Talking to the ghosts.

January 30, 2009 at 7:28 pm | Posted in podcast, writing | 32 Comments
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He holds his mittened hands over the burning drum. Sense of place as a function of uniqueness of voice, do I have an accent? I like it when they stumble down this dead end looking for Australian sentences and as any strangler of the lungsandwitch language will tell you a big part of the train ride is looking for creating discovering A VOICE! he yells into the darkness of the alley scattering the rats then whispers quoting Squires, the only thing spellcheckers and grammar machines ever spelled was the death of style.

‘I have known dogs with more style than most humans,’ says the ghost of Bukowhiskey to him. Yeah well, you and Rimbaud, they might love your pottery but they ain’t gonna invite you in for dinner and meet the children are they,  hitching his trousers and spitting into the dying fire.

My fellow bums, he addresses the empty alley, it is the very fact that we offend their sense of propriety that justifies our existence. Whilst the hypocrite boojwah will always accept one or two of us into their sanitised galleries to proove their cool, we must never forget that it is their noses which decide their morality. Nothing marks you as a lesser being more than the stench of life.  I’m cold, throw another piano on that fire.

(This piece has been podcasted here. (1 min 20 secs))

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32 Comments »

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  1. Mind if I share the heat of the fire, Paul? I’ll bring the whiskey.

    Comment by Brad Frederiksen— January 30, 2009 #

  2. You nailed it. Never for anyone else, but always for oneself.

    Renee

    Comment by Renee Khan— January 31, 2009 #

  3. wow incredible. tho i disagree. nothing marks you as a higher being more than the stench of life ha ha

    Comment by tipota— January 31, 2009 #

  4. and stench perception is highly conditional too
    quit sniffing, it wasnt me i tell ya

    Comment by tipota— January 31, 2009 #

  5. I’ll refer to this whenever I need a pick me up:

    “My fellow bums, he addresses the empty alley, it is the very fact that we offend their sense of propriety that justifies our existence. Whilst the hypocrite boojwah will always accept one or two of us into their sanitised galleries to proove their cool, we must never forget that it is their noses which decide their morality. Nothing marks you as a lesser being more than the stench of life. I’m cold, throw another piano on that fire.”

    Thanks 🙂

    Comment by cocoyea— January 31, 2009 #

  6. I really liked this piece, Paul. Reminds me to make sure that I’m keeping my own moral compass pointed in a true direction based on my values and not my…uh…comfort.

    Comment by Grace— January 31, 2009 #

  7. Hmmmm, I wanted him to have a scratch too. Fabulous atmosphere in this… a new one for you and very definitely intriguing.

    Comment by Narnie— January 31, 2009 #

  8. Hysterical, fresh and lively. Great play with language, as always. ‘Bukowhiskey’ and ‘boojwah’ are my favorite word moments- the double play on boo and bourgeois is a small stoke of brilliance.

    Comment by harmonie22— January 31, 2009 #

  9. Yes!

    That was kind of a cry for the democratising of art, bringing back art as the expression of the soul, as opposed to a dead subject to interest the critics alone.

    Comment by Crushed— January 31, 2009 #

  10. hi paul

    those pianos quick up quite a flame; the pitch is perfect and i hear your voice singing

    Comment by art predator— January 31, 2009 #

  11. Reminds me a little of a story Tom Waits used to tell. He was walking home after a gig one night in St. Paul, MN when he stumbled across a trash can with a bum inside. The Bum was singing “Bacteria! Bacteria! Bacteria!” in this three note rising melody, over and over. What a moment.
    I like your story this time as always. P.S. You are right of course

    Comment by Paul M. Peterson— January 31, 2009 #

  12. Great stuff! ‘Boojwah’ and ‘I’m cold, throw another piano on that fire.’ – so you, so great!

    Comment by Simonne— January 31, 2009 #

  13. sense of place as function of uniqueness of voice, I hadn’t thought of it like that before but yes

    Comment by Crafty Green Poet— February 1, 2009 #

  14. … “Sense of place as a function of uniqueness of voice” and “boojwah” my favorites :)!!! I have no sense of place that i know of, i searched

    Love it! I am running out of creative ways to say that here 😦

    Comment by Mental Mist— February 1, 2009 #

  15. This is so consistently powerful throughout, from the search for voice to the looking for morality with their noses (like dogs?). I so much love your commentaries on the world and process of art.

    Comment by The Querulous Squirrel— February 2, 2009 #

  16. paul, i think that buk and rambo would’ve both been pleased, and i don’t throw those names around lightly, and neither do you, as your framework actually holds them up. great work, as usual.

    Comment by jason— February 2, 2009 #

  17. I have definitely known dogs with more style than most humans. Hallelujah.

    Comment by Selma— February 2, 2009 #

  18. [sniff sniff]

    never the stench of mendacity here…

    there is, however, quite an overpowering odor of verisimilitude… and there is no better air freshener on the face of the earth…

    Comment by Chico Mahalo— February 3, 2009 #

  19. Wow!

    Comment by hayat— February 3, 2009 #

  20. Wow! Cool bananas, segue quickly in and out of vodpod, you guys Rock! What an orchestra. Drummer string section, perfectly passed on solos, let’s party. Where’s Bootsy?

    Comment by Paul— February 3, 2009 #

  21. i agree with harmonie, your use of language is wonderful, fresh, unique.

    i also agree with Tipota (nothing marks you as a higher being more than the stench of life)

    Love: My fellow bums, he addresses the empty alley, it is the very fact that we offend their sense of propriety that justifies our existence.

    always a treat when I arrive.

    Comment by openchannel— February 4, 2009 #

  22. A dalmation, or a streamlined greyhound absolutely have more style than most humans.

    Not more than Rimbaud, though.

    Comment by Roberta— February 5, 2009 #

  23. Squires, submit this piece to any journal doing anything remotely themed like this.
    Love and hugs,
    Deux Ex Machina.

    Comment by Paul— March 19, 2009 #

  24. Paul, this spits sparks. The pianos are playing discordant symphonies and the spellcheckers and grammar machines are trembling in their boots. Superb!

    Comment by gnunn— March 25, 2009 #

  25. I miss far too much. Thanks for sticking this one back at the top.

    Whew! The company you keep! High game with skippers.

    Comment by Wayne— March 25, 2009 #

  26. Wow, that seriously rocked. Talk about style — you have it in abundance!

    Let’s hear it for the stench of life. 🙂

    Comment by Thomma Lyn— March 26, 2009 #

  27. i too found this wonderful, paul and very visual and visceral – not to mention the scent of something familiar and strangely comforting.

    Comment by louise waller— March 26, 2009 #

  28. it is beautiful indeed, and that ending…”I’m cold, throw another piano on that fire.” there is irony and sadness and…

    Comment by Annamari— March 26, 2009 #

  29. so much hard-hitting, genuine playfulness here…really quite a read…

    Comment by Chico Mahalo— March 26, 2009 #

  30. Wow! I mean simply, elementally wow! This piece blew me apart, and blew me away! 🙂 One of my utter favorites by you…

    Comment by Sumedh Prasad— March 27, 2009 #

  31. i gave you an award: http://vesperinlimbo.wordpress.com/2009/03/25/1190/
    Thankyou, I’m honoured.

    Comment by vesper de vil— March 27, 2009 #

  32. It is a brilliant piece and the podcast adds even more. The last line is perfectamundo.

    Comment by Gabrielle Bryden— January 3, 2010 #


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