high
low
skreek of alleged tone
wormhole of blank joy
silver charge of beat behind

(I was born too late for prophecy)

reach into shadow and draw from it
porphyry and gneiss
spanish moss from haunted trees

(I am unspent and not even close to power)

drill long liquids into dark
rockets singing on their path
snake of earth gobbling its tail
moorings hammered into atom space
god of war ahead bursting aloud
a blue science of filled vaccuum

(I am unworthy of this roiled air)

these challenge salted pagan revolutions
orbit on turn of equally circular breath

blessings on these children of explosion and fire
blessings on advent of free radicalism
blessings on an a yet unrung bell

(I am wider than I was)

By David Rothenberg, from the Summer 1997 issue of Parabola Magazine:

“The greatest and most enduring music sounds new and familiar at the same time. It should defy division into one thing or another. The whole song that you hear must be impossible to describe, a shadow of words, an outline of the truth.”

my evening of debauchery consisted of:

2 beers at Ralph’s, accompanied by the urge to stand up and yell at one of the bands, “YOU GUYS SOUND LIKE “LIVE” WITHOUT THE HARDCORE STREET CREDIBILITY!!!!” There were also WAY too many kids celebrating their college graduations. Grrr…

followed by —

2 beers at Vincent’s along with a reasonably competent blues band and unexpected conversation with a couple of old guitar buddies I hadn’t seen in years;

followed by —

breakfast at the Kenmore (the Irish Omelette — filled with cornbeef hash and cheese…mmmm…)

followed by —

um, sitting here at the Mac.

I came home aftr three hours out and I wasn’t even tired…I was just fucking BORED with everything. As I said earlier…Grr.