Friday, December 30, 2011
Portlandia
I discovered my Portlandia files written in the '90s: poetry et al. and I will type a section here:
Hornblowing squealing out of rhythm/ warm breeze blowing over. A drunk lays on top of his radio, passed out not a half block from the parade.
Everett is the beginning/ fat sticked snare drummers/ electric bassplayers with their amps on rollers---Nerf footballs in the air. Energy building in the last few minutes before the parade begins.
We got casualties and statistics/we got flowersellers and ice cream vendors and Burger King overflowing. We got authorities on the streets and in cars/ we got pillow-lined curbs and runners/we got skaters and fags and dragqueens/we got streetpeople, bag ladies and young families. There are little ones and fat ones and old ones and lovers. There are flagwavin' balloon wavin' color bedecked plastic toys wavin'. There's walking down the middle of streets, walking on sidewalks, steppin' on toes and walkin' between... There's folks on trucks propped up/there's music players in costume---red and white and black all shiny and new. They were drinking coffee and coke, and beer and fruit drinks---eatin' fruit bars and candy---everybody getting ready for the parade. Leaning on walls crazy bastards screaming..too many runners running. Sure as hell if I ain't part of it....
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Thursday, November 03, 2011
Like a Rolling Stone Jam Session
This video includes Al Stewart on vocals, and Dave Nachmanoff on keys, and others.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
How I Think: Debate with Richard Dawkins
Here is a photo of Richard Dawkins, evolutionary biologist and well known proponent of atheism.I agree with Dawkins on so many things---natural selection, the preponderance of religious myth and its destructive role in American intellectual life, particularly with Christianity. It is simply anti-intellectual.
I am also anti-religious and I agree with Christopher Hitchens as well as Dawkins that the world would be a much saner and safer place without religion, especially Christianity. However, I am still a theist in that I understand that the entire universe is based upon a 'god' particle, if you will.
I say 'god particle' because I do not want to mythologize 'god' as the great religions have done. To my way of thinking, the essential point about god is that god is incommunicable, ineffable and radically mysterious in a natural sense. That is to say of all the natural species, there is a species which is not natural which makes possible for the coming to into being of other species---it resembles Aristotle's 'unmoved mover(s)'.
This god species or particle is entirely simple and underlies every complexity in the universe---for example if a physicist discovered the most simple particle that composes the material universe, this is the direction we are looking in. Even though the universe may have begun in a simple unified singularity and then moved in a direction of complexity, this point is unchanging, always the same. As in music, a wonderful chord from which all complexity (nature) springs forth and into which all nature falls home. Further this integral is continuously present to every point in the universe as its origin.
There is more to write but I leave it for another day...
Friday, September 23, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Justin Hayward Solo VH1
I find this performance (two songs) to be truly inspired music:
Monday, August 22, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Al Stewart Show in Harrisburg-Whitaker Center: 2-01-11
Al Stewart (with Dave Nachminoff) surpassed my expectations. I had seen Al Stewart back in the day with his band in Seattle. After the Seattle show, I actually met Al Stewart and Dave Mason (who was touring with Al Stewart and His band. It was not as early as "Year of the Cat"---No, this concert must have been in the early '80s, perhaps 1983. I recall all of this in detail. There are many stories to relate concerning that show, however, let us not linger too far from last night's show!
The last time I saw the rhyme master, Al Stewart, was in a much smaller club though still in Seattle. He may have done "Roads to Moscow" at that show, though my memory be soft (pints of strong british beer!!). And he did not do "Roads " in Harrisburg, but he truly mesmerized my musical sense. A reward of last night's show at the Sunoco Performance theatre was the mystical Scotsman's verbal genius. In between songs Mr. Stewart often spoke of historical figures, battles, as if he were a gifted schoolteacher.
Have a look at the poster I bought last night----it is quite a work of art. The poster is called "Sgt. Al" as a spoof on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Here we are above the Columbia River Gorge!Having an excellent year so far. Much planned for the New Year.
Hopefully more incredible, magic trips like the one Mary Frances and I made out to see Tee (in picture) and all of my Portland family which was a total blast--Hi Tai, Hey Donald!)
The news is bizarre as of late---"bombs away but we're OK."
Wish everyone a great Year and remember: HAVE A BLAST.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Poet of the Mean Streets
poetry scraped off
the soles of my keds while walking down Mr. Mean street...
the soles of my keds while walking down Mr. Mean street...
Thursday, November 12, 2009
We, too, are spoken into the world
Held always in Your hand---
the hand that holds being in the void.
Time trickles drop by drop.
I hear each drip and the slow measure of space falling in between another day.
Beauty, manifest at the edges surrounding each created thing.
the entire world held together is artwork too exquisite to tell.
We, too, are spoken into the world all at once, not appended,
but consummated and spoken in symphony.
To perceive anything at all means that we have already grasped the ensemble of all things.
So that this green frog might leap out and come to be.
A whole universe must appear just so this little frog may be!
the hand that holds being in the void.
Time trickles drop by drop.
I hear each drip and the slow measure of space falling in between another day.
Beauty, manifest at the edges surrounding each created thing.
the entire world held together is artwork too exquisite to tell.
We, too, are spoken into the world all at once, not appended,
but consummated and spoken in symphony.
To perceive anything at all means that we have already grasped the ensemble of all things.
So that this green frog might leap out and come to be.
A whole universe must appear just so this little frog may be!
New Psalm
My Lord, My God!
This love I have for you is immense. It fills me up.
I want to shout it from the highest mountain and plunge it into the deepest blue sea!
I want to wave it as a banner for all the world to see.
In the wee hours of the morning when your Spirit guides my thoughts---
I find you in my waking.
In love with you, every lover's face or hand I felt,
is so once more. Just a glance from You sends me reeling.
How I want to see you and know you and be with you forever!
I was broken and Had given up living---my life and dreams tossed to the side, every moment of life became a total chore. Hiding from th0se who loved behind a locked door.
When You came and knocked at first I turned astray.
How could I let myself be seen such a broken and sorry state?
Whatever I had earned through my wanton will I ascribed to my deserved fate.
Yet your rays of light were not entirely obscured though my window shades and shudders were pulled tight.
Day unto day I let the world slip away, submerged beyond the glory of Your day.
A single ray of light can magnify into a streaming flow, a tiny whispering word can echo majestic choir above and below.
Seeds of Your love mixed into weeds and trash took root in my rocky heart---
grasping, reaching, growing climbing to the height of my thought and filling my soul with knowing.
Then I found You were not so far away or hidden,
but answering each of my heart's silent prayers.
You answered me and sent a Shepherd to rescue my soul.
Amazing Grace filled my deepest yearning and prepared my soil for the Savior's dear cross.
The Redeemer's healing blood wetted the dry, thirsty rocks, seeping into my veins and capillaries, pulsing toward my broken heart.
It was then that I awoke to Your mighty love--
Love exceeding fleshly caress,
Love exceeding glistening eyes
and the beauty of a smile
Love surpassing earthly trial.
I love you now dear Lord as I have always loved you
as you have always loved me from out of the darkest hours of sin.
Drowning, you came into my life and set me free.
I love you Jesus---
as I love all of the creatures that share in Your life;
I love Your streams and high mountain pastures;
Love Your oceans and lush valleys;
I love all that lives in You---
winds and stars and fish!
When the enemy siezes me I reach out to You and You are there,
though I am held captive Your light is a steady candle to beckon me home.
In the dawn of a new day
I am healed and life seems worth living once again.
You are there in all of these transformations. ("I will be with you always---even until the end of time." "What has been is now.")
This love I have for you is immense. It fills me up.
I want to shout it from the highest mountain and plunge it into the deepest blue sea!
I want to wave it as a banner for all the world to see.
In the wee hours of the morning when your Spirit guides my thoughts---
I find you in my waking.
In love with you, every lover's face or hand I felt,
is so once more. Just a glance from You sends me reeling.
How I want to see you and know you and be with you forever!
I was broken and Had given up living---my life and dreams tossed to the side, every moment of life became a total chore. Hiding from th0se who loved behind a locked door.
When You came and knocked at first I turned astray.
How could I let myself be seen such a broken and sorry state?
Whatever I had earned through my wanton will I ascribed to my deserved fate.
Yet your rays of light were not entirely obscured though my window shades and shudders were pulled tight.
Day unto day I let the world slip away, submerged beyond the glory of Your day.
A single ray of light can magnify into a streaming flow, a tiny whispering word can echo majestic choir above and below.
Seeds of Your love mixed into weeds and trash took root in my rocky heart---
grasping, reaching, growing climbing to the height of my thought and filling my soul with knowing.
Then I found You were not so far away or hidden,
but answering each of my heart's silent prayers.
You answered me and sent a Shepherd to rescue my soul.
Amazing Grace filled my deepest yearning and prepared my soil for the Savior's dear cross.
The Redeemer's healing blood wetted the dry, thirsty rocks, seeping into my veins and capillaries, pulsing toward my broken heart.
It was then that I awoke to Your mighty love--
Love exceeding fleshly caress,
Love exceeding glistening eyes
and the beauty of a smile
Love surpassing earthly trial.
I love you now dear Lord as I have always loved you
as you have always loved me from out of the darkest hours of sin.
Drowning, you came into my life and set me free.
I love you Jesus---
as I love all of the creatures that share in Your life;
I love Your streams and high mountain pastures;
Love Your oceans and lush valleys;
I love all that lives in You---
winds and stars and fish!
When the enemy siezes me I reach out to You and You are there,
though I am held captive Your light is a steady candle to beckon me home.
In the dawn of a new day
I am healed and life seems worth living once again.
You are there in all of these transformations. ("I will be with you always---even until the end of time." "What has been is now.")
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Muskrat Beach Video
http://www.youtube.com/user/apokalupsis3#play/all/uploads-all/0/tkPxqwWWEJI
omomomomomomomomॐomomomomomomomom
omomomomomomomomॐomomomomomomomom
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Rajneeshpuram Video-Exciting
Fascinating anthropology study:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3cDgOf2Om28
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3cDgOf2Om28
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Tribute to Gillian Martin
For those of us who enjoy clasical radio at night, I am happy to report that I have made the great discovery of classical radio DJ Gillian Martin. Her taste in music is superb, her erudition and research is phenomenal, and even more, she is a poet. Kudos!
http://minnesota.publicradio.org/about/people/mpr_people_display.php?aut_id=30178
http://minnesota.publicradio.org/about/people/mpr_people_display.php?aut_id=30178
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Seven Spewings
What follows is an example of an apocalyptic, prophetic genre of writing---the kind of thing I obsessed upon in the ‘90s, more than ten years ago. Now that all of the 0-12ers are declaring with certainty the return of the Quetzlcoatl and the guarantee of radical transformation on 12-12-12 I thought it might be fair to surface this odd little play…
Dramatis personae:
===The American Poet
===The Wondrous Bird
===Satan Inc.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“The clouded chamber is bathed in orange,
today’s glory
holy, solar temple…”
The crippled poet’s conscience pricked,
Drowned in stupor, stumbles forth from his suburban hideaway
To lament the coming of day.
The Wondrous Bird whose wings of fire swift and silent lift
The poet by the scruff of his neck
For a journey to the winded clime
Further and further from the city smog and church bell chime
At last to the craggy mountain keep
House of the Holy
Where the sacrifice of innocents immolates the pollution of man
Assuaging the wrathful anger of the gods.
Startled, the poet cries:
“What is this wretched feast?” pointing to the innocent girl on the altar being chewed limb from limb…”Great Bird, what redemption can be won with this sacrifice?”
“She is America’s youthful hopes, the purity of the Founding Fathers’ democratic vision;
Jefferson’s ‘egalite’ and Franklin’s ‘optimism’. The temple is the power of the poetic word to resound truth and honor creation. The birds who peck her flesh are the professions of men in these current times.”
“Bear me away, I cannot face this vision,” mutters the poet.
“But you must be made steely strong before you can bear the poetry of this land,” intones the Wondrous Mighty Bird. “Many days have I observed you in your suburban hideaway, retreating from your vocation, sallying forth with the yellow Bud beverage in tin can. I have seen you weeping and glorying in the treasury of dawn. I have seen you sprawled upon the newly mown lawn kissing the green grass and spewing! It is you!! You shall write the poetry of this land.”
The spectral winged wonder continues: “All is sacrilege, language is deceit, now the scourge is down upon the land. Now is the time of the Seven Spewings. It falls to you, O poet, to hold back my destroying arm. Measure well my arm of justice for surely I will lay all to waste. Listen well to the preview of the Seven Spewings:”
Opening my eyes, I beheld a magnificent iridescent creature scraping the doctors, lawyers and priests from their mangling professions. All at once, swirling them in his mouth, swishing them about and spewing them forth over the land.
“To you was given sacred duty, the pursuit of health, justice and sacred truth…
But you have made a laughingstock of your noble calling. For the pollution to the purity of language both secular and sacred, be cast out and utterly desolate.” The First Spewing.
Next I beheld a great beast pour his wrath upon the politicians, with fire and hail upon the prostitutes (i.e., the Senate). The Second Spewing.
Then wrath poured out like raging water upon the financiers---like wripped and shredding the economy. The Third Spewing.
This is for the churches only: scorn and rebuke. The Beast said to the great Bird, “What would you like to do to punish these men, women and children?” The Wondrous Bird pointed to me and said, “I have given man a chance to live if their Poet can discover justice and measure truth in the land.”
They flew me back to the shopping mall where a horse farm used to be. There we saw Wal-Mart, chemicals in the streams and dead fish---I cried out: “I don’t want to hold back your wrath any longer, O Great Bird!”
She answered me: “Let us utterly destroy and waste and lay waste to this heathen brood.”
“Satan Inc. has the first right of refusal on the destruction project as long as it meets the environmental code--- I believe that you will find working with them a pleasure---we have a wonderful working relationship---their ethics are sterling---Their track record, personnel---all first class. And excellent referrals. Besides nobody has been at it so long.”
“O.K.,” I muttered---“Go ahead and commission Satan Inc. for the contract.”
It was but a moment before Great Bird returned with this MEMO: SATAN INCORPORATED CANNOT SIGN ON. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH WORK TO BE DONE. LAYING OFF EMPLOYEES. NOTHING THEY CAN DO THAT ISN’T ALREADY DONE, WOULDN’T BE FAIR TO TAKE THE TAXPAYERS DOLLARS.
Then she added: “Satan now speaks on behalf of mankind, justifying and legitimating the people. He started up a chain of law offices in Pittsburgh. Not our man.”
“Well how then are we going to bring about Justice?” I asked. The Great Bird paused, reflecting, and added: “There is no one left to turn to but Nature.” (to be continued…)
Dramatis personae:
===The American Poet
===The Wondrous Bird
===Satan Inc.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“The clouded chamber is bathed in orange,
today’s glory
holy, solar temple…”
The crippled poet’s conscience pricked,
Drowned in stupor, stumbles forth from his suburban hideaway
To lament the coming of day.
The Wondrous Bird whose wings of fire swift and silent lift
The poet by the scruff of his neck
For a journey to the winded clime
Further and further from the city smog and church bell chime
At last to the craggy mountain keep
House of the Holy
Where the sacrifice of innocents immolates the pollution of man
Assuaging the wrathful anger of the gods.
Startled, the poet cries:
“What is this wretched feast?” pointing to the innocent girl on the altar being chewed limb from limb…”Great Bird, what redemption can be won with this sacrifice?”
“She is America’s youthful hopes, the purity of the Founding Fathers’ democratic vision;
Jefferson’s ‘egalite’ and Franklin’s ‘optimism’. The temple is the power of the poetic word to resound truth and honor creation. The birds who peck her flesh are the professions of men in these current times.”
“Bear me away, I cannot face this vision,” mutters the poet.
“But you must be made steely strong before you can bear the poetry of this land,” intones the Wondrous Mighty Bird. “Many days have I observed you in your suburban hideaway, retreating from your vocation, sallying forth with the yellow Bud beverage in tin can. I have seen you weeping and glorying in the treasury of dawn. I have seen you sprawled upon the newly mown lawn kissing the green grass and spewing! It is you!! You shall write the poetry of this land.”
The spectral winged wonder continues: “All is sacrilege, language is deceit, now the scourge is down upon the land. Now is the time of the Seven Spewings. It falls to you, O poet, to hold back my destroying arm. Measure well my arm of justice for surely I will lay all to waste. Listen well to the preview of the Seven Spewings:”
Opening my eyes, I beheld a magnificent iridescent creature scraping the doctors, lawyers and priests from their mangling professions. All at once, swirling them in his mouth, swishing them about and spewing them forth over the land.
“To you was given sacred duty, the pursuit of health, justice and sacred truth…
But you have made a laughingstock of your noble calling. For the pollution to the purity of language both secular and sacred, be cast out and utterly desolate.” The First Spewing.
Next I beheld a great beast pour his wrath upon the politicians, with fire and hail upon the prostitutes (i.e., the Senate). The Second Spewing.
Then wrath poured out like raging water upon the financiers---like wripped and shredding the economy. The Third Spewing.
This is for the churches only: scorn and rebuke. The Beast said to the great Bird, “What would you like to do to punish these men, women and children?” The Wondrous Bird pointed to me and said, “I have given man a chance to live if their Poet can discover justice and measure truth in the land.”
They flew me back to the shopping mall where a horse farm used to be. There we saw Wal-Mart, chemicals in the streams and dead fish---I cried out: “I don’t want to hold back your wrath any longer, O Great Bird!”
She answered me: “Let us utterly destroy and waste and lay waste to this heathen brood.”
“Satan Inc. has the first right of refusal on the destruction project as long as it meets the environmental code--- I believe that you will find working with them a pleasure---we have a wonderful working relationship---their ethics are sterling---Their track record, personnel---all first class. And excellent referrals. Besides nobody has been at it so long.”
“O.K.,” I muttered---“Go ahead and commission Satan Inc. for the contract.”
It was but a moment before Great Bird returned with this MEMO: SATAN INCORPORATED CANNOT SIGN ON. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH WORK TO BE DONE. LAYING OFF EMPLOYEES. NOTHING THEY CAN DO THAT ISN’T ALREADY DONE, WOULDN’T BE FAIR TO TAKE THE TAXPAYERS DOLLARS.
Then she added: “Satan now speaks on behalf of mankind, justifying and legitimating the people. He started up a chain of law offices in Pittsburgh. Not our man.”
“Well how then are we going to bring about Justice?” I asked. The Great Bird paused, reflecting, and added: “There is no one left to turn to but Nature.” (to be continued…)
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Narcissus, Emeritus
Narcissus lifts his gaze and cranes his neck to see what he can see;
He twists his neck so painfully
What crystal pure eyes frozen
Imploded by sensations overflowing!
He sees everything through frosted blue
Each wall is transparent
And he taps on every window
But no one hears
He reaches inside of us and is lost in the void and the maze of memory.
Sweet memory
mirth and joy!
To hear the youthful voices
Of fields where he once lay.
Buffered by time
Memories so precise
Sensation of deepening fabric.
Laughter rings out,
The laughter is real though years have flown,
His cruel sentence has ended,
Fleeting beauty lingers on.
Up and away from his magic pool
He turns creaking knee
Takes leave silently
Banishing the zone to grey-white abstraction.
Narcissus Retiring
not skulking away,
at last retreat
From the feathery grasses silkily sliding in aquafingers’ grasp.
He twists his neck so painfully
What crystal pure eyes frozen
Imploded by sensations overflowing!
He sees everything through frosted blue
Each wall is transparent
And he taps on every window
But no one hears
He reaches inside of us and is lost in the void and the maze of memory.
Sweet memory
mirth and joy!
To hear the youthful voices
Of fields where he once lay.
Buffered by time
Memories so precise
Sensation of deepening fabric.
Laughter rings out,
The laughter is real though years have flown,
His cruel sentence has ended,
Fleeting beauty lingers on.
Up and away from his magic pool
He turns creaking knee
Takes leave silently
Banishing the zone to grey-white abstraction.
Narcissus Retiring
not skulking away,
at last retreat
From the feathery grasses silkily sliding in aquafingers’ grasp.
Stalker by Andrey Tarkovsky
Viewing this film for several evenings now! Netflix is good that way---I can hang on to Stalker for as long as I like. I watch and think this is the most beautiful photography, and than I realize how unique and original Tarkovsky's vision is. I have been reading Sculpting in Time the Soviet director's philosophical reflection on filmmaking. Having watched a number of Tarkovsky's films, I think Stalker is the most perfectly realized piece of cinematographic art I have yet encountered. Down to the synthesized soundtrack! The Writer's continual nihilistic babbling contradicts itself---it is an acid bath of pessimism and doubt. Then when the Stalker speaks---it is pure mystical poetry. The acting performance that the director gets with Chingachook is stellar.
Then there is the Zone itself, where all becomes color and birdsong, inside of the sepia-tinted, oilstreaked world where these men came from.
Tarkovsky nails it with the Stalker becaue he has harmonized the film-idea with the film production. It is seamless.
Consider the film shot in the puddle when the Stalker's wife is reading from the Book of Revelation, and we see the altarpiece of Ghent by Van Eyck floating at the bottom of the pool---conveys poetically the meaning of apocalypse.
Very easily one can attach a meaning to the Zone in order to decode its message. It is the Kingdom of Heaven, for example. It is like a drug trip, a psychedelic experience. Another way of reading this is to see that the Zone is the Stalker's own delusional obsession. The Professor aims to detonate a bomb and eliminate the Zone, while the Writer's unending negative chatter more or less accomplishes the same thing. The Stalker is looking for the pure of heart. The Beatles have Sergeant Pepper and Tarkovsky has Stalker!
Then there is the Zone itself, where all becomes color and birdsong, inside of the sepia-tinted, oilstreaked world where these men came from.
Tarkovsky nails it with the Stalker becaue he has harmonized the film-idea with the film production. It is seamless.
Consider the film shot in the puddle when the Stalker's wife is reading from the Book of Revelation, and we see the altarpiece of Ghent by Van Eyck floating at the bottom of the pool---conveys poetically the meaning of apocalypse.
Very easily one can attach a meaning to the Zone in order to decode its message. It is the Kingdom of Heaven, for example. It is like a drug trip, a psychedelic experience. Another way of reading this is to see that the Zone is the Stalker's own delusional obsession. The Professor aims to detonate a bomb and eliminate the Zone, while the Writer's unending negative chatter more or less accomplishes the same thing. The Stalker is looking for the pure of heart. The Beatles have Sergeant Pepper and Tarkovsky has Stalker!
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