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.

and yet, I’m antsy for something rowdy to do tonight. Which I’ll likely find and end up doing.

We must always remember that I have a serious mental illness, and am heavily medicated. This explains so much of my idiocy.

it’s 1:47 AM and i just checked NASCAR.com to see who has the pole for Saturday’s race.

(it’s Scott Riggs, in case you care.)

dear lord…i’ve become a NASCAR fan.

let’s swap icons. i’ll use your face, you use mine.

ought to confuse the hell out of a bunch of people come nationals.

Jeff Skilling and Ken Lay: guilty.

We have been fighting WWII since 1939.

The roles have shifted, the enemies have changed names, but the same conflict has been playing out for all this time: the clash of civilizations. Not political theories, but the clash of global omnipotence — how it shall be managed and to whom it is allocated.

Since the dropping of the bombs on Japan in 1945, it has been played out against the backdrop of the growing probability of worldwide destruction. When you have seen the shadows burned into the concrete, it becomes nearly impossible not to embrace your own darkness.

In Africa children have been raped to avoid death by AIDS. In the Balkans villages become rape camps and graveyards. In the Middle East men and women turn themselves into Death itself in the attempt to create life for those left behind and to find their own immortality. In China gorges are drowned in the hope of creating a monument to guaranteed power. In Russia theater-goers and school children become fodder for the vision of freedom. In Western Europe and America riots and individual acts of violence are the paroxysm of individuals crying out for their own importance.

Is it any wonder that our most watched shows are shows of the Survivor archetype? The lone survivors walk away from their individual battlegrounds after seeing the elimination of all who came before and struggled with them. Rewards await them and yet they weep for those who’ve gone before, and for their own relief at having survived.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I don’t really know where to go.

From the lovely diva_dot. A five question interview.

1. You have one night and an endless supply of hot rock-n-roll chicks, and you must pick one for some good sex, plus two runners up…in case the first one has a headache or something. Who’s it going to be?

I’ll go with Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney, followed by Brody Dalle/Armstrong and Jada Pinkett-Smith. (She’s fronting a heavy metal band these days, so I feel justified in that one.)

2. You can only pick 3 foods to eat for the rest of your life. What are they?

Fresh, authentic Mozzarella cheese, sun-warm vine ripe tomatoes, and extra-virgin olive oil.

3. You and I somehow get the opportunity to hang out for an entire day. What are we going to do?

Girl watching, baby!

4. Godspeed You Black Emperor wants to take you on tour with them so you can do your poetry with their music. There is one condition: they want you to appear at all shows either naked (if the venue allows it) or wearing a housedress made out of black garbage bags. What do you do?

Considering they are pretty much an instrumental band, to turn this down would be a great dishonor. I’m there. Just gimme a couple months to recover from the tummy tuck.

5. You are given yet another golden opportunity: you must put one celebrity that you hate out of his (or her) misery. Who’s going to kick the bucket in the end?

Adios, Joan Rivers! And if I can use explosives, then Melissa Rivers is gone too.

Hey babe, I’m horny.
Wanna fuck? I promise I’ll
last longer than — oops.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeah, it’s short, but I
swear there are enough
syllables in it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Uh, uh, uh , uh, yes,
yes, yes, uh, oh, yes, yes, yes,
now! Now! NOW! Ah…zzzz.

that the people who are most worried about online theft and unfair use of their work are usually the ones who have the least to worry about?