Answering Machine

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

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

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

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

"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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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