolin' down the drugstrip
tricked out beyond belief
in our topless titty cars
wearin' nothin' underneath

And the air is unbreathable
there's tumors in the sky
you better shoot me while I'm happy
better kill me 'fore I die

Cuz my girlfriend's a junkie
me I'm strung on pills
but I wouldn't change a thing
about them California Hills

     Lord I'm goin' goin' home
     goin' home home
     goin' home
     goin' goin' home
     goin' home home
     goin' home
     goin' goin' home
     goin' home home
     to them California Hills

I wear a winter coat when it gets down
to 65 degrees
the roaches are atrocious
and there's traffic in the trees

The streets are full of lunatics
droolin' from their chins
obnoxious drunks and crazy people
baby, we fit right in

So let's kick back, relax,
smoke a joint and drink a beer
sometimes I wish I was myself
yeah I wish that I was here

Cuz any 20 years now
I'll be gettin' my big break
the ground is the limit
the sky is opaque

And all my friends are cokeheads
me I'm strung on pills
but I wouldn't change a thing
about them California Hills

My girlfriend's a junkie
we're both strung on heroin
but I wouldn't change a thing
about that California sun

©2003 Nathan Payne