But Our Shit Doesn't Stink and No, Hockey League

Upon learning that over 250 scientists just reported that the Arctic is warming twice as fast as the rest of the globe, Reuters reported that:

"The United States said it would not sign up for any calls for caps in emissions of heat-trapping gases like carbon dioxide. Washington is the only nation of the eight that has refused to join the 128-nation Kyoto protocol on curbing global warming.
"I don't know why the United States is like an ostrich burying its head in the sand," said chief Gary Harrison of the Arctic Athabaskan Council, which represents thousands of people in Canada and Alaska.
But Paula Dobriansky, U.S. undersecretary for global affairs, rebuffed the criticisms. "We base our policies on science and we will take the findings (of the report) into account," she said. " (http://www.truthout.org/docs_04/113004G.shtml)

Meanwhile, today I read an article in the Detroit News indicating that the National Hockey League looks ready to cancel the rest of the season due to the irreconcilable differences between the owners and players (who were locked out by the owners at the start of training camp for this season) concerning issues such as salary cap, luxury tax, arbitration and revenue sharing. As some of my friends and family members well know, this whole situation has enraged me beyond comprehension. Along with baseball, hockey is my favorite sport. Having said that, the quality of the NHL game has deteriorated significantly in recent years due to various factors, including but not limited to bigger players with bigger equipment playing on the same old (now tiny) ice rinks, thereby leading to more injuries and defencive systems that nullify free and talented expression; the NHL's crackdown on fighting and its advocacy of instigator penalties, which allows chicken-shit punks to tee off on star players without fear of retribution; free agency and watching favorite players don hated rivals' sweaters; and numerous other concerns. The point is, the game has deteriorated and it is often difficult to watch even for hockey enthusiasts like me, and in most cities, even including the original six city of Chicago, teams are not selling out their rinks -- not even close. In Chicago, they only sell out if nearby rival Detroit is in town (and half of the rink is filled with Detroit fans), no less.

Having bootstrapped my opinion that the calibre of play has waned substantially over time, the owners and players have the unmitigated arrogance to think that people cared in the first place in the U.S. for their once great game, and worse, that they care at all that the game is not being played this winter. I miss my Red Wings, as well as my old love the Montreal Canadiens an awful lot, because I love them and have followed them closely all of my life. But nobody I know, save friends or family back in the relatively crazed hockey town of Detroit and one friend here in Chicago gives a hoot about it. And so we're supposed to care who is right or wrong in this dispute. And so we're supposed to return in droves to the arenas and rinks if or when the differences are resolved? Remember when baseball went on strike and canceled the World Series several years ago? People here in Chicago still blame the lower attendances for the White Sox on that strike. And even though things in baseball are only now as relatively healthy as they were before such strike, it took years to forgive and forget and move on. And that is for this nation's pasttime! Will people in Carolina or Florida or Los Angeles care about hockey players? Sure, they may bear no deep grudges as in baseball because people here have an emotional relationship with baseball, whereas hockey to most people in the US is window dressing. So if you want the window dressing fans and high-priced corporate suite occupants to return, revel in it, Bettman. You'll never get a wiedespread, hard core base, though, especially if you don't address the waning quality of the game in the first place. Hockey is not even this country's fourth major sport -- it gets consistently beaten in ratings by baseball, football, basketball, and even auto racing and golf. Probably poker too, since ESPN has been showing so much of it lately. Cancel the season, guys, what difference does it make? Who are you to be so bold; so stupid; so reckless?

The Lines Are Down

I found this quote posted on journalist Andrew Sullivan's site, and found it interesting notwithstanding the fact that I too support the will (ie., that of the majority) of the Ukrainian people, and thus, Yushchenko, apparently. It's just that Pravda's seizure of this opportunity to condemn the "asses of evil" was far too noteworthy to ignore:

"The strongarm tactics used by the western stooge, Yushchenko, are typical of the anti-democratic processes set in motion by a rampant and militant Washington, crushed in the grip on a monetarist, neo-conservative crypto-fascist clique of elitists, whose corporate greed speaks louder than the mores of international diplomacy and whose thirst to dominate the world's resources in the lifetimes of Rumsfeld and Cheney throws any moral concept into the trash bin." - Pravda on the Ukraine election struggle.

Meanwhile, the country appears to be dramatically split (red states/blue states?), east v west, with the Yanukovych eastern (and more industrial/more economically well-endowed) bloc going so far as to threaten secession and the creation of separate nations. More on this here: http://news.independent.co.uk/europe/story.jsp?story=587786

On a different note, upon learning that my local Chicago Tribune endorsed Bush a few weeks ago, I immediately canceled my subscription and, when asked, explained (calmly, no less) in great detail why I was doing so. Sure they felt bound to honor their longstanding commitment to Republican candidates, but there is reason and the morality of tyrannical, self-serving acts, indiscriminate lies and gross indifference to lives on both sides of the fence to consider, no? And that says nothing of the environment and social issues. Anyway, the editor tried to justify her paper's position ( and retain her treasured subscribers) in the wake of several thousand such cancellations by saying that you wouldn't end your relationship with an old friend over poltical differences, would you? So please, since we come in to your homes every morning, treat us as your old friends. In response, my wife astutely pointed out that most old friends don't hold influence over hundreds of thousands of people as does a paper like the Tribune. There are unfortunately many who take their newspapers to the polling places ( I see this every time I vote) and do as they're told: "If the Trib likes him, he/she's good enough for me," and "I don't have the time to follow this political shit -- what does the Trib say?" Etc., etc. The point is, at least in my opinion, the Tribune's endorsement was reckless and devoid of recognition of substantive, substantial consequences past and future.

Fast forward a few weeks and here I am, a new subscriber to the tabloid, left leaning Chicago Sun Times ... and I don't like it. What a shitty newspaper. Their sports page(s) are okay, I suppose (I've come to at least respect their loudmouth, arrogant columnist Jay Mariotti, somewhat), but their so-called news is so far buried sometimes 30 pages into the paper, and even then international news comprises at best two pages -- two small tabloid-style pages. The front page is relentlessly dominated by huge pictures and headlines about Julia Roberts' twins and other such nonsense. This is a newspaper? So what do I do, keep the Sun Times for local headlines and subscribe to the New York Times for news? Return to the Tribune with my tail between my legs?

"Real Life Notebook" and "Puritans, Meet the Jacobins"

Here are two "songs"/lyrics I've just written:

"real life notebook"

ideas like tumbling leaves,

give chase

until you trip

or they dead end

along baseball fences

or abandoned buildings.

you were a fool

to believe

the ideas could ever amount to anything.

a fool to champion autumn

in the face of cold.

estranged from what is lost,

and yet what you hold is so little

that you define yourself

to anyone who'd listen

by what you have lost,

what you could have been

and still could be...

if not for the circumstances.

and when there is no one left to listen,

you dim the lights

cue the accordion music

light the scented candles

and revel in the possibilities...

of winding back clocks;

of freezing kisses

and stealing more of them;

of catching the leaves before the breeze

and you were faster;

of conjuring great thoughts

and divining what the hell they mean;

and of having someone around more often

not only to listen to you

but inspire you.

this is rational on paper;

a tear-stained page in your real life notebook.

your real life notebook of fantasies

and delusions.

"puritans, meet the jacobins"

the grip of men

around your ankles,

you dangle

you writhe

and flail

... your head below the water.

this is just the beginning,

you know,

because you were predestined

to die in the guise of baptism

for the sake of terror.

born evil,

you craved rules and punishment

to brand "good"

on a bad piece of hide.

you will stomach this

until you have no stomach

to see ol' blue skies

turned red.

you will inhale bilge water

until the air is rarified

or you no longer breathe.

hang upside down

until your head is clear

or the world stops spinning.

either way

it's just the same

it makes no difference;

it's raining terror

in a circular way.

dead or good

good or dead

dead good.

it's what you wanted.

Ukrainian Frigid Nights

Read the article at the following link regarding the increasing unrest resultant of the unequivocally rigged presidential elections in the Ukraine: http://news.independent.co.uk/europe/story.jsp?story=586067
My brother Daniel, a U.S. Army linguist fluent in Russian and living in Germany, has spent an awful lot of time in the Ukraine of late and has wonderfully articulated in several posts on Matthew Good's site (www.matthewgood.org) the hopes and fears of contemporary Ukrainians and their futile role as denizens of a State too valuable (oil and other resources) to be released from the bear's claw of its longstanding Mother Russia, let alone the European Community (and U.S.). It will be very, very interesting to see what unfolds from this; Putin clearly (and desperately?) squared against the rest of Europe/U.S. in terms of who is/ought to be President of the Ukraine. Is bloodshed inevitable? Would Yushchenko survive a day even were he to be placed in power?

Trying To Throw Your Arms Around The World

In order to feel genuinely let down and, ultimately angry about the new U2 release, I believe that, a priori, one must consider that one or more of U2's prior albums were brilliant. See, some would ask how could I be disappointed because U2 has past their prime quite long ago? But for me, I hold The Unforgettable Fire among the great albums of all time, and I have likewise had close affinities for Boy, October, War and Achtung Baby. The Joshua Tree was also very good. Sure, these albums all came out an awfully long time ago and one can't be expected to repeat oneself, but that is my point.

Roughly 20 years after The Unforgettable Fire, U2 is playing it so safely and so conservatively on How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb that it is borderline unlistenable. Worse, and I have made this point to several friends, U2 is a band that once believed (and they really believed it) they could change the world with their music and their messages, albeit jumbled, of redemption, peace, love and harmony. Thus, to hear Bono now ponce about on Ipod commercials shouting on the goddawful "Vertigo" uno, dos, tres, catorce and ola is just sickening to anyone who once naively saw and believed in Bono's crusade of the early eighties (I saw them in all their remarkable glory on the War tour, no less). I didn't think that image ever preceded substance in those nascent days for U2, but no doubt countless releases and tours since then have proven otherwise, and perhaps I had them wrong from the start.

But you don't fake an album like The Unforgettable Fire, or even the others I mentioned previously. Although their live performances could still stand hairs on one's forearms (even their post-9/11 Super Bowl halftime performance was astounding) and they still dished out the occasional song that invoked the magic of yore, such as "Beautiful Day" (naff lyrics and all), the new record is tremendously ordinary. And for a group from whence such dizzying heights were once its playground, that is a calamity, and they should be ashamed of themselves. Bono can barely sing at all, and the performances are so glossed in production that I can't tell if there is anything at all genuine on Atomic Bomb. Sure, it still sounds like U2, but even the moments that shimmer ("Miracle Drug" and the ostensibly terrific "Yahweh" and bits and pieces of others) are typically gutted by obvious lyrics and/or been there done that/U2 by numbers songwriting. Indeed, I think a young U2 cover band could better approximate this now mega-corporation's more "humble" beginnings than this band of tired, very rich old men could ever hope to achieve. Edge, will you please confess that you're bald and take off the stupid ski hats? Add this to the list of groups that should have burned out rather than faded away. To hear U2 strive so earnestly to recall -- nay, ape its heights of yore is akin to watching a retired athlete hurt himself in his child's father-son softball game. To see this happen to such an old love is to belie what one typically tries not to think about; that we longtime afficionados are growing older and drawing further and further away from the perceived light of youth. Hope I die before I get old, indeed.

Dog Day Afternoon

Kevin Sites, the NBC journalist who captured the Marine's summary execution of the injured insurgent in the mosque last week, has now weighed in with his own open letter to the Marines' "Devil Dogs" at http://www.kevinsites.net All in all, i think he only barely/arguably retains objectivity, a phenomenon not surprising to me considering the inherent plight of embedded reporters. If your very life depends on the fortune of the company with which you are fighting/traveling, then aren't you necessarily going to become, if you weren't already, a homer? Clearly, though Sites generally considers that what happened was likely wrong, he falls far short of condemning it and rather lauds/echoes that, by and large, "we're" the ones in the right. He does so regardless of his own belief that there were no immediately mitigating factors presented. Sites invokes the "bad apple" mantra among a bushel of good eats (see my earlier entry re bad apples v evil incarnate), but even then he appears to bear sympathy for the shooter. Riddled with contradictions....

Humbled, decimated....

Today is my pregnant wife's (Marla's) 35th birthday. To celebrate, we established rather grandiose plans for this past weekend. Notwithstanding her chronic "morning sickness" (more like "all day long sickness") despite now being in her fourth month of pregnancy, our respective mothers came into town on thursday night so that we could: 1) go to the circus on saturday at 11:30 am with our 2 1/2 year-old son Adrien (notwithstanding PETA protests -- hey, the tickets were free); 2) go to one of the most exclusive restaurants in Chicago, the Everest at 6:00 pm; and then 3) see a world premiere stage performance of George Orwell's 1984. On top of all of that, I was to meet up with old friend and Big Takeover editor Jack Rabid at the airport at 9:00 am before his return trip to NYC, and I also had designs on going to see old school Chicago punks The Effigies play a late 11:30pm show at the Bottom Lounge.

We/I did none of the above.

Beginning at about 2:00 am on Saturday morning, Marla began throwing up incessantly. By 7:30 am, she had already thrown up a dozen times. To make matters worse, my persistent stuffiness/sore throat suddenly transformed into a feeling of achiness, soreness, fever, horrific sore throat and stomach upset. I took Marla to the hospital, barely even able to concentrate on driving myself. Ultimately, to make a nightmare short, they had to admit Marla overnight in order to stabilize her vomiting and prevent her dehydration. They didn't release her until 6:30 pm on Sunday. They diagnosed me with "viral pharyngitis" and gave me amoxycilin, but I'll tell you that three days later I feel no better and my throat has never hurt worse.

But where would we have been without the moms, in town from our native Detroit to visit us and see their grandson? Not only did they keep the wily Adrien at bay and otherwise amused and entertained, but they turned our house upside down in a fit of cleaning, washing and organization. It is easy to take loved ones for granted, but without them a hellacious weekend would have been borderline unmanageable, at least for Adrien's sake. Sure we have friends and neighbors who were ridiculously kind to rally behind me/us to help out in any way, but the moms went so far above the call of duty to additionally help Marla and I get better. We're humbled, we're blessed. As a further bonus, and real source of inspiration for Marla as she labored in hospital rooms with an iv tube stuck inside her arm, she got to see the baby via ultrasound and everything looks and sounds great. She says the baby looked like "it" was drinking a beer, continuously raising its hand to mouth. Chip off the old block.

The side note to the grandiose plans was the following. Reading about the PETA protests and facts regarding the treatment of circus animals, I'm glad we didn't go. Then, when I called Everest in my feverish state to cancel our reservations, the host claimed he didn't see a reservation under our name. On top of that (on top of Everest, you say?), Saturday night was the annual lighting of the holiday lights along the "Magnificent Mile" along Michigan Avenue, for which "hundreds of thousands of people" attended. Nice, but we would have had to go from the southern-most part of Chicago's loop at a 6 pm "non"-dinner to 800 N. Michigan Avenue for an 8:00 pm play amidst the hordes of consumerism? Okay, the best laid plans weren't very good at all in the first place, were they?

Finally, I have to thank friend and one of my favorite current musical artists, Matthew Good (www.matthewgood.org) for redesigning this blog for me and otherwise encouraging me and offering me technical and other tips. Again, I'm humbled. I recommend visiting his site strongly, as it features numerous links, critiques and geo/sociopolitical observations so compelling and informative in this day and age. Big thanks also to pal Martha for helping to keep me in line/true to the intent of this blog with her thoughtful comments and insights.

Suffer the children....

The following, written by Chris Bellamy for The Independent, sums up what I have feared and dreaded from day one of hearing that Bush and his henchmen, or vice versa, conjured the plan to blanket Iraq with the relatively justified pursuit of Al Qaeda, only. This, to me, is obvious. It will inherently and unavoidably get worse -- in our lifetimes and far beyond -- than it would ever get better. I offer this here to defy every Bush patron who stubbornly lauds and shockingly encourages what the hell we're doing over there:

" For every Iraqi killed, either in Fallujah or overall, there are five, maybe 10, maybe 20 sisters, brothers, husbands, wives, parents, children. For every dead Iraqi there may be 20 people who are now committed to a blood feud. We have to ask whether this is achieving the aim, which is to conduct free and fair elections in January and, in the longer term, to establish a stable and secure democracy.
For all the hype about "effects-based operations" the US approach appears to be thoroughly attritional. The US command appears to believe that the supply of suicidal Baathists, jihadists and foreign Islamist fighters, and Iraqi nationalists who just resent foreign occupation, will eventually be ground down to zero. By effectively eliminating the insurgents, according to one retired US general, the "fellow travellers" can be made to see the handwriting on the wall. It seems they have not seen it yet. With Fallujah largely subdued, US forces, with limited Iraqi government help, have moved to Mosul and Baquba."

One nation underground

Old pal Martha sent me the following applicable excerpts from the Geneva Convention in relation to the shooting Marine/possible murderer in Fallujah:

"Geneva Conventions provisions Each of the four Geneva Conventions, the 1949 treaty that applies to different aspects of warfare, addresses the issue of military violence on injured, unarmed and/or civilian peoples in its opening paragraphs.
“Persons taking no active part in the hostilities, including members of armed forces who have laid down their arms and those placed hors de combat (out of combat) by sickness, wounds, detention, or any other cause, shall in all circumstances be treated humanely,” it says.
“The following acts are and shall remain prohibited at any time and in any place whatsoever with respect to the above-mentioned persons:
“Violence to life and person, in particular murder of all kinds, mutilation, cruel treatment and torture...
“The passing of sentences and the carrying out of executions without previous judgment pronounced by a regularly constituted court affording all the judicial guarantees which are recognized as indispensable by civilized peoples.”
It adds that “the wounded and sick shall be collected and cared for.”

Again, I must re-state, that neither I nor any of us so far removed from what specifically transpired there can summarily condemn the marine, but neither can we laud what he did. We don't know, and may never really know. What we do know, however, is that it looks mighty bad. From appearances alone, he murdered the ostensibly mortally wounded insurgent, which ought to be condemnable to the nth degree. We just can't tell what, if any, directly extenuating circumstances there may have been. I don't accept by any means the "war is hell" explanation. I would accept, however, the argument that the marine actually saw, or had other reason to believe that the injured insurgent lying on bombs he was about to detonate. I don't believe that this was the case, however. I just have to "borrow" this quote posted on Matt Good's website (www.matthewgood.org) from an Arab blogger -- it's too spot on to omit in this context:

Abbas Kadhim made a very astute observation on his blog yesterday…
“When a few Muslims do something horrific, the entire Muslim world is called barbaric. When a few American soldiers commit war crimes, they are called "bad apples" from a civilized nation.”

Oh Donald Rumsfeld, come out and play.....

Is there anybody in there?

Christ, I thought I was done for the day but, having read a recent spate of people summarily standing beside the Marine who exectuted the ostensibly helpless Iraqi "insurgent" lying face down on the ground, I just had to say something. Here is what I said, short but to my point, in response to a friend's high-fiving of said Marine/possible murderer: "Bullshit, you guys, you can't possibly know as a matter of fact he was just doing his job, just like I can't say for sure he wasn't a cold-blooded murderer who had just violated all conventions of war, let alone morality. We don't know -- and if the investigation is solely in the hands of the Marines, do you really think we'll ever know? This is all so pathetic. Were I to apply your logic (that because war is hell, essentially, and when you're getting shot at and seeing your friends killed that basically anything goes), then one may as well shoot every single thing that moves in Iraq -- and be justified in doing so."

Absent friends....

Like taking your son to a baseball game to see his favorite player and discovering at the game that such player was scratched from the lineup; like a 12 year-old standing in line at a Toys R Us in 1977 for an autograph of Lee Majors (aka Steve Austin, the 6 Million Dollar Man) only to see said Majors discard his pencil and drive into the sunset two boys before it was your turn in line; like gearing up for the season's biggest soccer game and then learning that your top goal scorer was not going to make it because he and his family went away for the weekend on vacation ... such was how my friend Mark and I felt when we were effectively sucker-punched at Monday night's Dogs Die In Hot Cars' gala gig at Schuba's Tavern. Agreeing to make the trip on a late, rainy no less Monday night to the north side in substantial part because Dogs Die's song, "Celebrity Sanctum" is probably the song of the year, we waited ... and waited for these young Brits to play what we came for ... only to see our hopes and dreams crushed like those of homeowners in Fallujah. Shut out. Shut up. They played every song on the album EXCEPT "Celebrity Sanctum." We immediately rushed to confront the female keyboardist concerning such omission as she walked offstage, to which she said, smiling, "Oh, I'm afraid that's my fault. I was the one who wrote tonight's set list and I realized that I had forgotten one song from the album but couldn't remember which one it was. That's the one -- I'm sorry." Sorry? Is this your idea of a joke? Oh man, if it weren't that they played very well, and the singer (with a Big Country Stuart Adamson meets XTC Andy Partridge upper, forced range) is something of a wunderkind, bottle tossing may well have been called for.

On another note, I fondly recall my conversation with AMC's Mark Eitzel on Saturday night, during which he commented that if there is anything good that may come out of Bush's re-election it is that some pretty incredible art will be created across the world. Here here, Mark. It's an interesting point that it is often only when one feels the walls close in around one's deepest hopes and ambitions that the most genuine art, let alone any art may be spawned. Trouble is, if the apocalypse is truly nigh, then who will be around to create it, let alone appreciate it?

Finally ready to start circulating my now three - cd compilation. Anyone interested in a copy, email me or enter a request in the comment section below.

Whorehouse Desert of the Patriot’s Heart
disc one
1 Cirrus Minor … Pink Floyd
2 Goodbye South Goodbye … Readymade
3 Blessed Persistence … Sixteen Horsepower
4 (Ostrich & Chirping) … (Elliott Smith)
5 All the Wine … The National
6 Living in Space … David Kilgour
7 How to Be Dead … Snow Patrol
8 Books Written For Girls … Camera Obscura
9 Post to Wire … Richmond Fontaine
10 (Bird excerpt) … (Dead Can Dance)
11 Patriot’s Heart … American Music Club
12 Abattoir Blues … Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds
13 Sense of Purpose (live in the hothouse) … The Sound
14 News at Ten … The Vapors
15 We Can Have It … The Dears
16 Peace in Our Time … The Sun and the Moon
17 Know-How … Kings of Convenience
18 (Ostrich & Chirping) … (Elliott Smith)
19 King’s Crossing … Elliott Smith
20 Goodbye South Goodbye (revisited) … Readymade
21 Roll … Richard Buckner
22 Circus … Tom Waits
(compiled november 2004 by Paul Regelbrugge … brugge19@aol.com)


Whorehouse Desert of the Patriot’s Heart
disc two
1 Winning (2 Meter Sessions acoustic) … Adrian Borland
2 Cantilever … The Church
3 Wishful Thinking … Wilco
4 Take You on a Cruise … Interpol
5 Bochum … Six By Seven
6 Broken … Grant Nicholas / Junkie X.L.
7 Rebellion … The Arcade Fire
8 Everybody Come Down … The Delgados
9 Close My Eyes … The Open
10 Robot … The Futureheads
11 C’mon C’mon … The Von Bondies
12 Fantasies Are Nice … The Rogers Sisters
13 Celebrity Sanctum … Dogs Die in Hot Cars
14 Take Me Out … Franz Ferdinand
15 Gravity … Embrace
16 The World Won’t … In-Flight Safety
17 Empty Road … Matthew Good
18 Twyla … Richmond Fontaine
19 The Seeker … Steve Earle
20 Doesn’t Have to Be This Way … Jay Farrar
(compiled november 2004 by Paul Regelbrugge … brugge19@aol.com)


Whorehouse Desert of the Patriot’s Heart
disc three
1 Motion Sickness … Damien Jurado
2 Sweetness … Lloyd Cole and the Commotions
3 Barely Losing … Richmond Fontaine
4 Down to the River to Pray … Alison Krauss
5 Watching the Wheels (acoustic) … John Lennon
6 How to Fight Loneliness (live) … Jeff Tweedy
7 Present … Doug Gillard
8 Avalanche … Wintersleep
9 The Setup … Mission of Burma
10 Not Even Jail … Interpol
11 Transcendental Suicide … The Soundtrack of our Lives
12 Going Underground (live) … The Jam
13 Decent Days and Nights … The Futureheads
14 Light’s On … Secret Machines
15 New Dark Age (BBC live) … The Sound
16 Home … American Music Club
17 Live and learn … The Cardigans
18 La Robe a Parasol … Sixteen Horsepower
19 Dent County … Jay Farrar
20 War Crime Blues … Chris Whitley
21 You’ll Have Time … William Shatner (compiled november 2004 by Paul Regelbrugge … brugge19@aol.com)

Best Laid Plans

Remember my previous post in which I outlined a dizzying, nay excessively ambitious/delusional plan of seeing four different bands in six nights (daunting for anyone, let alone a 39-year old father of a "terrible" two year-old, husband of a wife who is sick with daily nausea during this pregnancy, employee, and dreamer, more or less)? Well, couldn't see the Futureheads because wife had to work late and so I couldn't abandon the wayfaring Adrien; couldn't see Jay Farrar because my friend waited too long to buy tickets and so it sold out; and am up in the air ( a game-time decision) on seeing Dogs Die in Hot Cars (showtime at 9pm on north side of chicago, but two(!) frickin' opening acts before they go on, on a MONDAY!). Mercifully, I did see old faves American Music Club twice, and very much enjoyed seeing them play earnestly and vigorously. As anticipated, seeing them perform "Patriot's Heart", "Home" and numerous golden oldies was fine tonic for a beaten soul, and often transcendental. They have always been a bit haphazard at times, however. Despite very fine musicianship, AMC is often hindered by Eitzel's excessive and sometimes melodramatic, purportedly jazz crooning. He carries lines unpredictably and sometimes unnaturally, thereby disturbing the best intentions of the music itself. At times, this tension reveals postives in the way of realizing the words more in the foreground, but sometimes it's a rather sloppy affair. That aside, when they're on, they're on ... and for these two nights, they were on at least 80% of the time, which is 80% better than sitting and home and doing nothing. Enjoyed speaking with Eitzel after the show -- congratulated him on writing a song like "Patriot's Heart" and for changing the words to the great "Johnny Mathis' Feet" on friday night to "George W Bush's Feet". Also enjoyed seeing and meeting opener Will Johnson of Centromatic/South San Gabriel. What genuine humanism comes sparkling through in his songs. Very moody, indeed.

On Sunday, as I was waiting at a car repair shop for my jeep to get checked out (radiator leak or loose cap?), these two elderly African American brothers (literally, not figuratively) observed me cutting and otherwise preparing the artwork for my new three cd-compilation, Whorehouse Desert of the Patriot's Heart. Chuckling at the title and artwork, one brother explained why his brother was so overweight and had to walk with a cane. He proceeded to tell me how his brother was in Vietnam and was exposed to Agent Orange, by the U.S. Army itself, and how despite this fact -- directly contributing to his brother's numerous health-related concerns -- his brother was constantly getting denied full Veteran's benefits. His brother had taken his fight for full benefits as high as to Washington D.C., and believes that his brother's biggest problem is that he has survived the Agent Orange for as long as he has. He said all but five members of his brother's company had already died of such exposure. The man went on to decry our role in Iraq, trust in this government, belief in the "man," the media and he was generally bitter about everything. Everything except family. "It all comes down to who you love and who loves you back," he said. "I appreciate your cd cover," he said. "It's the truth."

Nobody home

This, from CNN today:

"Troops had expected to encounter heavy resistance in their push to clear the city of insurgents before elections in January. So far, however, fighting has been light."

In soccer, we'd call it a telegraph pass. In short, if you looked and/or otherwise signalled to whom you were going to make a pass before attempting to do so, you telegraphed it, thereby making it much easier on defencemen to intercept, block, etc. How the US could realistically expect that the bulk of Sunni "insurgents," particularly "the most wanted man in Iraq," Jordanian militant Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, would remain in Falluja to await their murder and/or capture is plain idiotic. What the HELL are we doing over there. So again, think of all the resources (including hospitals and ambulances, no less) and LIVES that are being decimated ... for no reason whatsoever, particularly when the so-called most wanted persons have obviously already left. What ever happened to sneak attacks, or sending in special strike forces for strategic hits. Oh, that's Hollywood, or is it. Indeed, BBC:

"The city was sealed off Sunday, and many insurgents could have slipped out before then, Lt. Gen. Thomas Metz said. As for al-Zarqawi, Metz said, "I think it would be fair to assume that he has left.'"

Enter Sandman....

Decent days and nights

Tomorrow signals the advent of a fine week chock full 'o' concerts I intend to attend, most of which with my friend Mark. First up is/are The Futureheads, the next best thing since The Jam meets Devo. We saw them open for similarly 80s-infatuated Franz Ferdinand, and they both smoked. They play at Empty Bottle. Next up is Jay Farrar, the appalachian voice of Uncle Tupelo/Son Volt. Saw him once with Son Volt and was bored senseless, but my expectations were, perhaps, unfair at the time. I recall that The Wailers (members of Bob Marley's old band) opened and they blew away the quiet Volts. Dig Farrar's new live album and so this time I know what I'm in for, at Fitzgerald's in Berwyn. Next is American Music Club at Schubas on Saturday night. I've seen them several times before, and the second that I feel I can put Eitzel's insatiable self-pity in my rearview of fond once-loves, they write a song like "Patriot's Heart," which is so damn incisive I just must see them play it live. I know I saw them do it a few months ago, but I didn't have the album yet and so I couldn't be so sure just exactly how ridiculuously good it is. Finally, we see Dogs Die in Hot Cars at Schubas on Monday. Their song, "Celebrity Sanctum" features one of the best choruses I can recall. Which doesn't say much, but it does to/for me. They are XTC meets Dexy's Midnight Runners. I know, but they're frickin' great, okay?

Got a few nice email responses to my first posts yesterday. My long-time and long-lost high school friend (to whom I still owe very much for drawing me out of my adolescent cocoon), Martha, offered me these brilliant quotes to amplify points I made in yesterday's post. I share them here:

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." -Martin Luther King, Jr.
"When the Nazis arrested the Communists, I said nothing; after all, I was not a Communist. When they locked up the Social Democrats, I said nothing; after all, I was not a Social Democrat. When they arrested the trade unionists, I said nothing; after all, I was not a trade unionist. When they arrested the Jews, I said nothing; after all, I was not a Jew. When they arrested me, there was no longer anyone who could protest." -The Rev. Martin Niemöller (the English translation varies, but I believe this is the closest).
"The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any" -Alice Walker

Fallujah war

Anyone else find the following BBC World News summation of the "coalition's" present aims to be just the slightest bit patronizing, if not unnerving:

"The assault on Falluja is aimed at stabilising Iraq ahead of January's poll."

Route the opposition so the Bush administration's hand-picked leaders can win. Long live democracy, imposed or otherwise! What a fucking mess. Did anyone else read how almost two-thirds of the so-called new Iraqi army has deserted in the face of the U.S.' -- I mean, their annihilation of the people of Fallujah?

the neverness hoax

I finally started to decompress over the weekend, in great part resultant of a few factors. One, I rarely if ever jump online at home nowadays and so, isolated from the internet blitz, blogs and emails re the issue(s) of the day, home is something of a sanctuary. Though my wife continues to suffer from nausea associated with her pregnancy, being home together with our bimbo, Adrien, sure is a panacea. Sure I read numerous newspaper articles re the election post mortem, and now, the second battle for fallujah, but when you're home and reading these things with your son sorting and organizing his cars (endlessly), the animus to explode is rather diminished. Moreover, I made the time to make two new compilation cds, to be jointly called, "Whorehouse Desert of the Patriot's Heart." It's a line taken from one of the featured songs, American Music Club's "Patriot's Heart," which is, as you may have surmised, the inspiration for the name of this site. I'll post details on the compilation shortly.
Another thing. It's funny that in the heat and turmoil of the election results there was/is for many an "end of the world" mentality about what is to come, including the outrage/disappointment/embarrassment re the electorate's ultimate focus and/or lack of focus. But then you're driving around to the dunkin' donuts for a coffee, or you're outside with your son cleaning windows and putting up the storm windows and you realize that it's just a different day, same shit.... People outside are suddenly back to the typical norm of NOT talking about issues and politics, but rather who should pay for the removal of a tree leaning over a fence, sidewalk, etc. Another guy (bush supporter) was staining his deck all day listening to talk radio. Another neighbor debated which neighbor's dog was responsible for depositing a turd on my front lawn -- a turd on which I naturally stepped. One young girl, 11 years old, did at least ask me on sunday who won the election. She said she was for Kerry. I told her he lost and, a few minutes thereafter, was back to riding her bike with her sisters by her side. So life goes on, sort of.
This mentality was perhaps best summarized by Linda, Adrien's former daycare provider. When I asked her on election day how she was doing (fine), and whether she would still be able to say the same if bush was re-elected, she said: "I don't think that, whatever the outcome, will affect me sitting here in my little old living room. Not very much does." And that is the point I've been stating over and over about how in my opinion the Bush administration could be given a pass for so much about what they've done and haven't done, re Iraq in particular, but one could easily go beyond that. America is so damn big, and things are so damn easy -- living isolated and disparate from bigger things, larger issues is not merely easy, it is moreover all that most people know and care to know.
Also, congrats to my friend Scott and his wife Eileen and son CJ on the arrival of son/brother Michael Lee Hess. Would that everyone be blessed/fortunate to have healthy children. Finally, I'm posting this email from my friend Casey from the blue State of Ohio. Casey was an awfully staunch conservative back at Kalamazoo College, but I always found -- and still find -- him to be reasonable, logical and unequivocally intelligent. Regardless of how he voted, this says a lot about the new furor of the religious right and their perhaps newfound, unbridled importance in the wake of the perception that they were THE reason Bush was re-elected:

"In short--Nobody but nobody deserves to be re-elected based on the record of the past 4 years, and I include in my assessment of that record the much ballyhooed response to 9/11, which any elected official of even remote competence could have managed on a comparable level. Simply stated, the President was not extraordinary....anyone could've rallied a nation under those circumstances...anyone could've climbed atop the rubble with a bullhorn. Hell, Rudy Giuliani, one of the most monotonous technocrats ever....even he managed to appear inspirational and evoking of leadership-like charisma.

Regardless, I found myself even more repulsed, long before the campaign began in earnest, to the panderings directed towards the religious right...issues such as flag burning, prayer, gay marriage ban amendments....The very idea that they would throw around sacred Constitutional amendments in order to push a moral "values" agenda was sickening. My alarm bells went off long ago. I can't cohabitate in a political party with religious fundamentalists. That's my bottom line...and while Ronald Reagan consistently gave lip service to their agendas, he also left them wanting when it came to substantive advancement of their issues. That's why he was able to manage the diverse interests within the Republican tent (pro-business moderates...hard right neo-cons...religious right, etc.). Bush the Elder failed to placate the hard right (he was always affiliated with the country club rotarian/business wing, as opposed to the fundamentalists and conservatives), and lost because of it (don't forget he lost the Michigan primaries to Pat Robertson in 1987). Bush Junior learned well from the lessons of his elders....he gave the religious right a prominent role and they delivered. There will be no more Reagan lip service, I fear....time will tell. In any event, he and Rove have made their bed, and they will have to sleep with the religious fundamentalists in it....the rest of us will move on."

Hard day's night

It's been extraordinarily difficult for me to cope with the election results, for reasons at least generally alluded to earlier. There is a pit in my stomach that won't go away. I can't see that I will be able to tuck this all away and pretend to cow-tow to the status quo, because the underlying problems not only won't go away, but they were resoundingly re-affirmed. Thus, as though I was victimized by a physical assault, there is a call to do something.
So, what? Matt Good is actually advocating revolution. Though that is how I likewise feel, it seems awfully childish on an intellectual level. A revolution by words, spoken or written, is naive. Picketing, what does that accomplish? Violence? Right. And what would I say? And who would believe me? And what do I know? Nah, it's belief, including my construction of facts I choose to believe. There are obviously no such things as truths self-evident. How do people renounce Kerry as a supporter of gay issues and consciously ignore Cheney's own daughter is gay? How does a father marry, excuse the pun, interests that are so anti-thetical to those of his own child. How do people vote against the environment? How do people vote in favor of the nobility of family and family issues when half of marriages end in divorce, every day you read of fathers and mothers beating, neglecting and/or killing their children? All of this at the exclusion of the web of lies cast over Iraq. It's like hoping against hope, believing against belief, myopia against fact.
Last night at photography class I was working next to the only girl in the class that was a Bush proponent. As she was gloating to the class, boasting of the signs and stickers so continuously and proudly displayed on her lawn (and no doubt, these acinine ribbon stickers on her car!), I wanted to attack and yet what is there to say? You're an idiot? Instead, I just got quieter and tried to keep working, and then, as I ultimately became more enthralled with the dejected thoughts in my head, I left early to watch the Daily Show. Respite. Affirmation? 49% of Americans, and yet, the minority. 50% + 1, indeed.
So, I'll keep my eyes and ears open, continue to support Amnesty, and try and think of what, if anything, I can do ... other than to try and improve myself, for myself, my wife Marla, son Adrien, and future child now three + months in the oven. It starts here, with me, and where I take it ... we'll see.

Election redux ... the blues ain't alright

For starters, this is a culmination of recent emails/posts I've made on the day of, and/or in the wake of the election on 2nd november. Sorry to the extent that some of it is redundant, but this is my way of establishing my base for what is eventually, and hopefully to come on this site.

The first one is an email to Matthew Good:

I believe that there is a block in the synaptic call and response of conservatives' means of processing and regurgitating data. it is downright unnerving to hear some of their figureheads expound upon their beliefs, or worse, fail to be able to address patently obvious flaws, deceptions and holes in U.S. incorporated's engine. Have you ever heard or read Ann Coulter speak? Cheney says a vote for Kerry is a vote for Bin Laden. Hello? I am nervous about tomorrow. The embarrassment I would feel as an American if Bush wins tomorrow would only be trumped by the catastrophic realization of what is to come with another four years with Bush at the helm, closely matched by the catastrophic realization of the gross, appalling stupidity and/or manipulability of fellow Americans. The fact I live in a state (illinois) that will almost surely vote Kerry would be no consolation whatsoever, for what difference would that make? I agree with you that a Kerry victory is not tantamount to the ready transformation of water into wine, as I'm saddened that Kerry is what the Democrats have to offer us, but I further agree that it at the very least could mark a beginning for some positive change that could hopefully ripple throughout years. Wish us luck, Matthew. I hope you and Jen are well, and I'd love to see you sometime soon. Incidentally, my wife is pregnant again -- due 7th May. Her first pregnancy saw 9/11 -- would that this pregnancy sees American voters do what congress and the US media have completely failed to do: Impeach, and call for the immediate impeachment of GWB, respectively. Wearing my Asses of Evil t shirt tomorrow!Cheers,Paul Regelbrugge

Next comes a response to my longtime friend Scott's endorsement of Bush, which came as a shock to me, to say the least:

That's a very sad endorsement, Scott. I suppose since we almost always disagreed about so many things, even in high school, that I shouldn't be surprised. To me, however, that any intelligent person would give the Bush administration a pass for what he/it has done vis-a-vis Iraq is plain sad. I think that there is a blockage in the snyaptic call and response of so many conservatives that they can tuck away life and death issues, lying and manipulation issues of such epic proportions. My mom is a major Bush proponent -- I have asked her twice if my brother/her son Danny (who is in the Army and was sent to Iraq) had died over there if she would only then have been compelled to more closely scrutinize Bush and the rest of the asses of evil/usa inc.'s actions and deceptions. When and why have you come to the point of accepting the status quo, of accepting your manipulation. Pawns we all may be, but at least I'll fight such denigrated status. You're right, should Bush win, I shall refuse to accept it and shall become more active than ever before to do what Congress and the US media are too bought and sold to do: call for the impeachment of the worst president and administration in the history of this country.

Next comes an email to Matthew Good on the day after the election:

Not sure if I'm more embarrassed or sickened. 51% of those at exit polls yesterday were still saying they believe there is a link between Iraq and 9/11. Kerry actually did worse yesterday than Gore did four years ago -- Matt, we're in hell here. I blame the media and usa inc., but it is we the people who are so easily manipulated, so easily duped, so easily swindled and lied to. All the bible-bashing southern states and so much of this country (such small consolation that my state of residence, illinois, and my home state, michigan voted kerry) is so very sadly bought and sold. i was speaking with a neighbor about my outrage last night with how things were panning out, and she responded with the prototypical american response: "So very little affects me in my little old living room that I don't suppose I will feel a difference either way." Do you get that? Do you really understand that this is what it's like here? As two of my all-time favorite bands once said (The Clash and The Sound, respectively): "What are we gonna do now?"disgustedly, ashamedly,Paul Regelbrugge


And next is my invocation of Stiff Little Fingers' song, "Suspect Device", so sadly pertinent today. Big Takeover posters also reminded me of my hero Adrian Borland's "New Dark Age," and I also remember well The Jam's "Going Underground." Here is SLF:

Inflammable material is planted in my headIt's a suspect device that's left 2000 deadTheir solutions are our problemsThey put up the wallOn each side time and prime usAnd make sure we get fuck allThey play their games of powerThey mark and cut the packThey deal us to the bottomBut what do they put back?Don't believe themDon't believe themDon't be bitten twiceyou gotta suss, suss, suss, suss, suss outSuspect deviceThey take away our freedomIn the name of libertyWhy don't they all just clear offWhy won't they let us beThey make us feel indebtedFor saving us from hellAnd then they put us through itIt's time the bastards fellDon't believe themDon't believe themQuestion everything you're toldJust take a look around youAt the bitterness and spiteWhy can't we take over and try to put it right
We're a suspect device if we do what we are toldBut a suspect device can score an own goalI'm a suspect device the Army can't defuseYou're a suspect device they know they can't refuseWe're gonna blow up in their face"--Stiff Little Fingers (Jake Burns)


Next is a response to Scott's various responses to my criticism of his endorsement:

No hard feelings at all, Scott. I just find it stunningly paradoxical that you are ostensibly so liberal on social issues and that you'd then support Bush. You are the opposite, then, of the typical Bush voter, seeing as how the religious right (a/k/a the US equivalent of the Taliban that is now remarkably foisting its will on this country's citizenry) catapulted him to victory. If you don't agree that Bush is a part of USA Inc and he and his administration has no self-motivated/greedy interests/agenda, I can't do anything about that. I don't think you're misinformed, just a little surprised that such a smart person as yourself can take men like george bush at face value. And when I say this, god/allah forbid that I don't say this from a platform as though I'm wiser. You're one of the smartest people and best writers I know, and I've told you so before. Until recently, I was chronically disinterested in politics because it never spoke to/for me. Now knowing what I know and/or believe, as you may wish to point out, I find it unacceptable not to voice my concerns, fears and hopes. If I can do more than that, I certainly intend to do so. Every life lost in Iraq, on both sides, is 100% intolerable to me. If your conscience tells you to condemn religious zealotry's stranglehold on social and environmental reform, among so many other issues, then I just couldn't understand a vote for Bush. I'm not saying this on your blog because the last thing I want is for your mom, just like my mom by the way -- who is likewise a bush lover, to think that I'm attacking her son. Friend, indeed.Incidentally, that's funny about what you said my dad said. Given my relationship with my dad, it's easy to forget that he oft dispensed pearls of wisdom.As for m-m-mikey, whatever. I'm happy to debate these issues with anyone, just not people who can't stay above the board and refrain from getting personal. I just wasn't sure at first if it wasn't your buddy mulligan. cheers, and god bless you and eileen and c.j. upon the advent of your new child,Paul

And finally to Scott:

That's all well, Scott, you're a great friend and good person, period. Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11, though, let alone terrorism per se. Even the devil Bush now admits that, Scott. If America really cared about ridding the world of all bad people, what of Sudan and the whole of northwest africa, for example. Hmm, no money in it, is there? Guess that means it's okay for THOSE tyrants to remain in power. Let me ask you this, let's say your family lived in present-day Iraq as Iraqis and your wife and child were killed by, say, a U.S. soldier via bomb or otherwise. You tell me you wouldn't do everything in your power to kill Americans, possibly including a strike against Bush somehow? I know I would. I know my life would matter so very little without them under such circumstances. If you wouldn't, then that's where we differ fundamentally. See, in my opinion, most terrorists aren't terrorists for the sake of being a terrorist, but rather because of causes, directly and indirectly against them. That our actions have undoubtedly set in motion hordes of new, budding terrorists is just wonderful to me. Keep it up, georgie.Alright, that's the last I'll speak of this to you now. We obviously disagree and so I'll move on. I'll certainly tell my son and future child who they have to thank for the world they're inheriting, environmentally, socially and safety-wise (ie, the bush admin in such overwhelming part).Again, I hope all goes so great with the second birth and here's to a tremendously healthy and beautiful baby!Paul

death of the butterfly collector/the end of the trail

Here is the one, er, and only thing of substance I did on my nascent butterfly collector blog, ie., lyrics/writings for my longtime imaginary band, one emaciated reckoning. These "songs" are culled from their latest album -- penned by its mythical protagonist, Thomas P. Canton, "The End of The Trail."

One emaciated reckoning… the end of the trail

1 graham gorman
2 eddie colquhoun
3 roger gene
4 graham oates
5 peter jones
6 john case
7 walter preisz
8 simon minors
9 ian mclean
10 bob lohrman
11 franco pertot
12 dieter busch
13 the end of the trail

“graham gorman”

sorrow rests in a bed of straw,
sorrow lays on heads of sons.
dread is days
of just being average,
dead is days of being ignored.
suffer the son
you’d prayed for a god,
spite the spit
on bottoms of lips.
this is venom
this is not anger;
this is inside
far too deep to show,
let alone ever tell.
bite the lip
and suck it up,
divest yourself of real
and imagine yourself still the boy
you wish you’d had instead.
everything ahead
and nothing behind,
clouds were dream depots
and not passing time.
god dwells in heads of boys,
the devil lays on calendar pages.


“eddie colquhoun”

eddie colquhoun,
promotion is soon.
you do what you can,
oblivious to limits
by which they define you,
with wicked tongue
butchery
and endless drink.
life of the party
but slow as a gimp,
others preceded you
and others shall follow.
it’s simple,
like you,
to get away with it all
in song and alcohol;
to never be taken seriously
even when you mean what you say
as though your life depends upon it.
eddie colquhoun,
with dreams of promotion
but so much closer to relegation.
eddie colquhoun,
if you only knew….



“roger gene”

innocence lost
is your good fortune found,
the devil you knew
is the devil you have become.
your prayers to the third kind
have brought you this;
wide eyes and dreams
to shut and to quash.
chasing tail lights to a world
away from this world,
the windows won’t open
and the doors they are locked
except from the outside.
you stifle a laugh
and scratch your beard
salted in childish tears
and kernels of popcorn.
you churn your mistakes
and make them not matter
in rainstorms
in parks
and dirty sofas
and shag carpets.
you are the sum
of your deeds
and you drink
and you drink
and you drink.
the sun never shines
in your living room,
yet the heat is just too much
for you to leave well enough alone.
the heat is far too much
for you to ever be any good
at all.



“graham oates”

she could survive,
but for what?
so far away from home
and the means
by which she had a hold on him,
she’d talk and wear nothing
but mostly she’d talk
about nothing.
her man was better
than he knew he ever was,
because believing in that
made her feel better about herself.
he was tall
and his smile
made women melt
and men stare at the floor,
but as long as she was beside him,
she was on top of the world.
but it was never like that for him.
even when she’d wear
next to nothing,
he was still next to her
with her talk about nothing.
even if he knew nothing
more than her endless words
that would bore him so much,
even he knew enough
to say nothing at all
and just smile…
to make the women melt
and the men reach for another beer.



“peter jones”

television on
beyond biscuits and news at ten,
you closed the door behind you
and set out to see the world.
but you couldn’t see
the hole in the ground,
now could you?
you couldn’t see the caution horses
sleeping on their sides
fail to warn,
now did you?
falling down,
it just hit you then
how you had to stop
beating yourself up;
eating yourself inside
for who and what you are.
only then did you realize
you must lead your own life
and not for your mum.
but the pain
of the tragic recognition of self
got physical,
and then you went mental.
and so mum
put all your toys in the attic,
and threw out all your shoes.
and then mum smiled
and brought out lemon biscuits
… and this you did enjoy,
as you plugged yourself in
to the tele
and laughed aloud
for ever having thought about yourself
and a dream
to see the world
as it really is,
because you already knew.



“john case”

years ago,
you stopped asking why.
head held high
even in defeat,
you loved to love
and took as a given
that everyone strives
for the light of goodness;
for the light of kindness.
maybe you wouldn’t change the world
or write epic poems
from the sofa of your living room
in a suburb made of plastic,
but you could love
because it’s all you ever knew.
you stopped asking why
he wouldn’t shake your hand,
you stopped staring
out the window
at the clouds passing by
and the squirrels
chasing each other dizzy
as you wondered
why you wandered
to offer that man your hand.
you were an open book
so obvious,
but obviously kind.
the stare he cast
and rage he exhaled
froze all you knew
and thought you could know.
the cold was never colder
than the day he changed your world,
now bad spirits
pervade your world view
and bathe your optimism in booze,
and the simple life
in anger
apathy
and dread.



“walter preisz”

the doors of perception
depend on your perspective.
hours of need
become night after night
of retreat.
where is the inspiration?
color the dawn
with the shapes in your mind,
then cling to the moon;
no one cares.
words unspoken
…ingenious;
no one here has ears.
distant laughter
surrounded by voices
the walls are nearer;
where is the air?
smoke circles
like Indian signals;
distress calls
in someone’s mother’s tongue.
no one here has eyes
or secret decoders
or the time of day.
drawn breath
painted life;
time,
where is the music?



“simon minors”

oceans away
from kippers for breakfast,
lick the salt
around another margherita glass;
then stare in all directions.
goofy
like an unmanned train,
hitch a ride
across america
with empty pockets
empty glass,
but an accent
worth its weight in silver.
motherless child,
motherless children
never shine like the sun,
so you never did.
neon signs
cheap motels
and the stench
of falling on your face,
if you don’t speak out
then you will have nothing.
if you don’t break out
then you are nothing.
trace your face
on the back of the girl
and break out…
laughing.






“ian mclean”

trees laid bare
frozen breath
and alone.
atmosphere
soft narcotics
and flight.
engineer,
there are no engines
and the design is corrupt.
highlander,
we have no clothes;
only bagpipes.
we gave
took nothing
and yet we are discarded.
we are kind
well, we were kind
but we’re modernized
accessorized
and betrayers of nature.
we are humble
and we have no stomach
to fight the fight.
highlander,
we cannot helm this family
but we can run.
drinking
cleansing…
cue the music.
in october
we’d listen,
but understand nothing.
electricity
sparks
we are aliens….


“bob lohrman”

shhhhh…
no wake
no heart
no mind.
the endless summers
are no longer peopled by youth,
and so the summers end
so much sooner.
sick
regrets became mountains,
and though you imagined you stood
atop the highest, snowy peak,
you never learned how to ski.
regrets creep up
like spiders to flies
ensnared in webs
as you were in life.
how does it feel
to feel nothing?
what is it like
to forget the voices
of your children
when they were children
and the music blared so loud
you could not distinguish
the priceless few thoughts you ever did summon?
smiling, laughing
you wore them like cheap suits
as life wore you
like a has been
before your time.
as life wore you
out.
suck in, spit out
suck up, spit out.
old uniforms, new uniforms
decaying buildings
demolition crews….
your absence
means absolutely nothing.



“franco pertot”

piano
in silence
pebble
still water
take cover
behind clouds
like a yellow moon,
but cast a different light;
keep trying.
count backwards
blindfolded laughter
the funeral director waits
and he waits.
the trail will end
but you can’t see it.
take cover
keep playing
like boys
on hot rooftops
tall fields
and in your mind.
wrists without watches
at war with time,
suspend your belief
until she says no
tomorrow,
and she will.
the son doesn’t get older
only bigger;
the sun overhead
is no different,
and still the clouds come
and so you surely must remain
as you were
again.
believe it
will it
drink to it
sleep to it
cry to it,
until north is no more
and trying is pointless.
until your glass is empty
and you cry like never before.

“dieter busch”

there is no feeling,
then you kill memory
and hope to snuff out hope.
the trail is long
step after another
and up and down
a mountain,
but the pain has got nothing
on the heft of your breath,
and the flowers
may as well be dead
to eyes too distracted
by their singular focus
on the black and the white.
you set out in the sixties
the sun in the west
laughing and loving
before you knew what they meant.
loss
means never having to say
you are sad,
and never seeing the world
just as the world.
like a hand that can’t write
and a dog that can’t bite,
you just are.
feed you
pour you drinks;
pick you up
and place you there
so you are not here.
keep the worker in line
with job after job
so he doesn’t have to think.


“the end of the trail”

at the end of the night
behind bloodshot eyes,
you douse your last smoke
in the bottom of your last shot glass,
look up at your reflection
and see a clown
staring back at you.
great pretender,
you have faked your way through
another vagabond day.
when the smoke settles
and the last call bell has tolled,
you somehow recollect
a way home
where you somehow muster life
to wash your obvious face
down the drain
and cast away your indistinct clothes,
but still the tears do linger.
she won’t see them
but they are there,
and you wonder tonight
like all others
how you will ever sleep.
you’ll picture the end of the trail
and be glad there are no crossroads
because you fare so miserably
when confronted with options.
eventually you might nod off
until you need to piss,
but by then there is too much light
and even you can see
that you have but one choice
when you reach the end of the trail,
and that is to turn back.
you could do it
and you know it
but you are too scared,
and you just know damn well
you’ll hear the alarm bell ringing
in a moment or two,so what would be the use?

Soyez le bienvenue....

Given recent events, obviously and specifically including Bush's re-election, I am compelled to more regularly contribute to my own blog now, rather than just pop onto blogs, websites, and email addresses of others. Will I accomplish anything? In theory, I can achieve more if I say something more than nothing -- if only for myself. That's a start, I suppose. So, I'm eradicating, or at least abandoning my butterfly collector blog, which was too limp-wristed in that its inception was born exclusively of creation, rather than negation. This blog aims to do both, to thereby pay homage to the ever-gelling juxtaposition that I am.