everybody on the one,

June 25, 2009 at 6:51 pm | Posted in antihaiku, poetry, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 9 Comments
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Standstill, if you leave a little space
between breaks a sandhill
there’s room between running late
and the desert, son,
he says putting his arm round my shoulders
smelling of salt fish and a sparkling
perfume there’s a reason
for the Cocoyea then lead bass guitar
and for an essential anonymity
of the artist, says Bootsy
handing me his sunnies and
lighting a big fat one.


or die trying,

May 9, 2008 at 6:22 pm | Posted in podcast, writing | 15 Comments
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Bang, F slams his glass down on the piano but by now i know its coming so i don’t drop the right hand, where’s Bootsy says F. out of the corner of his mouth while watching her cross the room with a trrrrailll of silk perfume, play an old standard he says to me clapping me on the back and filling my glass magically again with a wave of his hand, where’s three card? i’m bored, she wants to go to the theatre, the theatre! two hours of watching other people’s lives instead of living your own, fuck that play something loud and spiritual,
Live at the Orchid Room
more mad experiments with nonlinear time,
rage on, I say,

Sorry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(a big one)

May 6, 2008 at 7:12 pm | Posted in music, poetry, writing | 15 Comments
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opens the lid, takes a deep breath, in the spirit of Randallian hangin’ honesty, and a tip of the hat to the mighty F.G. Franklin, listening to Albert King very loud thru the headphones,
woooooo, hahaha, i dare you
underneath that powder and paint,
pretty woman, what’s the matter with you,
i already apologised, twice i think,
(Three Card, slicks his hand into his pocket,
Mamu flinches almost into a grin,
i keep my eyes on the piano, i am telling you,
i am remembering the first time i actually saw Art
Tatum play,

by the way, you can find me Monday Nights, at the Orchid Room,
and Saturday afternoon,

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