Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Woke with a start from a dream this morn.

Don't remember much
but a woman's voice
and her words.

Buzz, she asked, where are you going?
My father's name.

And no one in the room but me.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Pinhole Camera Self Portrait

Taken 4/29
w/Cigar Box
Knoxville, Tn
Pinhole Camera Day

Thursday, June 21, 2012

The desert people are gaunt
with gnarled joints,
cheekbones like flint,
and eyes that glitter from dark recesses;

they move loose and disjointed
like Rocinante
over hard baked caliche,

peering like yellow-eyed birds
into the sun,
heads tilted with half-formed questions,

moving forward
through the shimmering air.

Their pursed lips,
white and alkali,
shape no sounds
- part only for slack-jawed exhalations.

With skin burnt brown
and crackling
(like suckling pigs)

they trudge ever onward,

burning through themselves
like cord wood

into the blast furnace of the searing sun.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

One Bad Mothah

Home sick today and obsessively listening to Blackwater, by Mofro.

How to describe?

Old school blues, I guess, with a 70's kinda feel and maybe a hint of white trash (or southern rock if you prefer).*

And how does it play?

Plays like Shaft, baby. One bad mothah...

The whole album is very laid-back-yet-energized; feels like a saunter masquerading as a strut.

You know those people who try too hard? Overcompensate - maybe for a lack of talent, or just out of personal insecurity?**

Yeah, this ain't that. 

I'm listening to the the titular track now, Blackwater, which builds and moves effortlessly along, not unlike the river it describes. Soulful piano chords (with maybe just a hint of gospel) punctuated by a slowly syncopated drum beat and underscored by a throbbing, almost ominous bass guitar.
Throw in a soulful, howling harmonica (think Zeppelin, When the Levy Breaks) and seemingly so familiar lyrics"roll, blackwater, roll" delivered in an unassuming alto***, and roll on it does.

Plus, not to beat the metaphor to death, but there is a definite ebb and flow to the song, which reinforces it's timeless quality. And it's far from the best song on the album, but just to give you a slice.

I dig also, "Florida" and "Lazy Fo Nacre". The latter, in particular, which has these funky, late 60's piano chords which are just... lush, baby. Makes me want to throw on a beret, smoke a spliff, and start bobbing my head in time with the universe.

But I digress.

If you like dem old school blues, with a 70's blues/funk/southern rock spin, give 'er a listen.

You will not be dissappointed. 
*And yes, I spent part of my formative years dwelling in a trailer, so I know of what I speak. 
**'Minds me of myself and acting, at least initially. Used to push way too much - trying to overcome everything with energy, or force of will.
 ***Reminiscent of Jesse Colin Young, maybe, with a little more texture and depth.

Friday, June 15, 2012


This morning,
risen from the ashes of the previous day,

I can hear
the fridge humming

a merry little tune.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Like Shiva baby

Most of the time, I'm a fairly nice guy. 

Wave at my neighbors.  Try to help others, empathize; contribute to something greater than myself.

I'm 45 and have come to realize... well, let's just say the illusions I once held about myself, the myths I created, they're so far in the rear view mirror it's laughable.

But then some days...

Some days, I just want to tear it all down.

The world.

Like Shiva, baby;
destroy everything, sit back in the smoking ashes, eyes gleaming, and wait for what comes after.

You feel me?
You hear what I'm sayin'?



C'mon. Sure you do. 

Sunday, June 03, 2012

Saturday, June 02, 2012

Went for a ride the other night. Mountain bike that is.

It was hotter than hell, with temps in the mid 100's, but pleasant torture, nevertheless. And yes, I'm aware there is something seriously, seriously wrong with me. Anyway....

Hung out to b.s. with a couple riders after, then heard this bizarre sound - something like a bird in distress, only louder and combined with this humming/rasping sound.

"What the hell!?" I wondered aloud, then some people came shuffling down the path, one of them carrying a golden retriever like an offering for the altar.

The sound - wild, panicky, whistling breaths - was emanating from the dog.

As far as I know, dog's regulate their temperatures through nose, paws and panting - and that's pretty much it.  But when you're wearing a fur suit and the air is 107 degrees with the rocks even more... I just wanted to punch those people. Anyway...

My buddy Tim ran over as they wet him down with a spigot and pretty soon we were all dumping water bottles and camelbacks over the dog, trying to soak him down, lower his body temp and save his life.

Then I scooped him up carried him to their car so they could rush him to the animal hospital.


Afterward, as I drove away, I smelled something and realized my hands and shirt were smeared with excrement.

The smell of it took me right back to those panicked breaths, the foam flecked muzzle, and eyes wildly darting with fear - fear and a desperate need for help.

I pulled over to throw up and cried instead.

Stupid people.

Stupid world.