some cool personal sites:
http://www.blurbomat.com
http://www.dooce.com
Thursday, April 03, 2003
Monday, March 31, 2003
Friday, March 28, 2003
Here's the straight poop on all the shows coming up...
The June Observer
and
Has the Boy Fallen
Aprl 9th TV Lounge of Thompson Hall at 8:30
Hastheboyfallen
Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs
bryan murphy
matthew cross
travis johansen
Aaron gunther
Megan Bartasevich
April 26th - Rocket Coffee - 8pm?
These shows are definate so come out and support me and some other hot local artists, like forgotten figures falling together between two twigs and others like the june observer... but not the Jesse Ames Experience because she's going to the prom.
The June Observer
and
Has the Boy Fallen
Aprl 9th TV Lounge of Thompson Hall at 8:30
Hastheboyfallen
Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs
bryan murphy
matthew cross
travis johansen
Aaron gunther
Megan Bartasevich
April 26th - Rocket Coffee - 8pm?
These shows are definate so come out and support me and some other hot local artists, like forgotten figures falling together between two twigs and others like the june observer... but not the Jesse Ames Experience because she's going to the prom.
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
Dictators and Pacifists
by Mitch Jones
This is my second article about pacifism. The first was written just
before
the Afghanistan War. Since then the world scene has changed a bit.
Things
aren’t any safer since the war. We are now at “Orange Alert.”
Afghanistan
isn’t any freer. There’s a small part of the country that is ruled by a
puppet
regime, but warlords, vigilante sects of the Northern Alliance, run the
rest.
Now we come to another war and with it another anti-war movement. Again,
the
same arguments come up. I’d like to explain the logic of pacifism once
and for
all because it is what is needed right now. Militarism is making things
worse.
The issue that critics of pacifism always seem to bring up is that of
Hitler.
Of course, they don’t remember that he called his attack on the
Sudetenland was
called a “humanitarian intervention,” using the same rhetoric that today’s
war
philosophers use. Also, the British appeasement of Hitler was not the
result
of pacifism. It was the result of indecisiveness on the part of the
authorities in the countries that later became the Allies. They were
not
willing to take a stand against injustice, violently or non-violently.
The
finally became a necessary war when Hitler’s aggression was too late.
Chamberlain’s decision at Munich was based on the idea that if Britain
supported Hitler then he would not attack England. This was obviously
wrong.
Historians have pointed out that the German courts were ready to oust
Hitler at
any sign of international protest. Some did protest, however. The
Anarchists
and Communists in America, some of who did fight violently in the
Spanish Civil
War against fascism, who opposed Hitler were suppressed, deported and
jailed.
American racists fueled the isolationism of the 1930s.
What would the pacifists have done about Hitler? There are a couple of
ideas.
The Treaty of Versailles was a document that fueled German hatreds and
caused
economic hardships for the Germans, which led to the scapegoating of
Jews and
other groups. Perhaps if the treaty had been drafted fairly Hitler
would not
have risen to power. Also, if Britain and the United States had come
out
against Hitler in their rhetoric from very early on he would not have
got as
far as he did – to the point where his aggression lead to war. David
McReynolds points out several non-violent victories against Hitler in an
essay
on the Philosophy of Nonviolence on Nonviolence.org. He writes:
“But within Occupied Europe there were well documented victories for
nonviolence. In Norway there was a successful teachers' strike against
being
forced to teach Nazi ideology. In Denmark the opposition to the Nazis
was led
by the King, who said that if the Jews had to put on the "Yellow Star of
David", then he, the King, would be the first man in Denmark to put one
on.
When the Nazis moved to arrest the Danish Jews, members of the Gestapo
leaked
this news to the Danish authorities and in 48 hours virtually all the
Jews in
Denmark were gotten to safety in Sweden. In Bulgaria, which had no
history of
anti-Semitism, spontaneous civil resistance (including crowds sitting on
train
tracks) prevented the Nazis from shipping any Jews out of the country.”
Of course, no one can know what could have stopped Hitler, but we can
use it as
an example from the past and learn from it.
Some have pointed out that there are parallels between Adolph Hitler and
Saddam
Hussein. Ideologically, Saddam Hussein is probably more like Stalin,
the
dictator who ordered thousands of young boys to die fighting against
Hitler,
but for the sake of argument we’ll discuss the parallels that seem
apparent.
First of all, Saddam Hussein was brought to power by the United States
and
supported by the United States. Had the anti-Saddam movement been
listened to
early on the mess would not be created. Of course, these are all what-if’s,
but if the critics of pacifism are going to use them to ask ‘What if
violence
wasn’t used against Hitler,’ then I’ll ask, ‘What if the United States
hadn’t
supported Saddam Hussein?’ A lot of talk about weapons of mass
destruction has
revolved around Iraq since the early 1990s, however what they don’t tell
you is
that the United States sold Iraq many of those weapons.
Second, like the Treaty of Versailles, the sanctions after the first
Gulf War
have caused economic hardship in Iraq. These sanctions were meant to
weaken
Saddam Hussein’s hold on Iraq. Although I don’t disagree with sanctions
as a
general practice (they definitely worked in South Africa to end
apartheid
almost non-violently apart from a few riots) the sanctions on Iraq have
not
worked. They have only strengthened Saddam Hussein like the Treaty of
Versailles did for Adolph Hitler. The Iraqi people resent the United
States
more than Saddam Hussein for the economic hardships they’ve had to face.
Finally, the question of ‘what do we do about Saddam Hussein’ needs to
be
answered. It is obvious that it is too late to correct the mistakes
made in
the past. However, the United States could have done much to improve
its image
in Iraq. Expanding the Oil For Food program and making real efforts
toward a
Palestinian state would weaken Saddam Hussein.
As far as weapons of mass destruction go, the inspections were working.
Iraq
was making moves toward disarming. Other diplomatic means as well
should at
least have been tried.
Before the war there was plenty of anti-war criticism. However, since
the war
has started such criticism seems to have waned. This is unfortunate.
Jingoistic ideas about “supporting our troops” should not cloud the
discussion. The world has told George Bush NO, but our illusions of
Democracy
have been shattered. Pacifism is seen as offensive. A philosophy that
opposes
all murder is seen as offensive. Doesn’t that indicate that there is
something
wrong with our society’s priorities?
by Mitch Jones
This is my second article about pacifism. The first was written just
before
the Afghanistan War. Since then the world scene has changed a bit.
Things
aren’t any safer since the war. We are now at “Orange Alert.”
Afghanistan
isn’t any freer. There’s a small part of the country that is ruled by a
puppet
regime, but warlords, vigilante sects of the Northern Alliance, run the
rest.
Now we come to another war and with it another anti-war movement. Again,
the
same arguments come up. I’d like to explain the logic of pacifism once
and for
all because it is what is needed right now. Militarism is making things
worse.
The issue that critics of pacifism always seem to bring up is that of
Hitler.
Of course, they don’t remember that he called his attack on the
Sudetenland was
called a “humanitarian intervention,” using the same rhetoric that today’s
war
philosophers use. Also, the British appeasement of Hitler was not the
result
of pacifism. It was the result of indecisiveness on the part of the
authorities in the countries that later became the Allies. They were
not
willing to take a stand against injustice, violently or non-violently.
The
finally became a necessary war when Hitler’s aggression was too late.
Chamberlain’s decision at Munich was based on the idea that if Britain
supported Hitler then he would not attack England. This was obviously
wrong.
Historians have pointed out that the German courts were ready to oust
Hitler at
any sign of international protest. Some did protest, however. The
Anarchists
and Communists in America, some of who did fight violently in the
Spanish Civil
War against fascism, who opposed Hitler were suppressed, deported and
jailed.
American racists fueled the isolationism of the 1930s.
What would the pacifists have done about Hitler? There are a couple of
ideas.
The Treaty of Versailles was a document that fueled German hatreds and
caused
economic hardships for the Germans, which led to the scapegoating of
Jews and
other groups. Perhaps if the treaty had been drafted fairly Hitler
would not
have risen to power. Also, if Britain and the United States had come
out
against Hitler in their rhetoric from very early on he would not have
got as
far as he did – to the point where his aggression lead to war. David
McReynolds points out several non-violent victories against Hitler in an
essay
on the Philosophy of Nonviolence on Nonviolence.org. He writes:
“But within Occupied Europe there were well documented victories for
nonviolence. In Norway there was a successful teachers' strike against
being
forced to teach Nazi ideology. In Denmark the opposition to the Nazis
was led
by the King, who said that if the Jews had to put on the "Yellow Star of
David", then he, the King, would be the first man in Denmark to put one
on.
When the Nazis moved to arrest the Danish Jews, members of the Gestapo
leaked
this news to the Danish authorities and in 48 hours virtually all the
Jews in
Denmark were gotten to safety in Sweden. In Bulgaria, which had no
history of
anti-Semitism, spontaneous civil resistance (including crowds sitting on
train
tracks) prevented the Nazis from shipping any Jews out of the country.”
Of course, no one can know what could have stopped Hitler, but we can
use it as
an example from the past and learn from it.
Some have pointed out that there are parallels between Adolph Hitler and
Saddam
Hussein. Ideologically, Saddam Hussein is probably more like Stalin,
the
dictator who ordered thousands of young boys to die fighting against
Hitler,
but for the sake of argument we’ll discuss the parallels that seem
apparent.
First of all, Saddam Hussein was brought to power by the United States
and
supported by the United States. Had the anti-Saddam movement been
listened to
early on the mess would not be created. Of course, these are all what-if’s,
but if the critics of pacifism are going to use them to ask ‘What if
violence
wasn’t used against Hitler,’ then I’ll ask, ‘What if the United States
hadn’t
supported Saddam Hussein?’ A lot of talk about weapons of mass
destruction has
revolved around Iraq since the early 1990s, however what they don’t tell
you is
that the United States sold Iraq many of those weapons.
Second, like the Treaty of Versailles, the sanctions after the first
Gulf War
have caused economic hardship in Iraq. These sanctions were meant to
weaken
Saddam Hussein’s hold on Iraq. Although I don’t disagree with sanctions
as a
general practice (they definitely worked in South Africa to end
apartheid
almost non-violently apart from a few riots) the sanctions on Iraq have
not
worked. They have only strengthened Saddam Hussein like the Treaty of
Versailles did for Adolph Hitler. The Iraqi people resent the United
States
more than Saddam Hussein for the economic hardships they’ve had to face.
Finally, the question of ‘what do we do about Saddam Hussein’ needs to
be
answered. It is obvious that it is too late to correct the mistakes
made in
the past. However, the United States could have done much to improve
its image
in Iraq. Expanding the Oil For Food program and making real efforts
toward a
Palestinian state would weaken Saddam Hussein.
As far as weapons of mass destruction go, the inspections were working.
Iraq
was making moves toward disarming. Other diplomatic means as well
should at
least have been tried.
Before the war there was plenty of anti-war criticism. However, since
the war
has started such criticism seems to have waned. This is unfortunate.
Jingoistic ideas about “supporting our troops” should not cloud the
discussion. The world has told George Bush NO, but our illusions of
Democracy
have been shattered. Pacifism is seen as offensive. A philosophy that
opposes
all murder is seen as offensive. Doesn’t that indicate that there is
something
wrong with our society’s priorities?
Tuesday, March 25, 2003
Here's the deal on future shows:
Wed., April 9
The June Observer
Hastheboyfallen
8pm
Thompson Hall Longue - SUNY Brockport
Sat., April 26
The Jesse Ames Experience
Megan Bartasevich
Hastheboyfallen
others (I don't know the whole lineup yet)
9pm
Rocket Coffee - Monroe Ave. Rochester
Fri., May 9 ?
Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs
Hastheboyfallen
9pm ?
Rocket Coffee - Monroe Ave. Rochester
The last one isn't set yet so don't quote me on it or anything. It will be some time in May probably.
Wed., April 9
The June Observer
Hastheboyfallen
8pm
Thompson Hall Longue - SUNY Brockport
Sat., April 26
The Jesse Ames Experience
Megan Bartasevich
Hastheboyfallen
others (I don't know the whole lineup yet)
9pm
Rocket Coffee - Monroe Ave. Rochester
Fri., May 9 ?
Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs
Hastheboyfallen
9pm ?
Rocket Coffee - Monroe Ave. Rochester
The last one isn't set yet so don't quote me on it or anything. It will be some time in May probably.
Monday, March 24, 2003
Here's some funny hate mail I got: You know this has been fun for about a nanosecond or two, but since you
aren't up to any kind of decent argument, I think I'll just say TTFN, and
block your e-mail address. Don't go away mad, you twit, just go away.
PS - Masturbate for peace, eh? Hey, I'll bet you're real experienced at
that! Lot's of practice, I'd wager.
Why does pacifism offend so many people? I can see how anarchism could be an offensive philosophy, but not pacifism. How can you criticize criticism of murder?
Here are some other pages:
http://www.strike-the-root.com/3/wiggins/wiggins5.html
http://iraqpeaceteam.org/pages/diaries.html
aren't up to any kind of decent argument, I think I'll just say TTFN, and
block your e-mail address. Don't go away mad, you twit, just go away.
PS - Masturbate for peace, eh? Hey, I'll bet you're real experienced at
that! Lot's of practice, I'd wager.
Why does pacifism offend so many people? I can see how anarchism could be an offensive philosophy, but not pacifism. How can you criticize criticism of murder?
Here are some other pages:
http://www.strike-the-root.com/3/wiggins/wiggins5.html
http://iraqpeaceteam.org/pages/diaries.html
Friday, March 21, 2003
Thursday, March 20, 2003
http://yellowtimes.org/article.php?sid=1171&mode=thread&order=0
STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR!
STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR! STOP THE WAR!
Tuesday, March 18, 2003
Alone at home, listening to Coalesce. Here's a poem about how great I am.
I am lightning
I am a vulture's kiss or a big wet one from Judas Iscariot
I am the light that goes off when you press the trigger on yr camera
I am one and two and three but not four
And you don't deserve me
I am beautiful
I told you I have wings
But did you know the story of how I aquired them?
I feel like an empty jug of wine
Fill me up with puke or tears
Or else prove you love me
I am lightly and gracefully moving across the room on a cloud
I dance like a jester who lost his costume and is forced to wear a gray suit and entertain the entire office
I am the life of the party
I'm dirty and I'm squeaky, shining clean
Don't kiss me
You have diseases
Set up the bowling pins
I'll curl up into a ball and knock them all down
Give me a kick to get me started
And when the destruction is complete I won't stop
I'll just keep rolling into the sunset
And one day a million years from now you'll be sipping stem tea with a friend and say out loud, "I wonder what happened to him"
And you honestly won't realize that you drove me away
*Stem Tea*
I am lightning
I am a vulture's kiss or a big wet one from Judas Iscariot
I am the light that goes off when you press the trigger on yr camera
I am one and two and three but not four
And you don't deserve me
I am beautiful
I told you I have wings
But did you know the story of how I aquired them?
I feel like an empty jug of wine
Fill me up with puke or tears
Or else prove you love me
I am lightly and gracefully moving across the room on a cloud
I dance like a jester who lost his costume and is forced to wear a gray suit and entertain the entire office
I am the life of the party
I'm dirty and I'm squeaky, shining clean
Don't kiss me
You have diseases
Set up the bowling pins
I'll curl up into a ball and knock them all down
Give me a kick to get me started
And when the destruction is complete I won't stop
I'll just keep rolling into the sunset
And one day a million years from now you'll be sipping stem tea with a friend and say out loud, "I wonder what happened to him"
And you honestly won't realize that you drove me away
Monday, March 17, 2003
Well, the war is about to start. We've got two days people. Let's stop this thing by any means necessary. We don't need to kill any more of anyone's children, especially not our own. Keep updated: www.newsfromthefront.org
http://www.humanshields.org/
http://iraqpeaceteam.org
http://www.humanshields.org/
http://iraqpeaceteam.org
I realized that some people don't know where Rocket Coffee is. Here's they're website which has the address on it: http://rocketcoffee.com/
Sunday, March 16, 2003
So last night I got hit on twice. The first girl was really drunk and the second was like 14... not interested, but it's flattering anyway. Maybe being single won't be so bad.
Ok, so here's the news that I was going to say before. Six Degrees of Separation Anxiety is the soundtrack to a movie called Meridian by Josh Strauss. He has copies. If you come to the show on April 26th he'll probably have copies of it. Also, we're talking about doing a screening.
Second, I'm trying to get a show in Brockport with me, Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs and The June Observer. It's still in the works. Also, Forgotten Figures and I are going to do a split and we're going to cover each other's songs. That will get on it's way after the split with the Jesse Ames Experience is done which should be soon, but it hasn't happened yet because I'm a procrastinator.
I think that's all I have to say for now. Oh, someone told me to tell everyone I know to go to a show at Rocket Coffee this Saturday at 9pm so, yeah, do it. I forgot the names of the bands. I know one is the Grievants and the other is something with the word 'penny' in it I think. The latter is pretty good. I've seen them a couple of times. Too bad I can't remember their name.
Ok, so here's the news that I was going to say before. Six Degrees of Separation Anxiety is the soundtrack to a movie called Meridian by Josh Strauss. He has copies. If you come to the show on April 26th he'll probably have copies of it. Also, we're talking about doing a screening.
Second, I'm trying to get a show in Brockport with me, Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs and The June Observer. It's still in the works. Also, Forgotten Figures and I are going to do a split and we're going to cover each other's songs. That will get on it's way after the split with the Jesse Ames Experience is done which should be soon, but it hasn't happened yet because I'm a procrastinator.
I think that's all I have to say for now. Oh, someone told me to tell everyone I know to go to a show at Rocket Coffee this Saturday at 9pm so, yeah, do it. I forgot the names of the bands. I know one is the Grievants and the other is something with the word 'penny' in it I think. The latter is pretty good. I've seen them a couple of times. Too bad I can't remember their name.
Saturday, March 15, 2003
Wednesday, March 12, 2003
So, there's a few things I'd like to say. I'm making a tape full of noise rock. I'm not going to promote it a whole lot. I'm pretty much just doing it for myself, but if you see me and you want a copy just ask. I'd be more than happy to give it to some people to accompany their altered states of consciousness or otherwise.
Last night I was feeling really wounded. John Lennon said, "one thing you can't hide is when yr crippled inside," but I seem to have been able to hide it pretty well. I don't know what I'm going to do. I feel like no one loves me.
Last night I was feeling really wounded. John Lennon said, "one thing you can't hide is when yr crippled inside," but I seem to have been able to hide it pretty well. I don't know what I'm going to do. I feel like no one loves me.
Tuesday, March 11, 2003
Sunday, March 09, 2003
So last night I had a great night. Friday was good too, but not as good as last night. Anyway, I hope I dream tonite.
So I don't know if I already said this, but on Saturday, April 26th I'm playing at show at Rocket Coffee (Monroe Ave. Rochester - near Krudco, Atomic Eggplant, Abundance Coop) at 9pm. I'm not sure who else is playing yet and I'm not sure what the cover will be (probably no more than a $5 donation). I think it's a benefit for Rochester Anti-Racist Action, but I'm not sure of that either. When I get more information I'll post it here.
Finally, I'm going to try and do a split CD-R with the Jesse Ames Experience. I wrote three new songs and I guess Jesse has three new ones too so I think a split's a cool idea.
Well, that's it for now. Like I said, I hope I dream.
PS: listen to Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs if you get the chance. They're off the hook.
PPS: "Where's yr friend Becky, dude. I want to go home." -p
So I don't know if I already said this, but on Saturday, April 26th I'm playing at show at Rocket Coffee (Monroe Ave. Rochester - near Krudco, Atomic Eggplant, Abundance Coop) at 9pm. I'm not sure who else is playing yet and I'm not sure what the cover will be (probably no more than a $5 donation). I think it's a benefit for Rochester Anti-Racist Action, but I'm not sure of that either. When I get more information I'll post it here.
Finally, I'm going to try and do a split CD-R with the Jesse Ames Experience. I wrote three new songs and I guess Jesse has three new ones too so I think a split's a cool idea.
Well, that's it for now. Like I said, I hope I dream.
PS: listen to Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs if you get the chance. They're off the hook.
PPS: "Where's yr friend Becky, dude. I want to go home." -p
Friday, March 07, 2003
Not really a lot to say, but I wasted all this time trying to get online so I might as well make the most of it. First of all, it's late and I'm kinda tired. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately. It's not because I'm insomniac these days or anything (although I have been in the past). It's just that my schedule hasn't allowed me much time for sleep. Anyway, right now I'm sitting here at the computer having just finished my homework and I'm pondering tomorrow. I'm going through all these plans, schemes, for tricking myself into having a good time. That's what it's come down to these days, tricking myself into having a good time. If I think I'm having a good time, then usually I'm not and when I'm think I'm going to have a good time I almost always don't. What that means is that tomorrow I'm going to a show at 99 Custer St. and I'm going to enjoy it, but not by choice. I'll be forced to enjoy it by factors external to me. I think that was about the most meaningless thing I've ever said, but it makes me sound smart. I've never tried to hide the fact that I only pretend to be smart. It doesn't stop me from pretending though. So here in the computer room I feel so alone. I feel isolated because I'm trying to get this message across to millions of people, but no one seems to be listening. The message is: WAR IS STUPID. But that's not the only message. Love is the answer, that's a good one. I'm in love right now. I don't know why I know that, but I just do. Too bad she doesn't know she is. I sometimes think she is and she's just fooling herself and then I think that she isn't and she's fooling herself. Usually it just boils down to: I'm a fool. The best part about being in love is the longing. I love missing people. I know that somewhere out there there's someone that I'd just love to be with more than anyone and maybe that person feels similar in some sort of way. I don't really need to count on that though. I have my own feelings. I know what they are. What others feel is irrelevant. They're only actors in my dream... and it's MY DREAM!!! So anyway, tomorrow I'm going to play the part of a DIY Revolutionary. I'll pretend to be some depressed artist or something, but really what I'll be reflecting is the emptyness of my soul. I don't mean that in a pretensious arty sense. I mean it in a very literal sense. What I mean is that there really is nothing in me that's worth the body it's been given. Sometimes I think that I transcend this body, but it doesn't really matter. I am beautiful, but not by choice. If I had my choice I'd be the most hideous person on the planet. I think that most people want to be ugly. That's why there are so many anorexics. It's not a media-constructed beauty myth. It's a socially-constructed ugly myth. What it means is that the uglyer you are, the more excuses you can make for yrself. Well guess what! I'm beautiful and I have no excuse for not acting beautiful! No more pretenses. We're all rotting cadavers inside.
Wednesday, March 05, 2003
soundtrack (v 2.0):
Jawbox - For Your Own Special Sweetheart
Bob Dylan - Time Out Of Mind
V/A - Follow And Believe (A FNB Benefit Comp)
The Promise Ring - 30 degrees Everywhere
Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs - demo
Last Days of April - Angel Youth
I'm kinda excited about the show at Custer St. on Friday, but I'm more excited about seeing my lover on Saturday. Go figure.
Jawbox - For Your Own Special Sweetheart
Bob Dylan - Time Out Of Mind
V/A - Follow And Believe (A FNB Benefit Comp)
The Promise Ring - 30 degrees Everywhere
Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs - demo
Last Days of April - Angel Youth
I'm kinda excited about the show at Custer St. on Friday, but I'm more excited about seeing my lover on Saturday. Go figure.
Monday, March 03, 2003
So here's what happened Friday...
We got to the Brown Bean and the guy said that I wasn't scheduled to play. I didn't think there was any point in arguing with him so I just left. Strauss and Casey (aka: Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs) asked me if I wanted to play in the Gazebo in the little square across from the Brown Bean so I said I was into it so we did. We traded off every other song in case we got shut down by the fuzz. It was probably one of the crazyest shows I've ever been a part of. Forgotten Figures tore the place up with their situationism and I played a couple of songs that sounded really bad because my fingers were numb and I forgot most of the words. Yay!
We got to the Brown Bean and the guy said that I wasn't scheduled to play. I didn't think there was any point in arguing with him so I just left. Strauss and Casey (aka: Forgotten Figures Falling Together Between Two Twigs) asked me if I wanted to play in the Gazebo in the little square across from the Brown Bean so I said I was into it so we did. We traded off every other song in case we got shut down by the fuzz. It was probably one of the crazyest shows I've ever been a part of. Forgotten Figures tore the place up with their situationism and I played a couple of songs that sounded really bad because my fingers were numb and I forgot most of the words. Yay!
Thursday, February 27, 2003
So I tried to post this poem earlier but there was something wrong with the site again. Here it is now.
Dissect the layers
Inch by inch
Hydrosphere and Biosphere
Penetrate the flesh
Dominate every hemisphere
Become the cheshire cat pirched on a mountain of mustard grains
You need to grow wings
You really should try to grow wings
A long winter's journey into the darkness of a springtime in remission
I'm looking forward to the rain
Maybe the warm air will send yr heart back to me in an envelope marked, "what it is to be a pair of dispossessed eyes ... and what they saw"
But for now I'll just feel sorry for myself and know that yr not thinking about me
Even though yr always in my mind
An apparition for my thoughts
The subliminal poetry written in the first letter of each page of a 1000 page volume growing dusty and with a sandpaper cover destroying all the other knowlege on the shelf
I didn't want you to leave the car tonite
There's something symbolic of yr leaving
And when you call me tomorrow you won't be the same person
And all I could ask was, "why"
Isn't that the hardest question?
Who, what, where, when, how
Those questions deal with truth
But why is always subjective
I'm going to see the River Man
I'll tell him everything
Then he'll hit my skull
And attach a tube to my forehead
To suck out the leech that troubles my mind
When he dangles it in front of my eyes I'll squirm
But not as much as I am now that it's still inside of me
*Onion Skin*
Dissect the layers
Inch by inch
Hydrosphere and Biosphere
Penetrate the flesh
Dominate every hemisphere
Become the cheshire cat pirched on a mountain of mustard grains
You need to grow wings
You really should try to grow wings
A long winter's journey into the darkness of a springtime in remission
I'm looking forward to the rain
Maybe the warm air will send yr heart back to me in an envelope marked, "what it is to be a pair of dispossessed eyes ... and what they saw"
But for now I'll just feel sorry for myself and know that yr not thinking about me
Even though yr always in my mind
An apparition for my thoughts
The subliminal poetry written in the first letter of each page of a 1000 page volume growing dusty and with a sandpaper cover destroying all the other knowlege on the shelf
I didn't want you to leave the car tonite
There's something symbolic of yr leaving
And when you call me tomorrow you won't be the same person
And all I could ask was, "why"
Isn't that the hardest question?
Who, what, where, when, how
Those questions deal with truth
But why is always subjective
I'm going to see the River Man
I'll tell him everything
Then he'll hit my skull
And attach a tube to my forehead
To suck out the leech that troubles my mind
When he dangles it in front of my eyes I'll squirm
But not as much as I am now that it's still inside of me
Ok, so it's the day before the show and here's some new information. I'm playing at 8pm (not 9 like I originally thought) and will be followed by John Smit at 9... or at least that's how I understand it. So once again, here's the info:
Hastheboyfallen
John Smit
Brown Bean - Fredonia, NY
Friday, Feb. 28
8-10(?)
I think that's the deal. Anyway, just be there at 8 or a little before.
Hastheboyfallen
John Smit
Brown Bean - Fredonia, NY
Friday, Feb. 28
8-10(?)
I think that's the deal. Anyway, just be there at 8 or a little before.
Tuesday, February 25, 2003
Ok, so here's the news. I'll have copies of Six Degrees of Separation Anxiety available on a voluntary donation basis at the show on Friday. Six Degrees is my new full length. It's 12 songs, about 47 min. of music. Come to the show if you know what's good for ya. Hopefully, I'll have copies of Besar o no Besar as well, but i'm not promising anything at this point.
Monday, February 24, 2003
Sunday, February 23, 2003
Saturday, February 22, 2003
Thursday, February 20, 2003
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
*Nacirema Cross Stars*
I'm tired of being the one to take the blame all the time
Balanced on a wire and falling from the vibration you made
I'm not crazy
But sometimes I'm driven by that river to make*out in the back of a Buick
If I am the antithesis of sanity
You are the antithesis of helpful
The way I once thought things were has been shot down by a spirit sniper on the ground
I'm a brick in a hall of mirrors
The illusions are changing
Colors fading from crimson and purple to yellow and tawny
The shell is hell tonite
The perceptions of sensible objects has somehow shifted to a more skewed kind of futurism
If I am the antithesis of American
You are the antithesis of content
Star spelled backwards is rats
White hair and grey beards
Welcome to the olympics of academia
Hope you brought yr pencils
Nothing in the world matters more than homework
Homework means the world to me
Sorry if I sound cynical
If I'm the antithesis of anything
Everything is nothing
And you are the antithesis of material
Not even metaphysical
Maybe somewhat subconscious
(Definately 'sub' something)
We walk around like robots
We pay attention like it's a toll
We thank only half-sincerely in electronic voices
But if we are the antithesis of human
Love is the antithesis of us
I am the black bloc
You are the paracite
I am the bone marrow of a dead animal being ate out by decomposers
You are the concrete chopping block with paint replacing blood
I am the war helmet lost by a cadaver still walking, searching
You are the rose inbetween thorns
We are all just walking corpses
Because as soon as yr born
You start dying
And everywhere in chains
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
A lyrical strem of consciousness (that means lyrics but not to any one song)
'if there's one thing i know it's how to make something out of nothing
when i play the fool the part comes alive so that it's no longer meaningless lines conjuring vague symbolic convergance
a soul on ice
a trophy display
lenin's tomb
his corpse rotting away
black lights and sleepless nights
it looks like things are getting better
i think the problem is getting worse
she said yr out of here
so i left
what else could i do
there's a factory in north lansing where the workers look out in desparate longing to escape the heat inside before the pinkerton returns
i'm nothing if not what you want
i'm everything beautiful
i'm nothing if not apathy
i'm everything dispossesed
i refuse to slip quietly into obscurity
i won't quiet down or fade away'
'if there's one thing i know it's how to make something out of nothing
when i play the fool the part comes alive so that it's no longer meaningless lines conjuring vague symbolic convergance
a soul on ice
a trophy display
lenin's tomb
his corpse rotting away
black lights and sleepless nights
it looks like things are getting better
i think the problem is getting worse
she said yr out of here
so i left
what else could i do
there's a factory in north lansing where the workers look out in desparate longing to escape the heat inside before the pinkerton returns
i'm nothing if not what you want
i'm everything beautiful
i'm nothing if not apathy
i'm everything dispossesed
i refuse to slip quietly into obscurity
i won't quiet down or fade away'
Friday, February 14, 2003
I've been coming home for lunch lately which has a few advantages. I don't have to pay for lunch at the union and I can relax in the cool, quiet atmosphere of the place where I spend most of my time. However, it also takes gas for me to drive from school to home and then back to school which pollutes the environment and supports terrorism. Hmmm, seems like alot of life is a bitter-sweet paradox these days.
Monday, February 10, 2003
Speaking of movies, I heard that Brittney Spears walked out on one at Sundance because she "didn't understand it". Haha! Why do people like that even bother to go to Sundance if they don't want to make themselves look stupid? Oh, and another movie related note... David Gordon Green (director of George Washington - one of my favorite movies of all time) has a new movie out called All The Real Girls. Not sure if it's gonna be playing near here any time soon, but I sure hope so.
"The rain people are people made of rain and when they cry they wash themselves away."
- James Caan in Rain People (a good movie)
- James Caan in Rain People (a good movie)
Thursday, February 06, 2003
I wish Death Cab For Cutie would come to a town near me. I was rocking out to a song by them that Nick put on a mixtape that he left in my car.
Oh! Before I forget, there's a show on Saturday that yall should go to. It's the first Rochester Anti-Racist Action show (yes, I realize that that spells RaRa! Please don't run around shouting it like a cheerleader) and it's at 9pm at Rocket Coffee (on Monroe Ave. near Krudco, Abundance Co-op and Atomic Eggplant if yall don't know). It's a benefit for Food Not Bombs I believe since ARA isn't having benefits for itself yet I guess.
Oh! Before I forget, there's a show on Saturday that yall should go to. It's the first Rochester Anti-Racist Action show (yes, I realize that that spells RaRa! Please don't run around shouting it like a cheerleader) and it's at 9pm at Rocket Coffee (on Monroe Ave. near Krudco, Abundance Co-op and Atomic Eggplant if yall don't know). It's a benefit for Food Not Bombs I believe since ARA isn't having benefits for itself yet I guess.
Wednesday, February 05, 2003
it's really cold, but i'm still sweating
here's a poem i wrote last night
I had a dream that you were asleep next to me
And when I reached over to touch you you were gone
It wasn't a dream so much as a nightmare
Complete with gouls and goblins and ghosts
The irradiated vermin that crawl around under yr skin at night
And then force you to ask existential questions
Anyone who has never questioned the existance of everything has never questioned anything
Because you can't start in the middle of the labrynth and find yr way out in both directions
You can follow the herd by starting at the starting line
Of you can question everything by starting at the finish line
But you can't lock yrself away and throw away the key
You can't bury yrself in books and mud and then shatter the lenses of yr eyes
You can hide away in the forest of paradox
But the search party of reason will eventually drag you out
I had a dream that one day my children would be judged by their character and not their race, gender or class
That's a dream deferred
I inflated the plastic cloud past critical mass
It burst in a whirlwind of fanciful colors and sounds
But somehow the brilliance of the whole schene just left me empty
I wrote you a neurotic messsage and sent it from this computer to yrs
I typed without capitalization or punctuation
I said things that I was embarassed to say out loud
The computer stripped the romance away
And left just lines of passionless text
I almost regretted sending it
And I wondered...
Have we become little more than cyborgs?
Are we still divine beings or do we simply exist to use and maintain the machines that enslave us?
I wrote this poem on my weblog
I don't feel too good about it though
The computer needs us
We don't need the computer
These robots are in love with us!
These robots are killing us!
here's a poem i wrote last night
*LEVELSOFSOCIOCULTURALINTEGRATION (LEVEL50F50C1OCULTURAL1NTEGRAT10N)*
I had a dream that you were asleep next to me
And when I reached over to touch you you were gone
It wasn't a dream so much as a nightmare
Complete with gouls and goblins and ghosts
The irradiated vermin that crawl around under yr skin at night
And then force you to ask existential questions
Anyone who has never questioned the existance of everything has never questioned anything
Because you can't start in the middle of the labrynth and find yr way out in both directions
You can follow the herd by starting at the starting line
Of you can question everything by starting at the finish line
But you can't lock yrself away and throw away the key
You can't bury yrself in books and mud and then shatter the lenses of yr eyes
You can hide away in the forest of paradox
But the search party of reason will eventually drag you out
I had a dream that one day my children would be judged by their character and not their race, gender or class
That's a dream deferred
I inflated the plastic cloud past critical mass
It burst in a whirlwind of fanciful colors and sounds
But somehow the brilliance of the whole schene just left me empty
I wrote you a neurotic messsage and sent it from this computer to yrs
I typed without capitalization or punctuation
I said things that I was embarassed to say out loud
The computer stripped the romance away
And left just lines of passionless text
I almost regretted sending it
And I wondered...
Have we become little more than cyborgs?
Are we still divine beings or do we simply exist to use and maintain the machines that enslave us?
I wrote this poem on my weblog
I don't feel too good about it though
The computer needs us
We don't need the computer
These robots are in love with us!
These robots are killing us!
Monday, February 03, 2003
more spontaneous poetry...
i told dr. greenstein i'm already an existentialist
i told him he's got me figured wrong
i told him i'm sick of trying to prove the reality of my beliefs
i told him i'm content to believe in my existance and deny the orthodoxy of reality
i didn't tell him how tired i am
how i've been up countless nights imagining that i'm someone else or that i'm on the moon mining cheese
i've been through rivers of tears and blood or else rivers made of sand as a prop in my television mirage
i can't say if anything's real
there's nothing i really know
i told caitlin that i love her
i don't know if she believes me
but i create my own reality so who's to stop me from loving whomever i want
and i do want to love her
so i make my self sick with doubt and longing
i breathe heavy like an ox ready to strike
i swim in my own in-ground pool filled with self-pity
maybe i'll drown in there some day
but for now it works to plunge me deeper and deeper into hopelessness
the fountain of youth tainted by urine
i told dr. greenstein i'm already an existentialist
i told him he's got me figured wrong
i told him i'm sick of trying to prove the reality of my beliefs
i told him i'm content to believe in my existance and deny the orthodoxy of reality
i didn't tell him how tired i am
how i've been up countless nights imagining that i'm someone else or that i'm on the moon mining cheese
i've been through rivers of tears and blood or else rivers made of sand as a prop in my television mirage
i can't say if anything's real
there's nothing i really know
i told caitlin that i love her
i don't know if she believes me
but i create my own reality so who's to stop me from loving whomever i want
and i do want to love her
so i make my self sick with doubt and longing
i breathe heavy like an ox ready to strike
i swim in my own in-ground pool filled with self-pity
maybe i'll drown in there some day
but for now it works to plunge me deeper and deeper into hopelessness
the fountain of youth tainted by urine
I guess Laura Bush backed out of the symposium on "Poetry and the American Voice" because she was afraid they'd read anti-war poetry. http://www.webactive.com/pacifica/demnow/dn20030130.html
someone sent this to me. I guess it's been circulating around the internet.
If You're Happy And You Know It Bomb Iraq (by John Robbins)
If you cannot find Osama, bomb Iraq.
If the markets are a drama, bomb Iraq.
If the terrorists are Saudi,
And your alibi is shoddy,
And your tastes remain quite gaudy,
Bomb Iraq.
If you never were elected, bomb Iraq.
If your mood is quite dejected, bomb Iraq.
If you think that SUVs,
Are the best thing since sliced cheese,
And your father you must please,
Bomb Iraq.
If the globe is quickly warming, bomb Iraq.
If the poor will soon be storming, bomb Iraq.
We assert that might makes right,
Burning oil is a delight,
For the empire we will fight,
Bomb Iraq.
If we have no allies with us, bomb Iraq.
If we think that someone's dissed us, bomb Iraq.
So to hell with the inspections,
Let's look tough for the elections,
Close your mind and take directions,
Bomb Iraq.
If corporate fraud is growin', bomb Iraq.
If your ties to it are showin', bomb Iraq.
If your politics are sleazy,
And hiding that ain¹t easy,
And your manhood¹s getting queasy,
Bomb Iraq.
Fall in line and follow orders, bomb Iraq.
For our might now knows no borders, bomb Iraq.
Disagree? We¹ll call it treason,
It's the make war not love season,
Even if we have no reason,
Bomb Iraq.
If You're Happy And You Know It Bomb Iraq (by John Robbins)
If you cannot find Osama, bomb Iraq.
If the markets are a drama, bomb Iraq.
If the terrorists are Saudi,
And your alibi is shoddy,
And your tastes remain quite gaudy,
Bomb Iraq.
If you never were elected, bomb Iraq.
If your mood is quite dejected, bomb Iraq.
If you think that SUVs,
Are the best thing since sliced cheese,
And your father you must please,
Bomb Iraq.
If the globe is quickly warming, bomb Iraq.
If the poor will soon be storming, bomb Iraq.
We assert that might makes right,
Burning oil is a delight,
For the empire we will fight,
Bomb Iraq.
If we have no allies with us, bomb Iraq.
If we think that someone's dissed us, bomb Iraq.
So to hell with the inspections,
Let's look tough for the elections,
Close your mind and take directions,
Bomb Iraq.
If corporate fraud is growin', bomb Iraq.
If your ties to it are showin', bomb Iraq.
If your politics are sleazy,
And hiding that ain¹t easy,
And your manhood¹s getting queasy,
Bomb Iraq.
Fall in line and follow orders, bomb Iraq.
For our might now knows no borders, bomb Iraq.
Disagree? We¹ll call it treason,
It's the make war not love season,
Even if we have no reason,
Bomb Iraq.
Thursday, January 30, 2003
This is my poem of conscience. Maybe the President will read it and it'll make him choke on a pretzel or something.
I saw Viggo on Charlie Rose wearing a home-made t-shirt that said, "no more blood for oil"
I saw the way they explained him away as if an obstruction to the escapism of entertainment
I saw the pseudo-intellectual post-modernist writing another page to his autobiography at the bar at the coffee shop
And I wondered if the chapters of his book will be about writing at the bar at the coffee shop
I saw the children rejoicing in Palestine and Iraq at the prospect of free candy and what appeared to be Amerika's demise
I also saw the prayer service
The zealots praying, "Dear God, kill the fuckers that did this"
Or praying, "Dear Allah, be with them in this time of need"
I watched in horror as the world melted into the palm of a dick-tator's hand
I heard them saying, "We killed them to save them" and citing Numbers 31:17
I saw the doves and hawks competing for breadcrumbs thrown at the dirt by the tourists of terror
I saw the candles, the infinite candles, melting and the wax blending and pouring over into the flower box
I watched in quiet desperation as storm troopers with gas masks trampled the flowers that once grew
I saw the dispossessed huddled in the corners of Western society with pockets full of herbs and heads full of ideas
For a fleeting moment I could see a beautiful existance where the only law is that of egalitarianism
I watched my friend spike his hair into a mowhawk because it made him feel like a righteous social misfit
I watched and I watched and I watched television in my angst ridden boredom
I played with fire because I thought it would change things
I disguised myself as a Democrat and wrote angry letters of protest to Hillary Clinton
I hid my face behind a black dandana like a villan in an old Western melodrama
I did everything I could
But Amerika still wouldn't see
*War Is a Joke... and I'm not Laughing*
I saw Viggo on Charlie Rose wearing a home-made t-shirt that said, "no more blood for oil"
I saw the way they explained him away as if an obstruction to the escapism of entertainment
I saw the pseudo-intellectual post-modernist writing another page to his autobiography at the bar at the coffee shop
And I wondered if the chapters of his book will be about writing at the bar at the coffee shop
I saw the children rejoicing in Palestine and Iraq at the prospect of free candy and what appeared to be Amerika's demise
I also saw the prayer service
The zealots praying, "Dear God, kill the fuckers that did this"
Or praying, "Dear Allah, be with them in this time of need"
I watched in horror as the world melted into the palm of a dick-tator's hand
I heard them saying, "We killed them to save them" and citing Numbers 31:17
I saw the doves and hawks competing for breadcrumbs thrown at the dirt by the tourists of terror
I saw the candles, the infinite candles, melting and the wax blending and pouring over into the flower box
I watched in quiet desperation as storm troopers with gas masks trampled the flowers that once grew
I saw the dispossessed huddled in the corners of Western society with pockets full of herbs and heads full of ideas
For a fleeting moment I could see a beautiful existance where the only law is that of egalitarianism
I watched my friend spike his hair into a mowhawk because it made him feel like a righteous social misfit
I watched and I watched and I watched television in my angst ridden boredom
I played with fire because I thought it would change things
I disguised myself as a Democrat and wrote angry letters of protest to Hillary Clinton
I hid my face behind a black dandana like a villan in an old Western melodrama
I did everything I could
But Amerika still wouldn't see
Wednesday, January 29, 2003
I support this:
From: Sam Hamill, founder of Copper Canyon Press, Port
Townsend WA
January 19, 2003
Dear Friends and Fellow Poets:
When I picked up my mail and saw the letter marked
"The White House," I felt no joy. Rather I was
overcome by a kind nausea as I read the card enclosed:
Laura Bush
requests the pleasure of your company
at a reception and
White House Symposium on
"Poetry and the American Voice"
on Wednesday, February 12, 2003
at one o'clock
Only the day before I had read a lengthy report on the
President's proposed "Shock and Awe" attack on Iraq,
calling for saturation bombing that would be like the
firebombing of Dresden or Tokyo, killing countless
innocent civilians.
I believe the only legitimate response to such a
morally bankrupt and unconscionable idea is to
reconstitute a Poets Against the War movement like the
one organized to speak out against the war in Vietnam.
I am asking every poet to speak up for the conscience
of our country and lend his or her name to our
petition against this war, and to make February 12 a
day of Poetry Against the War. We will compile an
anthology of protest to be presented to the White
House on that afternoon.
Please submit your name and a poem or statement of
conscience to:
kokua@olympus.net
There is little time to organize and compile. I urge
you to pass along this letter to any poets you know.
Please join me in making February12 a day when the
White House can truly hear the voices of American
poets.
Sam Hamill
From: Sam Hamill, founder of Copper Canyon Press, Port
Townsend WA
January 19, 2003
Dear Friends and Fellow Poets:
When I picked up my mail and saw the letter marked
"The White House," I felt no joy. Rather I was
overcome by a kind nausea as I read the card enclosed:
Laura Bush
requests the pleasure of your company
at a reception and
White House Symposium on
"Poetry and the American Voice"
on Wednesday, February 12, 2003
at one o'clock
Only the day before I had read a lengthy report on the
President's proposed "Shock and Awe" attack on Iraq,
calling for saturation bombing that would be like the
firebombing of Dresden or Tokyo, killing countless
innocent civilians.
I believe the only legitimate response to such a
morally bankrupt and unconscionable idea is to
reconstitute a Poets Against the War movement like the
one organized to speak out against the war in Vietnam.
I am asking every poet to speak up for the conscience
of our country and lend his or her name to our
petition against this war, and to make February 12 a
day of Poetry Against the War. We will compile an
anthology of protest to be presented to the White
House on that afternoon.
Please submit your name and a poem or statement of
conscience to:
kokua@olympus.net
There is little time to organize and compile. I urge
you to pass along this letter to any poets you know.
Please join me in making February12 a day when the
White House can truly hear the voices of American
poets.
Sam Hamill
Tuesday, January 28, 2003
I'm at school right now. It's my second day of my second semester of college. I'm liking the classes I've had so far: Environmental Science, Philosophy, Sociology, Art and coming up at 1:15 is Anthropology. I'm interested in all those subjects, so I don't think I'll have a problem with boring classes this semester. Anyway, yall don't care about my schooling. Here's a poem. I probably could have structured the lines a little better (more sentence like) so they made more sense, but what ya gonna do.
Friday bleeds into Saturday which bleeds into Sunday which fades into a deep blue Monday where the sun refuses to shine and the street lights only cast shadows
8am is a black widow spider enticing her prey, luring him with sex and excitment into the alleyway where no light can touch
The red illumination that burns the tired dreamer's eyes and scolds the tireless wanderer with a wage-system notion of scheduling seems bright against the black hole of digital clock
A post-industrial conception of time and the unnatural color of neon lights makes sure we don't step out of our roles as zombies in a made-for-television horror flick
They'll pass our act off as entertainment
A life size flea circus to sour the taste of bread and roses
But there's nothing entertaining about watching lemmings follow eachother over a cliff and into the pyre of Gehenna after you've seen it so many times
Even violent stupidity gets boring after a while
And so the half-hour-time-slot scheduling for the after-hours wage-system where we all pay mental rent ultimately defeats itself
Like a snake whose motto is "Join or Die" struggline to swallow its own tail whose motto is "Don't Tread On Me"
Time burns a hole in time and the natural illumination comes shining through
Humanity has come full circle
We've turned back the clocks again to the tribal ways of green anarchy
But have we only tipped the hourglass on its head
Of have we smashed it and scattered the sand over the cemetary lawn like the ashes of a friend who we all used to know but eventually somehow lost touch with
*This Watch Says Yr Blind*
Friday bleeds into Saturday which bleeds into Sunday which fades into a deep blue Monday where the sun refuses to shine and the street lights only cast shadows
8am is a black widow spider enticing her prey, luring him with sex and excitment into the alleyway where no light can touch
The red illumination that burns the tired dreamer's eyes and scolds the tireless wanderer with a wage-system notion of scheduling seems bright against the black hole of digital clock
A post-industrial conception of time and the unnatural color of neon lights makes sure we don't step out of our roles as zombies in a made-for-television horror flick
They'll pass our act off as entertainment
A life size flea circus to sour the taste of bread and roses
But there's nothing entertaining about watching lemmings follow eachother over a cliff and into the pyre of Gehenna after you've seen it so many times
Even violent stupidity gets boring after a while
And so the half-hour-time-slot scheduling for the after-hours wage-system where we all pay mental rent ultimately defeats itself
Like a snake whose motto is "Join or Die" struggline to swallow its own tail whose motto is "Don't Tread On Me"
Time burns a hole in time and the natural illumination comes shining through
Humanity has come full circle
We've turned back the clocks again to the tribal ways of green anarchy
But have we only tipped the hourglass on its head
Of have we smashed it and scattered the sand over the cemetary lawn like the ashes of a friend who we all used to know but eventually somehow lost touch with
Sunday, January 26, 2003
a mouse scurries around on the floor on which you walk lightly and gracefully
you are watching every step
careful at every corner
a mouse runs around trying to be the last ray of hope
you are walking slowly
the mouse's feet move swiftly
you step down and for a moment are distracted by the beaming sunlight in the stained glass window
the mouse stops at the wrong second
and it's all over
but we all gotta go sometime
you are watching every step
careful at every corner
a mouse runs around trying to be the last ray of hope
you are walking slowly
the mouse's feet move swiftly
you step down and for a moment are distracted by the beaming sunlight in the stained glass window
the mouse stops at the wrong second
and it's all over
but we all gotta go sometime
Friday, January 24, 2003
Go to Rocket Coffee tomorrow at 9pm and see the Jesse Ames Experience. It'll be worth it (I think).
Also, go to Visual Studies Workshop at 7pm tomorrow to see init.two featuring Joe+N among others.
I'm gonna try and do both.
Also, go to Visual Studies Workshop at 7pm tomorrow to see init.two featuring Joe+N among others.
I'm gonna try and do both.
Thursday, January 23, 2003
http://www.infowars.com - I scare myself sometimes at how many things I agree with these people on. Filter through the racism, sexism, capitalism, homophobia and religious dogma and you've got some pretty brutal conspiracy theories that will keep the status quo on their toes.
Monday, January 20, 2003
*MLK: A Memorandum*
Lots of people let locusts fly out of their mouths
Saying they know Jesus
So-called Christians with self-serving answers to What Would Jesus Do
Jesus would attack Iraq, Jesus was kill Saddam Houssein
But nobody knew Jesus of what or who he was
The so-called Christians say "know Jesus, know God"
But the Gospel of Thomas says "know yrself, know God"
Self knowlege is knowlege of the divine
Take a stand for justice
That's all Jesus was really saying
Dr. King took a stand against Vietnam and the FBI killed him
Dr. King was no killed by some cracker with three names like James Earl Ray
He was hunted down on the Poor People's Campaign Trail and in a brief moment of weakness outside his hotel room was slaughtered by the military-industrial establishment
The President was LBJ, Disciple of Christ
Would Jesus Use Agent Orange?
Rest In Peace Reverend King
Friday, January 17, 2003
Genious is relative. Celebrity is ridiculous. Consciousness is a lie.
I
Circles of sadness form around my eyes
I'm so alone when I'm without you
The hopeful swaying waves
Bring the driftwood that hits my feet
As it goes tumbling by on the water
The universe implodes around my mind
Inducing an alternative state of consciousness
Recalling the meaning of star-crossed lovers
A drop of blood in a bucket of tears
God's fatalistic snares
The dying roses that wash up against the shore
I held on up to you
But instead you gently kissed my neck
The circles of sadness form
Like Saturn's rings
Growing every minute I'm away from you
When yr near me again
I'll hold you like my shield from the radioactive world
You'll be my shelter from its deadly rays
And then I'll stare into the face of the moon and laugh
At the idea that whoever's face it is up there all molded in blue cheese
Has never felt the way I do at that moment
But (s)he's always been alone
And (s)he always will be
II
I wrap myself in the night sky like a blanket
Hoping maybe I'm delusional enough to believe it'll keep me warm
When it's so cold without you
I wish the summer would just melt everything
Including our hearts
And then we'd walk slowly to the irregular beating in our chests
I wish a lot of things
But there are never enough shooting stars to strap yr wishes on
Until one day you wake up to a giant meteor plummeting toward yr home
The great red shift
Or else you wake up to realize that all yr dreams have died
Suffocated when you weren't looking
And yr too old to start making new wishes
That's how people die alone
*The Stars Are Really...*
I
Circles of sadness form around my eyes
I'm so alone when I'm without you
The hopeful swaying waves
Bring the driftwood that hits my feet
As it goes tumbling by on the water
The universe implodes around my mind
Inducing an alternative state of consciousness
Recalling the meaning of star-crossed lovers
A drop of blood in a bucket of tears
God's fatalistic snares
The dying roses that wash up against the shore
I held on up to you
But instead you gently kissed my neck
The circles of sadness form
Like Saturn's rings
Growing every minute I'm away from you
When yr near me again
I'll hold you like my shield from the radioactive world
You'll be my shelter from its deadly rays
And then I'll stare into the face of the moon and laugh
At the idea that whoever's face it is up there all molded in blue cheese
Has never felt the way I do at that moment
But (s)he's always been alone
And (s)he always will be
II
I wrap myself in the night sky like a blanket
Hoping maybe I'm delusional enough to believe it'll keep me warm
When it's so cold without you
I wish the summer would just melt everything
Including our hearts
And then we'd walk slowly to the irregular beating in our chests
I wish a lot of things
But there are never enough shooting stars to strap yr wishes on
Until one day you wake up to a giant meteor plummeting toward yr home
The great red shift
Or else you wake up to realize that all yr dreams have died
Suffocated when you weren't looking
And yr too old to start making new wishes
That's how people die alone
Thursday, January 16, 2003
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
These people don't like International ANSWER (Act Now to Stop War and End Racism). I don't really like them either. http://authoritarianopportunistswhocozyuptogenocidaldictators-forpeace.org/ Should still Fight War, Not Wars, though.
Thursday, January 09, 2003
A New Poem By My Of Deep Spiritual and Social Significance...
Places like this are the pits we keep ourselves hidden inside
They're the blue lawns where discontent festers in a boiling caldron of pus
These places are the world between the curtain and the window
The negative space that escapes notice on the all-too-oft occation
The trick is not hearing the notes she is playing
But discovering the subtlties of those she isn't
Spiritually charged - finding rhythms - ready for battles
My feet in harmony witht he floor and the floor with the foundation and the foundation with the earth
And the earth - the metaphysical glue that connects us all on some higher level
Sharing the air we breathe
Becoming what is self-evident
It's all too obvious
I collapse in a heap of alienation on the couch of my malcontent
I disappear into the pattern like a divine chamelion
I can be quite invisible when I'm interested in being so
My body is still but I'm always in motion
Ona Move!
Discovering the Shangra La in my mind
Electrons passed through a wire connect us by the sound of our breathing
A cosmic energy charging the lines that strech like tentacles across every corner of the earth
Our questions remain unanswered as our answers reveal themselves in metaphors for the natural world (the matriarch) and our collective consciousness (the patriarch)
When our dream's been deferred for too long we strike out in rage against the system that shackled us and then left our bodies to become corpses
And we will no longer pay mental rent to the clergy of the last Aryan Empire
Our minds are our own
*A Part You Can't Touch*
Places like this are the pits we keep ourselves hidden inside
They're the blue lawns where discontent festers in a boiling caldron of pus
These places are the world between the curtain and the window
The negative space that escapes notice on the all-too-oft occation
The trick is not hearing the notes she is playing
But discovering the subtlties of those she isn't
Spiritually charged - finding rhythms - ready for battles
My feet in harmony witht he floor and the floor with the foundation and the foundation with the earth
And the earth - the metaphysical glue that connects us all on some higher level
Sharing the air we breathe
Becoming what is self-evident
It's all too obvious
I collapse in a heap of alienation on the couch of my malcontent
I disappear into the pattern like a divine chamelion
I can be quite invisible when I'm interested in being so
My body is still but I'm always in motion
Ona Move!
Discovering the Shangra La in my mind
Electrons passed through a wire connect us by the sound of our breathing
A cosmic energy charging the lines that strech like tentacles across every corner of the earth
Our questions remain unanswered as our answers reveal themselves in metaphors for the natural world (the matriarch) and our collective consciousness (the patriarch)
When our dream's been deferred for too long we strike out in rage against the system that shackled us and then left our bodies to become corpses
And we will no longer pay mental rent to the clergy of the last Aryan Empire
Our minds are our own
Monday, January 06, 2003
I haven't posted a poem in a while so here's a cute little one.
Somewhere near where the march of stagnance meets the stagnance of marching there are kids holding hands
Their eyes barely open
Their mouths pursed or streched into a smile
Caught somewhere between discontent and infinite ecstacy
The chemically treated grass that grows on the other side looks greener and more fashionable than ours
The sun rises on their side
But the sunset is beautiful on ours
Somewhere in the doldrums of existance after loss
There is a rainbow like a gift after the rain
And it feels like it's about to come pouring down in sheets
There's a decision I've been struggling hard to make
How can I decide where I'm going when all I want to do is stop going anywhere
There's always dreams
In my dreams I'm holding her
In my dreams I'm beautiful
In my dreams the sky is yellow
But it's only a dream
*Sitting on the Fence*
Somewhere near where the march of stagnance meets the stagnance of marching there are kids holding hands
Their eyes barely open
Their mouths pursed or streched into a smile
Caught somewhere between discontent and infinite ecstacy
The chemically treated grass that grows on the other side looks greener and more fashionable than ours
The sun rises on their side
But the sunset is beautiful on ours
Somewhere in the doldrums of existance after loss
There is a rainbow like a gift after the rain
And it feels like it's about to come pouring down in sheets
There's a decision I've been struggling hard to make
How can I decide where I'm going when all I want to do is stop going anywhere
There's always dreams
In my dreams I'm holding her
In my dreams I'm beautiful
In my dreams the sky is yellow
But it's only a dream
Friday, December 27, 2002
Just got back from Niagra Falls vacation. Went to see the Modigliani exhibit at the Albright Knox Museum. It's funny how much more attention someone will pay to something if they've paid money to see it. I've never seen so many goatees and berets in my life. The AK has a Duchamp, though ("Why Don't You Sneeze..." or something like that). I was happy about that.
Tuesday, December 24, 2002
I've got a few things to say...
1) I LOVE not celebrating Christmas. Hahaha, suckers! Don't be a corporate slave. buynothing!
2) All my energy is artificial. Instead of sleep and food, my veins are flowing with caffene and ginseng. I'm sorry. I just can't get to sleep.
3) Know what? Sunday was great, despite locking my keys in the car. Thanks to the homeless dude that hung out with me and you know who you are.
4) Not sure if I mentioned it before but Hope and Fear is really good. I saw him play at the Against Me show. Check him out if you get the chance. Also, City of Caterpillar was mad chill on Sunday. I love detournment.
5) a new poem...
Light the flaxen wick with the passionate fire that burns deep inside you
I've seen it before
You can be quite beauiful when you need to be
As if the butterfly has landed softly on yr cold nose and struggles to decide where her wings will take her next
The light switch on the wall
Metaphysical objects that make more than sense
The one thing God can't do in Her dreams is adjust light levels
In our dreams we are gods
Is it true that thw whole world and everything in it is a metaphor for something else?
Why am I afraid when I realize I'm dream?
Is it because I fear what monsters I might conjure from deep within my convoluted sub-consciousness?
Standing like a statue on the crest of a wave
Marvel in marble
Not just being, but becomming
This is where fear and alienation meet
The disgusting corners of the mind
Where the winds of consciousness have swept dusty memories
1) I LOVE not celebrating Christmas. Hahaha, suckers! Don't be a corporate slave. buynothing!
2) All my energy is artificial. Instead of sleep and food, my veins are flowing with caffene and ginseng. I'm sorry. I just can't get to sleep.
3) Know what? Sunday was great, despite locking my keys in the car. Thanks to the homeless dude that hung out with me and you know who you are.
4) Not sure if I mentioned it before but Hope and Fear is really good. I saw him play at the Against Me show. Check him out if you get the chance. Also, City of Caterpillar was mad chill on Sunday. I love detournment.
5) a new poem...
*Teetering Around 4*
Light the flaxen wick with the passionate fire that burns deep inside you
I've seen it before
You can be quite beauiful when you need to be
As if the butterfly has landed softly on yr cold nose and struggles to decide where her wings will take her next
The light switch on the wall
Metaphysical objects that make more than sense
The one thing God can't do in Her dreams is adjust light levels
In our dreams we are gods
Is it true that thw whole world and everything in it is a metaphor for something else?
Why am I afraid when I realize I'm dream?
Is it because I fear what monsters I might conjure from deep within my convoluted sub-consciousness?
Standing like a statue on the crest of a wave
Marvel in marble
Not just being, but becomming
This is where fear and alienation meet
The disgusting corners of the mind
Where the winds of consciousness have swept dusty memories
Monday, December 16, 2002
*The Future Says She Loves You*
by Mitch Jones
This boy is my one and only
This boy is my pride and joy
He’s the boy of the future
But can you face the pain when he stares you right in the face
The laser eyes and the pulsating glands
The steel teeth designed to rip apart flesh
And you say the television made him sick
I’m gonna fight the dark skinned terrorists with this boy
Not the patriots who kill in the name of Christ
But those infidel ones who crucified the twin shrines to capitalism
I’m gonna make this boy kill
I won’t be happy until I see veins in his teeth
After all, he’s the latest and the greatest machine
He always follows orders without questioning
And you told me he’s sick from the tv
I’m gonna give him a medal
So all the neighbors can be proud of their native son
They don’t have to know he was born in a metal shop
Their white eyes beam with excitement at the thought of turbans stained with innocent blood
They bake us pies and shower us with wax kisses because it’s Christmas
Their brains are baking in the oven
They’re baking bricks for the crucifix; they’re being whipped by Pharaoh’s stooges
And the television made them sick
by Mitch Jones
This boy is my one and only
This boy is my pride and joy
He’s the boy of the future
But can you face the pain when he stares you right in the face
The laser eyes and the pulsating glands
The steel teeth designed to rip apart flesh
And you say the television made him sick
I’m gonna fight the dark skinned terrorists with this boy
Not the patriots who kill in the name of Christ
But those infidel ones who crucified the twin shrines to capitalism
I’m gonna make this boy kill
I won’t be happy until I see veins in his teeth
After all, he’s the latest and the greatest machine
He always follows orders without questioning
And you told me he’s sick from the tv
I’m gonna give him a medal
So all the neighbors can be proud of their native son
They don’t have to know he was born in a metal shop
Their white eyes beam with excitement at the thought of turbans stained with innocent blood
They bake us pies and shower us with wax kisses because it’s Christmas
Their brains are baking in the oven
They’re baking bricks for the crucifix; they’re being whipped by Pharaoh’s stooges
And the television made them sick
Saturday, December 14, 2002
Friday, December 13, 2002
Yesterday felt like the end of the world... but after much soul searching I decided not to leave home just yet. I might wait to decide until after next semester. I've got a lot of things to figure out and I need to decide where I want my life to go. Props to everyone who gave me hope at the Against Me show!
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
Monday, December 09, 2002
commentary on the billboard music awards:
beneath the crass commercialism, divisiveness and glorification of violence there is unity and even love somewhere to be found in all of us. the tribute to jam master jay was inspiring as artists from different races, sexes and genres joined together to celebrate the life of a soldier of peace. i was moved to the edge of tears by the unity and hope embodied in the embraces on stage and darrel mac and jmj's wife's speeches put me over the edge. unfortunately, somtimes it takes tragedy to bring people together.
beneath the crass commercialism, divisiveness and glorification of violence there is unity and even love somewhere to be found in all of us. the tribute to jam master jay was inspiring as artists from different races, sexes and genres joined together to celebrate the life of a soldier of peace. i was moved to the edge of tears by the unity and hope embodied in the embraces on stage and darrel mac and jmj's wife's speeches put me over the edge. unfortunately, somtimes it takes tragedy to bring people together.
Friday, December 06, 2002
Last day of class! Yay! Life is sweet.
To anyone that I've offended, sorry. I try to be a nice guy, but sometimes I don't do everything right and personalities clash.
Finally, I'm considering changing my "stage name" to Dorian Gray for a few reasons. Dorian Gray is from Oscar Wilde's book The Portrait of Dorian Gray which is a great book. Dorian Gray is a person's name so it might be less confusing for those who think that Hastheboyfallen is a full band. Also, Hastheboyfallen was originally a screamo band and I did not think of the name. Dustyn (ex-Arms Length, To Fester Within) made it up so I sometimes feel guilty for still using it. However, I've already come a bit of a ways with Hastheboyfallen already and it might be a mistake to change the name now. Any opinions: e-mail me.
To anyone that I've offended, sorry. I try to be a nice guy, but sometimes I don't do everything right and personalities clash.
Finally, I'm considering changing my "stage name" to Dorian Gray for a few reasons. Dorian Gray is from Oscar Wilde's book The Portrait of Dorian Gray which is a great book. Dorian Gray is a person's name so it might be less confusing for those who think that Hastheboyfallen is a full band. Also, Hastheboyfallen was originally a screamo band and I did not think of the name. Dustyn (ex-Arms Length, To Fester Within) made it up so I sometimes feel guilty for still using it. However, I've already come a bit of a ways with Hastheboyfallen already and it might be a mistake to change the name now. Any opinions: e-mail me.
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
And now for something completely differet:
There's one night I might try to remember for the rest of my life
But I promise nothing
they're made to be broken
After you
They broke the mold
After you
There are things left unsaid
Untied like the loose ribbons down her back
Or the shoelace that I wore with shame
Walking from the south end of the gym to the north end in a graceful fashion
Or just sitting this one out
Dodge ball in the ash age
These lines were drawn lightly
Meant to be erased
Friendly and unanchored
Just something set aside
Like her soft hand across the dividing line
Set aside like something dying
This chord of twine is metaphysical
Above it hangs the cosmos in the balance
The greatest acrobat
Below hangs the paperclips of deceit
The closest facimile to hell
Below hangs the demons of self-image
This used to be a clock
There used to be a chair here
The homes of age
The aging homes
Ignite with the slightest spark
A pyre is where they put the past when it's over-extended its usefulness
A final resting place
A battleground between the tears of youth and the ravages of age
I've been afraid for a long time
I've lived in fear too long
I've been afraid, but not anymore
Courage means faith and the opposite of faith are the same thing
*Set Apart: Set It Off*
There's one night I might try to remember for the rest of my life
But I promise nothing
they're made to be broken
After you
They broke the mold
After you
There are things left unsaid
Untied like the loose ribbons down her back
Or the shoelace that I wore with shame
Walking from the south end of the gym to the north end in a graceful fashion
Or just sitting this one out
Dodge ball in the ash age
These lines were drawn lightly
Meant to be erased
Friendly and unanchored
Just something set aside
Like her soft hand across the dividing line
Set aside like something dying
This chord of twine is metaphysical
Above it hangs the cosmos in the balance
The greatest acrobat
Below hangs the paperclips of deceit
The closest facimile to hell
Below hangs the demons of self-image
This used to be a clock
There used to be a chair here
The homes of age
The aging homes
Ignite with the slightest spark
A pyre is where they put the past when it's over-extended its usefulness
A final resting place
A battleground between the tears of youth and the ravages of age
I've been afraid for a long time
I've lived in fear too long
I've been afraid, but not anymore
Courage means faith and the opposite of faith are the same thing
My favorite commercial right now is the one for the VW Bug Convertable. Ok, I don't endorse the Bug Convertable or VW (they used Jewish slave labor during WWII), but I think it's a great commercial. It's basically schenes of this guy's monotonous life: waking up, eating breakfast, going to the office, looking at the womyn across the street longingly, but knowing he can never reach her, constantly doing the same tasks for the God of Capitalism. When I first saw it I was thinking, so commercials are critiquing the monotony of commercialism, interesting. So I'm on this high because it's been revealed to me that cynicism is the new 'hip' until the end where the guy is on a bridge over the road between office buildings. He looks down and aparently sees the product they're selling. They're trying to say that there is a consumption solution to life's problems, but it really doesn't go with the commercial at all. I like the comercial because it's good art and it doesn't really even make me want to buy what they're selling. Plus there's a wonderful song in it. It sounds a lot like the Beatles. Commercials have had good songs lately. Other commercials with good songs:
Both the low rise jeans ones, but especially the one with the French dictionary
The VW one with Pink Moon by Nick Drake (duh, Nick Drake is amazing)
The Nike (Nike is evil - sweatshops) one with the cool piano music - I'm not sure if that's the same one as the one where all that stuff is about to happen but never does so it leaves you feeling all unresolved at the end, but that one's good too
The moral of this story is... there's art in everything, just ignore the corporate crap.
Both the low rise jeans ones, but especially the one with the French dictionary
The VW one with Pink Moon by Nick Drake (duh, Nick Drake is amazing)
The Nike (Nike is evil - sweatshops) one with the cool piano music - I'm not sure if that's the same one as the one where all that stuff is about to happen but never does so it leaves you feeling all unresolved at the end, but that one's good too
The moral of this story is... there's art in everything, just ignore the corporate crap.
Tuesday, December 03, 2002
I wrote this poem for Carl. If yr wondering why I haven't wrote a poem about you, chances are I have but I just didn't post it here. Please don't e-mail me complaining that I wrote a poem for Carl, but not for any of my other friends. Whatever.
The words that float out of my head like bubbles swelling with weight
Ready to burst and burn someone's eye
You are the one in the corners of consciousness watching as the bees unfortunately survive their honeycombs
You with yr idealism
You roach on an old dirty couch breaking dried leaves into a glass bowl
You were there with eyes shining and face lit like a torch
The wings that my lungs become stand to gain from the new found grasp of the metaphysical
Sometimes I just can't help being the way I am
Hello officer welcome to my world
Welcome to the steel gates between anarchy and totalitarianism
How can I help you?
What seems to be the problem?
You were there with bright eyes shining and an handful of smoldering ash
You were lurking like a wallflower in the corners of life
You couldn't bare the flashlight in yr face so when I looked back you were gone
Just another aparition blowing my mind like a 12 gallon drum
*Real Ways (For Carl)*
The words that float out of my head like bubbles swelling with weight
Ready to burst and burn someone's eye
You are the one in the corners of consciousness watching as the bees unfortunately survive their honeycombs
You with yr idealism
You roach on an old dirty couch breaking dried leaves into a glass bowl
You were there with eyes shining and face lit like a torch
The wings that my lungs become stand to gain from the new found grasp of the metaphysical
Sometimes I just can't help being the way I am
Hello officer welcome to my world
Welcome to the steel gates between anarchy and totalitarianism
How can I help you?
What seems to be the problem?
You were there with bright eyes shining and an handful of smoldering ash
You were lurking like a wallflower in the corners of life
You couldn't bare the flashlight in yr face so when I looked back you were gone
Just another aparition blowing my mind like a 12 gallon drum
Saturday, November 30, 2002
*On Feeling Sorry For Yrself*
The worst part is no the death of the moment but the loss of youth and all its idealisms
Like the way I left long ago but just haven't got around to going yet
So I wrap myself in my grief and snuggle with my sorrow until I fade into the background of the universe
I will hold yr hand and ask where yr hand ends and mine begins
Because our metaphysical material is endless and infinite and eternal
We are all parts of a whole, but unique at the same time
That's why I struggled for so long to understand the holy mystic writings until I just gave up
And then one day the answer was just laying there on a tiny scrap of paper that said, "Ecstacy is only the outward and lucid expression of what is going on inside us always"
And I closed my eyes to try to imagine the author of such beautiful revelations
But all I could think about was the smile on her face as the old womyn's sinapses burst into stroke
I'm looking forward to the transitional period between death and life
I'm looking forward to lucid dreaming
Every night I crawl into bed and I'm excited about the parallel worlds I'll visit in between my ears
This is life: the screening
I remember seeing War and Peace at the Universiry where you were hospitalized
I thought I'd make some friends: meet someone
Instead I just felt alienated and alone
Funny how songs trigger memories
I am not looking forward to losing those sinapses - those memories
Wednesday, November 27, 2002
I have a feeling I'll be coming back to this site again and again: http://www.deeplyshallow.com/
Especially since one of his short stories is about rail-riding and that's a major theme in my latest songs.
I'm nothing if not what you want
I'm everything beautiful
I'm nothing if not apathy
I'm everything dispossessed
Especially since one of his short stories is about rail-riding and that's a major theme in my latest songs.
I'm nothing if not what you want
I'm everything beautiful
I'm nothing if not apathy
I'm everything dispossessed
Tuesday, November 26, 2002
here are the words that go with the music for the question...
autobiography in stitches
this is the prelude to my bleak post-modern book i am walking alone away from the light from the pavement to the grass with hands in pockets and face down turned i am walking away from the light to this pot holed parking lot i am the loner poet spending nights at the library making love on paper and never making love happen to me surrounding myself with beautiful things but never quite touching them someday we’ll crawl down this campus with windows down and music blaring and silent smiles on our faces on our faces i can feel it in the way my bones ache because it’s that same song that scares me every time because the vocals seem so painful and i can’t help but imagine losing you and that’s always the way the murphy’s law scenarios play out in my mind
gorky
did you ever think you’d be alive and aware on this day i’ve head about the prophecies from yr dark star i want you to stay i want this moment to last forever i want this star to never fade away this poet’s dry again and quiet in his little mind games building the global paradigm to make the faces in the pictures not look so sad or at least soften the stark shades of gray get up stand up stand up for yr rights get up stand up never stop the fight so i had an idea once when i saw that ghost deep inside yr beautiful brown eyes so i had a vision once but now it’s just become some sort of idealistic nonsense but i told them to stop controlling the minds of their disciples those rebels never listen this only means the future
the failure of mathematics
these shapes take up page space trade paperback metaphysical these lines define every perfect moment in a hero’s life these images sway in arrogant eloquence howls echo down the cobblestone the trails i’ve inherited i can’t speak i can only yell angels are evil curves are angels
the flowers that grow all around my hat
she was left years ago to be replaced by synthetic skin and steel bones like a war hero loser lost across the sea he’ll come back and find love wasn’t waiting for some childish killing black flowers grow all around my had for a year and a day a tribute to my true love then thousand miles away she is scratching the days on the wall of her sorrowful cell waiting for me to find her to put down the flag and find out what is truly on my mind black flowers grow typical greenie willow warn all around my hat so the spider can spin her tapestry breathing fate to life and the stars can spin in a deep and dancing melody black flowers grow all around my hat
g8 (banjo song)
isis with wings swings her chariot down low she’s become the sugar in the tea of the fates clad in shoes and polished shoes all around the caldron bubbling with the aftermath of a disease the bitter leaves steeping in the polluted and fluoridated water of the great machine someday you’ll find yrself in a new crib of concrete and steel hanging precariously from the tree of amerikan lynch justice
dioxin
the rain will wash the glass clean the water washes everything away the dome of the sky is overcast with clouds that break like the sand in the desert on fault lines and i’m scared i am scared i’m sorry divine rays of light creep through the cracks at twilight they are an oracle guiding me and blinding me
six stars surround a crescent moon
a festering despair grips tightly and pulls us down the cries can be head in the streets the desolate hiways paved with broken hearts ‘dear fatah i have no home’ identity is locked tightly with the key inside the yellow envelope just a memory of the life once lived ‘dear fatah i have no home’
tomorrow is a day
remember when there were brilliant dragon puppets going through the streets on new years eve everyone got under them and danced in their own way and it was magic now the dragons have become individual marionettes their strings are being tugged every which way i get knocked down but i get up again no one’s ever gonna keep me down
autobiography in stitches
this is the prelude to my bleak post-modern book i am walking alone away from the light from the pavement to the grass with hands in pockets and face down turned i am walking away from the light to this pot holed parking lot i am the loner poet spending nights at the library making love on paper and never making love happen to me surrounding myself with beautiful things but never quite touching them someday we’ll crawl down this campus with windows down and music blaring and silent smiles on our faces on our faces i can feel it in the way my bones ache because it’s that same song that scares me every time because the vocals seem so painful and i can’t help but imagine losing you and that’s always the way the murphy’s law scenarios play out in my mind
gorky
did you ever think you’d be alive and aware on this day i’ve head about the prophecies from yr dark star i want you to stay i want this moment to last forever i want this star to never fade away this poet’s dry again and quiet in his little mind games building the global paradigm to make the faces in the pictures not look so sad or at least soften the stark shades of gray get up stand up stand up for yr rights get up stand up never stop the fight so i had an idea once when i saw that ghost deep inside yr beautiful brown eyes so i had a vision once but now it’s just become some sort of idealistic nonsense but i told them to stop controlling the minds of their disciples those rebels never listen this only means the future
the failure of mathematics
these shapes take up page space trade paperback metaphysical these lines define every perfect moment in a hero’s life these images sway in arrogant eloquence howls echo down the cobblestone the trails i’ve inherited i can’t speak i can only yell angels are evil curves are angels
the flowers that grow all around my hat
she was left years ago to be replaced by synthetic skin and steel bones like a war hero loser lost across the sea he’ll come back and find love wasn’t waiting for some childish killing black flowers grow all around my had for a year and a day a tribute to my true love then thousand miles away she is scratching the days on the wall of her sorrowful cell waiting for me to find her to put down the flag and find out what is truly on my mind black flowers grow typical greenie willow warn all around my hat so the spider can spin her tapestry breathing fate to life and the stars can spin in a deep and dancing melody black flowers grow all around my hat
g8 (banjo song)
isis with wings swings her chariot down low she’s become the sugar in the tea of the fates clad in shoes and polished shoes all around the caldron bubbling with the aftermath of a disease the bitter leaves steeping in the polluted and fluoridated water of the great machine someday you’ll find yrself in a new crib of concrete and steel hanging precariously from the tree of amerikan lynch justice
dioxin
the rain will wash the glass clean the water washes everything away the dome of the sky is overcast with clouds that break like the sand in the desert on fault lines and i’m scared i am scared i’m sorry divine rays of light creep through the cracks at twilight they are an oracle guiding me and blinding me
six stars surround a crescent moon
a festering despair grips tightly and pulls us down the cries can be head in the streets the desolate hiways paved with broken hearts ‘dear fatah i have no home’ identity is locked tightly with the key inside the yellow envelope just a memory of the life once lived ‘dear fatah i have no home’
tomorrow is a day
remember when there were brilliant dragon puppets going through the streets on new years eve everyone got under them and danced in their own way and it was magic now the dragons have become individual marionettes their strings are being tugged every which way i get knocked down but i get up again no one’s ever gonna keep me down
Here's a short story by Nick Torres...
A Heart as a Home
Wills eyes fluttered and he was slowly stuttering back from sleep. His bare back lay exposed to the wind from the fan. The gentle melodic humming of its engines was calling his mind back into dreams. He was dreaming that his friends had forgot him. There he was standing alone in blue jeans and a gray shirt. On a balcony over looking blackness. They had left him on purpose and he was all alone standing, gazing at the moon. The moon appeared to be moving closer to him and slowly growing. He felt all alone in the whole world and had the sense of betrayal and fear, that he was stuck forever here. This frightened him out of sleep. He turned over making the covers wrap tightly around him. His mind was very clouded and the feeling in his dreams remained. He wondered where his friends had gone and began feeling sad and very depressed. These thoughts kept churning inside him over and over again. The slow repeating of these thoughts in his mind dulled his thinking abilities. He soon found himself drifting back into his dream. The moon was now gigantic and amazingly white. It seemed as if you could step inside it, into another place, and go walking off into the distance and be lost in the white. Now the scenery has changed. He was looking down into a room. The room was somewhere he had never been. There were several large leather couches and big round carpets spread throughout the floor. Lamps and tables full of coffee mugs, pens, papers and napkins, movie tickets, and nickels and pennies were sporadically arranged around the area. Everybody was very comfortable and pleasant. They were all wearing their favorite clothes and they all looked quite attractive. The music was great. There was one specific group of people standing near the stereo in the room. They were huddled around it discussing which cds to listen to. All of the cds were outstanding. He very much liked the music he was hearing and so did everybody else. He wanted to know what they were going to listen to next. He tried to listen to what they were saying but couldn't understand a word. He knew he wasn't supposed to be there and that is why he didn't hear what they were debating to put in. Several of them were laughing, others were arguing that it should be this while others still argued that it should be that. He wanted to hear them, he wanted to be involved in the discussion. Finally he started yelling "Hey! Hey! Hey you guys! Come on! Hey!" but they kept on not hearing him, he knew he wasn't actually there but he was just looking at them. For some reason though he knew they were ignoring him. Will knew that they knew that he wasn't supposed to be there, he wasn't there, and they didn't mind. He was desperately flailing his arms and jumping. About ready to jump off the edge. Nothing changed. The laughter grew more boisterous and the arguments grew more fiery and witty. The music was so loud it was deafening and turning into silence. Every passing moment was leading to a climatic crescendo. He was growing more and more desperate. Jumping, screaming, kicking, waving. He even tried to concentrate all his efforts on one person. Thinking that he could connect with them maybe mentally. All of his thought was bent on getting this persons attention. They saw him in the corner of their eye, but they did not pay him any attention. He gripped the balcony banister so tight all the muscles in his arms instantly hardened. The skin in his hand turned white with pressure. He began shaking himself violently against it, pulling with all his might. Either too tear it apart or to tear himself apart. Yelling constantly. He began yelling vulgar words and became consumed with anger and sadness. Knowing he wasn't supposed to be there and he wasn't welcome. The laughter, the yelling, the terrific music, and all the voices were reaching an unbearable static. Everything was leading to a dramatic ending. He felt it coming. Like how you see an object flying towards you at incredible speed. You know it is going to hit, you know it is going to hurt, you know you cant stop it. So you just close your eyes and brace yourself. This is what he did as he bent to the ground still clutching the banister. Holding on to it for his life. He closed his eyes and braced himself by relaxing. It was coming. It was so close he could feel it touching his soul. Then it hit. Everything went quite and disappeared and he was hit in the heart with the greatest pain imaginable. The pain of being alone, the pain of having nobody, the pain of no one caring. He sprawled out on the balcony floor, trying to grab hold of his heart to stop the hurt. He suddenly felt very cold. He breathed out and he watched his warm foggy breath fly up into the empty sky. He followed it up and up until he lost it against the shining whiteness of the moon. The moon expanded at a terrific rate. It had already stretched beyond the horizon and was now widening and stretching. Will was no longer on the balcony, he was now laying upon the void. He didn't care. His heart was paper cut in half. He spread out his arms and legs, exposing his chest. Trying to let the pain inside him float up and dissipate. He felt as if he had been shot or stabbed in the chest with incredible force, but very.....very... slowly. The knife was going into his heart deeper and deeper, one fiber at a time. And with each passing minute that the knife went that much deeper the pain would multiply. With each fleeting cut the pain would be twice as bad as the last. He lay with his chest open in acceptance to this torture. Wishing upon a star that an anvil would come crashing through the sky, shattering the moon, and falling onto the knife. Gouging out his heart, anything to stop the pain. The moon had now completely surrounded him. It was as if the moon flattened out and then stretched itself around him, forming a ball. But it wasn't paper thin. It was infinitely deep and went off into forever in all directions. He was floating there in a dazzlingly white, infinitely empty, crystal clear, never-ending universe. His pain was gone with this new home. He was all alone. No-one existed. He didn't exist. He was just, "there". No one was there, there were no problems, everything was perfect. Everybody was okay. He smiled to himself and felt warm and happy. He was content with no one, as long as everything was like this. If there isn't anything in a world, if there is nothing, then everything is okay, and everyone is alright. He breathed in and the smell of summers long past filled his lungs. He suddenly felt wanted. There was someone out there that cared for him. It is a great feeling to be loved. It made him happy that he was still thought of. But there was no need. He felt loved being alone. This world was his friend and its emptiness was his company. No more hurt. He knew he wouldn't be alone forever and that he couldn't stay here. That one day he would be found and he would break free or be torn from this wonderful, paradise, prison. He would find love in that person, he would be in that persons heart, and that would be his home. A place where he could love again.
A Heart as a Home
Wills eyes fluttered and he was slowly stuttering back from sleep. His bare back lay exposed to the wind from the fan. The gentle melodic humming of its engines was calling his mind back into dreams. He was dreaming that his friends had forgot him. There he was standing alone in blue jeans and a gray shirt. On a balcony over looking blackness. They had left him on purpose and he was all alone standing, gazing at the moon. The moon appeared to be moving closer to him and slowly growing. He felt all alone in the whole world and had the sense of betrayal and fear, that he was stuck forever here. This frightened him out of sleep. He turned over making the covers wrap tightly around him. His mind was very clouded and the feeling in his dreams remained. He wondered where his friends had gone and began feeling sad and very depressed. These thoughts kept churning inside him over and over again. The slow repeating of these thoughts in his mind dulled his thinking abilities. He soon found himself drifting back into his dream. The moon was now gigantic and amazingly white. It seemed as if you could step inside it, into another place, and go walking off into the distance and be lost in the white. Now the scenery has changed. He was looking down into a room. The room was somewhere he had never been. There were several large leather couches and big round carpets spread throughout the floor. Lamps and tables full of coffee mugs, pens, papers and napkins, movie tickets, and nickels and pennies were sporadically arranged around the area. Everybody was very comfortable and pleasant. They were all wearing their favorite clothes and they all looked quite attractive. The music was great. There was one specific group of people standing near the stereo in the room. They were huddled around it discussing which cds to listen to. All of the cds were outstanding. He very much liked the music he was hearing and so did everybody else. He wanted to know what they were going to listen to next. He tried to listen to what they were saying but couldn't understand a word. He knew he wasn't supposed to be there and that is why he didn't hear what they were debating to put in. Several of them were laughing, others were arguing that it should be this while others still argued that it should be that. He wanted to hear them, he wanted to be involved in the discussion. Finally he started yelling "Hey! Hey! Hey you guys! Come on! Hey!" but they kept on not hearing him, he knew he wasn't actually there but he was just looking at them. For some reason though he knew they were ignoring him. Will knew that they knew that he wasn't supposed to be there, he wasn't there, and they didn't mind. He was desperately flailing his arms and jumping. About ready to jump off the edge. Nothing changed. The laughter grew more boisterous and the arguments grew more fiery and witty. The music was so loud it was deafening and turning into silence. Every passing moment was leading to a climatic crescendo. He was growing more and more desperate. Jumping, screaming, kicking, waving. He even tried to concentrate all his efforts on one person. Thinking that he could connect with them maybe mentally. All of his thought was bent on getting this persons attention. They saw him in the corner of their eye, but they did not pay him any attention. He gripped the balcony banister so tight all the muscles in his arms instantly hardened. The skin in his hand turned white with pressure. He began shaking himself violently against it, pulling with all his might. Either too tear it apart or to tear himself apart. Yelling constantly. He began yelling vulgar words and became consumed with anger and sadness. Knowing he wasn't supposed to be there and he wasn't welcome. The laughter, the yelling, the terrific music, and all the voices were reaching an unbearable static. Everything was leading to a dramatic ending. He felt it coming. Like how you see an object flying towards you at incredible speed. You know it is going to hit, you know it is going to hurt, you know you cant stop it. So you just close your eyes and brace yourself. This is what he did as he bent to the ground still clutching the banister. Holding on to it for his life. He closed his eyes and braced himself by relaxing. It was coming. It was so close he could feel it touching his soul. Then it hit. Everything went quite and disappeared and he was hit in the heart with the greatest pain imaginable. The pain of being alone, the pain of having nobody, the pain of no one caring. He sprawled out on the balcony floor, trying to grab hold of his heart to stop the hurt. He suddenly felt very cold. He breathed out and he watched his warm foggy breath fly up into the empty sky. He followed it up and up until he lost it against the shining whiteness of the moon. The moon expanded at a terrific rate. It had already stretched beyond the horizon and was now widening and stretching. Will was no longer on the balcony, he was now laying upon the void. He didn't care. His heart was paper cut in half. He spread out his arms and legs, exposing his chest. Trying to let the pain inside him float up and dissipate. He felt as if he had been shot or stabbed in the chest with incredible force, but very.....very... slowly. The knife was going into his heart deeper and deeper, one fiber at a time. And with each passing minute that the knife went that much deeper the pain would multiply. With each fleeting cut the pain would be twice as bad as the last. He lay with his chest open in acceptance to this torture. Wishing upon a star that an anvil would come crashing through the sky, shattering the moon, and falling onto the knife. Gouging out his heart, anything to stop the pain. The moon had now completely surrounded him. It was as if the moon flattened out and then stretched itself around him, forming a ball. But it wasn't paper thin. It was infinitely deep and went off into forever in all directions. He was floating there in a dazzlingly white, infinitely empty, crystal clear, never-ending universe. His pain was gone with this new home. He was all alone. No-one existed. He didn't exist. He was just, "there". No one was there, there were no problems, everything was perfect. Everybody was okay. He smiled to himself and felt warm and happy. He was content with no one, as long as everything was like this. If there isn't anything in a world, if there is nothing, then everything is okay, and everyone is alright. He breathed in and the smell of summers long past filled his lungs. He suddenly felt wanted. There was someone out there that cared for him. It is a great feeling to be loved. It made him happy that he was still thought of. But there was no need. He felt loved being alone. This world was his friend and its emptiness was his company. No more hurt. He knew he wouldn't be alone forever and that he couldn't stay here. That one day he would be found and he would break free or be torn from this wonderful, paradise, prison. He would find love in that person, he would be in that persons heart, and that would be his home. A place where he could love again.
Monday, November 25, 2002
Wednesday, November 20, 2002
*Confusion is Impotence*
Right now I'm feeling low
Earlier I was way up high
Tomorrow I'll be somewhere in between
The ceiling closing in represents Chicken Little's little discontent
I dove into the falling sky
Only to find that it was just a pile of acorns
Despite what you may think, it is not over
It never really ends, does it
I mean it hardly even had a beginning
There's a phrase that used to be written in French on a wall in the city
"Buy Less, Live More"
Can that be why I always channel surf when commercials come on
Things are a changin'
And all this change has brought me to wonder what living truly means
At what point does 'this life' end and the 'real life' begin
Because this can't be real
Monday, November 18, 2002
Hey, thanks to everyone that came out to see me and the June Observer Thursday at Java Junction. It was a fun night. Also, the Food Not Bombs show Saturday was off tha hook. Hedaya is amazing. Speaking of Food Not Bombs, there is a FNB food drive going on right here in Brockport. If you'd like to donate a non-perishable/vegetarian good there is a box in the basement of the Seymour Union, near the Womyns Center.
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
Smash down the cities.
Knock the walls to pieces.
Break the factories and cathedrals, warehouses
and homes
Into loose piles of stone and lumber and black
burnt wood:
You are the soldiers and we command you.
Build up the cities.
Set up the walls again.
Put together once more the factories and cathedrals,
warehouses and homes
Into buildings for life and labor:
You are workmen and citizens all: We
command you.
-Carl Sandburg
Monday, November 04, 2002
I made a bunch of copies of ¢¯Besar o no Besar? so you can pick one up if you see me or e-mail me with yr address and I'll send you one. I'm doing the CDs on a donation basis from now on (unless something strange happens like I get on a label or something) because I feel like selling them commodifies them and I don't want to be a capitalist. If you're ordering one through the mail it might be nice to send some money for postage, though. I'm just as poor as anyone. I'll have some at the show today at Northampton Park. The show is at 5 at Knolwood lodge and I think it's $4. It should be pretty fun. There aren't enough punk rock shows around here anymore. Speaking of Northampton Park, I had a free show with Sam Sofia, Josh Gillikan, Mike Daniels, Little Techie and Hastheboyfallen at the Northampton Ski lodge a couple of weeks ago. It's a pretty nice place to have shows if you ask me.
¡Ä¢¾*
Thursday, October 31, 2002
*Catching Up With Time*
There's a box full of infamous algorhythms in the middle of a room that stars in a low-budget indie-film
I've given it a lead role in my new novel about life and death: the voodoo effigy
It'll be locked, for sure, and you'll need the key in the skeleton
She'll give it to you willingly, Pandora is her name, she's immaculately arrid and brittle
I climbed an old weeping willow from the top ddown to give her a piece of cake: she gets very hungry waiting inside her closet
There's a phongraph blasting the nostalgic anthems of the past in a jingoistic sauna of heat and beating drums
Maybe it would be better if I left this schene alone
But I can't help myself but to be elegantly cynical
The scratch in the rekkid makes the same trembling line perpetually repeating
But I said I'd leave it alone so I guess that's what I've done
There is a metaphysical twig motionless as wood in the middle of a hardwood floor in a Victorian log cabin somewhere
And now it's dancing like the MExican jumping beans I saw thrashing inside their plastic prisons at the convenience maaket
Something's disturbed it's Feng Shwe or the cosmic balance that holds the twig exactly at the only logical spot on the floor for it to be
Perhaps it's an omen that tells me not to follow the path I'm hacking out with my machete in the hobo jungle paradise
Maybe it means I'm too far gone and there's no turning back
Or maybe my arms are finally behind my back and my eyes are finally blindfolded with black cloth and the pigs of some colvoluted mind's regime are finally raising their guns and aiming between my eyes
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
Everything in my life that I love
Could be swept away without warning
Yet the birds still sing and the church bells ring
And the sun came up this morning
Life goes on as it did before
As the country drifts slowly to war
- Billy Bragg
From "Rumours of War"
Could be swept away without warning
Yet the birds still sing and the church bells ring
And the sun came up this morning
Life goes on as it did before
As the country drifts slowly to war
- Billy Bragg
From "Rumours of War"