I’m in my new office, which looks like something you’d find by Walden Pond. As I click away learning about game design and animation, social media and film editing, tricks of html — I bounce from kindle to computer to iPod, look out the window at nature and think about Henry David Thoreau. A storm’s brewing. Wind’s rising. The crab tree branches are slapping at the window. I wonder if Thoreau was ever tempted by a woman, the whoop of herons, poppies! the incandescent mystery of lightening bugs — the inevitable call of nature. Could anything rival the unraveling of simplicity? Living alone in the woods.
February 19, 2009
…I finally found the Silver Surfer I wanted…
Posted by deannalynncampbell under Songs | Tags: Songs |[2] Comments
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This song is about my trip to Skin Art by Randy to get a tattoo of the silver surfer on my arm. Randy’s shop is in Gastonia. Everything happened just as described. Even though I had an appointment, I had to wait all day, but it was great. Rich with all sorts of characters. Like a parade. I wrote the song on the way home — driving in the rain. I recorded this on my computer. I can’t wait to record it in the studio and do a video.
I finally found the silver surfer I wanted
Took his picture down to the skin art king
Lovers and losers got one thing in common
At the tattoo parlor everybody’s the same
I hate the smell of cigarettes in the morning
I used to be married to a Marlboro man
Banditos and gringos got one thing in common
At the tattoo parlor everybody’s the same
Nervous girlfriend
Soldier boyfriend
Get machine guns
On their backs
He’ll be fighting in Iraq
She’ll be touching the small of her back
I can’t think of a better way
To spend a rainy Saturday
Than paying for pain with hookers and virgins
At the tattoo parlor everybody’s the same
Orange haired Molly
Sweeps the lobby
Calls me silver surfer girl
Says my arm’s too small for details
“If I were you, I’d leave out the world”
I finally found the silver surfer I wanted
Took his picture down to the skin art king
Lovers and losers got one thing in common
At the tattoo parlor everybody’s the same





