Saturday, June 22, 2013

Shadowing, the lyrics as poetry.

HEAR this work, here:
©2013 Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited.

The night sets out its canvas of shadows,
brushstrokes of light join the composition,
ravens camouflage themselves in the dark,
a rooftop garden lets us walk, and talk, and walk and talk …

these are the hours, when reality dreams,
when shadows take the stage, and then start to sing ~

I’m shadowing you, you’re shadowing me.
Wherever you are, you know I will be.

Mysterious sounds come from things unseen,
Cityscapes howl while bright lights gleam,

lines between the past, and the present fade away
wild arrays of color all transform themselves to gray ~

I’m shadowing you, you’re shadowing me.
Wherever you are, you know I will be.

Shadowing …

HEAR this work, here:

Monday, May 27, 2013

Lady with Harp and Water

Latest music illustration: Lady with Harp and Water by © Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited. on Flickr.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Haiku ...

There are things yet done,
we think we know what they are,
yet, do we really?

©2013 Marcus James Christian

Friday, May 10, 2013

Haiku, Renga: Perhaps I Love Her ...

"Perhaps I Love Her" a Haiku, Renga.
©2013 Marcus James Christian

Perhaps I love her
this character in my soul
her and her story

She has this palace
it rises forth from white sands
it loves the mornings

Another planet
that is where the palace is
humans live there too

It all just happened
not millenniums ago
rather recently

She has this small friend
it is an automaton
her father purchased

Promises were made
about the automaton
it should protect her

Renga, Haiku: I have found a place ...

"I Have Found a Place"
 A Renga.  ( Linked Haiku Verses)
©2013 Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited.
I have found a place
where anything can happen
so I think of you

What will you want most
probably variety
calm and excitement

Phase one gets red cube
because boxes relax us
colors excite us

Saturday, April 13, 2013

LYRICS: Marilyn Monroe and Elvis ♫

Marilyn Monroe and Elvis
©2013 Marcus James Christian

Marilyn Monroe and Elvis,
have this cafe up in the clouds.
I go there sometimes when dreaming,
and sing along with their spirits.

♫: plus various growls, woos, heys and la-la-las.

Marilyn Monroe and Elvis,
glide around out in the country,
avoiding the paparazzi,
enjoying the peace they have now.

♫: plus various growls, woos, heys and la-la-las.

Marilyn Monroe and Elvis,
got a lot done in their lifetimes.
Listen and you just'a might hear them.
Listen, yeah, you just might hear them ...

♫: plus various growls, woos, heys and la-la-las.

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Marlon Brando was an Actor

Marlon Brando was an Actor
©2013 Marcus James Christian

Marlon Brando was an actor.
Marlon Brando played many roles.
Marlon Brando denied sequels.
Marlon Brando was an actor.

Marlon Brando wore a t-shirt.
Marlon Brando rode a black bike.
Marlon Brando skipped the Oscars.
Marlon Brando was an actor.

Marlon Brando could be funny.
Marlon Brando played the bongos.
Marlon Brando made some money.
Marlon Brando was an actor.


Marlon Brando played the bongos.
Marlon Brando made some money.
Marlon Brando was an actor.
Marlon Brando rest in peace ...

Friday, April 5, 2013

Happy Today to You My Friend.

"Happy Today to You My Friend"
©2013 Marcus James Christian

Happy today to you my friend.
I want to eat good raw foods too!
We love quotes from famous people,
and captioned animal pictures.

Thank you for liking my pictures.
I love pictures of you as well.
I love the artists that you like.
Plus, I love the artwork you make!

Your daughters seem to love to dance.
I admit I love coffee too.
We all like Maya Angelou.
What will our future world look like?

Marry who ever you want to.
Vent your frustrations now and then.
Promote your business frequently.
Amusement parks are always fun.

     Happy today to you my friend!

Saturday, March 30, 2013

Free Four

Free Four
©2013 Marcus James Christian

Free, like the air that chases seas,
and races over golden sands,
before climbing up ocean cliffs,
and slithering through wild grasses.

This is our new state of freedom.
We are an improvised motif,
engineered through perfect science,
functioning in complete freedom.

Free Gift Three

Friday, March 29, 2013

Free Gift Three

Free Gift Three
©2013 Marcus James Christian

There are these things which bring us joy,
and such things are all around us.
We are an unsinkable ship,
in a vast sea of abundance.

Time lines things up for us nicely.
Good feelings arrive frequently.
The things we ask for, we receive.
This is what its like to be free.

Free Gift Two

Free, Second Gift

Free, the Second Gift.
©2013 Marcus James Christian
Now we look upon new flowers,
flowers within our new gardens.
Now we stand upon marble floors,
floors which have stood the tests of time.

Ah, the joy of finding castles,
which have proven their resilience,
and held hidden treasures for us,
this is what its like to be free.

Free Gift One

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Free Gift One.

Free Gift One. 
©2013 Marcus James Christian.

All limitations fell away,
as we left the old galaxies.
To dwell on those hard times
would be to the demise of now.

The new vehicles were better.
"Us" and "we" felt better than "I."
Wealth is better than poverty.
This is what its like to be free.

Facebook I

Facebook I, a poem.
©2013 Marcus James Christian,

Poems are posted on Facebook,
 in the form of status updates.
Families connect there, 'round the world.
Many new friends have been made there.

Sometimes, people post pictures there.
Cats and Dogs are popular there.
Politics are discussed there too,
the web sites color scheme is blue,


the Unlimited Singers' Enharmonic Exposition 530.12 ft. Howard Pyle, Kin...

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

♫ POEM: I Love You for Who You Are.

"I Love You for Who You Are"
©2013 Marcus James Christian,

I love you for who you are.
Thus, for you I build with my words.
A perfectly picturesque hill,
topped with undulating green grass,
a shelter built of hand stacked stones,
upon floors of worthy marble
... near the sea.

Haiku Poem: A Crisp, Clear Full Moon.

♫ Haiku Poem:

 A crisp, clear full moon
misty clouds shattered by light,
in the cool stillness.

"Our Entourage Rode on a Train," a poem for a Video Opera. Version II

"Our Entourage Rode on a Train," a poem for a Video Opera. Version II.
(WT) From: Quotes, Lyrics and Songs from a Secret Society of Unlimited Singers.
©2013 Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited.

(♫: abdc#@♫♫)

(♫: B/D# | Em | G | Bm | )

Our entourage rode on a train.
Strong tracks took us through private lands.
It was one of our old estates.
Birch trees, deer and green grass lived there.

Some of us had been there before.
For others it was a first time.
We kept some of our treasures there.
There, impossible was made real:

(♫: Em8 | D8 | B8 / )

 The dogs on the estate loved cats.
 The cats on the estate loved dogs.
 Birds sang from eucalyptus trees,
 which fed a friendly Koala.

(♫: B/D# | Em | G | Bm | )

Our walls were covered with fine art.
Originals by Picasso,
the Hudson River school and more,
hung proudly up upon our walls.

Music was heard everywhere.
Bel canto voices filled the air.
Breeze shook leaves made soft rhythmic sounds.
American Goldfinches sang.

African Rooibos filled our mugs.
Green tea was brought in from China.
From Genesis one twenty-nine,
we formulated how to dine.

(♫: Em8 | D8 | B8 / )

 The dogs on the estate loved cats.
 The cats on the estate loved dogs.
 Birds sang from eucalyptus trees,
 which fed a friendly Koala.



Monday, March 25, 2013

Quotes and Lyrics: "Our entourage rode on a train ..." a Poem

Quotes and Lyrics from Members of the Unlimited Society:
©2013 Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited.

"Our Entourage Rode on a Train," a poem.

Our entourage rode on a train.
Strong tracks took us through private lands.
It was one of our old estates.
Birch trees, deer and green grass lived there.

Some of us had been there before.
For others it was a first time.
We kept some of our treasures there.
There, impossible was made real:

  The dogs on the estate loved cats.
  The cats on the estate loved dogs.
  Birds sang from eucalyptus trees,
  which fed a friendly Koala.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

♫ Abstract Art Composition: 3.2013sum4+5, Grazing Cattle, Trium Bos Primigenius

Abstract Art Composition: 3.2013sum4+5, Grazing Cattle, Trium Bos Primigenius
©2013 Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited.

... and the music video version:

Doing a remake? Do not be true to the original story or characters, here's why? A lesson I learned from Picasso.

Doing a remake? Do not be true to the original story or characters, here's why? A lesson I learned from Picasso.

As an opera composer, who has focused on pioneering "Video Opera," which I've meme'd as "VideOpera," I am always considering various collaborations, and or keyword, marketing realities. One concept is the idea that on occasion taking original ideas I have, and realizing that some form of public domain work or character may serve as a marketing advantage, causes me to dash the new original idea with a bit of the public domain.

Proudly, this results in a new work that is ideally untrue (in most cases) to the original source material, and in some cases may even oppose it. I once thought this was a problem, then there was this visit to an amazing art museum which just happened to have Picasso, and a host of other masters on loan the day of my visit. The exhibit contained works by Van Gogh, Manet, Monet, and the league of French Impressionist masters. Meanwhile, the rest of the museum's exhibits were all full of stellar, spectacular works of art in every room. It was the Palace of the Legion of Honor, after all, San Francisco.

So we were in this circling train of people. It was odd to come before a Van Gogh and feel the need to keep moving, at least slowly because there was so much other "fine art," to see. I mean there were some of the greatest works of art in human history and there was very little stopping. Slow moving, yes, but actually dead stops of admiring stares, largely no. However, there was one work, out of place with the other works which brought the most refined intellectuals to a dead stop that held them in a state of pondering for minutes on end, to the point where mature, pillars of the community had to be politely addressed by security to continue moving slowly, yet even then, there were pauses of rebellion from all, including myself.

"Why is this happening?" I thought to myself. The answer did not come to me entirely immediately but eventually I realized what I can demonstrate in this metaphorical examination of the phenomena.

Imagine you have asked me for piece of blank, white paper. I turn around towards my paper supply and hand you ... a blank piece of white paper. Done. It is over, all thought interaction is complete upon the moment that you receive exactly what you expect. The event, beyond the polite gesture, is forgotten and any significance of the piece of blank white paper is completely a failure.

Now, imagine you have asked me for a piece of blank, white paper. I turn around, towards my paper supply and hand you ... a sand colored, Sumerian writing tablet made of sandstone. It is half covered in Sumerian markings and laying at its center is a tiny hammer and chisel.

What has just happened. Obviously you have stopped your train of desire based thought. You have come to a pause of speculation, and then (marketers and creatives take note) audience interaction has occurred as the receiver becomes the grantor of the following question, "What is this? What am I supposed to do with this? Is this a joke? My God, this is Sumerian, I love this, is this real? My God, this is not what I was expecting, I hate this? Can this be real? Where is the expected? Now I'm looking at this and thinking about it and three months later I still recall the event. Especially when I see sand, or a story on ancient cultures, or reach out to grab even a plain piece of white paper from my printer paper's cache!"

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Symbols, Characters. a Poem from "Robot Suits"

"Symbols, Characters." a Poem.
from "Robot Suits"

1. Symbols, characters,
lines in every direction,
time ever changing.

2. I speak my feelings,
as I update my status,
holding back a bit.

3. It is all okay.
Everything is alright.
a tree on my screen.

4. I see through my mask,
and see the peaceful trees sway,
through my Robot Suit.

5. I can take it off,
and become some kind of human,
a breathing machine.

6. I can fall in love.
I can descend through the clouds,
and ascend again. 

©2013 Marcus James Christian

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

♫ I Belong to a Caribou ...

♫ I Belong to a Caribou
©2013 Marcus James Christian

I belong to a caribou.
On occasion I hold a leash,
which connects me to that Reindeer.
The leash is for decoration.

It also serves as protection.
A pet reindeer cannot be harmed.
I want this reindeer to survive,
not forever, but long enough.

My reindeer runs to save its life.
It won't fight unless its provoked.
It is not so different form us.
It breathes air and drinks water too.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

♫ 3-118, The American Goldfinch: Meaningful Lyrics

♫ 3-118. The American Goldfinch: Meaningful Lyrics
    It was surreal to walk about the estate which had recently been bequeathed to me. Its grandeur would have beguiled even the most celebratory descriptions of one such as Jane Austen. Even when the estate had been in the previous possession of its former master, Lord Ian, its natural, and man-made enchantments, seemed immeasurable to me. Remarkable accumulations, produced by people on whom nothing was lost in their living—which Henry James would have most likely been quite proud of—were cradled within some of the most beautiful hands nature had ever collaborated in the landscaping thereof. All of which, in the legal agreements of man, had become mine; for I had been the last great apprentice to Lord Ian before his disappearance, and thus, unto me, various documents demanded the estate and its contents were to be bequeathed.
    Many regions of the estate exceeded mortal ownership. One of such destinations on the wooded, and lawn graced property, held special endearment to me, even though it was but one of many highly selectable options from a catalog of desirable possibilities. It was on the ivy flanked, upward curve which brought one up from a great ravine into the posterior lawn leading to the dorsal terrace of the primary house upon the estate. This was the clearing where small circles of light complimented a quadrangle of Silver Dollar Eucalyptus trees which always found even the most undetectable breezes to sway about upon. Further enhancement was provided by the ring of sentinel like Sequoia sempervirens which largely surrounded the clearing. This clearing was a magnet for miraculous manifestations of light and fog.
    I was far from the only life form which enjoyed the clearing. It was also where I held regular meetings and meditations with one of the areas greatest appreciators of its splendor, the Carduelis tristis, also known as, the American Goldfinch. The bird would arrive in comfortable numbers while vocalizing in the most precise polyphony. There was a communion of calm which I could sense forming between all of us when we would congregate there. Soon, from their league’s numbers, I began to recognize one as some form of their leader. The one who became specifically recognizable to me found a personalized name from my archives of thought. I prefixed the term “King,” to the Latin name of the breed and their apparent director became instantly recognizable to me as “King Carduelis Tristis.”
    As the American Goldfinches would arrive I would smile, and the air would seem lighter to me. Then as their ranks were clearly joined by King Carduelis I found myself surprised to notice that I would suddenly sit or stand upright, a bit more straighter that commonly, while offering a respectful nod of recognition to the King, which over time, seemed as if returned back to me by his majesty.
    Sometimes my attempts to explore the estate, its secondary houses, sheds, and surprising quantity of underground root cellars and bizarre book rooms, would bring pleasant, post-exercise exhaustion upon me. Which would find me desiring seated rest upon a flat topped, knee-high boulder within interiour ring of the Silver Dollar clearing. Contemplating such fatigue, from such physically active explorations, I would begin to wonder how on earth Lord Ian—an ethnomusicologist—could have possibly accumulated a rather hidden, modestly reduced, American equivalent to Louis XIV’s, Palace of Versailles, complete with the French landmark’s charm, yet devoid of its decadent absurdities. Ethnomusicology is not commonly associated with the accumulation of tremendous wealth. Then, it dawned upon me, what if Lord Ian had once inherited the property in much the same manner by which he saw to it being inherited to me, his apprentice, after him? My mind began an accounting process of funds I had randomly acquired here and there throughout the estate. These pleasant surprises of financial empowerment would just appear, as perhaps a fat bookmark of stacked bills adorned with the lovely, drooping mug of Benjamin Franklin, or some excessively matured, U.S. Savings bond, of the type which mature to a second power per accumulated decade of patient withholding.
    Sometimes, there in the clearing of light and fog, amongst the scents of eucalyptus and pine, as I would ponder what else Lord Ian may have been involved in to have achieved such an opulent property, King Carduelis would arrive and make this strange eye contact with me. When I would be the only homo sapien present I would look left and right as if I could share the possibility that King Carduelis was actually unified in thought with me. I laughed off the absurdity of such, yet could not shake how much at moments he reacted like the dog who walked with me in my youth. Who, when his name was called, would look me in the eyes to acknowledge the receipt of some form of communication.
    The clearing was a place where memories of slightly curious statements made by Lord Ian, during his mortal life time, specifically to me, would become ever more curious, to the point of sometimes causing goosebumps and eerie yet exciting feelings of possibilities for speculation.
    One day I tried something that would form into an addictive and empowering process. Just for fun, I asked Lord Ian a question. Yes, the same Lord Ian who was no longer amongst us physically. There were these answers which would come back, through that voice which one might hear when reading silently, as the poet Thomas Lux might suggest. I decided that the first and fastest answer that sprang forth using this process would officially be considered as the true one, as the others may have been colored by my own mortal thought processes and experiences.
    “Lord Ian, what else were you into, besides gesamtkunstwerk, and ethnomusicology?” I proposed to the ether while out in the clearing one day, while alone amongst its light, fog and earth born Silver Dollars.
    “My name is partially a pseudonym.” was the first and fastest response. Quickly thereafter came the league of the American Goldfinch. Adjoined to them was the one most recognizable to me from amongst their ranks, King Carduelis Tristis. I chuckled at the irony of his arrival’s timing. Just for fun I spoke audibly: “Very funny.”
Although it was most likely coincidental, just then, they broke into song, using those lyrics which you feel when there are no mortal words worthy of the communication conveyed through the song, such as “La,” and then “La-la-la,” again. And so the lyrics to my next gesamtkunstwerk composition had been decided, not by advanced mortal vocabularies, but instead, by an American Goldfinch.

Additional works by Marcus James Christian, “Marcus Unlimited,” are available through:
    and Apple iTunes.

♫ 2-118, The American Goldfinch: Saturday Songs

♫The American Goldfinch: Saturday Songs
    At the end of town there was a seldom traversed road. It was most likely neglected for a chorus of reasons as opposed to a singular cause. Most people were unaware of what the often damp and sandy, red clay road led to. Before surmounting its first ascending curve, the one lane unpaved path, and the waist-high, light-yellow and green grasses which enclosed it on either side, were all that were visible relative to the road’s true, incalculable value.
    I had been visiting what existed at the end of that road for some time, many years in fact, and only found the road and the cause for its existence through handwritten directions verbally transmitted to me by Lord Ian, (most likely a pseudonym) who was the owner of the estate which the road led to. The road, and its attached estate somehow still elude the attentions of various GPS and internet map satellite systems.
I had known Lord Ian since my youth, yet was unable to complete my studies with him then, as I had been dubbed “prodigious,” at an early age. Being “prodigious,” means “ready to work” and thus work in the trade of Gesamtkunstwerk brought me across the threshold between small town country life, and the controlled chaos of crowded cities. In the latter, amidst the grand concrete labyrinth, this prodigy’s work began in situations otherwise commonly reserved for men at least twice my age. Following experiences which produced an encyclopedia set worth of personal and professional experiences, I eventually returned home, seeming perhaps to some, more prodigal than prodigious. My return home allowed me to resume my long neglected apprenticeship with Lord Ian, upon the estate grounds at the end of the winding, red clay road. Past the series of large, strategically placed pine trees and road turns, a long and elegant, green lawn appeared and led to the pillared patio of a long standing estate house. If the facade of the house was reasonably impressive, the backyard, which was invisible from the front, due to a myriad of ivy, Italian Cypress and other—perhaps strategic—landscaping for privacy considerations, was deceptively immense. Even after countless Saturdays at the estate, as Lord Ian’s apprentice, I was little closer to experiencing the entirety of the estate.
Lord Ian was, amongst other things, an accomplished, and highly regarded ethnomusicologist. Oddly, we had met in the high brow circles of the opera world. In between on-stage appearances, Lord Ian, who had often functioned as a consultant to the various operas which I performed within, would often discuss matters more obvious to his persona as an ethnomusicologist. On many separate occasions, this one particular book would be presented to me, by Lord Ian, at often the strangest of times. It looked as if it had been a professionally published book at some time, yet was infinitely obscure and may have possibly been devoid of an ISBN number. I have since never found the book on During my apprenticeship, while I was learning the old ways of our trade, I was in return teaching Lord Ian the new ways. On a typical saturday at the estate, Lord Ian might present a near disintegrating, ages old form of sheet music, which would be complemented by my presentations of analytical, or production oriented, audio software.
Yet, there was that ever present book, which he was always mentioning his consultational involvement in the creation of. Yet, he did so with reserved tact, and often mentioned I could borrow the book as long as I would, “give back.” Lord Ian, being tuxedo formal when called upon to be such—as well as a master of multiple languages (English, French, German and Italian, at least)—would always bypass a logical sentence structure when referring to the return of specifically, “that” book. He never said, “when you are done with the book ...”: ”...give it back,” or “...return it.” Instead, he would specifically say: “give back” without variation. This odd phrasing was never followed by “the book,” and over time it created this enduring curiosity within my mind. Was he referring to something of value that I would find within the book, and was that potential value, that I might “give back” intellectual, financial or otherwise in nature? The phrase brought about my own meditations upon the mysterious nature of mysterious phrase, and its strange tense.
Saturdays at Lord Ian’s estate were always enchanted with a mythological energy. Labor, which I would never have done twice for others at such meager pricing, was done with pride and enthusiasm. I sometimes felt as a squire which perhaps King Arthur might have placed into the service of tending to the round table, and various ladies of the lake.
    Lord Ian’s library contained rare, amazing and beguiling artifacts which often demanded my attentions upon discovery thereof. Finds such as priceless, possibly unpublished, handwritten manuscripts like, Oberste Gesangstechnik (tr. “supreme vocal technique”) authored by one of Wagner’s personally preferred Heldentenors, or an unattractive Xerox of ancient scrolls arguably attributed to Pythagoras, such as The Secret Powers of Music, would not be uncommon finds while employed as the singular apprentice to Lord Ian. One day, Lord Ian had been reported as missing. As his last will and testament found the light of day, a number of things had been granted to a number of people, including myself. When I arrived at his estate to humbly retrieve what had been bequeathed to me, I was met at the front gate by an American Goldfinch, possessing brilliant gesangstechnik.

Additional works by Marcus James Christian, “Marcus Unlimited,” are available through:
    and Apple iTunes.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

♫ 1-118: The American Goldfinch Collection: “The Rooftop Tea Garden”

♫ 1-118: The American Goldfinch Collection: “The Rooftop Tea Garden”
©2013 Marcus James Christian, marcusunlimited.

Upon an enchanted estate — somewhere in the midst of America,
there is a billowing, lace-like mist, which waltzes about in ever evolving circles.
Forth, from its ever curling, and ever embracing cotton facade,
various wonders emerge.

Many pass by the estate,
yet never become an audience,
to the full complement of its wonders.

I am so thankful that we have been allowed to explore its splendor,
in a way that others have chosen to make impossible for themselves.

Through its unadvertised labyrinth of enchanted ivy, and London-like fog,
we walk, move, float and sometimes fly,
enjoying the ever unfolding enchantments,
which our new estate provides to us continually.

Upon the estate—there are:
many houses,
and castles.

One of its grand, high climbing gray castles, possesses an unparalleled rooftop tea garden:
just beneath the clouds.
There, carpets of four-leafed clovers adorn the sky high garden,
from which black gates and see-through fences arise.

Often I can be found there,
in the presence of beautiful forms of life,
who graciously receive my inspired compliments.
Never do I take the company of such lightly.
I am ever thankful for such.

Sometimes, there within the gardens dimensions,
We are visited by royalty,

King Carduelis Tristis, visits us there,
and imparts great wisdom upon us.

He answers questions,
while also creating beautiful curiosities within our minds.
He and his royal court have said they enjoy Gesamtkunstwerk,
especially the kind which the way of things, frequently and generously,
commissions me to create.

A hand hewn, perfectly contained, fountain motivated stream spins long “S” shapes around perfectly spaced statues of people and animals pulled forth from perfectly formed selections of carrara, marble and other fine carvable stones ideal for ideal results brought forth by those highly skilled in the art of sculpture creation.
. . . and there they stand.

Amidst the shale stones,
which help to form the basin bed of the stream coursing above them,
diamonds and spherical sapphires shine:
in record numbers and record breaking sizes.

Permeating all of such a miraculous environment are the silvery tones,
sung flawlessly by the American Goldfinch:
the Carduelis Tristis,
Which sings: “La,” and then “La, la, la …” again and again.

In endless varieties of reason wrought, compositional and performance realizations.

Additional works by Marcus James Christian, “Marcus Unlimited,” are available through:
    and Apple iTunes.