artificial eminence, artful inseminence

can't seem to carry the same old weight at work, can't seem to want to. The point of departure is approaching in fits, starts, small shocks, and inoculations against the greater change.
black moth super rainbow at bottom of the hill was the nines\: syrupy, poppy, pummel.licious. Deep candy. Although we only caught the last 45 minutes. The crowd was fairly redundant; we fit right in to be fair. surly bartender encounter at the bar, the shiney-cone-head guy with a mouth full of sharp teeth arranged in the shape of a garden hoe- shared a bag of chips off his shoulder. burrito magik faery frog fraternization with two earnest too earnest young mo's. Rattling the thin sheets of metallic cool surface, resonating honest on the tender within.
tourorrist mayhem and opening of ourselves in warm waterfront familiarity. Visitors visitors.
Rattling carts passing out the window, vibrating aluminum glass plastic tin and gummed up wheels, pause at the spigot to refresh, the night cooling fast, wind winding in from the sea.
Having reached that plateau of aesthetic hygiene where grime and fur cancel out the sunken cheeks and pursedness, eyes stretched to limits deep deep and flaming flame.

lissning:
Heliocentrics out there

Garrison Keiler Fart Jokes

ease up on the footloose dithering, child
diffuse your peripatetic pathologic peregrinating prediliction.
pathsore
leave off pandering life
don't you know you don't know what you aren't
won't find it on the face of the world

perish the polyfrenetic panzer attack on motion
assault stillness, grasp it, crush it

random selection from a box of particular old paperbacks' pages........................

"...worlds, the fulcrum which balances the stars and the light dreams and the machines lighter than and the lightweight limbs and the explosives that produced them. In that crack I would like to penetrate up to the eyes, make them waggle then will I hear again Dostoevski's words, hear them rolling on page after page, with minutest observation, with maddest introspection, with all the undertones of misery now lightly, humorously touched, now swelling like an organ note until the heart bursts and there is nothing left but a blinding, scorching light, the radiant light that carries off the fecundating seeds of the stars. the story of art whose roots lie in massacre.
When I look down itno this fucked-out cunt of a whore I feel the whole world beneath me, a world tottering and crumbling, a world used up and polished like a leper's skull. If there were a man who dared to say all that he thought of this world there would not be left him a square foot of ground to stand on. When a man appears the world bears down on him and breaks his back. There are always too many rotten pillars left standing, too much festering humanity for man to bloom. The superstructure is a lie and the foundation is a huge quaking fear. If at intervals of centuries there does appear a man with a desperate, hungry look in his eyes, a man who would turn the world upside down in order to create a new race, the love that he brings to the world is turned to bile and he becomes a scourge. If now and then we encounter pages that explode, pages that wound and sear, that wring groans and tears and curses, know that they come from a man with his back up, a man whose only defenses left are his words and his words are always stronger that the lying, crushing weight of the world, stronger than all the racks and wheels which the cowardly invent to crush out the miracle of the personality. If any man ever dared to translate all that is in his heart, to put down what is really his experience, what is truly his truth, I think then the world would go to smash, that it would be blown to..."

Tropic of Cancer, p. 224

let's get started

ahh....at long last, a quiet immaterial niche where i can lay my head on the cavestone and drink secretly from the artesianal burble.


music happenings: saw the movie "
I am Albert Ayler" last night at Red Vic. my mouth still tastes like nutritional yeast from the popcorn. the movie was very well done, very structurally inventive by which the director was able to justify a feature length film with very little source material. interviews with ayler's father and former bandmate/brother don ayler were really touching. basically all negative personality traits/actions of the musician were left out, but were nontheless present in large negative space created by noticeably piecemeal commentary from former friends, lovers, bandmates...etc. No mystery was lost, the director was there for Q&A, probably the most staunchly Swedish guy i could imagine, methodical and dry answers. The Question & Answer consisted of a series of staunch if graceful, morally imperative refusals to answer the peoples questions. I was about 77% sympathetic to these awkward rebuttals of his, the remainder seemed overly decorous to the point of evasion. But his heavily tempered enthusiasm was very endearing and in all it added to the experience of the film. Some of the crowd was visibly impatient, though he apparently didn't mind that one bit.
a requiem, an overdue, open-to-the-public retro-funeral, a love song.
Slept on the beach in bolinas the night before, the more wholesome townfolk were walking their dogs past our nylon bubble of dissipating, drunken sleep for some time. Unlike the beach squatters who'd arrived in daylight to find an out of the way nook, we'd plunked down around 5am smack dab in the finest, most stride-friendly stretch of sand right in the middle of beach.
But nobody seemed to mind us.
sat naked to the waist remembering
a drunken tumble, falling cymbals, a DJ with a thing for carpenters. the well wishes of wildcats and ritually marked natives.
enclosed please find spiritual unity, clandestine nibblers.