[dear diver]
[Time: 11'30"]
[Lyrics: Andy Wagner]
[First performed February 23, 1999 -- show #20]
[Appears as track #14 on "Mainstream Mayhem"]
[Tim: electric bass, Nevin: viola, Jamie: percussion, Andy: guitar, vocals, Thom: guitar, vocals]


Andy's watery opus, best known for its 42-note arpeggio chorus and its
eleven minute length. A likely closer for the new album, this song, while
completing the informal Water Trilogy with "Buoyancy" and "This Pool,"
is also a sort of companion song to "Jane's Song" as a sort of epic laid out
in some odd time signatures, but whereas "Jane's Song" is a compact,
cohesive song with strength inherent to its structure, "Dear Diver" is its polar
opposite, thriving in indulgence, both vocally and instrumentally. And,
as a real sidebar, fans of Andy's old band Claude's Dog will notice this song's roots in
the old CD song "Resonate Against Your Heels," which is even borrowed from lyrically
once or twice in this song. Dear Diver, indeed.


dear diver, you up there making that perfect arc
and splashing down to a depth no greater than eight feet,
spiraling back to the surface amidst rumbling applause,
and the judges' nines and tens. to you, dear diver, dear diver.

i'm sending this latest letter, scrolled up in a bubble (air-mail),
stamped with a sigh and blown up to your heels, i plead again.
down here in my post office, thirty feet beneath you,
where the shades of crystal blue have darkened through
layers of cerulean, azure, indigo, now faded to black.

you still can't quite make out my figure when looking down
from fluorescent lights of the natatorium into this abyss:
and maybe you assume that water and concrete
is all that lies and lurks below. and never knowing
that staring into the lights i spy you

down where darkness prevails, for i know your silhouette so well
burned in chlorine upon my eyes while watching your toes
and silently breathing every ripple you receive.
and still i hold this breath inside my aching lungs.

each day you practice, a hundred times you come diving
break the surface, molecules dance and twist
and i hear waves rumble upon my office door.
i rush to the window, and glance you swimming horizontal
at the bottom of your turn, arcing upwards
towards freedom and oxygen, out of my grasp.
a hundred times you play this game, perfecting your moves.
and being immersed in water, i cry not tears but air
a thousand silver pebbles that rise and collect on the ceiling
and when there are enough, i type another letter
and carefully slide it into the aggregate bubble now formed
open the window, and watch my affections float upwards
as I am mailing you now.

and if this letter reaches you
and if you have read this far,
i implore you once more to breathe all the way out,
for the air in your lungs will keep you from reaching the very bottom.

with your chest collapsed,
just pull your head in, and let gravity take its course.
and upon your arrival, put your arms out and reach for my hands.
i will pull you in, bring your lips to mine,
and sealing the passage with a kiss, give you my air.
pause for inverted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation
and then you can return to the surface, my body's breath
pulling you skyward.

if you could fill this request, just this one dive, this one elongated arc
i promise to stop sending these wistful pockets of air
and calm the turbulent waters of your favorite pool and every future dive
you make will be smooth and fluid and these waters will catch you,
withhold their splash, and then return you to the surface, safe and sound.

so please, i beg you answer this letter,
and come to see me -- just this once.
for i don't think that i can hold my breath forever.


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