Category: art

new-uke-d

And, I can feel how close I am to getting it right.

The way my body moves into the chords.

I could triangulate my distance to it and draw a map of the region; but,

Æ prefers travel to cartography.

So my fingers fret in their work

in spite of

the fact that I do

not truly have the hands for it.

Soft nylon;

four not six;

leading to slightly fewer callouses.

Easily transposed.

Transfixed at first exposure;

but, eff Fmaj7.

Out-rage-us

Period Pains – Homework (Peel Session)

No rights: homage.

/Do your homework/

/hand it in/

/do your homework/

/you can’t win/.

⊙

The newly hired, seventeen year old busser arrives for her fifth shift.

I have been training her; and, she is under the mistaken impression that she answers to me.

She walks up to me and says: I know I’m supposed to wear all black, but I felt like wearing green today.

She wears a lovely army-style green button down shirt.

Am I busted or does it really matter?: she asks.

Yeah, it matters: I laugh: They’re gonna make you go home and change, I bet, but talk to J.

J. sends her home to change clothes.

I think: she’s gonna fit in just fine, on this isle of misfit toys, if she can deal with wearing the uniformed colour.

Sunday Morning Song

Elizabeth Cotton picking and singing Freight Train.Turns out this was the first song Lucinda Williams learned to play.

{Hither and zither, the sheet music “shows you which notes to pick”.

Giggle.

⊙

None of the clocks on my appliances match

the time displayed on the screens of my devices.

Because moments changed

Over night,

As if by magic.

The practicality of protracted wakeful periods during daylight hours.

The associated productivity increase.

You can get a lot of work done, outside, when you sleep all night

And only become conscious when the sun is up.

But, you can learn a lot by staying up all night and sleeping through the day.

⊙

My alarms continue their incremental resounding.

Like they do when I gotta work the restaurant.

But, not today.

Today

is my

off day.

⊙

/

[clears throat]

Al(l)right…

/

⊙

I let

the alarms

keep

going

off

⊙

/

Freight train,

Freight train,

runs so fast

/

⊙

I do strange things with my sleeping.

An alarm set at 3:33 a.m.

To force me awake to immediately resume sleeping.

I easily become lucid in dreams this way.

At the very least, it consistently improves my dream recall.

⊙

/

Please don’t tell what train I’m on.

They won’t know what route I’m gone.

/

…

I sleep upside down,

time

to

time.

Bed properly remade

Clean sheets

But with my head at my feet.

Pillows at the wrong end.

Feet by where a head usually is.

⊙

/

Place the stones at my head and feet

Tell them all that I’ve gone sleep.

/

⊙

I wake,

again,

thirsty.

Flit to the kitchen.

Make the mistake of reading poetic words

And I feel my heart beat.

Like the water had actually been coffee.

From The Book of Hours (Rainer Maria Rilke)

Now the hour bends down and touches me

with it’s clear, metallic ring:

my senses tremble. The feeling forms: I can—–

and I grasp the malleable day.

Nothing was complete before I saw it,

all becoming stood still.

My eyes are ripe, and whatever they desire

approaches like a bride.

Nothing is too small: against a lovely background

I paint it large and lovingly

and hold it high, and I will never know

whose soul it may release…

The Poetry of Rilke. ISBN: 978-0-374-53271-0

Joni Mitchell-Moon at the Window (1998)

No rights: homage to a song worth sharing.

About the ghosts.

I wrote a lot today.

You are good at what you do.: Æ says.

What do I do good?: I ask.

Being yourself: is the reply.

Thank you kindly. I’m the best at being me. Nobody does me better: I giggle.

Ghosts of stories yet to be born.

Fetal.

Feral.

A deep Joni cut.

~

/”It takes cheerful resignation
Heart and humility
That’s all it takes,”
A cheerful person told me
Nobody’s harder on me than me
How could they be
And, nobody’s harder on you than you

Betsy’s blue

She says “Tell me something good!”
You know I’d help her out if I only could
Oh, but sometimes the light
Can be so hard to find
At least the moon at the window,
The thieves left that behind

People don’t know how to love

They taste it and toss it
Turn it off and on
Like a bathtub faucet
Oh sometimes the light
Can be so hard to find
At least the moon at the window,
The thieves left that behind

I wish her heart

I know these battles
Deep in the dark
When the spooks of memories rattle
Ghosts of the future
Phantoms of the past

At least the moon at the window,
The thieves left that behind
Is it possible to learn
How to care and yet not care
Since love has two faces
Hope and despair
And pleasure always turns to fear
I find
At least the moon at the window
The thieves left that behind
At least they left the moon
Behind the blind

Moon at the window/

Chic Tweetz (Audio) – Desert Sessions Vol. 12

No rights: homage

to a song I cannot get enough.

Giggling my ass off since early this morning.

A lovely, silly diversion that lightens my mood.

Has a sort of Ian Dury and the Blockheads feel.

⊙

This album was released today.

Josh Homme has a disposition that attracts great talent.

From Queens of the Stone Age to Them Crooked Vultures (with John Paul Jones).

From Dave Grohl and Trent Reznor.

And, Iggy Pop.

And, now, Matt Berry.

Cheers

R.E.M. – Orange Crush (Official Music Video)

No rights: homage to a song that found its way into my mind this morning.

Howl great is the video? V. great. Contextual.

While most artists at this time where pumping out vacuous visuals of vamping lip synced monkies dancing around, pretending to be performing, R.E.M. did this.

A good interview.

Monolith-Fly Golden Eagle

No rights: homage to a song whose lyrics are still hard for me to make out after jamming this track for many years.

There is a certain mood that was made for this song.

It is here, today, on this slippery Sunday morning.

⊙

It reminds me of two words:

Hi-wa-itck: a Mohave tradition concerning lovesickness that is associated with insomnia, anxiety, light depression, and loss of appetite.

Front of center: (archery) the weight of an arrow tip that determines the penetration of the intended target.

⊙

/Lightly as we go.

I got ya hand inside my…

And where it ends nobody knows/

/So tell me what I’m supposed

To do

When all my thoughts get wrapped up in you/

/Was like an engine sucking steam

Just letting it slide/

/Just like your smile is so alive.

A bow and arrow shot you…/

/…coming unglued/

\Ahhhhhh let it go!/

Sudan Archives – Glorious

No rights: homage to music new to me.

The feminine yet uniquely honest sound coupled with the visual sense of movement.

The interplay of gender.

Of calm and distress.

Tension of bound strings against percussion.

Just lovely.

Glad they make and share.

Macha – Between Stranded Sonars

No rights: homage.

From the album See It Another Way.

⊙

Having had the autumnal blues yesterday, I message a distant friend who offered me solace. I say: I can tolerate one more beer before my tolerance renders me incapable of doing a good job at the restaurant at 8 a.m. tomorrow. A night out has done my heart good.

Asat alone at a bar top. To my left is my sister, currently outside cancelling her plans with her man. To my right is my father, currently at the bar ordering a pitcher.

I finish my beer as the band launches into their opening number.

Tommy Tutone.

Jenny.

I know that gal’s number already: I think: had you opened with Lady Stardust? Well, I mighta hung around for he/r.

I get home. To my pack of cigs. I wanna smoke a square and pluck one.

My mind moves quickly.

I play the game I love:

What is the perfect song right now?

Macha. First track from the self-titled album?

No. That was the perfect song two years.

Do better. Dig deeper.

Last track. Same band. Album afore mentioned.

I walk and smoke tobacco leaf. To make sure.

My brow furrows. Hard. Like the force of thought incepting me right now.

I am sure. Perfect song for right now, indeed.

Gore Vidal vs Norman Mailer | The Dick Cavett Show

This gal loves a good interview with interesting speakers.

Lou Reed, Lucinda Williams, Neil Young, Johnny Lydon, the list goes on,

Anon, anon.

But, this one….oh howl, I love this one.

A rare confluence of different energies, including the audience’s, along with a tennis-like art of arguement.

Style.

I love hyper-intellectuals flying their idiosyncratic flags.

“I am here and I am becoming very, very bored.”

“I have to tell you a quote from Tolstoy?”: Cavett to Mailer.

“Are you really all truly idiots, or is it me?”: Mailer to audience.

Howlaciously howlarious.

“It was the voice of Legion’s.”

“The difference is I’d savo(u)r the quote and you’ve thrown it into the battle.”

“Oh, for goodness sake.”

Lucinda Williams – I Lost It (Live 1999)

Coming from the state of LA to AL (now in WA), I am a snob about country music,

as most of it is pop music now; but some still continue the musicality.

Lucinda W. is not unlike a Patti S. to the Southern american music scene.

/Are you heavy enough to make me stay?/

/I feel like I might blow away./

/Let me know if you come across it./

/I don’t want nothing if I have to fake it/

/Never take nothing don’t belong to me/

/Everything’s paid for; nothing’s free/

Bongwater – Peel Session 1991

No rights: homage.

Also, homage to this channel, which posts Peel Sessions.

Track one had better put a smile on everyone’s face with its rambunctious ramblings. It’s only slightly raunchy, you’ll hardly even notice.

Track two gives a softer side. The addition of “yet” to “you don’t love me” charms me.

Track three: /maybe I’m getting too old for this but I don’t know what else to do….yeah/

Track four: remembrance of things past.

Sidenote: bongwater, like tape heads, should be cleaned regularly. Giggle.

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