Maggie

cowritten with Daniel Kwiatkowski

What's behind her smile and big brown eyes?

Is it real or is it a disguise?

Am I the one for her; does she love me-- does she know?

Or am I just like all the other guys?

* * *

Is she yours or is she mine?

What's she got that makes me feel so fine?

Is it right to tell her how I feel?

Or just a waste of time?

* * *

She always comes to my bed,

but she never stays that long.

She closes her eyes and turns away

and she never listens to what I say.

Asr

And I sit in the café
on the corner of
Al Nasr and Tariq bin Ziyad
sipping an espresso and smoking
my first cigarette in years (just
couldn't resist) with the women
in their burqas and the men
in their robes and their head scarves (odd man
out except
for the smoke) and I am pale, only a few days' growth
on my face and I am trying (perhaps overly so)
to smile (as they bowandscrape and
holddoors and carrymythings -- I appreciate it but
it'snotneccesary -- nopleasesirmeesterdavidpleasenoproblem).

When I want to avoid
The Conversation,
I tell the cabbies (Pakistan, Pakistan,
fameely left behind smiling eager
through their mustaches) I am
Canadian.

And I spend a rich man's money, a permanent
transient like the men shipped
in at two hundred a week (eight hour shifts twelve to a room two to a bed)
who serve my coffee and clean where I shit
and it's more than they could hope
to earn at home (but my presidents
are worth more here in the stern sun
green and crumpled they hide
their faces
in my perfect pocket).

Flickering light-- the television:
Across a wide stretch of salt
a man with a familiar name
shakes hands, makes promises.
They like him here:
his name, his face.
Across a wide stretch of salt
his name, his face
breed suspicion, fear.

The cigarettes
are Marlboro Lights (disappointing:
I had hoped for something local) and
apart
from the Arabic and the
morbidly elaborate health warning,
I am a child
in quiet suburbia (cool air,
warm bed, no fear) and it's
amazing how quickly the old reflexes
tamp, tear, put fire in my lungs.

After two drags,
I put it out. I choke;
feel dizzy.

crochet bedspreads, antimacassars

Today’s lesson is brought to you by Harry Partch: composer, poet, multi-instrumentalist, inventor, part-time hobo and full-time nutbar. When he wasn’t busy stowing away on freight trains or contracting mumps, Harry found time to invent new instruments (the Quadrangularis Reversum, the Zymo-Xyl and the Harmonic Canon, among others) and pluck new notes out of thin air (not satisfied with the limitations of the traditional 8-note scale, he created not only an 11-tone scale, but also the 29, 37 and 42-tone scales).

Here’s Harry showing us his recipe for rose petal jam:

For those of you who want to try this at home, Harry’s recipe is pretty much right on the money, but here are some written, step-by-step directions just in case you prefer not to rewind the video. Or if you prefer to take instruction from someone who isn’t doing a teapot dance.

sometimes, you've just got to.

rhymes with "blog"

all i do is keep the beat (and bad company)

Here's the Knopfler concert, as promised.

MARK KNOPFLER
LIVE AT RUMSEY PLAYFIELD (CENTRAL PARK SUMMERSTAGE)
7.23.08

1. Intro
2. Cannibals
3. Why Aye Man
4. What It Is
5. Sailing to Philadelphia
6. True Love Will Never Fade
7. The Fish and the Bird
8. Hill Farmer's Blues
9. Romeo and Juliet
10. Sultans of Swing
11. Song for Sonny Liston
12. (band introductions)
13. Marbletown
14. Speedway at Nazareth
15. Telegraph Road
16. Brothers in Arms
17. So Far Away
18. Going Home: Theme of the Local Hero
    

rhymes with "blog"

just a weak stone's throw from sheepshead bay

Summertime is concert season. Recently I had the pleasure of seeing Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks, Mark Knopfler and akron/family all in the same week.

A pretty decent recording of the Malkmus show can be found below, courtesy of nyctaper-- the set's primarily material from the new Real Emotional Trash album. (Note: right-clicking doesn't seem to work properly for some reason; I think because I'm hosting the files on a free server. I don't really understand how any of this crap works. Just click through and a download page should pop up.)

I'll post the Knopfler show later today (alas, no such recording seems to exist of the akron/family show, prob'ly because it would melt your face off).

STEPHEN MALKMUS & THE JICKS
LIVE AT THE SIREN MUSIC FESTIVAL (CONEY ISLAND)
7.19.08

1. Baby C'mon
2. Gardenia
3. Dragonfly Pie
4. Jenny and the Ess-Dog
5. Phantasies
6. Hopscotch Willie
7. Elmo Delmo
8. Cold Son
9. Baltimore
10. Astral Facial
11. We Can't Help You
12. Real Emotional Trash
13. (encore break)
14. All Over Gently
15. Pencil Rot
16. Two Tickets to Paradise (Eddie Money)

bubblegum

Half the reason I started this blog was so that my scribbled imaginings would find solace in a place less cluttered than my notebooks/head. Case in point: the following is sure to be missing a line or two, but where those lines have gone to is anyone's guess.

baby blue brand new peek a boo what a view whos who oh phew what to do not a clue ey bee sees one two threes climbing trees dirty knees birds and bees hes and shes honey please oh jeez side by side kiss the bride hitch a ride far and wide foolish pride rising tide cut and dried lived and died lean and mean primp and preen king and queen aint it keen cook and clean grass is green quite pristine what a scene virgin whore either or wanted more slam the door off to war such a chore blood and gore hear em roar get back new jack git the knack what you lack fill yer pack bodies stack if yer lucky git a heart attack bullet fly clear blue sky bleed em dry walk on by mothers die children cry why oh why my oh my day is done song is sung no longer young sure was fun blind and numb deaf and dumb here it come--

idle words from a reprobate mind

"Wise men speak because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something."
- Plato

"The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt."
- Sylvia Plath

"Hey, I have a blog now."
- D