April 2004 Archives

How come nobody's building arks?
Everybody's building boats.
I wish someone would build me an ark.
Pray that it floats.....

I'll be posting a few (usually fairly short) tunes up as we go. Some solo multitrack homebrew this and that. Some long-distance musica-collabarativo. And the occasional piano/vocal jazz standard from 1926.

Here's the first tune out the gate, a piano/vocal jazz standard from 1926: "Bye bye, blackbird," written by the great Henderson and Dixon.

playtime:1 minute or so
file specs: roughly 1MB mp3
how to:right-click on the song name and choose "Save Target as..." to download the file. Or just click on the link and wait a minute or so for your player to come up. If it's jumpy, give it a sec, rewind, and play again -- that's just the file loading in.

Thanks for listening...

Sitting and snacking at the local tea shop
surprised to be sucking up 
whole tapioca 
in a wide straw.

  Bloop.

Endlessly
elevating.

Fat and flavorless and full of --

  Bloop.
  Bloop.

Never smooshed 
though smooshed 
should be
  in my not-so-smooth
  smoothie.

True-fact dialog tonight between my 6-year-old daughter and my 3-year-old son:

She: "Why is 6 afraid of 7?"
He: "Cuz 7 is a monster."

And I don't know. I just find that funny.

I mean, yeah, the more traditional response would be "because 7 8/ate 9."
And sure, that's what they want him to say.
But really, strictly speaking, he's right.

9 is gone. 7 is a monster.
And 6 is wise to fear.

Political aside: New edgewise post on the real John Kerry, here.

I almost never do this.
Almost. Never.
  So clickety close to never.

  Not never actually,
  Not actually "never."

But like -- this close.

The cinnamon chicken 
slid off the car roof.

Gourmet exploding.
Big
 messy 
   boom.

  Plate shards, scattered like shark teeth.
  Chicken shards, scattered like chicken.
  On the driveway. In the lawn.

And jeez:
  what a strange fate

  for this 
  lightly basted
  cinnamon flavored
    crispy yum yum
    child of God.

1. I am a monkey what likes to learn.
2. I know this sounds whacky, but keeping a semi-regular journal, which I've started doing these last few months, seems to kinda maybe sorta be improving my long term memory in strange and spooky ways.
3. Coming up with a decent joke that uses the phrase "long term mammary" at 11:48 pm on a Monday night, is much harder than you might think. In fact, it's impossible.

    Cat-pinned
    warm butterfly
      me beneath the blanket
      with my warm beneath the blanket
        in my crook
        she's a tack
        pinned me down
    till I flutter flutter
    stop.

    she stays warm
    I can't move
    she don't care.

    and I stop.