A bit of a change in credo

A couple of changes:

First, Nikolai Elamaa has been simplified to neeko e. Nothing major, just a bit less clunky on the eyes.

Second, you have probably noticed that my blog has become almost a straight creative writing blog. But in reality, it does not stray from its original path; it is an evolution of my original ideas. I still think about past homes, which you see in many poems, and I even do a bit of stuff on around here. It’s about being here, having an amazing center in Kentucky, and utilizing that inner peace, combined with faith, love and a lot of energy for life, to write something that will inspire you. It’s a reflection of my personal folklore, my using personal experience to make art, and to think about my homes…Ella said “home is where you are,” and she continues to be right.

Plus, this blog is not-for-profit. I don’t need a 501(c) 3 to do what I love…I’ll write ’til I die even if I don’t see a dime out of any of it.

Those of who you read, thank you, and spread the word. God’s peace with you all…

-neeko E

song against falckons, viru valge

(actually written around January 2008, first public display; I wrote a song about the infamous Raatuse 22 parties, but now look at it as a funny memory of the stuff I used to do.)

standing in the hall of infamy

putting boredom out of its misery

defying the law of gravity

passing the bottles 1,2,3

smiles on our faces gallantly

ignoring laws of security

under the spreading potato tree

vodka rains on our souls-to-be

take the bottles and pass ‘em around

the falckons ain’t comin to knock us down

if not for an hour, maybe two or three

so pass that spirit on back to me

mixing with juice and with love crazy

bravo, nikolai, they say to me

as I throw the liquids so easily

drinking in a cold society

standing on up like the infantry

i’m a trooper from across the sea

whose liver has never had to see

what it can process so easily

i’m not like this everyday

the falckons don’t knock me for my foul play

but when it gets to minus 13 C

pass that spirit on back to me

1,2,3 pass it to me

empty bottle, baltic sea

kentucky accordion stomp

the folks eat pizza and work on stuff

the folks drink coffee and are enough

they fill the room with hoots and claps 

while shaun and abigail fill the room with taps

the room with taps

kentucky accordion stomp, relax

we’re all so huddled in our chairs

we’re all so huddled with our fare

we take our photos, reportage

while shaun and abigail sing a song of love

a song of love

kentucky accordion stomp, above

as they sing Spanish on the stage

as she sings with a spark and flame

the zombie duo needs no shine

oh, shaun and abigail, this is all your time

all your time

kentucky accordion stomp, just fine

kentucky accordion stomp, just fine

nordic roots man

anne came in like a hippie

they all came in that cold winter day

the nordic roots man came in with papers in hand

and with dreads threw my ideals away

could it be the rastafarian style

in a place where marijuana don’t grow

the nordic roots man came in with rasta hands

and told us what we ought to know

 

and ringo’s on the state-run airwaves

bring vibes to the people of the Baltic state

and all I can think to say

is body boom shiki dum dum too-rye-ay

 

iwona and asha and I pondered

as we see this roots man throw a spiel

who is the man with a political hand

telling us about religious deals

and though i’m confused by accent words

the memory makes it all worthwhile

the nordic roots man does everything he can 

and does it in the reggae style

 

and ringo’s on the state-run airwaves

bring vibes to the people of the Baltic state

and all I can think to say

is body boom shiki dum dum too-rye-ay

 

the DR massive came to town

via the streets of vana Rakvere

small town rhythms get down within ‘em

and make the city life okay

and J.O.C. puts himself on the front stage

the MC’s fronting bashment sound

with a voice like rags J zigs and zags

for the sake of all the Tallinn town

 

and ringo’s on the state-run airwaves

bring vibes to the people of the Baltic state

and all I can think to say

is body boom shiki dum dum too-rye-ay

 

2 years later i sit and ponder

who were these people I saw

did they mean anything to the other young beams

of light, we may just never know

but I still question the answer

of who it was i saw that night

the nordic roots man, he seems to do what he can

in the Rastafari light

 

and ringo’s on the state-run airwaves

throwing dub roots to the cold north sea

bring a rastaman vibration

i’ll take a little home with me

and ringo’s on the state-run airwaves

bring vibes to the people of the Baltic state

and all I can think to say

is body boom shiki dum dum too-rye-ay

homework

they all sit there, lying in a west coast bag

papers lodged in between experience

a mash-up, brought for remembrance

 

i read my paper, the one that made me resent him

i couldn’t stand what I thought was arrogance

but it was more my lack of proper reference

 

i thought Uku said something different that day

said there’s no way a local believes in the spirit

the one in essence, undivided

but that wasn’t the way i thought i could hear it

 

i read my notes, judged a book by its pages

thinking of my own dumb innocence

giving way to something matching true penance

old country

you’re home, stop talking about the days of your lives

when your emotions and motion hit an all-time high

for years you have lingered and harbored this way

and for years and years, i have hoped for the day

where you won’t, start, talking about the old country

and won’t, start, dreaming of when

your hope was your oyster and you didn’t feel cloistered

in shrouds of assimilation

(i don’t want to hear it again)

don’t say a word about all the forests

and don’t speak a thing about all the tall trees

don’t want to hear about clean air and ocean waves

i can’t understand it, so please

don’t, start, talking about the old country

don’t, start, dreaming of when

your hope was your oyster and you didn’t feel cloistered

in shrouds of assimilation

(i don’t want to hear it again)

i don’t care about how much whiskey you drank

and how you defended from bums

who tried to all steal to go buy some old swill

i don’t care that you won

just don’t, start, talking about the old country

and don’t, start, dreaming of when

your hope was your oyster and you didn’t feel cloistered

in shrouds of assimilation

(i don’t want to hear it again)

but wait, you’ll relate, for my story it goes

i did something with my own life

i followed my passion without a sense a ration-

al thought, i just did what was right

and i won’t stop talking of the old country

won’t stop this process today

until my feet have ran on that strip of old land

i’m not going to give up my hand

and i won’t stop dreaming for a better life

won’t stop hoping for more

than this life i was given, there’s more to good livin’

than walking into the same door

if i didn’t have the old country

my life would be a total bore

a battle like Ragnarok

and worse than Stalingrad could ever be

neither blue nor grey

although I seek union over confederacy

I’m seeking liberty

I’m seeking unity

I’m seeking everything not found on this earth

I’m seeking liberty

I’m seeking unity

I’m seeking everything in You for what it’s worth

in You I first saw struggle

but one day I decided on rebirth

relocation

Come August, this blog is going to have a new center.

I’m moving to Newfoundland.

won’t slow down

Your plane it lands in ‘moen

And the train it moves so fast

Seeing blondie flight attendants

Getting off at stations past

You see the little houses

And the bigger boxes rise

The girders are like garters

They hold up to tantalize

 

And it’s now, now, now, now

That you end right up in Oslo town

You’ve no idea where you will go

But you’re in a kingdom, that you know

And a kingdom won’t slow down

 

You drag your bag to big street

And you see the hostel kid

Dressed up in leopard leggings

for the big Motley Crue gig

and you’re laughing at a deskman

with a mullet grown out long

in Europe, they are widespread

like a bird flu in Hong Kong

 

And it’s now, now, now, now

That you’re laughing hard in Oslo town

You’ve no idea what brought this up

What’s being mixed in that tea cup

And a rocker won’t slow down

 

You’re right next to a project

Where hijabi flow like trees

And you’ve never seen so many blacks

In brightened dashikis

And you think, wow, this is Norway

Home of Heyerdahl and fjords

Henrik Ibsen, would he ponder,

On the contrary, my lord!

 

And it’s now, now, now, now

That you’re looking hard in Oslo town

Norwegians are not merely blond

That stereotype is long begone

And diversity won’t slow down

 

 

You take the boat and see the kids

All ready to begin

Their little misadventures

At the open-air museum

You stand abroad the polarship

And wonder oh, so true?

This thing knows how to break the ice

And could I do it, too?

 

And it’s now, now, now, now

That you’re standing firm in Oslo town

The polarship and the reed raft

Are not just larks, they’re truly daft

And explorers won’t slow down

 

You see the screaming Edvard Munch

Protected from the heist

The blondie children all in line

Educated in zeitgeist

The fields, and sun, and soon you are

Surrounded by the town

You take a camera and you smile

Impossible to frown

 

And it’s now, now, now, now,

That you’re finding hope in Oslo town

The screams have turned to smiles firm

And the way it happened was to learn

That the city won’t slow

It will not ever slow

Why would it ever slow down?

Riga, my love?

Some of us had to get out of town

Some of us had to go

Some of us had to go somewhere

Besides the club Zavood

And so we went to Latvia by bus

A four-hour drive at dawn

Through Tartu, Elva, Valga

Before hitting border zones

 

Some of us had to get out of town

Some of us had to go

Some of us had to go somewhere

Besides the club Zavood

When we hit the customs office

They took my papers out

And they brought a cocker spaniel in

To sniff for drugs and louse

 

Some of us had to get out of town

Some of us had to go

Some of us had to go somewhere

Besides the club Zavood

The sun was oh, so absent from

our kickoff morning day

the snow turned into marshland

every paved and cracked-up way

 

Some of us had to get out of town

Some of us had to go

Some of us had to go somewhere

Besides the club Zavood

The monument of freedom stood

Like soldiers watching tall

I was sad to hear when Brits went and

Pissed on it like a wall

 

Some of us had to get out of town

Some of us had to go

Some of us had to go somewhere

Besides the club Zavood

We drank ourselves to silly and

I chugged a quart of wine

I fell over in my friend’s lap

Getting drunk for the first time

 

 

Some of us had to get out of town

Some of us had to go

Some of us had to go somewhere

Besides the club Zavood

I sobered up through walking

3 kilometers one way

But fools, why did they take us

To another bar today?

 

Some of us had to get out of town

Some of us had to go

Some of us had to go somewhere

Besides the club Zavood

By the time we got to Golden

I didn’t feel like fun

So I danced to Blur and techno

While my friends all drank rum

 

Some of us had to get out of town

Some of us had to go

Some of us had to go somewhere

Besides the club Zavood

As I walked home carrying

My travel friends in tow

I thought, this is exactly like

A trip from club Zavood!

 

Some of us had to get out of town

Some of us had to go

Some of us had to go somewhere

Besides the club Zavood

Some of them had to get out of town

Some of them had to roam

But all they did was drink just like

We do back at our home!