Captain Beefheart’s idyllic yet unsettling recording “The Dust Blows Forward N’ The Dust Blows Back,” my favorite of the a cappella song-poems on Trout Mask Replica. Sounds like he’s making up words and music off the top of his head, stream-of-consciously, but with all those tape-pause splices between the lines, maybe he stitched this thing together one thought at a time.
There’s ole Gray with her dove-winged hat, there’s ole Green with her sewing machine. Where’s the bobbin at?
Tote an old grain in a printed sack
The dust blows forward n’ the dust blows back
And the wind blows black through the sky, and the smokestack blows up in the suns eye
What am I gonna die?
A white flake riverboat just flew by
Bubbles popped big
And a lip- and a lipstick Kleenex, hung on a pointed forked twig
Reminds me of the Bobby girls
Never was my hobby girls
Hand full-a worms and a pole fishin’
Cork bobbin’ like a hot red bulb
And a bluejay squeaks, his beak open an inch above a creek
Gone fishin’ for a week
Well I put down my bush
And I took off my pants and felt free
The breeze blowin’ up me
and up the canyon
Far as I could see
It’s night now and the moon looks like a dandelion
It’s black now and the blackbird’s feedin’ on rice and his red wings look like diamonds and lice
I could hear the mice toes scamperin’
Gophers rumblin’
in pile crater rock holes
One red bean stuck in the bottom of a tin bowl
Hot coffee from a krimpt up can
Me and my girl named Bimbo
Limbo
Spam