Opening Day
Monday, March 31, 2008
Opening Day
More Rants of Exchange
Rate of exchange
don't treat the greenback so good
nowadays.
Anyroad
last post's rant of exchange
remembered to tell me
about this rant of exchange
that's got bits from
Russell Hoban's 1980 novel
Riddley Walker.
"the onlyest power is no power."
http://www.ocelotfactory.com/hoban/riddley.html
We covered up the clutter
and burried all our broken wires.
Opened up the shutters
and we can see for miles and miles.
And isn't it true
that we know something about you?
But that's okay
that's okay.
Every tomorrow meets its end
in yesterday.
And isn't it strange
accounting the rates of exchange?
We got there from here
"the little come big by the far come near"
so please don't take the good news so hard.
Lose the frown
break a smile
hide your soapbox
for a while.
We've got something
for your ringing ears.
"Sharna pax and get the pole"
brighten out the deepest hole.
Signal tower
flash the hour
of all clear.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Oversees a Broad
Ghost buildings with painted on bricks.
Bossa Nova please, maestro.
Lighten up, Francis...
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Positively 2nd Ave NE
Friday, March 28, 2008
Daisy Glaze
What's it about?
Amstel Adams
Gee-Flips came over last night with all of his pictures.
Amstel Adams.
How'd he get so good at it?
Photo-grapher
Photo-grapher.
Get the picture?
The observant will note
the many Pretty Things references
in this post
n probably the next
few.
I found Disc One of Unrepentant
hiding in
Chocolate Watchband's
44.
Are you gonna be there?
Reflecting Grey?
Yes.
Gee-flips has a good eye for composition.
His photos of the not so good Friday show
in Blingham
remind me that Roosty n Scaught
played a really nice set.
Shame shame.
Gee-flips is good folks.
Gentleman Drude.
It knocked me out
when he took my suggestion
to go to Morocco seriously
and went.
Mayhaps I'll post a couple of his Morocco pics
and a couple of Blingham pics
here.
Better ask first, though.
Intellectual property
being what it is.
Gee-flips is the kind of person
that makes you want to try harder
to listen
to respect
to appreciate
other people.
How'd he get so good at it?
Photo-grapher
Photo-grapher.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Lares and Penates
Household Gods.
Since the fall of Care-oh and Scaught
or really
since the fall of Bean and Scaught
I wander in search of a place to put 'em.
Like pious Aeneas
at the fall of Troy.
Actually
more like Aison.
Jason.
Not born from the Gods.
like Achilles
like Aeneas.
Jason is mortal
and
Jason has problems
forced on a difficult journey
he didn't choose.
He doesn't like it.
Neither do I.
Right now
I am washed up.
Take that any way you want to
and you'll be correct.
Washed up on a strange continent.
Welcomed by the inhabitants of a city
where my past glories are celebrated.
That was an age of heroes
Pilot County Suites and Candy Aquamarine.
It's gone now
like my youth.
Like my desire shoulder the battered weapons
of volume and rhythm
and stand again in the field
"bringing it" as the Hatcheted Heart likes to say.
Useless
like stooped Priam in young man's gear
making a last stand against the Greeks.
At least he had a wife to tell him he looked
like a fool.
But we is alone
n kinda lost.
Somewhere in these books I keep reading
over and over
there lies a sign that points the way
or a good wind to fill my sails
and allow me to gently disembark
from this crumbling dreamland.
Yup.
I'm still looking
for Aeneas' Italy
for Jason's Golden Fleece
for a safe place
to put my Lares and Penates.
My household Gods.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Lay Piety
What are we like at our most in between?
Equidistant from your eyes and mine.
Midpoint where our breath mingles invisibly.
What are we like at our most in between?
Every idea of you came to me
through my eyes and my ears and my skin.
But if I go out of my mind will you be there
waiting at the median of our warm bodies?
I haven’t got sense enough in the world
to know where you or I stand.
Distance, direction, the future, the past.
I perceive and I think and imagine.
But what if you aren’t really there?
And what if I’m not really here?
Whoever I am I can’t bear the thought
that would ever make you fiction.
I cling to my faith that you’re always with me
especially when I’m alone.
Believing you’re there gives me reason to be
Be here
be there
and between.
Ava, Shirley and The Fall of Eagles
I talk to Rosy Fingered Dawn
Sort of an oracle
I guess.
Anyway
it helps me
sort things out
n there's plenty things
needing sorting out.
The sliding scale
makes that possible.
Thank you Mr. Freud.
Thank you Mr. Jung.
I'm still clinging to the raft.
Care-oh picked me up after Dawn
with the two hounds in tow.
Ava and Shirley
Ava and Shirley
The pups.
My pals.
No matter what life slings at you
it all goes into the rearview mirror
when you're with the pups.
They're a team.
Inseparable.
We all went to chez Care-oh
ate tuna casserole
with olives
played and watched
The Fall of Eagles.
Who doesn't love historical costume drama?
Who doesn't love low budget, BBC historical costume drama?
Ay Claudius!
The Fall of Eagles
Europe at the brink of the Great War
Foreign Ministers
Kaisers
Kings
Generals
Anarchists
n overarching arrogance and greed
Monarchy crumbles
blood irrigates fallow farmland.
Gotta re-read
The Guns of August.
Why did everybody think
it would last mere weeks?
Arrogance n greed
bellicose nationalism
rational / irrational paradox
the cult of the offensive
and then
"An iron vice has caught us all."
Hmmmm,
seems very familiar
very familiar.
Total Eclipse of The Earth
The language can’t hide your words lack of worth
holding no perspective
like an eclipse of the earth.
It’s only your shadow on the ground
that you never find your way around.
So introspective
but it’s all been played out.
So many things to speak about
but all you ever do is shout.
Sing, sing the rage
like Achilles in a cage.
There’s no solution
to your anger and confusion
so just continue to delay.
Until they find out you’ve got nothing to say.
The sweet smokey spell you’re under
holds you in this dark penumbra.
The light and the heavy and darkness between
will blot out the stars in the sky and your dreams.
So when again will we meet?
Under cloud or moon or out on the street?
Well you know that when it finally goes south
your ambition will have vaulted over your mouth.
Somewhere somebody has made you a crown
but the commoners kicked it all over town
I found and it wiped off the sticky and slime
Is it okay if I make this thing mine?
Monday, March 24, 2008
Last Trip to Bellingham
In the continuing story of things falling apart
things fell apart.
Some more.
Good Friday.
Not so good Friday.
We did the acoustic thing
in Blingham.
Mic messes
n hippies.
Good beer from around our way.
Like a nice chocolate shop
but beer.
However
the lay lines in Blingham are bad.
Remember November?
Anterior cruciate ligament
pop.
Care-oh and Scaught
pop.
Paul Lynde Fanclub
pop.
and now
Roosty n Scaught
pop.
We don't believe in self pity
boo who?
We know we own stacks of blame
in these things.
At times though
there seems to be a hidden calculus
operating under the hum of these interactions.
occulted ambitions
smuggled perceptions
opaque ciphers
all being strangled
by the steady drumbeat
of time.
We ain't getting any
younger
no.
We is getting ahn
but I don't know
whats going ahn.
Love on everybody though
Life is hard enough
n I don't want to make anybody hurt
so things go pop
we breathe
watch the moon
and move along.
Lux Nova on The East Greenlake Express
The air goes in
the breath goes out.
The breadth of a decision.
The width of a doubt.
She sits in the corner
your eyes resting on her.
The lashes and black hair
and the dark in her stare
radiate in waves
from Olympus to Hades.
Will you drift into her rocks?
Break apart in her locks?
Or ride high on the swell
past the seas where the sun dwells.
Just the slightest glance
can cause the reins to dance
in this chariot race
for a glimpse of her face.
Dark Lady of the sonnets
why have you done and gone it?
You paid the fare and now you are sitting there
and
you are most fair
most fair.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Never Was and Isn't Going to Be
It’s like clinging to a piece of wood in the middle of the ocean.
Friday, March 21, 2008
For My Life's Comet
Up to me
down to you
Shafts of light
passing through
All the dark
of our lives
Boy and girl
Man and Wife
And every time we touch
My head goes round
I get down on my knees
and kiss the ground
Up to me
Down to you
Up the stairs
to your room
You are the light
and the truth
Up to me
Down to you
And every time we touch
my head goes round
I get down on my knees
and kiss the ground
And this is the most important thing
to me, the most important thing
And every time we touch
my head goes round
I get down on my knees
and kiss the ground
Up to me
Down to you
Far away
Closer too
Doesn't matter what they do
Up to me
Down to you
Sea Shanty for The Unreliable Narrator
Remember when we first went down there together
and out into space on the edge of the tether?
You said it’s like swimming through a Bermuda’s triangle
we made mathematical sense of something newfangled.
But now you don’t have so much time
and there ain’t enough room for us in your mind.
When you walked out of the sea and into the sand.
With only the clothes on your back in your hand.
We waited and watched
worried and stewed.
The line of the phone and tealeaves we brewed.
Bathed in a bathysphere floating in trust
but your mind isn’t big enough for the both of us.
Is it hell living in that diving bell?
What do you tear asunder every time you go under?
Are we like the creatures you see in the deep?
Glow while awake and gone when you sleep?
And right now it grows dark at the heart of the sea and dim in the deepest parts of me.
For all of us here that still walk on the land
and don’t go to sea with invisible bands
are bound and determined to fade out like ghosts
haunting the mind of a parasite’s host.