If nighttime was a lover, well then, i was a dreamer.
and you were the water and we were everywhere.
Burnished in the lights from town
flashed in the orange glow and the
salmon seduced the sunlight with flashing fins.
If nighttime was a lover, well then, i was a dreamer.
If Nighttime was a lover.
junk mail 2
"Re: Can you satisfy your girlfriend?
A mechanic with a drag-robot was pulling an agents ship into place on the launching ramp. I am by way of being a bit of an entomologist myself, if you will pardon the expression, hoping to follow in your royal footsteps. The girl is called Angelina…Arrest them at once! Guards… guards Ferrarosvoice died away as he ran out of the room. Over a half mile of defensive screens and armament that could probably turn any fleet existent today into fine radioactive ashExcept for the fact that the last one was broken up for scrap over a thousand years ago, he mumbled. And shut the big mouth. For one instant I was square in the field of that cold, glass eye,thenI was past. I gave him back a gallant smile as I trundled into the butcher shop. Will they do anything to me? Angelina asked."
the matchbook
this is how our relationship has become
this is it. all of it. this is the napkin folded in fifty times.
this is the matchbook with no matches. the one that i save to remember your face. to help light up your eyes and return them to mine.
i am hungry. i can feel it.
this is how our relationship has become
this is it. all of it. this is the searchlight swaying in the sky.
this is the prison guard falling asleep. the ground is cold my shoes are wet and i have those satchels of unmarked bills ready to burn.
i am tired. i can feel it.
this is how our relationship works:
you are there
i am there
there is space between and we wouldn't have it any other way.
let's get naked!
I have been reading some of Camus' essays and I found one line extremely exciting. It is in reference to nude beaches in the Mediterranean, and I love me a Mediterranean beach.
For twenty centuries men have striven to give decency to Greek insolence and naïveté, to diminish the flesh and complicate dress.
(from "Summer in Algiers" 1955)
Stereoke!
I have decided to transfer all posts music related to a new blog...Stereoke! I figure I can keep all of my sensitve poetic postings to this blog and everything else that kicks ass on Stereoke. So check it out. I will post music as soon as I figure out what in the world is going on with my mp3 host. Peace Love and Wilderness.
Click here to go to Stereoke.
junk mail? i don't think so.
So, at my work, we get all of these weird spam emails. Most of them are selling cheap prescription drugs. Sometimes the emails boast of erection or breast enhancers, such as the one below. I received one today that was pretty amazing:
You'll get the best erection you can remember in many years for sure.
Massive internal hemorrhage, shock… I wrote, died en route. Youre correct. This started me thinking and I punched for a complete list of ships that size that had been constructed in the past. Turning over the battleship to the navy, I went back to the luxury yacht and tapped the stores for a large glass of Scotch whisky (that had never been within twenty light-years of Earth) and a long cigar. Poor Angelina. I had a moment of doubt about spelling this jaw breaker, but since Dr. He grubbed in one pocket and pulled out a little gold star made of paper. I even called in some professional help to aid in analyzing her case, not mentioning, of course, to what use I intended to put the information.
- And that was that one....who are these email poets? what program pieces these together and what the hell do fantastical stories have to do with boner pills?
sink. fade. float.
aboard this boat is a bed of empty
this smoldering bed of empty,
on fire with coals and old bones
and everything seems alright
sink. fade. float.
about this boat lies the desperate disaster that waits
woven into threads. braided in her hair
in a bed made with silken cotton sheets she rolls her shoulders
into the seasickness, from one decision.
sink. fade. float.
and everything seems alright.
Finding Tennessee
i found Tennessee’s blue bone-shaped tag on a leave strewn fall street. i wondered if the collar had slipped away while the owner chased, arms flashinglegs scurring while tenny’s little legs moved with increasing speed without ever lifting more than an inch off the sidewalk. i wondered if Tennessee had a night out on the town and shed the restraints leaving a trail of evidence like wild lovers in the city. i wondered if just moments before Tennesee had slipped out of her collar and ran across a fatal autumn street, slippery with rain skids and a small bump and a little bundle of Tennessee cured up under a bumber. i wondered if Tennessee was named after Tennessee Williams or the State. i wondered if when i got to 977 South Windsor I would see Tennessee from a slit through a wooden fence, or if i would hear a yip or a bark from beyond the door.
i left the tag on the brass door latch wihtout a sound.
i imagined eyes happy and sad, whether wells of grief or wells of happiness or wells of amazment would come through the gates breaking the dam. everyone will breathe, everyone has relief. Tennessee can prove a name once again.
Regina Spektor - Fidelity
Fall Leaves Change us Like Chameleons
i had a dream i let the wave crash on top of me
beach me far from sea
it felt so nice
"Time is an ocean but it ends at the shore
You may not see me tomorrow."
The Dismemberment Plan - Time Bomb (mp3)
This song is amazing and i want to eat it forever and swallow it like good liquor.
Time Bomb
Well I,
I am a time bomb and I,
I lay forgotten at the bottom of your heart
I'm fine
Ticking away the hours to blow your world apart
I,
I am a poison and I,
I am still coursing through your bloodstream like a ghost,
Like wine
Gathering vintage for the day I hurt the most, I,
I am a landmine and I,
I lay on the soil burned out by battles you thought you'd won,
I've got time
To wait for the footsteps of a memory that's on the run
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Well I,
I am a tarpit and I,
I swell like a living thing all at the slightest touch
A black grime,
Swallowing everything a cold and timeless clutch, I,
Well I am a trip wire, and I,
I'm stretching across the road you're barreling down tonight
A thinish twine,
Waiting to be released right beyond your sight, I,
Well I am a fault line and I,
I'm pulling apart the ground that lay beyond your newest seed so fine,
I'm moving in inches now a cry, a cutting, a bleating
Well I don't know
Well I, I am a time bomb and I,
I only live in that one moment in which you die
It's not right
It's not what I wanted then
But you know and I know there's no going back
I, I am a lost soul and I, I send out a sickened light for anyone to see
A cry for help
Yeah,
A warning to stay away the burning, the blinding, the reaching in darkness
Why
Yeah
broke?
i just spent my last ten dollars on alcohol and gift wrap so i can send you drunken presents.
Chamberlain
we'll cut our bodies out of cardboard and decorate them into some obscene gesture filled with obscenity.
we'll cut our minds from the sea and float them past our bodies and we'll be free.
we'll stare at the sun. we'll stare at the ocean glass waves. far from one another open your arms to me.
stay with love. follow it with hands wrinkled and rough.
stay with want. with hands wrinkled and rough.
we'll cut out our silhouettes and paste them on top of you and me.
stare into the sun. fold our hands together and forget about you and me.
-Thank you Levi. Thank you for the music. Here is the music. the band is Chamberlain and aside from the honest rock and roll that it is, the song-writing is amazing, the lyrics will blow your mind in that subtle and honest way that could only mean that it's beautiful.
Frida Hyvönen
This woman is amazing. I don't know her, but her music is fancy and wonderful. Her voice is beautiful and according to some, beauty is truth, which makes her true. i can't wait for her album to release in october from secretly canadian. speaking of secrets and canadians. i miss you.
Frida Hyvönen - You Never Got Me Right (mp3)
visit her site here and be beautiful.
Owls and Jose Gonzalez
This song is amazing. That is all. Let me know how you're liking what i'm posting and let me know if there is anything you'd like for me to re-post and it will get submitted into the query and procesed and handled by too many people and then, maybe, i'll re-post it. Not really, actually, i just have to decide if i'm not sick of the song yet. and as always, if there is any material posted that shouldn't be, let me know and i will take it down. sincerely, yours.
Two More Years
breathe. breather. repeat. i held your hands once, close to mine. around corners and down staircases. you spoke words aloud to strangers about me. we cried in cars and in beds. we inspired eachother. we made fun of eachother more of me than of you. you watched me take pictures of doorways or streetlamps. you dealt with the blurry ones. there were fires and those were the good days. we watched sunsets and rises beyond cathedrals. we heard bells. we stood together in freezing water. we sat in rooms far apart from one another and waited. waited for eachother. we laid on beaches in beds in pools in hospital beds. we sat in cars we sat in trains in buses we haven't yet sat in planes. there is a ticket marked for this date. this "up in the air" date on a plane. there is a mountain top in which we have been that welcomes us from this plane. a mountain top with a creek that suffers through the heats of summer that suffers through the disasters of sorrows of desperately warm winters that drown things and burn things down. i miss my home. i miss your arms. i miss everything that is now gone. i could knock loud on a brass knocker and wait for the door to open or the lion's mouth to drop it's jaw and slam the ring down on the floor. instead, i have to wait. i have to wait for 2 years to see. two years to know for sure. two more years to know if you'll come back. to know if you come back speaking only russian and me only in spanish. because i can remember the good days. but today, they are so far away.
today was a day
today is the day. today is a day like any day. today - it being a day is it's smallest reason today.
oh sweet remix sunday
i am quite very upset at the fact that my weekend camping adventure was cut short due to a dog biting the shit out of my dog's leg. dogs will be dogs.
the knife - we share our mother's milk (ratatat remix)
of montreal - requiem for omm2 (remix)
Pinback as an Underwater theme
Ahh. Sigh. I have realized today that I am a constant sigher. I also realized that in connection with this finding, I found that my dog has the same habit. And, like all habits, I don't think it is so much as how to break a habit, but more understanding the habit - understanding it like the enemy. Then, thinking of enemies- I thought of wars and hate. Which, leads me to the ocean. The ocean is this place, a place that hardly anyone can or could ever understand. All I know is that I haven't completely learned how to breathe underwater.
Pinkback - Boo(mp3)
“turn up the volume so I can forget this moment drown you in my ocean of sound so dense a jellyfish couldn’t swim thru”
if you blink your eyes
take me away
ive been fishing here once before
and the halibut smacked the dock
like a guitar string strung too tight
but we all break
The Long Winters
I wish it was winter. I wish it could be fall. I wish I could ride my bicycle around town in cable-knit sweaters and jeans and black flip-flops. I wish I could almost taste the ocean - it's salty breeze clammy hands gripping steering wheels - my hair feeling damp with the weight of the sunset.
Slayer's Secret
Slayer is playing in Salt Lake City tonight. Last I remember, shit went down the last time Slayer made an appearance here. In any case, to make matters worse - the show tonight is free. Even worse, they are backed by the likes of Children of Bodom and Mastodon. This could be one of the better shows. The probelm? The people: I don't even want to imagine the crowd. Last time I saw Mastodon there were an alarming amount of jock rockers; I am sure Children of Bodom will be a nice touch of much needed Norway. Slayer - my god....if I attend this show tonight, I will surely be the girl that gets punched in the face - that is usually how things pan out. Wish me luck and enjoy the music.
Slayer - Behind the Crooked Cross
Mastodon - Aqua Dimentia
Children of Bodom - Silent Night, Bodom Night
WANG NOODLE HEAD BANGIN' FUN
The Knife
Those of you who know me, know that my favorite band right now is Sweden's The Knife. They are original, creative, loud, intriguing, imaginative, and just kick ass. Their newest album, Silent Shout releases on the 25th in the States, and I think everyone that loves electronic, folk, rock and anything else should own this album. Here is a remix track from their newest and a reminder of how awesome the Heartbeats song is. And, for all you fans of Jose Gonzalez, The Knife is the creator of the famed song, Heartbeats, the one featured in the hip commercial.
Saturday Morning
It's hot and here so, here is the hot hot july summer appetizer. And hooray, for this is the first mp3 post. I will be surely addicted to this thing, so keep checking back for more music; I will attempt to make music postings bi-weekly.
Pretty Girls Make Graves - Nocturnal House
DJ BC - Can't You Hear Biz Knocking?
Los Super Elegantes - Je Suis Bien
enjoy the weekend.
indeterminate figures
transcend
and i suppose
presuppose
notions that you or i could be free.
fail us every time
break
responsiblity
***Please remember that the MP3s are for evaluation purposes only. Please buy music to support the artists we love. If you have a probelm with an mp3 on this site, please ask for it to be removed.
You can buy these albums from Amazon - Overstock - or iTunes. Thanks
Life.
I just want one, just one original thought. Although, I am almost positive that this is impossible...but with my favourite novel in mind, “nothing is impossible - simply, impassible” (Carol, some page of alice’s adventures in wonderland). So, with this in mind, maybe my thought, that one original thought isn’t impossible, it’s just that it’s impassible. Meaning, that i can’t possible pass it on to anyone else. Which, would maybe, make sense. I’ll explain in the most possible explaination with the most passible form - it’s the same concept of a nihilist knowing they are just that....that would be simply impossible. One would not know if they were a nihlist at all, because knowing would mean accepting something - believing in something. And, maybe someone can answer this for me, but the Taoist belief, taoists are some of the most genuinely kind-hearted people that i know (although i must note....while writing this, I wrote, “the most kind-hearted individuals,” but what is an individual if one belongs to an organised and more importantly, a belonging though naming....the only thing that makes a Taoist a Taoist or a Christian a Cristian - is the name. Without names we are only belief. i could be presumptuous, but i do believe that two examples of good things gone wrong by words attributed by symbols in order...ok...wait, first i must clarify one point.
Words exist to communicate, communicate beliefs, feelings, sensations, the bottom line is that we want to share experience; i agree. I love to share experience. If i didn’t why the hell would i be typing this all out? Well, here are some possble thoughts:
1. I’m bored.
2. I’m narcissistic.
3. I don’t even know.
4. All those other things you are saying in your head....
Given that language is our medium for the transportation of feelings, what about the relay of sentiment information through feeling? Is this possible? I’m not talking auras, energy fields, “cosmic connections” and so forth, but maybe I am...Let’s say that behind every new-age thought, i.e. Cosmic energy and spiritual bonding, there is a scientific fact? I don’t want to be one of thsoe who explains the mysteries of one’s “GOD” by means of “SCIENCE,” but really, from what we know of science, it only makes sense that certain people would be drawn to others by mere chemical and atomic interaction. I would like to conclude by saying that until i 'know" something, I will continue with the belief that everything I know could also be just an expression of everything I do not yet know.
***
I have been reading a certain book* and i found a certain passage most iinteresting:
"Suicide is a repudiation. the absurd man can only drain everything to the bitter end, and deplete himself. The absurd is his extreme tension, which he maintains constantly by solitary effort, for he knows that in that consciousness and that day-to-day revolt he gives proof of his only truth, which is defiance...The absurd man thus catches sight of a burning and frigid, transparent and limited universe in which nothing is possible but everything is given, and beyond which all is collapse and nothingness. He can then decide to accept such a universe and draw from it his strength, his refusal to hope, and the unyeilding evidence of a life without consolation" (p. 55 and p.60).
There is no future; future implies hope and change and settlement and complacency. This is the end. I suppose, what this all means to me is that, without struggle, we are over. Maybe hope is a part of this, but a hope without means. A hope without a conclusion. A conclusion would assume a position of acceptance. One would then be happy if only if (blah blah blah). This cannot happen. Also, I find truth in this rhetoric as I find truth in the belief of most Eastern thought that, one must be free of reward, and be self-sacraficing. Glory assumes a goal...a hope accomplished and some part of humanity always wants recognition. And I am no exception. But I must ask the question of, why? I have no clue. Maybe tomorrow.
* Camus, Albert: The Myth of Sisyphus
Saline Baline
aboard this boat is a loaf of bread and the welders wife is smoldering in a bed of empty. aboard this float is a fish that cannot swim - i took its fins they washed away and came ashore in a dogs mouth. the embers complicate polyester fabric -everyone come together whip yourselves with chains and leathers and the welders wife is smoldering in a bed of empty. aboard this bench are the lame and the deaf, wobbling and convinced that all things go so i get on a bus and remind myself and everyone that i am here and that we are here to stay close together in sweaty sleeves and with matted hair, diseheveled as our manners. aboard this broad is a bed of empty pompeii of safety smoldering. tied with strings and fastened with pearly buttons, by now my ocean should be whole.
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