Aural Vibrations

Perfect Hero

2007-11-14T15:08:00.000-05:00

the cogs are tuning
my vibration to yours
with a fork for all the
blooming cornfields
stalked by cooing coyotes
who don't smell the difference
between alive and dead
the citation embedded
in dreams defers to
yours instead
and I blame myself

what I'm getting at really
when it all comes down to it
the thing I am trying to say is

I'm not educated, just savvy
I'm not the messiah, just charming
I'm just as much of a nobody
to society in general
as most of you are
and yet, I'm

the perfect hero in my own little world

-

I tuck her postcard in
the front of my notebook
like a trophy, a simple
reminder, just someone who
took enough time from her
day - yes, a woman - to
squash atoms of ink into paper
which travels a fathom through
the ocean to shore - grows in soil
and becomes the pores of trees
breathing in perfect harmony
so far - with us - yes -
a woman who sleeps
naked in my bed, slept
once, she is the nameless
ghost sitting cross legged
in the bathtub down the hall
her signature slips below the
poems she has inscribed - yes -
all language is poetry if delivered right,
most notably when we speak to
one another - yes - all of us,
because, there is no postcard
in the mailbox, there is no woman
in my bed, in my bathtub,
there is no tree or ocean or trophy,
there is only this moment,
just you and I

Red Canoe

2007-11-04T07:08:00.000-05:00

you must have missed the bus
took a ride in the car that drives itself
instead of calling me to come and pick you up
you were my best friend
and I never saw you again
I see you on a bright read canoe
under a sliver of moon

I sit in the basement room
tables and chairs scattered in a circle
for every one of us who made it here
there have been dozens lost
we got away but what was the cost?
we got away but what was the cost?
I see their ghosts in rows
that could fill this old church to the rafters

and I wish I could say it’s a matter of fate
who will go and who will stay
but I’ve known too many souls
with hearts of gold
that couldn’t make it through
the lines and crimes and booze
the suicides and midnight rides in little red canoes
I guess I’ll see you soon
I guess I’ll see you soon

Purple Morning

2007-09-11T21:58:00.000-04:00

I left home the summer of my fifteenth birthday. My father owned a house in cape cod which he built in 1977. We spent a few weeks there each June or July with extended family coming in from Minneapolis. My parents had divorced three years prior and had dated on and off ever since. I did not handle their divorce well. I was angry and didn't' want to live in separate houses nor get split up from my brother Gabe, though, I'm sure he couldn't have shared a more opposite sentiment. Nothing worse than a tag-along brother who resembles a girlier version of Taylor Hanson.

We had been at our house in the cape for a few days when my father quite casually told us that our mother was on her way up to stay the rest of the vacation with us. Previous to this new reunion they hadn't spoken for about six months and Gabe and I had been the relayers of any urgent information. The tone my father used to atom-bomb extreme information was that of total matter-of-fact apathy, as if he had no intellectual or emotional investment in what he was letting us know. (the best example of this would come two Christmas's later when he informed us that he had prostate cancer while in the midst of watching jeopardy and cooking a turkey dinner) I was furious. It wasn't that I hated my mother, I didn't, (in fact, I lived with her at the time), it was just that I wanted them either together or apart, I couldn't take the flip-flopping. One week they were planning my college fund investments together, reading the New York Times while giving each other foot rubs on the living room couch; the next week I would be listening to my mother gripe "If you want an allowance, bring it up with your father." So it wasn't that I disliked either, I just wanted some consistency.

"If she's coming, then I'm leaving."
I still wonder if I really meant those words when they came out of my mouth.
"well, she's on her way." my father replied.
so I packed my backpack and called my best friend Alexis to come pick me up on Route 6, the main 2 lane highway that runs up and down the cape. And then I began walking the sandy road that led me there. About a quarter of a mile from route 6 my mothers car passes me. Stops dead. Reverse.
"Honey, where are you going?" she asked.
"Just to a friends house for the night" I said, as nonchalantly as possible.
My mother is really the only person who's always been able to detect my bullshit and lies flawlessly.
"Ok, well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow" she said, eying my bulging backpack.
"Ok, love you, gotta go" I started walking.
The moment she was out of eyesight I started running towards the road. I knew I only had about three minutes or so before she got to the house, talked to my dad, and basically flipped out completely. Just moments after coming on 6, still catching my breath, I saw a dirty yellow VW beetle pull over in front of me. I walked over to see a pretty blond behind the wheel smiling like the Cheshire cat.
"Hi, I'm Annie, a friend of Lex's, she was at work but called me to come pick you up, hop in!"

And just like that, I left behind my family, my high school career (if you would call it that) my hometown, my oath that I'd never do cocaine or ecstasy, my cat, my possessions, and my home. I've never felt freer.

That first night, Annie, Alexis, Erica, Milhouse (nicknamed that for his resemblance to the Simpson's character), Mark and I all ate ecstasy and cuddled in the small shed behind Alexis' house which we had filled with blankets and pillows. We listened to beautiful music I can't even remember and spent hours touching each other's skin, talking and laughing. In the morning, at about five am, when the first blue hues advanced upon the edge of the sky, we decided to go watch the sunrise over the ocean. Alexis drove the six of us in her run down Chevy, nicknamed the Baby Blue Beaver, to Long Nook Beach, which was only about a mile from my father's house. When we pulled in there was one other car in the parking lot, which I immediately realized was none other than my fathers. He often liked to come out very early and fish before anyone else woke up.

"I have to go talk to him" I said to Alexis.
"Sam, you are rolling on ecstasy right now, and I know you think that's a good idea, because everything is beautiful and flowers and shit right now" she said "but you can't go talk to your dad right now, on the beach at 5 in the morning with your pupils as big as your head"

I stood on the dune and looked down to see him standing, one arm on his side, staring at the ocean, waiting for a fish to bite. I still wonder how different my life would have turned out if I had just walked down, talked to him, apologized, and moved back home. It may have been more peaceful, but probably far less interesting. I wanted so badly for him to just turn around and see me, for it to all be over, for my charade of running away to come to an end on my very first day. I willed him with my mind to turn around and see me. But he didn't. Alexis grabbed my arm and walked me back to the car, and we pulled off into a purple cape cod morning, listening to pavement, silent and lost in our individual thoughts.

Ghost Lover

2007-09-11T21:54:00.000-04:00

you still
appear too often in my thoughts
it's raining here
and I think of horses
on the sidewalk
I'd like to storm your castle
if your knight and king collapse
if you weren't so well defended
I could put you in check

I ate a juicy piece of fruit
drank myself into a stupor
for two days
laid in my bed
listening to the rain
it's been a long time
since you laid your skin on mine
I haven't been lonely though
you know how it goes
but you're still the ghost
in the corner of my room
shaking your head low
I'm sorry that I let you go
if you tune my piano
I'll let you watch me moan

silence in the suicidal
streets of my hometown
I apologize to no one
because word would get around
that I've given up the hunt
and my raspy falsetto
would fade and my broken songs
would just become an echo
but I won't let that happen
I'm a screaming demon
set on dreaming
fleeing for the wilderness
with a bottle of whiskey
and pack of smokes
and my ghost lovers kiss

The Meta Time Lapse

2007-07-14T23:38:00.000-04:00

How to eat a watermelon timelapse

2007-07-14T23:03:00.001-04:00

Animal

2007-06-25T10:59:00.001-04:00

we are changing people's lives
we are the automatic drive
we are retroactive - anti-pragmatic - and far too satisfied
so let the pulse revive you
and if the spirit moves inside you
let it out to claim the screaming fire
before the fountain of flames expire

whistle christmas songs onto cold morning glass
avert your eyes until the strangers pass
do not make contact
do not make contact
we cannot connect
for we feel it is a senseless act
we only touch each other when it's practical
just like paying the bills
but I can't sit still any longer
I am an animal

I shaved away your mirrors until you were only bones
like a dove being carved from a bar of soap
we washed away our sins like peeling skin
the summer sun will give us hope
I thought I heard you whisper
in the darkness
let it go

The Gates

2007-06-25T10:57:00.000-04:00

lets celebrate our excess
since we are witness to the apocalypse
whether we know it or not
one end of the earth is dangling by a string
and I sing because the wind won’t forgive me
if I don’t give some kind of warning

my arrogance has enlightened me
to the fact that I’m not awake
if I question each word and melody
and curse over every mistake

and if there is only the present
then all my memories and dreams
are exactly as irrelevant
as they seem to be

so I will hold my breath underwater
until you squeeze my hand
and I will drink myself into a stupor
and pray each morning if you’ll help me understand

why there is so much suffering
which I cannot touch
why there is so much darkness
that I can’t expose with love

please open up your ancient heart for me
I am willing
I am ready
I am just as afraid as everyone
but I know where I belong

the gates are open
the gates are open
the gates are open

let me in

All The Children

2007-04-06T13:42:00.000-04:00

Walk the yellow corridors
listen through the walls
to the women screaming
his eyes gleam with alcohol
and all the children dream
of a better place to be

Are you on your cigarette break
watching afternoon fade
wishing you were anywhere but here
walking back inside
you can't adjust your eyes
as the sunlight and the wind disappear

Chaos all around you and yet
you find yourself immune
your manager's a monster
but you hum this tune
beneath your breath
and pour the drinks
there's nothing left
to do but never think again
everything is perfect

Outside the barren oak trees
look like skeleton fingers beckoning
but maybe you just see
the metaphor in everything
close the blinds and stay inside
you find a switch and hit the light
you would drift off to sleep
but you're already there

All the children dream
of a better place to be

Hunted by the prey

2007-03-23T00:58:00.000-04:00

I got bit by vampires
playing on the wrong side of town again
I stayed out too late
didn't even know her name
so why was I unable to run?

hunted by the prey
hunted by the prey
hunted by the prey

She took me downtown
mystified by streetlights
driving through the cigarette
strip of neon signs
"this cities dead" she said
but I knew what she meant
(the leaves don't bloom
like her teeth in the blue moon do)

hunted by the prey
hunted by the prey
hunted by the prey

She let me off in my neighborhood
it was good to meet you
wonder when I'll see you again
once the guilt has washed away
I'll be back
to haunt the alleyways
where you hide in black shadows

I can see you running away
but you can not escape
I can see you running away
but you can not escape

hunted by the prey
hunted by the prey
hunted by the prey

Good Intentions

2007-03-23T00:57:00.000-04:00

Everyone's just trying to please us
trying to make us open our eyes
some give us free advice
others sell Jesus Christ
some people pay for their salvation their whole lives
and never receive a sweet reprieve
or even pennies for their eyes

I don't believe in true intentions,
so don't tell me you're just curious
beneath the face
of all we fail to mention
we curse the heavens
furious

I'm in love with the morning sun
and all the passing trains
and you are just another snowflake
different and the same.

Talk Shop

2007-03-12T05:20:00.000-04:00

something about the house felt like a song
creeps up like a peeling onion
i'm afraid of the way history is told
will the earth have air and water when I'm old?

when the bell tolls
confession is done
no one's going to carry me
so I'm learning to walk
one foot in front of the other
is that how we talk shop?
why do we even bother
waking up?

we say
give me space
push each other away
regurgitate scripted lines
waiting for our day to come
I just want to love everyone
but there's never enough time
that is my sentence
that is my punishment
that is my crime

words without action
work without passion
welcome to the new millennium
beat the dead horse
into a well rehearsed delirium
later rinse repeat
hold you're breath until you're beet red
drink until you're braindead
cry yourself to sleep

just
please don't
blame me

Purple Blood

2007-03-12T05:07:00.000-04:00

I don't get caught up in the past anymore
I've learned that photograph's never capture the war
no one wants to be the one to make a stand
no one wants to walk the plank
but everyone wants to see
the view from the edge

your face is shifting colors
I'm losing the friend I know
switching trains - changing lanes
I hate to see you go
but seasons sneak the years by
and children scream at the winter sky
while I try and meditate
you and I drift further and further away

without a hint of irony
without the sting of alcohol
what do we have in common?

pink tongues and purple blood
otherwise nothing

Move Along

2007-03-12T05:04:00.000-04:00

I found peace
in a place I cannot be
visited eternity
but I could not return
to seek the truth
is an unforgiving battle
if you are here
for the scenic route
move along
move along
move along

the trees are all done turning
and the roads are all jammed up
the lakes and rivers frozen
go home and have a cup of tea
move along
move along
move along

someones president and all his merry men
drowning in flames at the gates of heaven
won't someone please let them in?

sorry, the lot is full
we are closed until further notice
move along
move along
move along

I found water
at the bottom of the ocean
what more could you want?

Five Dimensions

2007-03-12T04:46:00.000-04:00

In this sanctuary I've got everything I need
the pantry's socked with sugar and sunflower seeds
good friends - travel on the weekends
domesticated like a wild animal
spoken like a true gentleman

and now in five dimensions
I'll find myself a burden to bear
lighter than an ice cube
but heavier than air
everyone stare at me now
does anyone know how he survives
with a dying conscience
behind chemical eyes?

we move through corridors
forced to carry megaphones
just to hear ourselves over
the white noise in our
aching bones
we strain to see the waterfall
thats imploding in the distance

are you with me
or against me
if this is our last moment
I must know

Highbeams

2007-03-12T04:42:00.000-04:00

I want to know how you speak my language
watch me set myself on fire
you are more courageous than I
when all color has been washed from the sky
how will you see yourself?
how will I?

a blank slate
waiting for you to paint the dawn
a fire escape
for you to count your prayers on
a rusty gate
for me to hide my secrets behind
a purple drape
to block all the light from the sun

driving through the snow
I imagine entering light speed
a black hole envelopes everything
outside of my high beams
and it's a beautiful thing
to go disappearing alone
at midnight in new england
when everyone's asleep in their homes
and there's nowhere for a hundred miles to go
but nothing seems to matter
when you're driving alone in the snow

E2

2007-03-12T04:38:00.000-04:00

I try to contain myself but I just build up
all the love I have to share is a well in my soul
drop a penny down the hole
too many hands to hold
I have light like a star
waiting to implode
sex like an electric guitar
bending a blue note

I try to contain myself but I just build up
sometimes I'm overwhelmed
sometimes I'm bankrupt

for now
I'll let you be my muse
and someday perhaps
this castle of cards
can unfold into the truth

Answering Machine

2007-02-16T13:22:00.000-05:00

when my father changes
his answering machine
for the first time in nine years
it sounds almost the same

(and then
I hear him speak my mothers’ name)

it’s a subtle revelation
the children all are gone

the clock radio in the warm kitchen corner
inches slowly towards the pantry door
stocked - in anticipation for war - with artichoke hearts (because

we are living in different measurements of time now)
but no ones keeping score for this overture of years
unless you count each
raindrop alone as a thunderstorm (but

I don’t)

nature doesn’t speak to me that clearly anymore
instead I’m forced to wait for
digital voices to change on rolling tape
at the other end of the line

as I drive through a thunderstorm of blackbirds
on my way to see a doctor
who I pray has one more silver bullet
waiting for me

2006 Sketchbook Review

2007-01-27T17:44:00.000-05:00

I have been inspired by Sky Cosby's post after ending a notebook, to just type out all his random notes from about a month or so, without giving much sense into what they mean. I just finished my own and I should at least say that a lot of this was written trying to figure out answers to Weffriddles, but no I won't be posting any spoilers here for people who are googling "Weffriddles Spoilers" and end up here on my blog. There are also sketchy plans for a novel I am working on, lists of things to do, band stuff, and just random thoughts. But never fear, read on, it will be ridiculous, I'm sure. Here it is, excerpts from my sketchbook at the end of 2006, each page separated by a line break:

Call Rob Abelow
Bring back Seinfeld DVD's
MOOG call.
Manchester movie stephane oil change?
2600? $400 + 1200 = 1208
Dresser of Drawers?
Copy of keys?
Braces for shelves.
Present for E, Mix CD?

RETURN SEINFELD DVD'S TODAY.
Internet is broken.
Love in America + The American Dream = Slow Piano?
A Dance Upon The Panic Floor Revamp, Ghost Town?
4 Bars riff 2, 4 bars bridge, 4 pre-gallop, 4 gallop, 2nd V - awayyyyyyy. End.
FL hospital, lawsuit?
Patrick Dunn ticket winner.
Marcel Eliot Conjurer.

L is monitor, R is speaker, Park in corner.
Oh, it's pretentious yes, but it provokes curiosity, engage people, include people, a puzzle, a game.
Broccoli Carrots Noodles.
We are apathetic and apathy is fucking pathetic.

This is the beginning of a game, a charade, in an attempt to make an impact.
You are now playing the game
(for those of you playing the other "game" my apologies for your loss, win, or even break)
Think of this game as action and not of thought.
Give them away.

Bring good into the world, stop worrying about money.
Call Dale and Dardic. Meds.
What is it going to take?
"Is that your final answer" stencil on garbage cans everywhere.
For more information about the message of hope visit www.cupofsun.com
Change that message of hope name, it's terrible.

Delegate, don't micromanage.
A story a secret a song.
The only time I use money for good is when I mark my book with a dollar bill.
Follow prospect until you hit park, then left. Zion to park.

I wouldn't take the pain away if I was given a choice
I'd let my sorrow cut a canyon for the river of joy.

Cartoon/Disney/Moving Hammocks!

Return Seinfeld DVD's TODAY!
Call nectars back.

Wobbly Barn - Up or on the rocks?
Meets a colony of moonwatchers in the future
One mans quest for control of his future
Governmental controlled science + Big pharmaceutical.
Trying to drug and barcode children based on work force/army needs.
Break down PC boundries.
Technological Terrorist.
Everyone stays indoors.

Televisions doesn't work anymore
Because the joy of false interaction that the internet provides has become too much.
No attention span.
Small rings worn on fingers that double as a mouse.
Take C.
Talladega nights, scanner darkly, proposition, inconvenient truth.
Middle sex street.

Egg and cream cheese sandwiches.
Macaroni and cheese grilled cheese sandwiches.
Tofu and egg noodles in asian garlic sauce.
$882

Mafia.
Wadsworth, Science.
Sleep Study.
Elisa, Crystal, Sky, Kelly R.
Synth, accordian, Gibson hollow body.
Washington Trip?
Messages of hope business cards.

Christmas cards.
Festival in spring.
The accident that led me to the world.
Igors Egg.
The Primate Fiasco.
Cold Duck Complex.
Nap Lajoy.
Apse.
Sean Frenette.
Chion Wolf.
Emma Weiss.
[Edit: all of the above are amazing new england musicians, check the out on myspace]

Gypsies, Tramps and Theives
Good old fashioned lover boy
Wading in the velvet sea (makes me feel things.)
Untitled 4

Natchaug Job
Posters
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
The consequence of apricots
Never off or even palidrome
Big Mac-abelli's canon explosion.
Not gunna let you down this time.
Chocolate and cereal.
Print mailing list.

I want to show you
god is love.

He said:
"You are my windy streets, you are my bright blue kite"
Lets fly away today.

I'm living on a floating dream
that's been had by thousands before me
why won't I concede?
I don't really have a choice.

I'm living on borrowed money and lost time
dead end highway nursery rhymes
by the tip of the wick
by the slip of your tunge
all my buttons come undone

Snuggle-side bombers
Snuggle bunches of oats
Snuggles: a game of world domination
Trivial Pursnuggles
Shoots and Snuggles
Battlesnuggles
Genital Snuggles
The industrial Snugglution
elimenope
eponemilie
men w/o hats - antarctic.

Bill is awoken in the middle of the night angrily
the goes back to sleep a few minutes later peacefully
that same night Joe wakes up happily
but a few minutes later is quite angry.
what is going on?

Five plus five plus four plus four plus three plus three plus two plus one.
Pool dragon mush.
Rent check oil check belts.

A shower in the dark
too much pepper in the soup
full stop.

Nooner
Put your hand to the plow and don't look back until you reach the kingdom of heaven.

He did this.

Wilco - Hummingbird off "A ghost is born"
Phish - Birds of a feather off "Story of a ghost"
Bird Ghost double themed mix.
End of the world mix.
Theremin
Umass Lowell
Noho?
MP3
9 inch fingernails?

Adult Unit?
Shane, Brendan, Class hours?
Homegrown Music
Tell Christian Flynn to go fuck himself.
Tony's Pizza
Bad thursday.
Eugenics actually are bad for breeding the perfect soldier/army.
Cross-bred humans would actually live and fight longer.

Dance with god
Guidance thing for mom.

Dissociative.
Staying on task.
April Vacation
Position could end.
Call Squirrel.
Takes things apart.
Large Ballroom
45 minute set
Union

I will not sit around
waiting to die.

Review of Apse's New Album, Spirit

2007-01-16T13:37:00.000-05:00

Apse is a band that has no equal. I'm not saying they are the best band on the planet, yet. I am just saying that they cannot be compared to other bands, which makes writing a review difficult. Those who try and conjure up comparisons always come off sounding far fetched and forceful. It's like trying to shove a huge acoustic black cloud of warm static into a hallmark blue sky; something just doesn't fit.

And that's what Apse's music is, it is huge. Thick, abrasive, hurdling in a thousand directions, while at the same time, melodic, composed, symphonic. I have watched the progression of their style since their first EP, and on each release, they have tracks that are like arrows on a map, pointing me in the direction they are heading, without ever telling me where I actually am, or where I might end up.

At first it was the gentle harmonics on "Black trees/Blue sky" guiding me into a sea of guitars. Then on Three Dialogues it was the acoustic opening of "For an errand or a fleet". Then, I remember hearing "Keep" for the first time. When everything drops out and leaves just the plucking guitar strings and vocals, I felt a sense of awe as a musician, the "I wish I had written this song" type of feeling. And now on Spirit, Apse is once again breaking musical ground, giving me another arrow on the map.

Are they Rock? Ambient? Psychedelic? Indie? Prog? Tribal? All of the above? Check. Ezer Lichtenstein will pound you into the ground with his beats and leave you begging for more when the time is right, but he also can give just the right cymbal stoke in a moment of madness when the song calls for it. The guitars blend together, separate, strike, then meditate. But the biggest growth this album shows is the full presence of Robert Toher's amazing, strange, cryptic, beautiful singing (he has sung on their last two releases as well, but this album makes it clear that his singing isn’t an afterthought). I am usually such a stickler for being able to understand lyrics; I can't even enjoy Radiohead's albums fully until I read all the lyrics. But with Apse something is different. I guess I have come to the understanding that the vocals are meant to be just where they are, sometimes upfront, sometimes just a melody, sometimes an almost demonic chant, and other times a sweet poem written for a ghost. I actually enjoy listening to these tracks over and over to understand what Robert is saying, and when I can't, I enjoy his voice as an instrument which guides the intensity of the songs.

All in all, Apse is a band that I am sure will continue to defy genres, impress listeners, and make original music. And since they can’t seem to get away from it, I’ll explain what the comparison to Pink Floyd really means: When Pink Floyd came out with an album, you could be sure it wouldn't sound like anything you had ever heard. They didn't even sound like other Pink Floyd albums you owned. And that is what Apse does. They do something which is familiar and new at the same time. They are not afraid to take risks, try new things, change. Their "sound" is one that they leave undefined, blurry at the corners. It keeps them just on the breaking edge of music without letting them tumble off into lame post-rock nonsense. I still listen to each release of theirs, and find things I love about each one, and yet, they lack a true comparable element to each other, let alone another band. Buy Spirit or any of their EP’s, and you will have a new music experience to enjoy. How often can you truly say that about an album? And if you really want the full effect, I recommend putting on some headphones and taking a walk through the woods while listening to Spirit, you will probably feel like you are in the craziest movie you’ve ever seen. Trust me.

-Sam Dillon

Review of The Primate Fiasco

2006-12-23T19:02:00.000-05:00

Make no mistake about it, when you see The Primate Fiasco, you and your mom will reconcile years of emotional baggage, swing dance together, and both leave fans. It happened to me. They are that good.

The shoe-gazing, bored with life attitude that has infected the music scene these days will have to be checked at the door, because this band is going to work hard to make you move. They are going to pull out killer horn harmonies, dueling banjo/tuba jams, and New Orleans street funk. You won’t be able to just stand there, I promise. They will cover a song like “Sweet Georgia Brown” or “Summertime” that you think you know, and by the time they have finished with it, you’ll feel like Bela Fleck and Bach just got done with it, trust me. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Already you can see horns making their comeback in music, kids are loosening up a bit and (*gasp*) actually having a good time at a show! I hope the Fiasco know what they are getting into, because once the music scene has had a taste of the madness that is their live show, no one is going to want to go back to the egotistical ramblings of some rich white kid from upstate New York. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The Primate Fiasco is a psychedelic freak show of intense musicianship and performance. They have no equal or even contemporary in this day in age of music, which is what makes them so dangerous. Their recent addition of Chris Trevethan on drums solidifies in my mind that they are preparing for a revolutionary take-over of modern music as we know it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

These guys aren’t a novelty. It isn’t just about the fact that they play different instruments than most bands (Clarinet, Trumpet, Tuba, Banjo, Drums), this is about the fact that they are ten times the talent and ten times the presence of what is going on at clubs these days. Our generation is getting sick of the sob story indie-rockers singing about their last breakup. We are sick of pretending to look disinterested during a set. TPF is about more than just music, it is about an environment of laughing, dancing, singing, stomping the floor, clapping your hands, and going home sweaty.

Honky-tonk, blues, big band, indie, ragtime, jazz, rock? I don’t know where to begin. I could just as easily lump them with Radiohead as I could with Muddy Waters, because they both have soul that reaches across the lines of time and space, and touches people, on a raw, human level. And after being touched, no one can quite put into words what has happened. It isn’t about what it sounds like, despite them being a band, it’s about what you feel like after it’s over. Something has changed. You walk home feeling ten pounds lighter. Your skin breathes easier, and you smile like a child. Was it all just a dream?

I lived in New Orleans, years ago, and I remember being humbled daily by the vast talent that sat on street corners, in tiny jazz clubs and opium dens, playing music that changed my life. They did it because they had too. They did it because it was all they knew. Old men who could barely read, but could play the trumpet or guitar better than any virtuoso on any record you owned. It was here that I leaned the importance of the artist to love their work. To need their art. To feel that they would be empty without it. To fill their lungs each day with the air of the muse and then share it with the world that evening.

When I first met TPF, they were playing all day long at six flags, in the middle of a very hot summer, and then most nights a week, going out and playing a show. These were guys who would drive an hour out of their way after a long day at work, with their chops surely sore, and play a magical show that would get us all hopping. That is the truth that is in their music. They do it because they must. And we respect and love them for what they do.

They are well on their way to being a household name and it begins with each and every one of us seeing them play. Becoming a part of what it is they embody. It is irresistible, powerful, and it will get under your skin, brighten your day, and make you realize that this might be the best time of your life.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

- Sam Dillon

Review of Page France @ The Webster Underground 12-5-06

2006-12-23T18:55:00.000-05:00

"Hell is a half-filled auditorium" - Robert Frost.

Well, even through Frost is from our neck of the woods, he clearly wasn't at the Webster Underground on December 5th. Page France came out full force for the small crowd, making believers out of everyone there. This was my first time hearing them, and I was especially struck by the powerful beauty of "Antarctica", and the vocal/xylophone melodic layers in "Junkyard". This is where I first heard Whitney Mcgraw's voice, which immediately felt like I was listening to my best friend singing along with the radio. I loved it, and more importantly, it felt familiar, like it belonged.

As a lyricist, I immediately went for the lyrics. So many bands lose me these days for two reasons. One, I don't understand the lyrics; or Two, they suck. Page France avoids these both by blending Michael Nau's poetry into their songs perfectly. "You were told to bloom majestically / And love until your hands bleed." I don't know how old he is, but he seems to be a song machine, and he doesn't write filler. Granted, I didn't know what that Elephant song was about, but I knew just by the bands delivery that it wasn't filler.

I'm sure he has enough comparisons to Jeff Magnum so I'll at least say I see more of a nod towards Colin Meloy of The Decemberists, and Win Butler of The Arcade Fire. And Jeff Magnum only really put out like two albums worth of material anyway, so I'm sick of other vocalists being compared to him. If he ever comes out with another album, I'm going to be like "He sounds a bit like Michael Nau of Page France", and see what he says to that.

After the show, all the members of the band seemed very gracious, friendly, almost shy in a way. As a vocalist who smokes, I was pleased (in a sense) to see Michael step out for a cigarette. They weren't even too weirded out when I offered all 10 of them (anathallo included) a place to stay at my house. Alas, they were off to Philly that night, and the Page France/Anathallo/Cup of Sun late night song session would have to wait.

All in all the show was great, and I got one more lucky chance to see a great band in an intimate environment, so I can complain later when they are playing some huge ballroom that I “used to see these guys play in front of fifty people”.

- Sam Dillon

In The Evening

2006-12-15T22:39:00.000-05:00

in the evening I dreamt of bleeding from the wrists
and woke to ambulance sirens laughing
but I was obliged to wake up soaking wet
you told me you liked to masturbate in traffic
and I wept tragic fragile shards of glass
that rolled like psychic orbs or my cats eyes
when I told her all my deepest secrets
and in the wedding punch I poured
a bottle full of freedom and made a toast
to the ghosts who pull belief from my bleeding dreams
and lift me eerily back to reality, whether at the hour
I agree to take their invisible hands or not,
the sand is shattered in between time ticking
like a broken record gleaming blue notes
aerial photography of the full moon splattering gravity
nothing matters anymore
carpet décor the color of your burning house
clepto brother oxygen mouth to mouth
I slept a thousand years before you finally
pulled the plug and who are you
to be so naive to believe
I even dream of you at all
wake the fuck up

Truck Stop

2006-12-15T22:35:00.000-05:00

with our hands together
I believe we can build a ship
with which to sail outside the universe
into places where even nothingness cannot exist
where even the darkest corners of black holes refuse to live
where gravity becomes so strong it cannot even resist itself

and there we will turn ourselves inside out
and into each other
a swarm of lightning storms on the event horizon
a sea of glowing doves dancing above the creation of time

(as I drive home from the truck stop payphone
with soft rain on my windshield)

Winter Stars

2006-12-15T22:17:00.000-05:00

We slept, as winter stars fell like cannonballs
into the ocean all around us, and the wind
came and went like an explosive lover.

I knelt outside the campground bathroom stalls
to thank a god I didn’t believe in for the gift of your existence.

Our love carried no hidden knives.
Was so distracted it couldn’t find its way out of an empty parking lot.
Was instead focused softly on the inch of space between our faces

(as we laid in that turquoise tent
on the beach in a city where we had never been
on that train where I left you
our love carried no ticket
knew no times zones
talked to strangers
learned Portuguese
in a gas station deli
spilled a bottle of water dancing

knew the right thing to do
and did it anyway

our love felt nauseous
after too many hours at the beach
forgot to eat
because airplane food is terrible
and it felt too excited.)

I knelt by the moonlight,
spoon-fed you a piggy back ride
and you laughed like a dozen suns
exhausting themselves of heat and helium,
sung from a throat full of angeldust.

And then we slept,
as winter stars fell like cannonballs
into the ocean all around us.

Malachi Ritscher's (1954-2006) Suicide Letter

2006-12-15T21:45:00.000-05:00

I feel very strange posting anyone else's words on this blog.
I don't even know if anyone reads it, so maybe it's more for me anyway.

Malachi Ritscher, self-immolated (set himself on fire), last week near a freeway in Chicago. In his suicide letter, he has come very close to saying exactly how I feel about God, American Culture, and the War on Iraq. I only feel that as a citizen of this beautiful country that I love, it is my duty to share these thoughts with others. I do not post this because of his death, only because I feel his words are strong and full of hope. His words say things we are all afraid to say.

Taken from Pitchfork Media:
"Self-immolation is not a common act, mostly because it's one of the slowest, most painful, and messiest ways a person can kill himself. For most Americans, consciousness of the act comes down to one man, and one photograph: a 1963 shot of a Vietnamese monk named Thích Quảng Đức, seated in the Lotus position in the middle of a Saigon street, consumed by flames, protesting the treatment of Buddhists under a Catholic regime. The few monks who did this didn't consider it suicide, but rather a form of non-violent protest-- a way for pacifists to speak louder than those who kill. (Gandhi, when questioned on the limits of pacifism, had suggested similar thinking.) There's no question that self-immolation is agonizing, and that's precisely why it's been used as a form of protest: It's meant to show an intense commitment to one's cause."

His Final Letter:

"My actions should be self-explanatory, and since in our self-obsessed culture words seldom match the deed, writing a mission statement would seem questionable. So judge me by my actions. Maybe some will be scared enough to wake from their walking dream state - am I therefore a martyr or terrorist? I would prefer to be thought of as a 'spiritual warrior'. Our so-called leaders are the real terrorists in the world today, responsible for more deaths than Osama bin Laden.

I have had a wonderful life, both full and full of wonder. I have experienced love and the joy and heartache of raising a child. I have jumped out of an airplane, and escaped a burning building. I have spent the night in jail, and dropped acid during the sixties. I have been privileged to have met many supremely talented musicians and writers, most of whom were extremely generous and gracious. Even during the hard times, I felt charmed. Even the difficult lessons have been like blessed gifts. When I hear about our young men and women who are sent off to war in the name of God and Country, and who give up their lives for no rational cause at all, my heart is crushed. What has happened to my country? we have become worse than the imagined enemy - killing civilians and calling it 'collateral damage', torturing and trampling human rights inside and outside our own borders, violating our own Constitution whenever it seems convenient, lying and stealing right and left, more concerned with sports on television and ring-tones on cell-phones than the future of the world.... half the population is taking medication because they cannot face the daily stress of living in the richest nation in the world.

I too love God and Country, and feel called upon to serve. I can only hope my sacrifice is worth more than those brave lives thrown away when we attacked an Arab nation under the deception of 'Weapons of Mass Destruction'. Our interference completely destroyed that country, and destabilized the entire region. Everyone who pays taxes has blood on their hands.

I have had one previous opportunity to serve my country in a meaningful way - at 8:05 one morning in 2002 I passed Donald Rumsfeld on Delaware Avenue and I was acutely aware that slashing his throat would spare the lives of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of innocent people. I had a knife clenched in my hand, and there were no bodyguards visible; to my deep shame I hesitated, and the moment was past.

The violent turmoil initiated by the United States military invasion of Iraq will beget future centuries of slaughter, if the human race lasts that long. First we spit on the United Nations, then we expect them to clean up our mess. Our elected representatives are supposed to find diplomatic and benevolent solutions to these situations. Anyone can lash out and retaliate, that is not leadership or vision. Where is the wisdom and honor of the people we delegate our trust to?

To the rest of the world we are cowards - demanding Iraq to disarm, and after they comply, we attack with remote-control high-tech video-game weapons. And then lie about our reasons for invading. We the people bear complete responsibility for all that will follow, and it won't be pretty.

It is strange that most if not all of this destruction is instigated by people who claim to believe in God, or Allah. Many sane people turn away from religion, faced with the insanity of the 'true believers'. There is a lot of confusion: many people think that God is like Santa Claus, rewarding good little girls with presents and punishing bad little boys with lumps of coal; actually God functions more like the Easter Bunny, hiding surprises in plain sight. God does not choose the Lottery numbers, God does not make the weather, God does not endorse military actions by the self-righteous, God does not sit on a cloud listening to your prayers for prosperity. God does not smite anybody. If God watches the sparrow fall, you notice that it continues to drop, even to its death. Face the truth folks, God doesn't care, that's not what God is or does. If the human race drives itself to extinction, God will be there for another couple million years, 'watching' as a new species rises and falls to replace us. It is time to let go of primitive and magical beliefs, and enter the age of personal responsibility. Not telling others what is right for them, but making our own choices, and accepting consequences.

"Who would Jesus bomb?" This question is primarily addressing a Christian audience, but the same issues face the Muslims and the Jews: God's message is tolerance and love, not self-righteousness and hatred. Please consider "Thou shalt not kill" and "As ye sow, so shall ye reap". Not a lot of ambiguity there.

What is God? God is the force of life - the spark of creation. We each carry it within us, we share it with each other. Whether we are conscious of the life-force is a choice we make, every minute of every day. If you choose to ignore it, nothing will happen - you are just 'less conscious'. Maybe you are less happy (maybe not). Maybe you grow able to tap into the universal force, and increase the creativity in the universe. Love is anti-entropy. Please notice that 'conscious' and 'conscience' are related concepts.

Why God - what is the value? Whether committee consensus of a benevolent power that works through humans, or giant fungus under Oregon, the value of opening up to the concept of God is in coming to the realization that we are not alone, establishing a connection to the universe, the experience of finding completion. As individuals we may exist alone, but we are all alone together as a people. Faith is the answer to fear. Fear opposes love. To manipulate through fear is a betrayal of trust.

What does God want? No big mystery - simply that we try to help each other. We decide to make God-like decisions, rescuing falling sparrows, or putting the poor things out of their misery. Tolerance, giving, acceptance, forgiveness.

If this sounds a lot like pop psychology, that is my exact goal. Never underestimate the value of a pep-talk and a pat on the ass. That is basically all we give to our brave soldiers heading over to Iraq, and more than they receive when they return. I want to state these ideas in their simplest form, reducing all complexity, because each of us has to find our own answers anyway. Start from here...

I am amazed how many people think they know me, even people who I have never talked with. Many people will think that I should not be able to choose the time and manner of my own death. My position is that I only get one death, I want it to be a good one. Wouldn't it be better to stand for something or make a statement, rather than a fiery collision with some drunk driver? Are not smokers choosing death by lung cancer? Where is the dignity there? Are not the people the people who disregard the environment killing themselves and future generations? Here is the statement I want to make: if I am required to pay for your barbaric war, I choose not to live in your world. I refuse to finance the mass murder of innocent civilians, who did nothing to threaten our country. I will not participate in your charade - my conscience will not allow me to be a part of your crusade. There might be some who say "it's a coward's way out" - that opinion is so idiotic that it requires no response. From my point of view, I am opening a new door.

What is one more life thrown away in this sad and useless national tragedy? If one death can atone for anything, in any small way, to say to the world: I apologize for what we have done to you, I am ashamed for the mayhem and turmoil caused by my country. I was alive when John F. Kennedy instilled hope into a generation, and I was a sorry witness to the final crushing of hope by Dick Cheney's puppet, himself a pawn of the real rulers, the financial plunderers and looters who profit from every calamity; following the template of Reagan's idiocracy.

The upcoming elections are not a solution - our two party system is a failure of democracy. Our government has lost its way since our founders tried to build a structure which allowed people to practice their own beliefs, as far as it did not negatively affect others. In this regard, the separation of church and state needs to be reviewed. This is a large part of the way that the world has gone wrong, the endless defining and dividing of things, micro-sub-categorization, sectarianism. The direction we need is a process of unification, integrating all people into a world body, respecting each individual. Business and industry have more power than ever before, and individuals have less. Clearly, the function of government is to protect the individual, from hardship and disease, from zealots, from the exploitation, from monopoly, even from itself. Our leaders are not wise persons with integrity and vision - they are actors reading from teleprompters, whose highest goal is to stir up the mob. Our country slaughters Arabs, abandons New Orleaneans, and ignores the dieing environment. Our economy is a house of cards, as hollow and fragile as our reputation around the world. We as a nation face the abyss of our own design.

A coalition system which includes a Green Party would be an obvious better approach than our winner-take-all system. Direct electronic debate and balloting would be an improvement over our non-representative congress. Consider that the French people actually have a voice, because they are willing to riot when the government doesn't listen to them.

"Any people anywhere, being inclined and having the power, have the right to rise up, and shake off the existing government... " - Abraham Lincoln

With regard to those few who crossed my path carrying the extreme and unnecessary weight of animosity: they seemed by their efforts to be punishing themselves. As they acted out the misery of their lives it is now difficult to feel anything other than pity for them.

Without fear I go now to God - your future is what you will choose today."

Willimantic River, 7AM

2006-11-09T23:53:00.000-05:00

The river races below my window
Through my mind
The sun goes down
Behind the railroad tracks
Below the bridge which doesn’t work
Beneath the streetlights gone berserk
Flashing green pulses across the crest of
The waterfalls edge, I watch dusk
Stretch like a calico cat
Along the muddy banks littered with trash
The running streams of oil
That cast rainbows upon the surface of
The past which lurks
Behind my back
Under my breath
Churning circles of cosmos
And burning wells of the midnight oil

Without me even noticing it
Which memories are you here to remind me of?
The future is a bright and shining star above the bridge
Which holds tomorrow on a pedestal
Under which the river of yesterday flows
As I try to patch the hole in my sinking life boat
I cannot control or float towards heaven on
Broken promises and swansongs
Let me try this journey again
The undertow is holding me
A thirsty – god hungry – love trusting – lust hating – angel
A bursting – energetic blood cussing – long awaited – stranger

blessing/curse

2006-10-23T20:42:00.001-04:00

in the simple
peace in my heart
I agree
there is nothing
but my own fear
holding me back
from loving those
around me
and I am tired
and stressed out
and I am coming
to realize
that the revolution
that I desire
is that of my own mind
and therefore
the world that surrounds me
all of my senses
overwhelmed
with love
cannot be contained
I will die
someday
a thousand years from now
tomorrow
somewhere in between
but the peace
in my heart
will live forever
it cannot be stopped
not by an army
not by a weapon
not by a medicine
not by words
or thoughts
or pain
or fear
or death
or life
or love
or lies
my power
is my own
I was blessed
to hold this within me
the power to change
the course of events of the world
on a small and large scale
my curse is that
I cannot control
the way that love flows
from my fingertips
or lips
my curse is
the endless expenditure
of hope
which will eventually
leave me empty
a vessel
to live inside
and guide us all
home

mirror mine

2006-10-20T22:04:00.000-04:00

I've lost my ability to slow down
my conscious heart races
my breath chases wind
but I can't catch up
can't fess up to the things I've done
rivers I've moved to flow
away from the sun
against the pull of the ocean

we mine mirror from the floors of oceans
but see only our ancestry
we look to tress for stories
but they just remind us to breathe

I have failed to mention
that music is only tension being released
and when it's out I am left with a momentary nothing
an emptiness I'll seek out for centuries

curiousity

2006-10-20T22:03:00.001-04:00

life is worth living
even though it rains sometimes
and I am not afraid to die
but I still hope it’s not my time
to go

we forge ahead
look towards momentary pleasures
instead of being satisfied
by all that is in front of us

we light candles and begin books
because curiosity keeps us
deep beneath a buried secret
digging for gold
waiting for god

we glorify our pain
even though it rains sometimes
so that no one can see our hearts
we make up our minds
so that no one can tear them apart

simple things

2006-10-20T22:03:00.000-04:00

simple things
I want nothing more
you come waltzing through
my bedroom door
like an ancient resident
of the space in my heart
that you occupy
demanding nothing
and so I oblige

I put my fingers
on your pulse points
looking for the skeleton key
I was told
would be hidden
in the sea
of your eyes
I am baptized and forgiven
I am no longer a prisoner
of the living curse
where music hurts
but silence can't survive
and now I know the world
will keep on spinning
after we die

simple things
grab you by the collar
in the middle of the night
in the bathroom while you're dreaming
before you turn on the light
and they are so beautiful
it reminds you why you sleep with your eyes closed

I wear a skeleton key around my neck
waiting for you to show me your lock

I listen to your heartbeat
while you are sleeping
it rhymes like a beautiful song

cranes

2006-10-20T22:02:00.000-04:00

my heart aches
when the giant cranes
follow the curves of the road
instead of the rivers
which once guided them home

I am afraid we are making an impact
that we will be unable to
change
reverse
erase

there is a strange creature in this forest
she climbs the dying pine tree's
she hides behind the mystery
or at least what is left of it
a phantom walking barefoot

I have seen her
dancing across the surface of the lake
as if her burden had no earthly weight

Snakes

2006-10-19T18:37:00.000-04:00

woke up with a snake
slipping his shiver finger
in little licks down my spinal
cord, a tense spirit being
woken - rose to tip and tail

sweet bell broken
cold water slow to open my pores
envelope sore feet
dress me in a sweet tone of evening
drench my in a soulful scent of being
mold me in the shape you have become accustomed too

then let me change

sold today my shoulders were to snakes

Tea

2006-10-19T18:36:00.000-04:00

Sip
my
tea
slowly
breathe
in
the
steam
keep
my
eyes
closed
sleep
with
them
open
meet
me
somewhere
between
our
dreaming
souls
where
our
eyes
can
be
as
black
and
deep
as
burning
coals

The movie

2006-10-19T18:34:00.000-04:00

I guess we should just be warm
even if this is that kind of oily coffee you hate
when the music isn't loud enough
and we drift in and out of each others words

spilled across the tree tops
sunlight is blocked by the canopy
so I cannot see if it is early or late
I cannot get up
from this unfamiliar bed
and slip last nights socks
on the wrong feet
for the long walk
back to harmony

today; sunny with a light breeze
seventy percent chance of a beautiful uncertainty

(is that how you put it?
I remember the airport ride
but weren't we silent?
why was the music so pretty? - we don’t like
pretty music.)

today I should just be moving on again
my feet are itchy trigger fingers.

I see us in Boston; but it's a dream of a movie set
everyone is an extra, every coffee shop is cardboard

we are searching hand in hand in snow trying to keep warm
everything is being struck around us,

I call your name into an alley but there is no echo
your hand still warms the skin between my fingers
but you are nowhere.

(like sound, warmth is a just a vibration,
people of sound we are
by definition
but weren't we silent?)

I am leaving here
I can see it now
laughing with my head tilted back
bonfire in my throat
cold city winds want to know

can teardrops melt the snow?

(where is everyone?
where is the wind?
where are we?

-we were silent
and silence
scares me)

finally the credits roll
we are warm. we are steady.

we talk about how strange
it was to be strangers once
now that we are not.

but words are just vibrations
and what comes after love?

Provincetown 01-12-06

2006-10-19T18:31:00.000-04:00

Park on a side street
Try to put coins in the parking meter, but it’s broken.
Provincetown AA meeting
Approaching one week sober.

Reading too much Bukowski.
Oh how he thought the world
Was full of too many words
Filling the libraries with aluminum tears.

A man of refined tastes
Women, Chopin, whiskey, horses-
I wonder if I will write better sober
Than I did drunk

Bukowski would have scowled
(But don’t worry, I won’t edit this)
I just hope I don’t disappoint
My mind is just another broken parking meter

Counting impossible time.

Glass House

2006-10-19T18:29:00.000-04:00

after the thirty seven dark molasses stairs
breaking beneath my feet
dropping down into the deep abyss
where all noises are silent
I felt my foot touch ground
a cool basement concrete
rooting up through my heel
with the solid force of the earth
calming my nerves
like soldering frayed
electrical wires

a shallow blue pool
crystal water barely moving
seagulls flying through the room
guiding me to
dip my foot in
slip my root downwind until
I found myself
on a cliff overlooking endless ocean

the ground was the color of clay
covering your feet as you walked up from behind me
and sat down

and then I put my arm around you
the way a sister should be held
and you smiled with an understanding
rarely ever found in meditative dreams

and here in this forest
I have found a family and peace
off the highway down the bumpy dirt road
barefoot on the white sand walkways
between the trees on planks of wood
over the bridge to the glass house
where I can sit and let sunlight seep
deep into the belly of the beast
while the mind of a free spirit
is washing over me with weeping wind
as I am laughing through the tears of letting go

standing at the edge of the cliff
throwing memories that haunt me
like dust into the wind

I tell you I love you
give you a hug and a kiss and say goodbye
back to the pool in the basement
back to the staircase
up thirty-seven steps
one last glance

close the door

Lost

2006-10-19T18:28:00.000-04:00

"Everything that can be lost will be lost"-Carlos Castaneda

If you lose something
it is meant to be lost,
it just resides somewhere
else for the moment.

Do not go looking for it,
that is as futile as watching
a pot you’re trying to boil.

These are only things;
to think you must

possess them,
it to be possessed by them.

Let them go,
in time they will
grow to miss you
and return,

and if they don't,
live with their loss
as a memory
and learn.

2006 Review 05-31-06

2006-10-19T18:26:00.000-04:00

Something is happening that I am not sure I can put into words,
But here is my most honest attempt. Everyone started this year off in the shit.
Somehow something was going on in the universe, and life was just fucking hard.
A few intense personal discoveries were made, but no action was taken.
No one could see their mind changing on paper, or anywhere in their immediate world.
March had a week somewhere in there, where everyone was numb.
We just needed to take our fingers out of the boiling soup and sleep for a minute.

We awoke eventually.
But not before life started sending robot orangutans wielding soft fruit towards us.
We resisted arrest, we kept on pushing through dreaming of a tomorrow that could
Only live or exist in our little heads.
Something was happening though; a long tunnel was beginning to open
One we didn’t even realize we were in.
Suddenly there was a train.
We were blindsided by the beauty of chaotic sounds surrounding us.
Then, all of the sudden, everything was silent.
The sound had been turned off of life for a moment.
And in that moment, everyone realized that to connect more fully with their world,
They needed to pull back, isolate for a moment and reflect on why we are here on this earth.
Now I’m not saying everything makes sense somehow our of nothingness,
But slowly, we are beginning to branch our little fingers back towards each other,
Casually as if pointing out a passing car.
Soon our hands will extend as if capturing the trails of shooting stars
And we will be, all of us, making love to each other in some sick state of mutual harmony.
And we will call it music
And we will call it out loud to each other as a greeting and a goodbye.
And we will all wonder where the sunlight came from,
As we are freckle blasted heavenward without the slightest sense of movement.
In stillness we can engage in a dance which only the wind can understand.

My forecast:
Play in a river with someone you don’t know all that well,
Do something for a stranger or a friend which no one will ever know.
Gather your thoughts, but do not hoard them, for they will go rotten.
Make love loudly on the hottest day of this summer.
Laugh at the amazing coincidences that have created this world which we are blessed to live in.

For Sky 05-31-06

2006-10-19T18:25:00.000-04:00

While we are all at a point of reflection
and while the dog is howling for recognition
(or for the moon - but no one is sure)
I pee in my backyard on the fresh grass
which I remind myself, is just a weed
(because I need to feel human)

Planting seeds on the beach
down PVC pipes stuck in the sand
the whole shore looked like
a breathing graveyard of waves
The phone call. The race home.
The way your children entered the world.
The way in which we are all growing
apart, and every day the world feels more connected.
And by connected I mean smaller.

That night we played poker
in the backroom of the bookstore
you won all the money - even though
the only thing you ever had was a
wise grin across your face and ace high -
Maybe. If that. You deceptively beautiful bastard.
I guess we’ll never know.

But I know we will meet again
across a table on a train
you’ll be having a drink
and me, I think I’ll just be sitting there
wanting your drink.
Wanting to be you.

A train to no place important
where business is as usual.

A train that has no track
traveling west of some sunset.

We were both such beautiful children.
My friend, what the hell has happened?

starvation

2006-10-19T18:24:00.000-04:00

A million faces milling around
Tiny overpriced apartments
Pacing the periwinkle carpet
Taking out the garbage
Paying the bills

Go to work at the office
Get your coffee from a kid in college
In twenty years you’ll be retired
And he’ll be you.

The television shows you watch,
The things you buy,
The music you listen to:
They do not own or define you.

The route you take to work
Sober in the bar, drunk at church
Paper or plastic, the color of your skin:
These things do not define you at all.

The money you make
The pills you take
The books you read

We all bleed the same color
We all need the same things

Air, Water, Food,
Shelter, Mother, Father,
Friend, Lover, God.

God starves me of substance
Every time I think I need something else
Reminds me that survival comes first.
I am a gatherer of self foremost.
Fostering the heart within
Then family, friends, community, country,
Planet, solar system, universe, beyond.
I am an organism of survival foremost.

(The flower garden does not grow
On sun and water alone)

Empty Castles

2006-10-19T18:17:00.000-04:00

I dreamt I inherited a firewood box full of birds’ nests.
These were of the finest quality, each a sort of bird heaven.

So without much thought I got my fathers silver ladder
from the garage and began placing them in the trees
throughout the backyard behind the house where I grew up;
in nice sunny spots balanced on firm boughs.

The early spring scent of colors being born in Connecticut,
the sharp anticipation of apples and grass.
For what do you get when you cut wind in half
but at least another edge?

Next, I am on the back deck
smoking and watching the robins and blue jays
picking up dead twigs once hidden by snow.
Swimming through the post winter air,
unsure of where to go and build a home.

I watch them stop and look at the luxurious empty nests.
They seem dissatisfied; perhaps just disinterested.
I am amazed to watch each choose a spot
far away from the nests and begin their long and
tedious progression of picking up dry twigs and
stacking them on a high sprig of branch.

To be given so easily what they need
eliminates the process, and eventually the necessity.

They sing just like spring birds should,
ignoring the shadows of their neighbors empty castles.

Church

2006-10-19T18:16:00.001-04:00

We work in the church
In silence
In the delicate archery
Of sunlight beams
Streaming through the
Stained glass windows.

We sit in the empty pew
Closest too the alter,
We speak of god
In secret whispers,
We listen for the organs echo
But no one plays this morning’s chorus.
No one knows the key of distance
Between our souls and heaven,
Nor why we locked out hearts
In this old church to begin with.

We fill the eternal candles
With lighter fluid from the drug store
On the corner behind the small school
Where the children often swing
Laughing at nothing,
Burning eyes like torches,
Curling fingers towards us.

If god could play the organ
It would sound like this.

Right of way

2006-10-19T18:16:00.000-04:00

Deep in the city where everyone has the right of way,
I sleep with my demon who summons the rain.
I meet with my angel in her secret chamber.

Safe from the lightning, (a crooked icicle
bending away from a slice of cold sun)
I feel my body melting, helpless and solemn.

Awake in the darkness, sweat is dripping down my forehead,
dreams that haunted me are now forcing their way out,
and somewhere in the lucid fluid of my bodies inertia

there is a true pulse in sonic wavelengths sweeping
up the pieces of my history. Which I have shattered with
my own hands, which I have left to be judged by god only,

my memories are nothing but gathered dust on venetian blinds
each day I alter each way my synapses fire in the range of
my brain, which is tired of being in control,

but my heart refuses to stop.
My mind refuses to let go.

Healing Machines

2006-10-19T18:15:00.000-04:00

“Our bodies are, if nothing else, healing machines” –Cassidy Bowman

Our bodies are, if nothing else
on death row
waiting for the gas.

In Texas, praying for a piece of pink paper,
or a pardon
from a lover,
or a friend
who wants to
watch us go,
a mother or father to politely blow their nose.

Nightly we accept our plastic wrapped,
pistol-whipped complacency
brush quietly past strangers
(our hushed eyes avoiding the dangerous truth)
that we are afraid to take the simple steps into the
dark womb of human communication.

Our bodies, long stretched when laid out,
internal organs playing the loud pulse of our spinning thoughts
caught grinding gears in the cement mixers of our minds,
chattering our rotting teeth like loaded dice,
between which we mutter under the lonely breath of alcohol
“When,
if ever,
will it rain?”

(And so,
we wait.)

Clenched fists eventually calm under liquid rhythms
clammy palms reach to touch innocent skin
twisting handshakes into tunnel vision pyramids.

We find ourselves in black rooms staring at blank screens
begging for a connection we refuse to embrace;

wound in, (lies)
bound by, (time)
mummified but still alive,
praying to be saved.

Blueberry Patch

2006-10-19T18:12:00.000-04:00

I’m leaving my mind for your sweet streets
running red lights to shallow depths
my body a clock tower expressing shadows in the
cloud breaks bleak daylight

I want to call your swift name
in my soft voice.

in sentinel languages
our words are media viruses of the mind
spreading slow jam ancient blueberry riddles
backwards through time between our mouths

cracked liberty bells for eyes
stone columns for limbs
smacking together at the hips cackling laughs
where pendulums in the back of our throat swing
twisting time away into little bits of paper
inside a snow globe being shaken
like a snake slithering out of it’s skin
we find new beginnings
at the end of blueberry patch roads
and make bramble love
our eyes full of halos
in the bushes of your
tangled hair
I let my bent fingers run free
like ten naked meadow children dancing
weaving common sense and circumstance
into afghans of courage and love.

I don’t really mind today that I don’t understand.
you take me places I have never been.

Cities

2006-10-19T18:11:00.001-04:00

Sick how we change this magnificent world
so it is prettier to look at;
(this font and tone, intentional)
clear cut shear shrub
make way for the city.
When we drove into town yesterday
Mt. Rainier was peaking out from behind
the east side and you said we were in the city now.

But I have been to Johannesburg
seen Boston, Austin, and Egypt’s cryptic tears
and this is no city, though we cross a bridge to get here.

And now the normalcy of listening to you
scramble around in my bed like a hard boiled salmon
is becoming the vague sensation of home.
And I think I like it
(but I’m not sure how) to
get used to (loving
or living) with anyone
but myself.

Well, (how deep the sound
of a wave’s falsetto) another
day (rippled by a tiny
pebble) is coming,

and with it, the blind intention of utopia.

Dead or alive alternative take

2006-10-19T18:07:00.001-04:00

Do you even think about me anymore?
Because even in my dreams I can’t ignore you.
Not that I want to,
No, I still want you,
Dead or alive.

Do you obey traffic signs
in the middle of the night
in the midst of a country
when no one is driving?
Do you still dream about
the first nights we spent
in your bed?

I haven’t slept much since then.

oxygen

2006-10-19T18:07:00.000-04:00

When you arrive:
(Bringing breaths of life
Into my tattered lungs)

Realize:
(Your presence is my oxygen)

Broken Lantern

2006-10-19T18:03:00.000-04:00

Loving you
is sickly vague of detail.
page after page
I flip, reading the
ancient script
of an empty book.

You are not the canvas
and I do not paint.
Great soul mates
never are alike
you might say,
but together
we are here at last,
in the mural
eyes focused
in permanence
on the same empty
space of a room
looking back at us,
and no one
but the children
in the café
knows we’re lovers.

In a nauseous way
like one might feel
nostalgic towards
the planet earth,
after days or nights
lost at or in
space or sea
kissing the dirt
through invisible bars;
the imprisoning
freedoms of gravity.

The archeological disappointment
of perhaps having found
everything that was
meant to be hidden
leaves me digging
through my dreams,
searching for a word
without a language
or a language
without words.

And like a
broken lantern
flickering on
at the bottom
of the ocean,
I wake up
grasping your hand
like a glass of water
spilled across the desert,
which sounds
like a shy cat
playing a broken piano

Lunacy

2006-10-19T18:02:00.001-04:00

I am about to go off a ski jump made of
hard plastic on roller skates in an attempted

back flip over the moon.
We forget to hit the anti-gravity switch and

I land on the desolate ground looking
up at the building from fifty yards away.

I try to explain to the operators that one over
infinity equals zero, and proves we do not exist;

proves that numbers are as useless as words,
and the moon is not the only lover I have kept a secret.

You invade my mind with blind meaning
I cannot find beyond midnight behind morning (I was tripping over

last nights bottles searching for a non-existent
glass of water when you iron horsed my heart)

my pulse a jagged fractal of imagined
chain reactions to your touch

which I have only felt in the much awaited dreams
I cannot force on myself as I sleep.

And when seeing your reflection each time
I look into the moons eyes is not enough;

I touch the wooden box inside my heart where you are pent up.
Are you waiting for me to set you free or am I waiting for you to let me?

Each day I polish the tarnished silver key.
I make sure you’re awake and watching.

Cackling a laugh like a crackling fire in my chest,
whose flames and smoke make my heart beat and pump my breath.

The moon’s steam works the clock gears of my bloodstreams venom
screaming inside each lunatic is the lunacy that makes him

(human?)

Casino

2006-10-19T18:02:00.000-04:00

I went to the casino
because it was the only place
I could wear my sunglasses indoors

clay chips like crickets chattering
Bells and whistles lights and air conditioning
absolute control
just as once I wish I had cold fingers
the rattle of bones is frantic
monuments to money built in deserts
an empty ocean sand swept
a vast swarms of lonely people like ants
who have lost so much they leave their last hopes to chance

Bells and whistles lights in their eyes
a flicker of addiction that will never stop
an empty ocean waiting to be filled.

Scarf

2006-10-19T18:01:00.001-04:00

All my memories went missing
so I'm listening again
trying to collect vital childish information

Why doesn't everyone just come to me
arms open wide with shining eyes
that scream "I'm ready"

because some days I want to die
and some days I want to live
and other days I just want.

and those are the worst.

I have not suffered enough to say:
"I have suffered" but it's enough to say this:
I'm ready to have a reason

a reason to die
a reason to live
today it makes no difference

give me a banana
call it dinner and movie
call it a night and drive home

sleep with the lights on
call my doctor and tell him that there is a
malicious virus eating away at my heart

take two pills - the red and white ones -
wake up in the morning
but don't set the alarm

drive a different way to work tomorrow
maybe you'll show up early
maybe no one will notice you're invisible

and if they do, don't blame them
everyone opens their eyes one day
sometimes it's just to light a match

to cast shadows inside of their grave.
other days we call it by it's seasonal name
assured that we will remember details

time and place. ready the hovercraft
set course for any ocean that lacks waves.
sit back, relax, and enjoy the guilty

weightlessness of air. take notes and regurgitate.
pass with flying colors. fold the flag carefully
set in on the mantle above the fireplace.

teach your children to lie in many languages
tell them you don't believe in the internet.
make sure they know the difference between

things that exist and things that don't exist.
make them tell you stories and take notes in
the morning while cooking eggs and pancakes

pouring mugs of orange juice. tell them snow
is beautiful but let them wear a scarf.
remind them to forget what they learned

lying in the dark.

Swing 01-17-06

2006-10-19T18:01:00.000-04:00

Underneath the dock
in midnight bath water
our skin is slippery
when we touch
which is
as often
as possible.

Water flows below the skin of September
the eye of mars, a voyeuristic pleasure,
for whom
I do not know.

But swing we do like children towards
the silhouettes of trees.
Intrinsically our hands hold as close
as molecules allow,

and then we push science somehow.
In the hope that Orion
will take off his belt

and find the corners of our bodies
like a good game of chess,
expressive porcelain horses running helpless in my chest.

Only seconds left before you slip
back into the human grips of airports and cars
children; but not ours, not us.
The swing in the dead wind is helpless

to centripetal force.

All is well

2006-10-19T18:00:00.000-04:00

They say
time heals all wounds
but time leave scars like question marks across my body

oh yes,
I've read the news
the flood is killing thousands
and the fires coming soon

sorry love
I've seen all the nothing
I can bear
so I'm staring at the air between us these day

and god is windsurfing on waves of pollination
with a toothpick holding up his turquoise sails screaming:
"luxury and life and love and lips are all the same;
just ways to measure movements that are modern and mundane!"

but
all is well that ends well
and all is well that doesn't end well
as well

Pittsburg Greyhound Station, 7AM

2006-10-19T17:58:00.000-04:00

The child born in the bus station cried out
something that sounded like rumor,
it was yesterday then but only
the chipping kiwi paint can remember.

We were discussing the flower farms
of dream, as I traded places with her;
the smoke automatic in its quick
cynical switch of direction.

She had been jealous of the Swedish women
in their perfect multi-lingual blonde bodies
swinging birds of paradise from their ear lobes.

Outside, the stained sky
rained the window sideways
sweet talking the Plexiglas into streaking.

In a vain attempt at capturing romanticism
in that night we played love under the made moon,
I follow our footsteps but only find dune
and the skeletons of broken rules
smoothed soft by remembering.

I find myself walking home by moonlight
with heavy pockets full of secrets kept
and the way you make the smallest perfect sense.

erupting lungs/unaware (in responce)

2006-10-18T04:35:00.000-04:00

unaware of nothing
fully in bloom
watching time
slowly move
out of tune

For E.

2006-10-18T04:23:00.000-04:00

come lay in the park with me
and close your eyes
violins and taxi wind

your imperfections are perfect
the house with the broken heat
is warm and welcoming when you are here
we brew coffee at midnight
play scrabble and light cigarettes with
the candle that keeps us alive

1-800-Suicide

2006-06-29T12:17:00.000-04:00

Please consider donating to this cause.
Or at least check out the website: Hopeline.
The government is basically trying to take the number over, and they have made no statement about privacy concerns when questions have been raised. This means they could easily keep a database of anyone who has ever called the number, and honestly, the last thing we need is the government invading our privacy even MORE. Anyway, other than endorsing Barack Obama, this will likely be one of the only "Support this cause..." posts I ever do, because it is important that this number stays, and stays private. I am also looking for a way to contact hopeline and become a phone volunteer.

Thanks to Frank Warren from Postsecret:
For bringing this issue to international attention, and for his humanitarian work in compassion (for lack of a better way to express what he does). We probably can't imagine the amount of lives that have been touched just by reading a secret that hits us hard in the chest. We probably can't imagine how many lives have been changed just by the simple act of letting a postcard go out in the mail, but we walk back to our houses feeling free, light, forgiven.

And on that note...
"True compassion is more than throwing a coin to a beggar. It demands of our humanity that if we live in a society that produces beggars, we are morally commanded to restructure that society." - Martin Luther King Jr.

Cold War Kids - Hospital Beds

2005-09-11T20:53:00.000-04:00

Stop Motion Drums and Piano

2005-07-15T14:02:00.000-04:00

LD

2005-07-14T20:51:00.001-04:00

Radiohead - Arpeggi @ Bonnaroo

2005-06-26T17:02:00.000-04:00

Radiohead - Videotape @ Bonnaroo

2005-06-26T17:01:00.000-04:00

Cup of Sun - Short of Breath

2005-05-13T02:45:00.000-04:00

Rives - Sign Language

2005-05-13T01:23:00.000-04:00

Rives - Dirty Talk

2005-05-13T01:20:00.000-04:00

Rives - Nickle

2005-05-13T00:51:00.000-04:00

Blair - Purple Crayon

2005-05-13T00:40:00.000-04:00

Blair - I Want to be Black

2005-05-13T00:39:00.000-04:00

Taylor Mali - What Teachers Make

2005-05-13T00:32:00.000-04:00

Saul Williams - Coded Language

2005-05-13T00:31:00.000-04:00

Saul Williams - Not In Our Name (The Pledge of Resistance)

2005-05-13T00:26:00.000-04:00

Saul Williams - Children of the Night

2005-05-13T00:23:00.000-04:00

Sigur Rós - Viðrar Vel Til Loftárása, Reykjavík 2006

2005-04-16T22:33:00.000-04:00

Sigur Rós - Viðrar vel til loftárása Live

2005-04-16T22:25:00.000-04:00

Sigur Ros - vidrar vel til loftarasa

2005-04-16T22:14:00.000-04:00

Sigur Ros - Hoppipolla

2005-04-16T22:10:00.000-04:00

Sigur Ros - Untitled #1 (vaka)

2005-04-16T22:08:00.000-04:00

Sigur Ros - Glósóli

2005-04-16T22:06:00.000-04:00

Radiohead - There There - Acoustic

2005-04-06T13:57:00.000-04:00

Thom Yorke - Last Flowers Till the Hospital

2005-04-06T13:55:00.000-04:00

Radiohead - PART 1 - Music Planet

2005-04-06T13:50:00.000-04:00

Radiohead - PART 2 - Music Planet

2005-04-06T13:49:00.000-04:00

Radiohead - PART 3 - Music Planet

2005-04-06T13:48:00.000-04:00

Radiohead - PART 4 - Music Planet

2005-04-06T13:47:00.000-04:00

Radiohead - PART 5 - Music Planet

2005-04-06T13:45:00.000-04:00

Radiohead - PART 6 - Music Planet

2005-04-06T13:44:00.000-04:00

Radiohead - PART 7 - Music Planet

2005-04-06T13:41:00.000-04:00

Jerry Lee Lewis - Whole Lotta Shakin' Going On (1957)

2005-03-19T06:56:00.000-05:00

Jeff Buckley - Grace

2005-03-19T06:28:00.000-05:00

That 1 Guy - One

2005-03-19T06:15:00.000-05:00

Thom Yorke - Speed Painting

2005-03-19T03:00:00.000-05:00

Spider On Drugs

2005-03-18T21:00:00.000-05:00

Thom Yorke - Cymbal Rush

2005-02-25T18:14:00.000-05:00

Thom Yorke - The Clock

2005-02-25T18:13:00.000-05:00

Thom Yorke - Down Is The New Up

2005-02-25T08:43:00.000-05:00

Thom Yorke - Videotape

2005-02-25T00:04:00.000-05:00