The Boy, Crying

The old woman,
with gnarled hand,
passed the dark vial
over the threshold.

Inside the fount,
a rank substance, vile,
terrifying the young boy
whose hands gripped it tight.

The giving of the vial
was the final sign
that the old woman
was about to die.

The boy stood
at the door, crying
with his eyes wide open.

The boy
had a bandage
on the top
of his head.

The old woman,
with tall body
and large scar
crossing her face,

her gauzy, grey eyes
focused on forgetting.

She pulled the bandage
off of the boy’s head.
From the foul wound
protruded a string.

The old woman pulled
the thin, wispy string
and the little boy cried
aloud in dismay.

She pulled at the string
until a small, silver stick
came out of his head.
It was a rare instrument.

“You’re supposed to play it
just once, fair and free!”
the old lady shouted
with authority.

“I can’t possibly
be responsible
for any mishaps!”

The boy was frightened,
yet he dare not make a move.

“You’re supposed to play it now!”
she frantically yelled,
“Stop wasting time.
Play or die and play well!”

The young boy stared
helplessly
sobbing,
shaking, unsure.

And when he looked up
at the woman once more…

Such an old woman,
with her grey, saucer eyes
and what frightening grin
came then to her face.

The young man stared
in salt-stained disbelief.
She was so beautiful,
his talented wife.

So he played the silver stick
and he played it some more
and he left the little boy
crying there at the door.

The Boy, Crying

Where the wind meets the pixel is a song like the ocean

“Where the four winds meet
I hope to find you
Where the cliffs drop
I pray to leave you
Where the clouds erupt
You will see the key”

That is the only song by a particular songwriter

And when that song comes in…

For many people, songs are very important,

Especially if it’s their song playing on the radio.

For those of us who never understood the popular music…it can feel _______________________________.

But it also feels strange.

Don’t let it be one of those songs that fails to get you out of bed in the morning.

Let your song be one that keeps you off the streets and helps you from getting lost in the world; that stops you from running away and not thinking about tomorrow.

An ocean before you. Around you.

Sky above.

This is that feeling that you receive from a music.

Where the wind meets the pixel is a song like the ocean

It’s a record

isyouisorisyouaint, Threats

Give it a listen:

https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/threats/1455734714

https://open.spotify.com/album/2sppPsesMHSD92lKxKHFV9?si=qaeyvyk5RpGChfG0_gGjUA

https://play.google.com/store/music/album/Isyouisorisyouaint_Threats?id=Bnxvkmou5akaozemos2xw6hf4o4

Making this record is how I spent this cold, frozey winter. I hope it resonates with you.

It’s a record

Believing, Doing, and Sharing in What Was True

We can walk around the block
in the time it takes us to listen
to Wang Chung’s ‘Dance Hall Days’,

so I wanted to write a poem
tying the song’s lyrics
to observations made along the way.

For instance, I’d quote,
“And take your baby by the ears”
as we stroll by the police station

while employing certain literary tools
to highlight comparisons between the cops
and now-faded pop stars from the 1980s.

And I’d somehow tie together,
“And you need her and she needs you,”
to urban gentrification

and how pushing away the poor has somehow
escaped potential developers of downtown Kansas City, Kansas
despite wholly reshaping Kansas City, Missouri into something…else.

And then I’d end the poem repeating,
“Dance hall days, love, dance hall days
dance hall days, love, dance hall days.”

But without a smoking sax solo,
the entire affair seemed hopelessly missing
that something wholly necessary for lasting greatness.

Believing, Doing, and Sharing in What Was True

Are You There God? It’s Me, Volume, Reverb, & Resonance

Sometimes,
in the shower,
I sing as though I’m
Peter Garrett from
Midnight Oil.

Often,
I sing pop rap songs
in Peter’s voice.

Try this:
First, sing “Beds
Are Burning” to
remind yourself
of Peter’s delivery.

Then, sing “Baby
Got Back.” Now,
don’t you feel good?

Today,
I sang “Don’t You
Forget About Me.”
It sounded awesome.

But, I was in the shower,
where acoustics
are much more friendly
and everybody
screams your name.

Are You There God? It’s Me, Volume, Reverb, & Resonance

The Path to Paradise Spins Upon a Sacrosanct Turntable

In the techno afterlife
You watch ghosts of BPMs wail down the street from a neon tree strung with incandescent wishes
You have no idea what the other side is

In the techno afterlife
You clench your jaw and you lick your lips as you say it's just the same
You have no idea what the other side is

In the techno afterlife
You jump with infinite madness at it all for the next million years but there is no one there
You have no idea what the other side is

In the techno afterlife
Lasers and smoke fill the opioid emptiness with options and opinions and well-lotioned gargoyles
You have no idea what the other side is

The Path to Paradise Spins Upon a Sacrosanct Turntable

Listen of the Week: Shabazz Palaces

Quazarz Born On A Gangster Star & Quazarz vs. The Jealous Machines, by Shabazz Palaces

“[I]magine an alternate universe where the trappings of success lead hip-hop’s anti-heroes to devise their own trap. Sound too close to home? Well, that’s exactly what the protagonist encounters among the ‘ethers of the Migosphere here on Drake world.’ But Quazarz hasn’t come to destroy; he’s come to deconstruct and shine a light.”

http://www.npr.org/2017/07/06/535282090/first-listen-shabazz-palaces-quazarz-born-on-a-gangster-star

 

Listen of the Week: Shabazz Palaces