He was a rock star, wearing an orange t-shirt while the rest of the band wore gray.
Showing off his practiced dance moves on particle board.
Strumming a big guitar. Stomping one boot in rhythm.
Sending out bass and drum
to a crowd of sun-sweat smiley college boys and girls
who sat and stood and stared
and clapped and vibrated.
And the middle-aged guys were out in numbers.
Bald under favored baseball caps.
Pants stained from the gogurt
their kids ate that morning.
And everyone had bottled water.
And then the vibration closed
and cooled and stopped.
And the crowd roared at the rock star.
And they roared at each other
And they roared at themselves.
roar.
(image from the show — with the orange and gray swapped out for white jumpsuits — here.)
Cecil Vortex
x-post: Monkey Man one-liner of the day
Political aside: New edgewise post featuring a genuine, imported Monkey Man quip, here.
Little
Sudden roar. Minature Thor.
Why'd that bee sting my eye for?
(with a sideways nod to Robert Creeley)
Arks
How come nobody’s building arks?
Everybody’s building boats.
I wish someone would build me an ark.
Pray that it floats…..
Bye Bye, Blackbird
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…
They rise, they rise
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.
Why is 6 afraid of 7?
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.
x-post: The real John Kerry
Political aside: New edgewise post on the real John Kerry, here.
Close to never
I almost never do this. Almost. Never. So clickety close to never.
Not never actually, Not actually "never."
But like -- this close.
Crispy yum yum child of God
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.