Wednesday, September 16, 2009


I was just listening to The Dead Boys. They reminded me of what an angry guy I used to be. Boy was I pissed off.

I still think that the world is a lot meaner than it needs to be and that some very bad people are getting away with some very bad things. Gosh, I even still feel misunderstood and alienated sometimes. I guess I stopped taking the world so fucking personally.



Sonic Reducer- The Dead Boys (Buy)

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Shorter hours


I'm working shorter hours. I'm much less likely to fall asleep at the wheel. I might have something to say for myself later. In the meantime, if you don't have this record, do what you must to acquire it. Just because I luv u.

Mosquito Crucifixion- The Suicide Commandos (Buy)

Thursday, September 10, 2009

The Protests Have Started.

I noticed that one of my 12 "followers" has stopped following me. I can see that angry poetry lovers are voting with their feet and leaving for some other arts journal and blog that will look upon their favorite poet and smile.

Speaking of protests. I'm not offended that the asshole from South Carolina called Obama a liar. I'm offended that during the entire eight years of George Bush's presidency not one single Democrat blew up at him and called him a liar. I understand that a lot of old, white men are frightened by Obama. Why wasn't one single Democrat frightened by George Bush? I mean frightened enough to yell at him.

Fuck this polite shit. It's time to set up the Obama people's tribunals and start executing counter revolutionaries or at least making them write something on the blackboard 100 times.

Poetry Awards


If Wilfred Owens was not totally, totally dead he probably would have won.

I'm sure a ripple passed through the literary world with my sudden announcement that Nazz Nomad has won the prestigious Poetry Is For Assholes poet of the year award. I mostly gave him the award because he writes poems that are pretty short and easy to remember.

Let me assure you that I will be posting an even handed and fair discussion of how the judges and I reached our decision. There are several fine poets who come to this blog on a regular basis. Then there's Eloh in Alabama who posts Robert Service poetry which should probably earn her some kind of award.

Just lately I have been getting home around 9 or 10 at night and going back to work at 6 in the morning. I'm so tired I'm seeing shit. Short and easy to remember counts for a lot. Sometimes I fade in and out of dreams and vivid memories of my childhood. I could have given the award to the author of "The Saggy Baggy Elephant".

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

This Probably Won't Work

For comrade Nazz Nomad, poet of the year, because he seems to be having a bad time of it.

SELLTHEHOUSESELLTHECARSELLTHEKIDSFINDSOMEONEELSEI'MNEVERCOMINGBACKFORGETITI'MNEVERCOMINGBACK- Dillinger Four (Buy)

Call this the Jerry Lee Lewis option: "Son, I know I'm goin' to hell but it's too damn late to stop."

Monday, September 7, 2009

Bad Guy Reaction


By the Walking Ruins. I used to know these guys. They are really old with kids and grown up stuff. They still get together and play out. They're alright.

Metanoia


I've been thinking about sin and salvation and country music. Let's start this post off with an invocation.

Baby Jesus Prayer- from the movie Talladega Nights- Courtesy of Setting The Woods On Fire.

See, the thing is that I really like hard core honky tonk songs. I like songs about drinkin' and cheatin' and fightin' and just generally misbehavin'. I also really like gospel music. It all seemed to tie together somehow, but I wasn't quite sure how.

So let's consider one of the greatest cheatin' songs ever.

In Some Room Above the Street- Gary Stewart (buy)

Gary Stewart wasn't just talkin' either. Something got ahold of him and wouldn't let go until he was dead. He was as crazy and self destructive as any rock and roller. For a great appreciation of his work and a short biography, Click Here.

Now, if you've taken the time to read that piece. Go back and listen to the song again. Is that the sound of a man having a good time, even an illicit good time? The man sounds tortured. He's faced his demons and the demons won. Maybe you don't know that feeling. I think I do.

Some of us, at some point, look back on our lives and we feel Like Mister Kurtz. The boat has arrived too late. Things have gone on too long. The situation is beyond retrieval and we are about to die:

He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision—he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath—"The horror! The horror!"
– Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

For a lucky few of us damned souls, the possibility of salvation presents itself.

Now, I'm not talking here about guilt and shame and trying to make it right with the wife. I'm not talking about placating a judge or quieting the ghost of Mom. I'm talking about the abyss and the hand that grasps ours as we are about to fall in.

I'm not very good at religion. My "personal relationship" with Jesus is as cheezy as the prayer from Talladega Nights. It suits me just fine though. Besides, my salvation is about other people. Real people showed up, stuck their noses in my miserable business and saved me because someone had done the same for them. They told me it was a God thing but they didn't get much more specific than that. I started the conversation with Jesus on my own. I like the IWW's fellow worker Jesus and Dorothy Day's Jesus of the streets. That's who I'm talking too when I say grace.

So, here's where gospel music comes into it. It seems like there's a cycle of country songs. We throw ourselves whole heartedly into the world. We discover the wild side of life. We are drug into places we never knew existed. The world is revealed to be a cruel sham. The bottle, or whatever, lets us down and we are alone with our pain. We see the light. We are lifted out of ourselves. Our old life has no more claim on us. We at last know peace.

Shit, I dunno. It works for me. Oh and yes, I've met people who insist on going through that cycle again and again. And I've met people who think they're better than the rest of us because they used to be worse than the rest of us. I've met people who carry on hurting people in terrible ways while claiming that the stench surrounding them is the odor of sanctity. Look, I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about the people who've been through it, come out alive and are happy and grateful. Here's a couple of songs for them. You don't have to believe in God and you don't have to send any money to any preacher to enjoy them.

Where Could I Go But To The Lord- Emmylou Harris (Buy)

I'll Be Rested- Mavis Staples (Buy)

I was going to post this on a Sunday, but lately I need a three day weekend to feel rested enough to write anything.

Labor Day


I went to the North Bay Central Labor Council labor day pancake breakfast. You wouldn't know the labor movement was in trouble to look at the crowd. I think free pancakes and t shirts had something to do with it, but what's wrong with that? Business promises you job loss, pay cuts and no health care. Labor delivers free pancakes and t shirts. Which side are you on?

The public radio station was supposedly doing a tribute to labor and I listened while I drove to the breakfast. I quickly figured out that their point was to prove that unions were something in the past and the labor movement isn't relevant anymore. They managed to drag in a couple of elderly folk singers who were a little vague about labor history, but at least one of them had met a worker once. Actually, the poor old things were a little vague about everything. I hope I don't live long enough to get used by some yuppie who is looking to fill his "labor" coverage quota.

They also had some "labor" historians on. The show was pretty much dominated by another elderly fellow who who was determined to take up the whole show explaining his theory that the SF labor movement was saved by a group of anti communist Catholic businessmen. Apparently, were in it not for those unsung heroes of the Police Department and the Chamber of Commerce, the SF general strike would have been taken over by Communists. The whole thing was weird and the old guy's voice was quavering and shrill. What the hell was that about?

It was a relief to be among real live labor people. I got there just as the food ran out. I had a cold dry bagel and an equally cold and dry pancake. I never did find the coffee. I don't give a shit. It was OK to be in a big crowd of people who were talking up real issues. I only stayed for one speaker, Sonoma County's own Norman Solomon. Solomon was just back from Afghanistan. He told a story about an Afghan worker whose house was destroyed by an American bomb. His 7 year old daughter lost her arm. The North Bay's share of war taxes comes to 1.2 billion dollars, including the cost of that bomb. The crowd looked a little tense for a minute there. A lot of union members have family members in Iraq and Afghanistan. My local president's son will be deployed this week. Another local member's son was killed this summer. Then Solomon started to point out what that money could have bought if it had been spent right here. He had us then. The crowd cheered.

I walked around and shook a few hands and left. The labor movement is not doing too well. It's been under attack for my entire working life. It is definitely alive. I will not leave you with some antique folk song about labor. That stuff is quaint as hell but we ain't dead yet.

General Strike- DOA (buy)

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Working a lot


I'm not posting a lot. I'm working a lot. When I get a chance I'll post some more.

Orgarhythm- King Brothers (Buy)

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

If You're Going To San Francisco


"Just moved here? Far out! Well, have a nice day on the planet man!"

A childhood friend just visited California for the first time. She really liked it, but she sent me an email asking about the differences between California and New Jersey. Here's an edited version of my reply:

"Q: What's the Difference between New York and California?

A: When a New Yorker says, "Go Fuck Yourself", he means, "Have a nice day."
When a Californian says "Have a nice day", he means "Go fuck yourself."

The superficial, breezy cheerfulness one encounters among so many Californians is not to be trusted. Californians are constantly competing for a bigger piece of paradise. The place is crowded with people who are looking to get over and chances are they view you as a threat. You're on their beach, buying into their real estate market, crowding their street and taking their table in their restaurant.

While there is relatively little geographic separation into ethnic enclaves, don't let that fool you either. California may be the most segregated place I've ever lived. Traditionally, California was the White Man's Paradise. White people are still relatively privileged and they will do what they have to to retain that privilege. Immigrants and native born minorities know that the system is stacked against them and are just as ruthless in their pursuit of success.

Finally, sociopathic behavior is not uncommon here. In fact, in many circles it's considered cool; the mark of a real man or a strong woman.

Don't get me wrong, phoniness, financial and social competition and criminal mindedness are common everywhere, but they seem to be a little more normal here. Still, most Californians are, all things considered, nice enough. Funny thing is that a lot of Californians can embrace high, if judgmental, idealism right alongside those negative qualities.

I got in a little bit of trouble because I was relatively abrasive, or at least brusque in my conversational style. At the same time, a lot of people considered me naive because I tried to be forthright in my dealings.

Ultimately, I don't know that Californians are any better or worse than anybody else, but there is a California way of doing things that can be quite disconcerting when you first get here. To a new arrival Californians seem to be laid back, open minded and idealistic; the land of flakes, nuts and fruits. That's just "front". You might say that there is a California regional demeanor. New Englanders are a little more formal. Midwesterners are a little more shy and reserved. Southerners are a a little more loud and jovial.

I'd have to say that the California "front" must be working OK because California is an OK place to live. It's not terribly corrupt. There's at least a sizable minority that believes in social fairness. People generally value education. Most people are well traveled and genuinely interested in the rest of the world.

The Schwarznegger/Bush wing of California and national politics has done a lot to damage those traditional values. The real estate bubble made the place just miserable as did the phony dot com boom. A lot of people really have gotten rich quick here and a lot more people think they deserve to get rich quick too. California is all about gold rushes and that mentality, when exploited by the right wrong people can get really ugly.

I've spent about half my life here, but the above is what it looks like from the other half. (A mutual friend) used to complain ceaselessly about California. One day I pointed out to him that he had become a certain kind of Californian. He had become the kind of Californian who moved here twenty years ago and spent the next twenty years complaining that California is not like New York.

Oh, if you're planning on visiting again, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair."



I will always have a soft spot for Grace Slick. Whatever else she was, she was never a bullshitter. Here she is with her first band.

Free Advice- The Great Society (Buy)

A perky new me


Things are a little livelier today.

Hopefully I'll get something done today. I'm up and dressed and everything. Because I appreciate my few readers and my even fewer listeners, here's a wonderful soul tune by William Bell and Judy Clay. I don't remember this song from the sixties but it has really grown on me in recent years. One of my favorite songs.

Private Number- William Bell and Judy Clay (Buy)

My problem, I think, is not so much that I'm crazier than anybody else but that I'm not as good at covering it up.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Bed Suck


Don't hate the player. Hate the game.

I am stuck to my bed. I have no desire to get up, but I have a vague suspicion that this is not a good thing. I have to earn a living. All sorts of financial predators are knocking at my door, not to mention Buck and Tex, my excellent landlords. I've been sleeping badly, but I've been staying awake just as badly. I was supposed to spend the day mediating between work and doctor's office so that proper paper work could be exchanged. Instead I lay here. I suspect that I am dissociating. Maybe I'm sick but I don't feel particularly sick. I feel a bit depressed, but not consciously so. On the other hand, I woke up last night in a state just below a full on panic attack.

Sorry to have to bare my inner most to strangers here but I don't feel like talking to real people.

Music helps.

Outta Harm's Way- King Khan and the Shrines (Buy)

King Khan and the Shrines and The Satelliters sound really good today.

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