vs.
saxon
vs.
Rick MF James
e hënë, 30 korrik 2007
e premte, 27 korrik 2007
e enjte, 26 korrik 2007
Get Confident, Stupid!
sorry, but I'm really into lists lately. so ... heres a list of my favorite Troy Mclure films and self help videos:
The Wackiest Covered Wagon in the West
Here comes The Coast Guard
Gladys The Groovy Mule
Today We Kill, Tomorrow We Die
Dial M For Murderousness
The Erotic Adventures Of Hercules
'P' Is For Psycho
The Boatjacking of Supership 79
Coffee, Tea, or Fiddle Dee Dee
Eenie Meeni Miney, Die
Troy and Company's Summertime Smile Factory
The World Without Zinc
Fuzzy Bunny's Guide To You-Know-What
Here Comes The Metric System
Lead Paint: Delicious But Deadly
Alice's Adventures through the Windshield Glass
The Half-Assed Guide to Foundation Repair
We're Sending our Love Down the Well
Get Confident, Stupid!
Smoke Yourself Thin
e mërkurë, 25 korrik 2007
e martë, 24 korrik 2007
Concept Album
Fantasy Concept Album # 387
----------------------
Psychedelic Idiom Odyssey (in quad sound)
side 1:
A Bird In a Dozen Buckets is worth a Piece Of Cake
A Fool And His Money Make The Heart Grow Fonder
A Slap On The Wrist Speaks Louder Than Words
All That Glitters Is Not a Dead Horse
side 2:
All Bark And No Bush
Don't count your Sleeping Dogs until they're in the Frying Pan
Blood Is Thicker Than Wolves
Burning The Tongue At Both Ends
side 3:
Spilt Milk In Sheep's Clothing Has A Silver Lining
Bygones Make Waste
You Can't Judge A Pig by its Salty Old Wound
When It Rains, It tastes like medicine
side 4:
Over My Dead Foot in my Mouth
Great Minds Who Live In Glass Houses Should Raise Cain
Idle Hands Are The Devil's Heels
----------------------
Psychedelic Idiom Odyssey (in quad sound)
side 1:
A Bird In a Dozen Buckets is worth a Piece Of Cake
A Fool And His Money Make The Heart Grow Fonder
A Slap On The Wrist Speaks Louder Than Words
All That Glitters Is Not a Dead Horse
side 2:
All Bark And No Bush
Don't count your Sleeping Dogs until they're in the Frying Pan
Blood Is Thicker Than Wolves
Burning The Tongue At Both Ends
side 3:
Spilt Milk In Sheep's Clothing Has A Silver Lining
Bygones Make Waste
You Can't Judge A Pig by its Salty Old Wound
When It Rains, It tastes like medicine
side 4:
Over My Dead Foot in my Mouth
Great Minds Who Live In Glass Houses Should Raise Cain
Idle Hands Are The Devil's Heels
e diel, 22 korrik 2007
When I grow up, I'm going to Bovine University!
and in honor of all the hype, I present thee my favorite clip:
fisted again
The lovely folks over at Diamond Parking have bent me over again, sans Vaseline. OK .. "at" may be a misleading term, as they are more of a permeating virus than a location. I went to have tasty bevy with patty jo the other night at the Bier Sty on 11th. There is a massive friendly empty lot next to the place. After a quick glass of vino, i notice a love note on my windshield. Closer inspection reveals a 30 dollar violation. I look around and sure enough there's a miniscule sign dangling on a pole at the far entrance. This is not the first time they have screwed me. For a privately owned business that exclaims "we care", that family must be wiping their chocolate starfishes with hundred dollar bills.
current mood: "Hey diamond, go eat a shit sandwich."
--------
Last night I really wanted to see Jordans project at sam bonds and had every intention of going. I stopped at Max's and ended up kicking asses on the pooltable until i couldn't do it anymore. Sometimes its easier to have a night talking to people you don't know or want to get to know and just leave it at that. Went home and put a further dent on Murakami's Kafka on the Shore. Stellar read. Sorry Jordy ... i'll catch you next time.
Today I am trying to bust ass on work so I don't go into freakout mode this week. It's muggy and I have PMS. my skin is sweating coffee.
current mood: "Hey diamond, go eat a shit sandwich."
--------
Last night I really wanted to see Jordans project at sam bonds and had every intention of going. I stopped at Max's and ended up kicking asses on the pooltable until i couldn't do it anymore. Sometimes its easier to have a night talking to people you don't know or want to get to know and just leave it at that. Went home and put a further dent on Murakami's Kafka on the Shore. Stellar read. Sorry Jordy ... i'll catch you next time.
Today I am trying to bust ass on work so I don't go into freakout mode this week. It's muggy and I have PMS. my skin is sweating coffee.
THE PACKAGE
MC Homemade and I have beed sending a BOX back and forth to each other for i'd say at least 10 years. The original box was turned into a shirt (yes a shirt), but I believe the 4th installment is what is being mailed back and forth to brockton from eugene. Now everytime a mailing occurs it will be documented here.
Have a look.
mike ... will you please photograph the shirt for us. The masses demand to see this.
e shtunë, 21 korrik 2007
I'm blushing
Shock has gripped the world and Mary-Kay stocks have plummeted as their spokesperson has passed on. News at 11.
e premte, 20 korrik 2007
Berman
I keep running into this piece which I absolutely adore. Berman, of Silver Jews stature, has a keen way of telling you things you already know in ways that make your cockles shine and your teeth grin. For those of you who haven't checked out his first (only?) epic book of poemtry, ACTUAL AIR ... please stop what you're doing and buy it. He will narate the shit out of the life you wish you had to the point of you squirming in your chair.
But anyway ... heres what I wanted to share:
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
The Summer Before The Night Ecstasy Became Illegal In The State Of Texas
by David Berman, taken from a feature in Feed Mag.
MY FRIEND KYLE always had a lot of money and could get me into the expensive kind of trouble without the trouble sticking. He didn't mind paying for me if it meant raising hell with loyal company. We were seventeen. You only needed one reason to be friends at that age. I figured we had at least three. So we broke the law every day in every way and laughed our asses off at the fucking stupid world.
In late April we began to hear rumors about a new drug in the Metroplex. It was in the gay bars. Kids at the Arts Magnet were getting it. Certain people at certain parties had it and it was magical.
They called it X. It was supposed to make you unaccountably happy and tolerant of everyone from headbangers to rich fucks. Even "douchebags."
Psychiatrists had been using it in therapy for years, we were told. It was legal and local product (it was still special to Texas at that time). It would make you love and accept anyone. Even yourself.
This was a complicated promise for the teenager roiling with hate and confusion. I hardly believed it. But one night Kyle pulled out some foil holding four tablets, we each swallowed two, and went to a party where a lot of people were going to be doing it.
Coming around the corner of that house, I'll never forget the scene. Every high-school rule was being broken before me. The lions were chatting up the lambs. I saw sworn enemies talking like longtime companions; a prickly society bitch on her knees sifting white garden pebbles through her hands with happy eyes; a brutal wrestler from my school with his arms wrapped around the trunk of a pecan tree, saying his first words to me ever, "Hi David," sweetly, as I walked by.
I rolled my jeans up to my knees and sat at the edge of the pool. Maybe for the first time I felt like no one was going to try to push me in. The stereo was playing "Blues for Allah" instead of the customary "Eliminator." Nearby, two linebackers were confessing how much they depended on each other "on and off the field." I felt myself giving in to all the kindness, not caring if it was a lie or not. By the time a hot Fort Worth Jewess sprang into in my lap and began running her fingers through my hair, I was sold.
At sunrise, I came in through the sliding glass. I woke my father and his new bride, apologized for staying out all night, and pulled a chair up beside the bed. I continued to sit there and smile down on them. I said, "I just want you to know how much I love you, Dad." Incredibly, he did not kick my ass. That morning was never mentioned again.
AS I SAID BEFORE, ecstasy was still legal and as such carried virtually no stigma. Kyle's uncle kept a jar of tablets on his desk at his car dealership. Law-abiding adults were taking them at North Dallas cocktail parties. They were even sold behind the bars like cigarettes and openly hawked on street corners downtown.
That summer, I crushed two sports cars with my homely Buick, received six speeding tickets (three in one day), two tickets for public urination, impregnated a Collin County judge's daughter, and had a bottle of MD 20/20 broken over my head. Approximately none of it registered with me. A very real fault of the drug.
I'm going to skip the scenes of me chasing daisies and singing to stray dogs from still bulldozer cabs. I was exercising horses that summer for cash, and X hangovers were A-OK for barreling over the dull scrubland.
Sometime in August, the lawmakers in Austin finally got around to outlawing ecstasy. What a gift for the dealers! The price of ecstasy immediately quadrupled and the production costs plummeted as the manufacturers began cutting the pills with all manner of horrible stuff.
The night the law went through, I went to a concert at the Bronco Bowl and snagged two of the newly illegal pills for a dear price. I had never seen them in capsules and had no idea it was a sign they were crushing the old "legal" pills and mixing them with laxative, mannitol, low-grade speed, whatever.
Once inside, I spent a half hour wiggling my way to the front of the floor. Unfortunately, when I got there I had a big problem. Not only were the drugs not kicking in, they were causing me to have to shit real bad. Michael Stipe was singing "Moon River" (hey!) a cappella and I knew I was going to blow if I didn't part this shoulder-to-shoulder crowd and make it to the restroom. The audience was frozen in place and dead silent as I plowed through, "Excuse me, excuse me, emergency here, please, please" ( I think I even yelled "gangway," such was my ambition to get through), completely stepping on the vocalist's Ethel Merman star turn and nearly getting shhhhhed to death.
I passed the rest of the concert in a nasty stall gritting my teeth, sweating and coming to terms with what was clearly the symbolic end of a spaced-out summer.
Fifteen years on, I can honestly say I'm glad it was outlawed. After three months of its use I had lost all discretion and was prepared to trust just about anyone. Worse yet, it was turning me into a joiner. That's not who I am. Anyway, ecstasy was not to find its true customer base until years later, when the strangely passive kids who grew up in the child protectorate of the U.S. eighties and nineties came of age, craving depersonalization. Apparently it helps them dance. They're a very attractive lot. Have you seen them dance?
But anyway ... heres what I wanted to share:
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
The Summer Before The Night Ecstasy Became Illegal In The State Of Texas
by David Berman, taken from a feature in Feed Mag.
MY FRIEND KYLE always had a lot of money and could get me into the expensive kind of trouble without the trouble sticking. He didn't mind paying for me if it meant raising hell with loyal company. We were seventeen. You only needed one reason to be friends at that age. I figured we had at least three. So we broke the law every day in every way and laughed our asses off at the fucking stupid world.
In late April we began to hear rumors about a new drug in the Metroplex. It was in the gay bars. Kids at the Arts Magnet were getting it. Certain people at certain parties had it and it was magical.
They called it X. It was supposed to make you unaccountably happy and tolerant of everyone from headbangers to rich fucks. Even "douchebags."
Psychiatrists had been using it in therapy for years, we were told. It was legal and local product (it was still special to Texas at that time). It would make you love and accept anyone. Even yourself.
This was a complicated promise for the teenager roiling with hate and confusion. I hardly believed it. But one night Kyle pulled out some foil holding four tablets, we each swallowed two, and went to a party where a lot of people were going to be doing it.
Coming around the corner of that house, I'll never forget the scene. Every high-school rule was being broken before me. The lions were chatting up the lambs. I saw sworn enemies talking like longtime companions; a prickly society bitch on her knees sifting white garden pebbles through her hands with happy eyes; a brutal wrestler from my school with his arms wrapped around the trunk of a pecan tree, saying his first words to me ever, "Hi David," sweetly, as I walked by.
I rolled my jeans up to my knees and sat at the edge of the pool. Maybe for the first time I felt like no one was going to try to push me in. The stereo was playing "Blues for Allah" instead of the customary "Eliminator." Nearby, two linebackers were confessing how much they depended on each other "on and off the field." I felt myself giving in to all the kindness, not caring if it was a lie or not. By the time a hot Fort Worth Jewess sprang into in my lap and began running her fingers through my hair, I was sold.
At sunrise, I came in through the sliding glass. I woke my father and his new bride, apologized for staying out all night, and pulled a chair up beside the bed. I continued to sit there and smile down on them. I said, "I just want you to know how much I love you, Dad." Incredibly, he did not kick my ass. That morning was never mentioned again.
AS I SAID BEFORE, ecstasy was still legal and as such carried virtually no stigma. Kyle's uncle kept a jar of tablets on his desk at his car dealership. Law-abiding adults were taking them at North Dallas cocktail parties. They were even sold behind the bars like cigarettes and openly hawked on street corners downtown.
That summer, I crushed two sports cars with my homely Buick, received six speeding tickets (three in one day), two tickets for public urination, impregnated a Collin County judge's daughter, and had a bottle of MD 20/20 broken over my head. Approximately none of it registered with me. A very real fault of the drug.
I'm going to skip the scenes of me chasing daisies and singing to stray dogs from still bulldozer cabs. I was exercising horses that summer for cash, and X hangovers were A-OK for barreling over the dull scrubland.
Sometime in August, the lawmakers in Austin finally got around to outlawing ecstasy. What a gift for the dealers! The price of ecstasy immediately quadrupled and the production costs plummeted as the manufacturers began cutting the pills with all manner of horrible stuff.
The night the law went through, I went to a concert at the Bronco Bowl and snagged two of the newly illegal pills for a dear price. I had never seen them in capsules and had no idea it was a sign they were crushing the old "legal" pills and mixing them with laxative, mannitol, low-grade speed, whatever.
Once inside, I spent a half hour wiggling my way to the front of the floor. Unfortunately, when I got there I had a big problem. Not only were the drugs not kicking in, they were causing me to have to shit real bad. Michael Stipe was singing "Moon River" (hey!) a cappella and I knew I was going to blow if I didn't part this shoulder-to-shoulder crowd and make it to the restroom. The audience was frozen in place and dead silent as I plowed through, "Excuse me, excuse me, emergency here, please, please" ( I think I even yelled "gangway," such was my ambition to get through), completely stepping on the vocalist's Ethel Merman star turn and nearly getting shhhhhed to death.
I passed the rest of the concert in a nasty stall gritting my teeth, sweating and coming to terms with what was clearly the symbolic end of a spaced-out summer.
Fifteen years on, I can honestly say I'm glad it was outlawed. After three months of its use I had lost all discretion and was prepared to trust just about anyone. Worse yet, it was turning me into a joiner. That's not who I am. Anyway, ecstasy was not to find its true customer base until years later, when the strangely passive kids who grew up in the child protectorate of the U.S. eighties and nineties came of age, craving depersonalization. Apparently it helps them dance. They're a very attractive lot. Have you seen them dance?
e enjte, 19 korrik 2007
The Workin' Man's Diner
OK .. so MC Homemade and I have been working over the years on an oral version of our restaurant idea. Here are the results of said conversations. Warning ... you will either love or hate this. There's no middle ground, unless you just don't get it. In that case .. we still appologize.
with that ... here goes:
Working Man's Diner
---menu---
Closer to alacarte:
Permanent Huevos Rancharos
fries by night
Farewell to Rings
Red Bruschetta
rivendill pickle
Foot long Sub-divisions
YYZ-BLT
overture on rye
Entrée nous:
working man-a-cotti
Passage to Bangers and Mash
Lentils of Syrinx
The Trees (broccoli)
Free Will (make your own pizza)
New World Spam
Dumplings for Nothing
Beneath Between Behind Beefstew
From the Madrigrill:
Sea Bass-tille Day
tom soyburger
Desert:
key LIMELIGHT pie
Finding My Curds and Whey
Cinderella Flan
Chocolate Xana-fon-du
The Necco-mancer
Twilight Cone
Vanilla strangiato
The Analog Kids Menu:
Lakeside Spark-ling lemonade
Bytor and the Snow-cone
Spirits on the patio:
Jacob's Bladder (some crazy ass drink)
Jose Cuervo 2112
Hemis-beers
burn out
Oft the question is proposed to me weather or not I "like" the town I live in. Depending on the askee, the questions is usually either A) an honest question or B) loaded, because they know that eugene gets a rap for being silly ole' hippytown and "wouldn't I rather be living in Portland".
And so I go back and forth on it all the time. I have a great house in a nice hood and for the most part I like my work. And so goes the enigma, can I be happy living amongst the numb, eternal buzz, cars held together with whiny bumper stickers, Herb-ivores endlessly exclaiming that it is in fact "all good". Most of the time my answer is yes, because my micro-cosmos can involve whatever I want it to involve. I don't have to read the Eugene WEAKly if I don't want to and I'm pretty tight with my friend base. This morning that yes answer turned into a "I have no idea". I think a part of me snapped when I went to my PO box to get my weekly ration of amazing credit card offers. This guy is standing in front of the post office like I always see him once a week or so ... singing off off key versions of uncle johns band and tangled up in blue. I'm sorry but FUCKING COME ON MAN!!!!
spoiler: agro venting to follow.
Play something original for almighty christ sake. Are you working toward some BIGGER gig down the road??? This is not the honey serenade I need in the morning. How much of that tip hat is filled with harmful threats written on scraps of junk mail as people leave the building. Please people, don't get me wrong. I don't hate the dead or Bobby. Its just that the little light inside me gets snuffed out like a wet fart when this is the only thing I see permeating the town. maybe I don't get out enough. Maybe instead of tipping him I should wince at him in the costume of a smile and toss a minutemen cassette in his hat. Maybe I should just torn around and make myself a nice stein of camomile. Like I said something in me snapped and in that purple haze I asked myself a million questions including "How can I be a part changing the flair of hippytown" and "Do I even want to".
OK i'm better now.
e mërkurë, 18 korrik 2007
The people of the lamppost
Translated these from english - to german - to
russian - to portugese - to spanish - and back to
english. It sounds much more profound!
and no i don't have gobs of free time on my hands.
----
Only a small local girl, in the world alone life.
She gets on a train that there is a midnight place.
Only a boy of the city, born and raised in Détroit of
the south.
He gets on a train that there is a midnight place.
A singer in a quarter smokey.
A smell after perfume of wine and reasonably.
For a smile they can divide the night.
It goes lastingly and lastingly.
He waits for strangers abovementioned under the
boulevard.
His shades for it look they at night.
The people of the lamppost, only living to find
feeling.
The receipt, in a place at night.
To work a lot to receive me to fill.
Everybody wants a feeling.
The payment of something to let roll the given ones,
Only once.
Some will win, some will lose.
Some were born to sing a dejection.
Ah, becomes the film
This goes incessantly and incessantly.
Do not stop to trust.
It had contributed to the sensation.
People of the lighting of the street.
maelstrom
Things have been incredibly up and down with me. More sideways and contorted i'd say. I went to Santa Cruz a few weeks back. Had an absolute blast with my friend Amy and got a prize winning sunburn which I am still molting from to the disgust of those around me. It felt so good to swim in the ocean till my bones couldn't carry me anymore. Spent some time walking around SF which was much needed. Got to got to Dave Eggars place on Valencia when he has writers workshop in back with a pirate supply store up front. Also went to Aquarius records in a sort of pilgrimage. I had never been before and i knew it was an important mainstay in an acquaintanceacquaintance of mines life. He bought most of his music there and they are probably one of the best record stores on the planet. He is missed. Aquarius is just a tiny hole in the wall. They put Amoeba to shame in style.
I've been dealt heavy cards back home and am anxiously awaiting another getaway. My aunt has taken a turn for the worse and has developed some kind of rare auto-immune disease that has effected her kidneys and lungs. She has lost her energy and will and this in turn has greatly effected my mom. There never seems to be a shortage of fires for me to put out. I had dinner with mom last night (standing rib roast, yorkshire pudding, and greens from my garden) where we talked everything out. the two of us will fly back east probably next week.
In other news I just got back from the woods with the birdies and trees. Found a hidden lake that was like bath water and went swimming in an icy river with mossy rocks.
Did the stint in the studio with my friend Patrick last week and i have been listening to the shit out of it. I have no idea how to describe this album yet, but i will soon. I'm still bobbing in its powerful wake.
I am gearing up for a major yard sale as i'm realizing i need to let go of some shit. I bought a new lawnmower (i'm turning into one of those men who looks for sales in the Sears flyer on sunday morning)
Still over worked with both jobs and I get to go to the vet and pick up my cat who just got the crap beaten outta her by one of the neighbors cats. Party!
off to the office.
-d to the s
I've been dealt heavy cards back home and am anxiously awaiting another getaway. My aunt has taken a turn for the worse and has developed some kind of rare auto-immune disease that has effected her kidneys and lungs. She has lost her energy and will and this in turn has greatly effected my mom. There never seems to be a shortage of fires for me to put out. I had dinner with mom last night (standing rib roast, yorkshire pudding, and greens from my garden) where we talked everything out. the two of us will fly back east probably next week.
In other news I just got back from the woods with the birdies and trees. Found a hidden lake that was like bath water and went swimming in an icy river with mossy rocks.
Did the stint in the studio with my friend Patrick last week and i have been listening to the shit out of it. I have no idea how to describe this album yet, but i will soon. I'm still bobbing in its powerful wake.
I am gearing up for a major yard sale as i'm realizing i need to let go of some shit. I bought a new lawnmower (i'm turning into one of those men who looks for sales in the Sears flyer on sunday morning)
Still over worked with both jobs and I get to go to the vet and pick up my cat who just got the crap beaten outta her by one of the neighbors cats. Party!
off to the office.
-d to the s
rrrrrr zzzzzzz
we are in the studio right now pulling hairy turns and working through sonic equations. Patrick Hayden is at the helm. his songs are powerful, scary, and real. Jordan it playing drums and assorted metal things. Billy Barnet is splicing the 1's and 0's at the board. I really like Patty's music and am honored to be part of his crew. We ate some terrible food passing as chinese which put a heavy edge on the first few cuts. Billy showed me this really cool bronze sculpture he's been working on. It's getting dark and we are running out of coffee.
I'm supposed to be in the woods tomorrow (doctors orders) to keep my sanity so I hope that this recording all works out tonight in what little time we have to make it happen. For those of you who have never been to Gung Ho studios, Billy has a sweet stylophone.
I'm supposed to be in the woods tomorrow (doctors orders) to keep my sanity so I hope that this recording all works out tonight in what little time we have to make it happen. For those of you who have never been to Gung Ho studios, Billy has a sweet stylophone.
Abonohu te:
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