Tuesday, September 27, 2011

The Cascadia Chronicles: pt. 1

There's so much i could say about Portland, Or. and the Pacific Northwest, in general. I've been waiting around for the muse to strike, for the perfect moment, to summarize some of my impressions, from travelling this summer. Yet this perfection eludes me, its just another funky Tues. afternoon, high on coffee, low on food. Inspired and terribly normal, in one fell stroke.

Since i've been travelling, i essentially live everywhere and nowhere, simultaneously. Allows me the freedom of escaping humdrum routines and hamster-wheel thinking. This is not hedonism, for me, its how i live. Because of this, being new to the Northwest, i've been able to view this place, almost as an anthropologist, but also a pilgrim or devotee. So many interesting threads and currents, i hope to pick them all apart, and look at them separately, as a means of reviewing hopeful trends alive and kicking in this world, in this day and age. I refute, i downright condemn, the nostalgic defeatists, constantly pining for times before they were born. This is the single-most exciting and important time in history. Everybody's waking up, people are hitting the road, giving up their homes, asking more existential questions, getting together more often.

Its this last tendency that i would like to speak about, first. Getting together. Potluck, singalong, campfire, berry-picking; a complete 180 degrees from the passive, pointless television zombie world that is prevalent around where i grew up (or the internet zombie that is prevalent everywhere :), i've spent the whole summer playing music with people, making dinners, having parties, starting bands, sitting on the porch. This is not only with the sweet group of friends i've made along the way, but also amazing artists and musicians, at tiny indie festivals, and around the towns where they live. They run record stores and recording studios and food carts. They are out and around, and everybody is just another human being. I find this, in stark contrast, to the hipster elitism, the cold stand-offish putdown that i have found a lot of other places. And it is this little spark, this tiny tendril, that has set off such a wildfire in my imagination.

Our band could be yr life. Our life could be yr band. Audience and performer, inseparable. True punk rock, true DIY, true ETHOS. Share what you have. Give it freely. Welcome people into yr scenes. Talk about other people's art, and what they're doing. Sing in public. By breaking down the barriers, of 'artist' and 'regular person', it opens the field for everyone to raise their voice, to speak their truth, to spread a message of constructivism and positivity. Its about getting together and inspiring one another.

I've been so inspired, so healed by getting to know all of these amazing people, spending so much time in amazing nature. There is something so HOLY going on here in the Pacific Northwest. I really feel like i've found my home, my spiritual center. It has alleviated so much of my cluelessness and aimlessness and anxiety. To root, to come to ground, and to radiate outward. So much more can be done, with a home and a family.

Today's the day. Carpe diem. Go start a band!





The Godfather - Calvin Johnson @ Helsing Junction

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

i, you, us, we ,me

We are light, dancing
moving on the water

We are a fire, casting
flickering shadows

We are long, hushed conversations
in the night time

We are the primal, pulsing
Nyabinghi heartbeat

We are the Earth's poems & prayers
prophets, sinners, madmen, poets, dreamers, saints

With dirt on our faces, we lift
them to the sky
to be kissed by the dew

We are a rising constellation
a distant, lonely trumpet
crying out!
We are trees, we are moss
We are oceans, VAST
We are mountains, patient
We are horses & jaguars & eagles
& kittens & crows & slugs
We are shooting stars
but we are also the sunrise

We are a soft kiss,
a sigh,
a gentle hand on yr forehead
a gentle caress on yr back

A cock crows thrice
A new day has begun
My brothers & sisters,
you cut me with silken daggers
you kill me with yr kindness
You sucked the poison from bended knee
You spit it out in a breath of glitter.

The Sweet Hereafter


Rock Gods, the time is now!
Bacchus, Dionysus, Pan
Osiris; Hail, Hail the sun!
Hail, hail the killing bullet!
Hail, hail the killing moon.

I will go where i'm called
The dark forest at night.

Douglas firs, looming
Giant spiders, looming
grooming, weaving, spinning
Spitting a marble tomb
a marble sun
Frozen, cyclical
i am honey
i am dewdrop
i am dissolving, daily

A Fender amp, a country
backbeat, greatness marching
'cross 2000 miles of open plains
but love is not a victory march
it is a cold, it is a broken
Hallelujah.

I will give you my guts
my sweat
my love
my devotion
i will tell yr future
i will tell you a story

Sometimes i'm far, far away
from any home i've ever known
and i can't even remember what it
feels like to be warm,
well-fed
Fourteener revelations by
a spectral, glowing glacier

all is ancient
all is laid bare

The old Gods, new Gods
they're calling me
calling me to a new home
beneath sun & stars & sky

I am dissolving
I am lonely
I am afraid
I want so badly to be held
to be kissed
to be reassured

But this is wild MAGICK
focused
ferocious
red in tooth & claw
walking the path of the moon
a garden variety lunatic;
prone to melancholy
delusions of grandeur;
i'm so far past caring

i lost that by the side of the road
somewhere in Kansas

Guitar player, you light me up
like Mesopotamia
i am hanging in the gardens
adorned in Spanish moss &
bougainvillea
spilling prophecy, rubies &
tears of blood

Jesse Sykes, you sing my spirit
you ease my loneliness
you steel my resolve
to do what needs to be done
I will go to the edge of the world
again and again and again
i will wander the empty spaces
the forgotten places

I will climb mountains and
burn in the sun, until i
am clean

Negrado, Negrado
yr opinions matter not
crowds are not welcome here
I left you 10,000 feet below

all is silent now
silent & blue

Michael Hurley in the Woods



Perfect Peace, absolution
benevolence rises like a cloud
to bend and float around the trees.

A choir of cherubim, erupting
from 6 thin strings,
steel,
vibrating,
stamping their hooves
shaking their wings
shaking the earth
A wake up call,
gentle.

Its all about reading
between the lines
its all about what's
not being said;
A hidden cypher, for
the initiated,
hidden in 8 tempered notes
and fairy tale fables.

Michael, i am also a wolf.
Michael, i am also wild.
Michael, i am also fierce and gentle.

You raise the light
You dispel the darkness
with yr flaming guitar.

What a perfect crucifixion
falling in slo-motion, with
a head full of sparks,
falling like a roman candle,
pierced with lavender arrows

This is God and Goddess
dancing a 2-step
A Satie Waltz in the Cistine Chapel

This is living underwater,
and learning to breathe
and learning to fly
and learning to BURN
& HOWL;

We do not fight with fists and bottles
and bricks.
We will kill you with our echoes
a subtle erosion,
until you are dancing in our conga line.
Until you have joined the ghost dance.

This is an inevitable evolution,
graceful and unavoidable,
the most beautiful dream in the world.

Mon. Night at the Royal; @ Greta Jane Quartet

A Flaming Corona;
A Woman, illuminated
like a rainbow saint, sanctified
hunched over her laptop
banjo case at her side.

An apple orgasm,
a pitcher of clear water,
a stained glass chandelier,
ruby & umber
i hide under the table,
july
tears me open like azure thunder
i hide, i run for cover
hands over my neck, i shield
and pray for the Holocaust.

A paint-splattered outlet
threatens me,
seduces me, cajoles me with
shrieks and squawks,
like a Mulligan sax,
a mulligan stew of threats, promises
psalms, esoteric lectures
on Irish Literature.

The 1920's come to life again,
wearing a Hibiscus headdress
while the '40s adorns itself in
ebony & ivory
The air smells like hairspray &
stale beer

Purity is not allowed here
Purity is always near
Purity, on the midnight clear
Purity, all that i hold dear

Midnight in the garden of
was and never, all roads tend
to roam, when you are never
here nor there;
perpetual transition
forever off the map,
off the grid,
the long dark juke joint of the soul.

Where bargains are made and struck
like silver coins,
and guitars promise moonlight,
a private beach
a warm bath.

The piano is hairy, barbarous
catches you up in a Latin snare
a salsa care in the world
a stable chair, with which to
sit and stare,
at the void.

Ring around the rosies
pocket full of samsara
pierced like St. Stephen
with Hepatitis needles
We are all martyrs to the faded romance
pressed like prim roses in the massive
tome of repressed emotion.

The motion of the ocean, springing
up with cobra fangs, a Freudian notion
Sex Death Resurrection

What would you give, to realize dreams of flight?
What would you give, for second sight?
What would you give, to lay down yr stage fright?

All this, and more, riddles the
sphinx, before he devours yr lies
for lunch.
All this, before the spiders eat
yr eyes.
All this, before you are cocooned in
serpents,
and you are resurrected as a firefly.

Monday, July 25, 2011

unexpected



Holy crow!!! I'm gonna volunteer at this! They asked for a deposit for new volunteers, which i was not able to come up with, but it looks like they accepted me anyway! CALIFONE! JESSE SYKES! MICHAEL HURLEY! LAURA VEIRS! Lots of other musicians i don't even know yet! Plus i get to meet lots of people, and help out to make the whole thing happen! I absolutely love this life!


I was feeling momentarily bummed, and kind of clueless as to what i should be doing with myself. Was starting to feel less like a travelling mystic and more like a run of the mill homebum, which certainly makes for far less writing. See, i do it for you, dear readers. Do my utmost to have a vivid, thought-provoking life, full of adventure, travel, and romance. I hope yr out there, doing the same...


Don't know when i'm leaving yet, or how i'm gonna get there. Got 2 bucks in my pocket, but i got food stamps and a new pair of headphones that aren't stabbing me in my skull. I'm on my way, will update when i can!

Sunday, July 24, 2011

bleak




"I arrive home from work, drained and empty. Too tired for human interaction, I press the buttons on the remote and stare blankly into the big TV box. It's not long before the commercials and endless parade of product placements overwhelm my defenses and penetrate my mind. Every detail of every message is meticulously calculated, designed to be repetitive and hypnotic, played over and over until the mindfuck finally kicks. In. My head is now filled with fatuous desire. Fast forward. Like a junkie on a comedown, I stumble into the sterile mall corridors as if in some kind of trance. The motley group of shoppers surrounding me, all the same - glazed eyes, blank stares, faces twisted into ugly masks of want. We are an army of zombies. Instead of brains and human flesh, we devour strategically placed merchandise and affordably priced products manufactured in China. I quickly drain my plastic cards and my soul, returning home with my bounty of shopping bags. All filled with mass produced garbage, quickly tossed onto a pile of all the other trash I've accumulated. Tomorrow I will wake up, have my coffee and leave the comfort and security of my home for work. I will spend another long and tedious day in the indentured monotony that masquerades as a job. When it's over, I will again return home and rest in front of the big TV box and wait for the radiating commercials, like little particles penetrating what is left of my mind. And every night I tell myself, 'maybe one of these days, I'll pull the plug." - Malcolm Klimowicz