Johanna Faust, a mixed race Jew, prefers to publish pseudonymously. She is committed: first, to preventing war, ecological disaster, and nuclear apocalypse; last to not only fighting for personal privacy & the freedom of information, but, by representing herself as a soldier in that fight, to exhorting others to do the same. She is a poet, always. All these efforts find representation here: "ah, Mephistophelis" is so named after the last line of Christopher Marlowe's Dr. Faustus, whose heretical success flouted the censor for a time.

Music What Kicketh Political Ass



"Throwing Stones"




Picture a bright blue ball, just spinning, spinning free,
Dizzy with eternity.
Paint it with a skin of sky,
Brush in some clouds and sea,
Call it home for you and me.
A peaceful place or so it looks from space,
A closer look reveals the human race.
Full of hope, full of grace, 

Is the human face,
But afraid, we may lay our home to waste

There's a fear down here we can't forget.
Hasn't got a name just yet.
Always awake, always around,
Singing ashes, ashes, all fall down.
Ashes, ashes, all fall down.

Now watch as the ball revolves 

And the nighttime falls
And again the hunt begins, 

And again the bloodwind calls
By and by again, the morning sun will rise,
But the darkness never goes 

From some men's eyes.
 It strolls the sidewalks and it rolls the streets
Staking turf, dividing up meat.
Nightmare spook, piece of heat,
It's you and me, 

You and me

Click, flash blade in ghetto night,
Rudies looking for a fight.
Rat cat alley, roll them bones.
Need that cash to feed that jones.
And the politicians throwing stones,
Singing ashes, ashes,  all fall down.
Ashes, ashes, all fall down.

Commissars and pin-striped bosses role the dice --
Any way they fall guess who gets to pay the price?
Money green, or proletarian gray,
Selling guns instead of food today.

So the kids they dance, and shake their bones
And the politicians throwing stones,
Singing ashes, ashes,  all fall down.
Ashes, ashes, all fall down.

Heartless powers try to tell us what to think:
If the spirit's sleeping, then the flesh is ink;
History's page, will thus be carved in stone
And we are here, we are on our own....
On our own. On our own. 

On our own. 


--

If the game is lost then we're all the same
No one left to place or take the blame
We can leave this place an empty stone
Or that shinning ball of blue we can call our home

So the kids they dance, they shake their bones
And the politicians throwing stones,
Singing ashes, ashes,  all fall down.
Ashes, ashes, all fall down.

Shipping powders back and forth
Singing "black goes south and white comes north"
And the whole world full of petty wars
Singing "I got mine and you got yours"
And the current fashions set the pace
Lose your step, fall out of grace
And the radical he rant and rage
Singing "someone got to turn the page"
And the rich man in his summer home,
Singing "Just leave well enough alone"
But his pants are down, his cover's blown

And the politicians throwing stones
So the kids they dance they shake their bones
Cause its all too clear we're on our own
Singing ashes, ashes,  all fall down.
Ashes, ashes, all fall down.

Picture a bright blue ball just spinning, spinning free
It's dizzying, the possibilities





lyrics by John Perry Barlow, music by Bob Weir
my memories -- crafted by the Grateful Dead
for the Annotated version, 





song on last.fm