A few nagging doubts linger long after April 21, 1977

The only thing that worried the police was my story; I was a good kid and I swore on a stack of bibles.

Atop a broken, crumbling, faded remnant of a once-strong stone wall – that’s where it perched.

I was old enough to know better, not drinking, air so crisp and clear.

You should (and must) know I wasn’t the only one.

John & Abby, too, check their stories.

We all drew the same thing.

Mine was best. I was known as an artist.

I am an artist. I wish I had imagined this. I am a painter. I am an artist.

The second oldest road in Dover, Massachusetts.

You don’t get that old without a tale or two behind your ears.

These stories will not die. Mysteries with orange skin and tendril fingers and, especially, mysteries with glowing eyes will not die.

I’m a serious painter, you know. An artist.

I wish I had made it up.

I wish someone else would see it.

I’m sure.

I wish I could be sure.

I wish I had made it up.

Something in the dank, wet woods.

Something deep in the woods.

I wish I could be sure I’m sure.

A few nagging doubts linger long after April 21, 1977

A Straightforward Method To Beat The Jersey Devil at Texas Hold ‘Em

Bluff deeply.
Breathing can go wrong in the blink of an eye.
    Do not misunderstand the stakes.
You are playing against The Jersey Devil.
    And when The Devil’s stack is deep,
    he’s gonna look you up.
Study well.
Know The Jersey Devil’s tells.
The Jersey Devil has wings and ain’t afraid to flap ‘em.
The Jersey Devil may be a kangaroo…with wings.
It may be a kangaroo…with wings…and hooves.
    That is telling you something indeed.
The Jersey Devil speaks a body language
    no Rosetta Stone can help decipher.
How is your poker face?
Practice.
The Jersey Devil isn’t human
    so rarely uses props.
This is to your advantage.
You can bare your teeth
    and really raise The Jersey Devil’s ire.
Bet before the flop, goddammit, but not too much
    ‘cause then you’re just looking for death.
It takes guts to carry out a blue bluff.
You know this.
    Good human guts, pink and wet.
You know this.

    But so does The Jersey Devil.

Tell a grand story with your bet and tell a bold story with your bluff and bluff your bet with your grand story and bet your bold story on your bluff.

Watch that cold river turn.

Keep one eye on the treetops.

Watch The Devil fly. Or leap and flutter. Don’t hit on the turn. Know when to hold ‘em. Don’t flip on the flop. Know when to fold ‘em. Know when to calculate the odds of winning a particular hand and use this information to inform your play and know when to run away when you take all The Jersey Devil’s money when you’re sitting at the table and his winged, hooved kangaroo ass bites your fucking head off and slurps out your brain and laughs flips and flaps his sated behind back and back to the pine trees, to the quiet dank of home sweet home.

A Straightforward Method To Beat The Jersey Devil at Texas Hold ‘Em

What is going on in the dance studio? — CHARLOTTE STREET FOUNDATION STUDIO RESIDENCY PROGRAM

I am very excited for Open Studios! Because of recent performances with Ensemble Iberica, TedxYouth, Earth Day at KU, and classroom workshops making recycled instruments, it has been difficult to find time to practice my scales in the morning in the dance studio, but I have been busy composing for our upcoming project, called “K’OA” […]

via What is going on in the dance studio? — CHARLOTTE STREET FOUNDATION STUDIO RESIDENCY PROGRAM

What is going on in the dance studio? — CHARLOTTE STREET FOUNDATION STUDIO RESIDENCY PROGRAM

Friday Lyrics Mash: M.F., I’m Too Sexy

Love’s going to leave me
There!
U sexy motherfucker
That’s why I tell u things
And I’m too sexy for your party
Come here baby, yeah
Why all the cosmic talk?
I’m too sexy for my love
Sexy motherfucker shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass

I’m too sexy for my cat
I get hard if the wind blows your cologne near me
In a word or 2 – it’s u I wanna do
Ain’t no one else around
I like it, I like it
We need 2 talk about things
Sexy motherfucker
I’m too sexy for my love
And I do my little turn on the catwalk
I got wet dreams comin’ out of my ears
Sexy motherfucker shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass

Too sexy for my shirt
Sexy motherfucker
I’m a model, you know what I mean
This ain’t about the body, it’s about the mind
And I’m too sexy for this song
Sexy, sexy, sexy, sexy
U sexy motherfucker
U sexy motherfucker
Too sexy for my hat
See this ain’t about sex
Sexy motherfucker
I’m too sexy for my car
I’m too sexy for my shirt
Scrub the dishes
U sexy motherfucker
I’m just havin’ fun
I’m a model, you know what I mean
Sexy motherfucker shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass

When we take that walk
I shake my little tush on the catwalk
What d’ya think about that?
Too sexy for my love
No way I’m disco dancing
Too sexy for my cat
Come here baby, yeah
Poor pussy cat
Come here baby, yeah
U seem perplexed I haven’t taken u yet
Sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
So sexy it hurts
U sexy motherfucker
U sexy motherfucker
Too sexy for my love
Too sexy for my car
U sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
U sexy motherfucker
Too sexy by far
U sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
Yo man
Love’s going to leave me

I don’t even know what to say about Prince dying. Bowie felt like a slap to the face. Phife felt like a kick in the shin. Prince feels like a kick in the nuts. And I don’t really know why I feel so shitty about it. I didn’t know the man. I am just a devotee of his music. I listen to one of his records every other day. I never even list Prince albums on my desert-island lists because I figure its a given that you’re asking me to name 10 records I’d want besides my Prince records…I don’t even know what to say or why it feels so personal.
All is change and that is all.
https://jasonpreu.wordpress.com/2015/08/24/menu/
https://jasonpreu.wordpress.com/2015/04/21/what-lies-beneath-business-casual/
Keep it funky, party people.

OaD3bWV

Friday Lyrics Mash: M.F., I’m Too Sexy

Welcome to the Wonderhole!

ǂKawa ǁeiba xu ǂgosen tama īs gye ǂkhõas tsĩ ǀam-ǂgōsens tsĩna ra ū-hā.*

You fuckers know nothing.
Call me a mistake –
Jy dink gode maak foute?
Maybe they do. Sure. But the mistake is you.
You, with vinegar for blood.
You, with broken glass for teeth.
You, mistake of the gods.
Nie Grote Slang!
Grote Slang die voortreflike!
You never run faster than when
     you see the elephant snake
     running your way.

So Welkom by die Wondergat!
     where there were no mistakes
     until you arrived, wicked head,
     wasped tongued
     preying
     tulpe uitloop uit jou bors.

Welkom by die Wondergat!
     Richtersveld
     where we’re all smiles and candy
     treasures for you here;
     where we’re decked in crisp, dress whites
     for the belles of the balls.

Welkom by die Wondergat!
     Richtersveld,
     deep underground,
     treasures for you here,
     last bastion of perfection,
     first place the gods visit
     when they drop in on creation.

Speak so guttural and bathe yourselves in milk, mistakes.
Stay out of the sun and lick your trigger fingers, mistakes.
Play sad songs under wax, wooden candle-lights, mistakes.

Invent new words and worlds, mistakes!
Welkom by die Wondergat!
Welkom by die Wondergat!

Treasures for you here.
We can’t correct you here.
No, we won’t correct you here.

*Nama – “What sorrow and trouble are brought about by useless anger!”

Welcome to the Wonderhole!

The Spark: April 15th-17th KC Poetry Throwdown

I first met Jason Ryberg in May 2015 at the Uptown Arts Bar on the night before Angel Uriel Perales had a reading at Prospero’s Books. Over the course of a couple of days, an idea was generated which lead to the creation of the KC Poetry Throwdown during National Poetry Month. I requested one […]

https://jamesonbayles.wordpress.com/2016/04/21/april-15th-17th-kc-poetry-throwdown/

The Spark: April 15th-17th KC Poetry Throwdown