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.

Next Thing You Know…

No music rights: just homage to a soundtrackscape.

I am sick like dog: I say in my bestest, thickest Eastern European accent to the chef.

I am too ignorant to have a specific dialect, but the rasp in my voice is too deep to not enjoy, even if it hurts.

Ill since three a.m. The tasty haze of the deliciously grey day suits my fever.

Seven

a.m. texts go out.

1. The manager working.

I say: Ain’t well. Looking for a cover. If you don’t hear from me again, it means you guys are stuck with me doing my best.

I include exactly zero emoti-cons.

2. The potential covers.

I say: I’m sick. Host this morning?

No cover expected. Restaurant folk, generally do not rise before the early afternoon, at best, unless they are working. Were situations reversed, I would not come through either.

I sit on the patio and watch the day arrive between seven and eight.

Still and grey.

/Buckle up and endure, now, sweet thing./

I take puffs off my electronic nicotine machine, knowing full well it will help nothing.

My inhaler: I love calling it.

/Cancer for the cure/?

Ya know I can’t cite the source, but I recall a study saying folks are statistically more likely to prefer being shocked with a low charge, over sitting in a room, alone, in silence for fifteen minutes.

So I put on an album called electro shock blues.

I don’t mind stillness. I can shock myself with my own thoughts.

So who is the glutton for pain? The ones who like a bit of shock-pain because being alone is too painful or the ones who get off on stillness?

/well, hee hee hee hee/

/Next thing you know/ You’re eat’n hospital food/

I arrive to work. I am released and sent home after an hour. I think they wanted see if I would show up and try.

It’s good to have reasons to persevere and

over-come:

I say and i mean.

Because I get off on my intent to not let feeling bad make others feel bad or me feel worse.

Seems quite silly to say, as I put it into words now.

I am mostly light and love, but with a little bit of why-don’t-you-go-fuck-yourself for counterbalance.

Back home.

Bare beneath a grey robe.

Leg warmers over calves and most of my feet.

Earl Gray tea with a bit of cream and vanilla extract.

An American Werewolf in London Faux-Fog: I silently entitle the bootleg concoction, in homage of the traditional London Fog tincture.

Back on the patio.

The wind chops and dices the waters of

the Sound

into tiny, white-capped waves.

Little peaks of liquid mountains.

/What/

/What/

/I can hear you/

/I was…/

/Sing the one about the cat that’s always get’n wet/

Comes down the wires, from my tablet, into my Blue headphones.

I giggle.

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/