Life Is A Bike Wreck (Better Wear Your Helmet)

by GioSafari

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about

This is my solo debut EP, released in July 2009. It was inspired by bicycle wrecks (both literal and figurative) and demonstrates that "facing a fate that can't be changed, man still may turn his predicament into an achievement and accomplishment at the human level. He thus may bear witness to the human potential at its best, which is to turn tragedy into triumph." -Vik Frankl

credits

released July 25, 2009

Lauren Rogers is responsible for the incredible album art.

Melanie Castro is responsible for the masterful clarinatto playing on "Psychology..."

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about

GioSafari New York, New York

GioSafari was the pseudonym for singer-songwriter and peace activator Gio Andollo. He lives in NYC, where he has committed to music - songwriting, recording, busking, performing, promoting - and activism. He speaks truth to power in the heart of Empire, recalling the subversive musical traditions of American folk & punk, singing for peace & justice, and advocating the use of bicycle helmets. ... more

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Track Name: Everything I Ever Needed To Say (In 17 Syllables)
I may be in a different city,
but I'm in the same state of mind.
Terrain and scenery keep changing,
but the pain is of the very same kind.
I'm dying here in isolation.
You thought I'd move on by now.
All I want's to be near you girl,
but you wouldn't have it anyhow.

If I could have it all my way,
it'd be the same when I'm awake
as the way I see us in my dreams.
Instead when I open my eyes
a realism I despise
forces me to deny what I've seen.
My nightmare's reality
fucking paralyses me,
hit the snooze to get back to that scene.

Hit the road to try and find myself,
all I find's a void where you once were.
I've saved this seat beside me for you,
but in it nobody stirs.
This lyric keeps coming to mind:
"I wanna die" or something close.
Nothing ever seems to fit five syllables;
Can't write the way I feel the most.

None of this sounds quite right,
though I try with all my might.
Feels so contrived to keep this rhyme scheme.
And just listen to these chords,
you'd think that I might afford
to spare a seventh harmony.
Who else is going to understand
and be willing to reprimand
for being so INTP?

I'm dying here in isolation.
You thought I'd move on by now.
I saved this seat beside me for you,
but you wouldn't have it anyhow.
Track Name: The Silence And The Sound
The silence was a killer, but it was nothing like the sound:
three rings and then an answer, two months to dance around.
But this hardwood floor resembles, rather than a school prom's ground,
a martial artist's studio floor on which blood and tears rebound.
We raised our gloves reluctant, for we love each other still -
my romantic unrequited for Plato's kind fulfilled.
We watched with anxious eyes, each anticipating the blow
the other might deliver now that the bell'd been tolled.

She struck first with combination punches,
knocked my wind right out.
I doubled over wondering, what the hell was this all about?
I stood up straight, still short of breath, and I jabbed her with my right.
She hung up and when I called her back said, "I don't want to fight."

We both stood poised for battle, but there still were bones to pick.
As the discussion became settled, our wounds we began to lick.
She told me that she's happy and please not to destroy
the relationship she's having with this other boy.
It warmed my heart to know all the happiness she felt,
though I wished that I could share those same feelings for myself.
Not long ago, it's true, I had my chance with her.
But my many joyful memories to her are but a blur.

We dropped our gloves reluctant, we shook hands and said goodbye.
The constricting silence choked me as the wells dripped from my eyes.
Now I want to hear your voice again, though time again I've found:
the silence is a killer, but it's nothing like the sound.
Track Name: On Love And Electromagnetism
My shadow keeps good company
because it's always there.
But it can't hold me or tell me jokes
or run its fingers through my hair.
And premarital interdigitation
would be totally out of the question.

This shadow of mine is reliable,
on it I can always count.
But it understands nothing of fashion,
neither how to be late nor how to wear color.
Besides, it would look ridiculous in that red dress and those blue shoes.
Noone could ever pull them off like you.

In truth, I hate my shadow
with its robotic predictability.
It only hangs around because of its tired obedience
to laws of electromagnetism.
That's nothing by fascist conformity;
I want love, I want freedom!

This shadow of mine will never leave me,
not even in my death.
So in my grave I will hate it still
as it reminds me for eternity
how fucking lonely I'll always feel
if I don't have you here with me.

My shadow is a lonely fellow,
though it's always by my side.
I don't pay it much mind, you know,
as I go about my life.
I wish it'd find another shadow to hold,
someone to share its time.
How about I hold your body
while your shadow holds mine?
Track Name: Homeless Thursday
St. Patrick's falls on a Tuesday this year,
but that's certainly not always the case.
For example, it once fell on a Friday just hours away.
From one of the most significant moments of my entire life,
from one of the most significant moments...

I was a homeless man, huddled over the steps
of a whitewashed church courtyard.I
was a homeless man, huddled over the steps,
I prayed as I awaited her arrival.

That we would glorify the creator of such situations.
She sat beside me on the steps, I began to stammer nonsensically.
About how I felt about her, hoping
she would feel the same way.
Hoping, hoping...

I was a homeless man, huddled over the steps
of a whitewashed church courtyard.I
was a homeless man, huddled over the steps,
I prayed as I awaited her arrival.

We talked much longer, I know,
but I can't remember about what.
I only recall feeling true happiness again.
As I laid with my head resting in her lap
and ate chocolate cake
and dozed off quite characteristically.

I was a homeless man, huddled over the steps
of a whitewashed church courtyard.
I was a homeless man, huddled over the steps,
I prayed as I awaited her arrival.

Sleeping, curled in the corner of a whitewashed church courtyard,
a homeless man wakes up alone.

It's St. Patty's day.
Track Name: The Psychology of a Bike Wreck Survivor
I don't remember a single thing,
I don't remember pain.
I can hardly remember where I was going,
all I've left is blood stains
on my backpack to remind me
what happened on that fateful day,
the day that cosmic tragedy
washed all my hope away.

Life was hard before,
I was focused only on survival
from devastation begun months prior,
my emotional condition viral.
I rode my bike from place to place
in hope of some kind of relief,
escape from everything in my life
that caused me so much grief.

But I couldn't escape the clutch of fate,
which clearly had other plans:
my grief to show an exponential rate
of growth over months' time span.
Without a home or job,
any life purpose or vision,
I succumbed to fate's cruel plan,
I hated God and Her decision.

Over time things got much better
and began to fall back in line.
I made plans to move to the next city
that God put on my mind
and in my heart which beats now
for this insomniatic place,
plans I'd hoped to share with her,
our destinies interlaced.

But I'm no fool, for I have learned
from my own past experience.
My hopes and dreams like a match have burned
away when not in agreement
with God and Her intentions
in any certain season or hour.
So I don't say "this or that will happen"
but "I'll do everything in my power."

Now my joy is mostly general,
like the gray of a cloudy sky.
I can see and it's not raining
but there is never any sunlight.
Perhaps this will change when I get to New York,
perhaps it never will.
Perhaps I'll one day see her there,
every hope and dream fulfilled.