Posted in Verse on April 25, 2010 | Leave a Comment »
Yeah, my conviction
was just
a stupid mistake.
Your sacred visions
came from
a kick to the face-
and everything we did was fine, in a way…
Your premonitions
came from
a street-corner fake.
My ammunition
was just
misguided disgrace-
and everything we did was fine, in a way…
Our repetition
was our
way of staying sane
when our ambition
was just
paper in the rain…
You found your mission
after
a three-legged race.
I found religion
inside
a dead rattlesnake-
and everything we did was fine, in a way.
Posted in Lit, Personal Favorites, tagged a telephone call, dorothy parker on April 18, 2010 | Leave a Comment »
Could this be the origin of the “Hopeless Romantic Waiting By The Telephone” monologue? It’s certainly one of the best. Ms. Parker really nails down the humor and horror of obsessive, neurotic love:
PLEASE, God, let him telephone me now. Dear God, let him call me now. I won’t ask anything else of You, truly I won’t. It isn’t very much to ask. It would be so little to You, God, such a little, little thing. Only let him telephone now. Please, God. Please, please, please.
Posted in Personal Favorites, tagged I'm Here, Short Film, Spike Jonze on April 3, 2010 | Leave a Comment »
On paper, this probably seems like little more than a sci-fi version of a famous Shel Silverstein story. But realized as a film, with the music and the tone and especially the character designs, “I’m Here” really gets to me, and stirs up all kinds of human-like feelings.
Posted in Absurdity, Fiction, Humor, Music, Psych, tagged Captain Beefheart, Safe As Milk on April 1, 2010 | Leave a Comment »
Today on 10Listens.com, I tell a tall tale inspired by one of my all-time favorite albums, Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band’s Safe As Milk:
Somewhere in the second half of our 20th Century, a Delta Blues Man’s hitchhiking his way up the Mississippi toward Chicago, thinking he’s gonna be the second coming of Howlin’ Wolf. Along the way he’s picked up by a van full of kids- whatta they call ‘em, beatniks? Hippies? Only they don’t dress like no beatniks or hippies. They wear bold pinstripe suits and finely groomed facial hair, like dandy-boys. Only they ain’t no dandy boys neither. There may not be a single word to describe what these weirdos are. Their license plate says California, so the Blues Man assumes they’re from San Francisco. Then again they could very well be from Mars, or the future.
