Let Us Live

youroldarchenemycatwoman: Richard Coleman check out his website

Wed, 13 May 2009 19:53:34 -0400

youroldarchenemycatwoman:

Richard Coleman
check out his website

(via anastasivictoria)

Wed, 13 May 2009 19:44:46 -0400

(via anastasivictoria)

Banana Pudding Bliss With Jim James and Levon Helm

Mon, 11 May 2009 23:18:18 -0400

Banana Pudding Bliss With Jim James and Levon Helm

Ryan Adams called Scot Coogan, who said that he was not interested in playing drums. Levon Helm called Bonnie “Prince” Billy and received the phonenumber for Scott Carney who gave Levon Helm the telegraph-address for M. Ward who contacted Conner Oberst via Ouija Board who informed Mr. Levon Helm that he could locate Jim James at the Baskin-Robbins on Alexandria Drive, in Lexington, Kentucky, where Mr. Jim James (or, Dr. J.) finds solace in the banana pudding ice cream.

Levon Helm rode a Greyhound down from Patterson, New Jersey (when he was in the process of re-writing many of the poems of William Carlos Williams) and arrived in Lexington, Kentucky, on New Circle Road.

Levon looks at this circle wonders how many horse and dirtfarms were broken by this now not-so-new circle? He walks, left thumb extended, realizes his tremendous, beautiful, dirt-pure smile deters some. Left, right, breath, exhale, observe, left, right, breath, for miles: passes police station, Hustler billboard, a boundary of the once-famous Calumet Farm. He walks, with a three-mile stare, down exit ramp, hears the galloping beats, cathartic lyrics of Dirt course through fertile brain; tramps down Versailles Road, journeys along Alexandria, bypasses skeletal remains of Lexitalia, STD-laced payphone inside of Camelot West; ignores dresses designed for young Mexican daughters, enters Baskin Robbins. Let the bells ring.

Levon Helm dines not on fried black swan, but on an inverted clown icecream cone. He watches Frankie Lee, who Michael knows (and soon Levon will know) is obviously intoxicated from several bottles of Dollar General mouthwash. Frankie Lee dances towards Levon, stops, smiles broadly.

Levon Helm stops consuming the clown.

“You ain’t from ‘round here, is ya?” Frankie Lee chortles as wafts of strangely pungent freshmint penetrate Mr. Helm via nostrils, “I kin tell by th’ way ya’s crunch’s th’ clowncone,” and Frankie Lee emits a ghastly, freshmintly laugh, “Frankie Lee’s th’ name, sinnin’s th’ game.”

Levon Helm, a man who knows millions about dirt farmers, looks at the outstretched hand of Frankie Lee, says: “I’m waiting on a friend. I heard he might be here.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be here? Looky here, fella. We’re all family ‘n here,” Frankie Lee removes his dumpster soiled safari hat and a greasy crescendo of hair cascades down, wrecking Helm’s image of this fellow as a Shakespeare in a safari hat, “List’n, I’s down th’ Alexandr’a yesturday ‘n’s havin’ me a few quarts o’ beer there ‘n Lexico at dat there La Bamba. Talkin’ t’ two fellers from San Salvador El Salvador, talkin’ ‘bout Ricky Ricardo, ‘n them two fellers, like yous, never crack’d a laugh. Then I rememb’r’d, Ricky’s from Cuba,” and Frankie Lee flashes aged teeth far darker than Levon’s, raises chin, flings head backwards, laughs a fountain of freshmint.

Levon Helm begins a chuckle and Frankie Lee proclaims: “Them’s th’ purest teeth I ev’r seen… no wond’r you’re a hard laugh t’ crack.”

Jim James comes in through the outdoor, with two black pomeranians at his heels. He nods toward Frankie Lee, who tips his hat and curtsies in response.

“That there’s Dr. J,” heralds Frankie Lee.

“Thank you. You are a kind old dirt farmer,” and Levon stands, walks towards the center of two prancing pomeranians.

Frankie Lee reaches down, raises the clown, stuffs the remnants into his mouth, chomps, worries not about empire, realizes all is bright.

“Allow me,” Levon speaks, looks at Jim, into eyes so similar to the eyes of his father’s but not abusive, not drunken; looks into the eyes of Michael: “Two scoops of banana pudding, with marshmallow topping, pecan, whipped cream, and extra cherries.”

“Do we know each other?”

“Yes, we met backstage at the Judas Priest show at the Garden, and we spoke briefly at Bonnaroo this year, at the something else tent while Harybu McCage played,”

“Of course I know you, who’d forget that perfect smile? You’re the holy drummer, champion of all dirt farmers: Levon Helm!”

Jim and Levon embrace, drink in one another’s aroma as the black pomeranians circle at their feet, smiling the pink tongue smiles of black pomeranians.

“Why are you here, and in Lexington?”

“I have an important proposition.”

“Speak, memory!”

“Ryan Adams wants us to form an Alice in Chains remnants band.”

“Who will play bass?”

“That is your decision.”

“After banana pudding bliss.”

“What’s not after banana pudding bliss?”

“What’s not?”

Frankie Lee, Michael (son of a holy mother and a milkman), Levon Helm, and Jim James interconnect through laughter, deep-breathing, meditative, exploratory and binding laughter. The two black pomeranians spin in circles, celebrating the joy of all the animals present.

[written by Jo Son of Jo, 6/28/08, 8:29 p.m.]

Moving Forward

Thu, 07 May 2009 01:22:33 -0400

My heart hurts and aches.

All I want to do is go back and make it right again.

But I can’t. So I’m just going to move forward.

There is no point on dwelling on the past.

-MissMlady

heartburn stouter than Rainbow Gathering coffee jailhouse coffee Ire works better than me an at away...

Mon, 04 May 2009 08:41:03 -0400

heartburn

stouter than Rainbow Gathering coffee

jailhouse coffee

Ire works better than me

an at away from eaten

a hat above to be eaten

one wretched cup of coffee in the

mystic valley below

wet floor

crutches slide

a new May

a new living buck

save

do not slaughter

do not spend

Ire works

before Russel Crowe Edward Vedder

industrial

music not revolution

digital

not thirty-five millimeter

centipede

ended

Ire Works

second less than previous second

1 46 57 fraction

Ben not so big unheard here

back to fallen tree

Red River Gorge or

George Washington’s wooden teethed forest

heartburn

sin burns heart

sin = without

sometimes

Ire works

I type poetry

a typist not a writer

an angle reads

angles must be read

never must

must never

“no

you left forever”

he screams

basset hound eyes

beyond heartburning mystic valley bellow

coffee

“why would we want

Kentucky coffee trees

we don’t drink coffee”

that’s what she said

a number return

from sick call

Ire works

dire

lost wolf and straits

caution

don’t stop to type on the tracks

*Jo son of Jo: 4May09

did not dream saw St. Augustine not Jack Frost Dylan Thomas Zimmerman body electric two students...

Mon, 04 May 2009 08:26:08 -0400

did not dream saw St. Augustine not Jack Frost Dylan Thomas Zimmerman body electric two students naked Texas A&M Angela Evans sought cyclops evaded poacher and tiger many hands shake introduce smoke to facial hair Peggy Sirota captures Angela and the mentor no petting zoo no cages clean and visible Andrew Slemp tardy to the jailfix six inches of rain fan blows posture Drew Barrymore smiles body electric navigation ‘neath moon beside moon one of many moons Angela Evans more astrologist than astronomer family tradition all palms provide tales mostly unread tales remain Andrew Slemp more tobacco farmer than DaVinci apologist family tradition all leaves previously stayed mostly beyond ocular tails remain although we forget until poets force introduction fallen tree sound or silent tail to trunk trunk to trunk holler far above though neigh hollers one of many gorges tail engorges pulses the sand gap remains to journey never to arrive always to journey destinations destined to remain like tales tails although journeys continue out turns in sleeping dogs lie breathe blissful breaths cartoons without ink without ocular an owl atop branch trunk devoid Bohemian grove devoid Redwoods sold cigars smoked Ms. Hart we are not in Bohemian Grove anymore Judy Garland told the Redwoods Jack Frost Jessica Lange inside a watchtower Robert Frost the way out is through in turns of Earth our planet Earth axis bold as love always a turn never a destination not even destiny odd awaken like a Buddha awaken even during a dream deferred awaken analyze journey without invitation never join Bohemian Club hike trails of life beyond games cereal organic frozen organisms clocks chime regardless of ears Redwoods fall regardless of ears no direction home or to Bohemian Grove sometimes complete unknowns know far more than near-complete knowns awaken awake *written by Jo Son of Jo* 2May09

Like a Dorothy Mom had several connections to Dorothies town...

Sat, 25 Apr 2009 22:09:00 -0400

Like a Dorothy

Mom had several connections to

Dorothies town above creek court

cages valley to square or not to

square Pall Mall snakes year

beyond fourth of July fifth of

Old Fitzgerald gold label or the

false idol Rebel Yell far north face

of Memphis before lots grew a

Dorothy in form of Judy Garland

kindred misunderstood shine o shine

dysthymic soul both Judy Garland

and Mom born to be misunderstood

nuns used ruler smites to

teach from dust to dust and dust

gathers on several lost and mis-

appreciated images please do not

fade away glances so quick so

innocuous please remain nigh

basal ganglia the silence of

music sings in the pain somewhere

east of Saint Louis south of Chicago

neighs of horses nigh slaughter

le folies sandglass empty radio glories

silent forgotten another Dorothy

to be or not to be and Bea is a regal

Dorothy who tries to retain

strength dignity keep esteem from

evaporation to remain and not fade

away sway like eternal dust atop

cassette covers of Judy Garland

reborn like Queen Bea Arthur and Mom

the way out of ungodly cancerous torment

is through vacation of human cage

*poem written by Jo son of Jo*

*April 25, 2009*

(via herheadhurts) April 25 Verse breathe tongue-droop...

Sat, 25 Apr 2009 17:20:21 -0400

(via herheadhurts)

April 25 Verse

breathe

tongue-droop incantations

geological explorations

palpatations

Tarkington rested upon dirty roots

Tarkington smiled his shadow smile towards geological platform

intemperance

one interconnected sky

eternal water

within clouds

eternal water

raises smiling tongues

laps and relaps

relapse is for quitters

be here now

high yet ‘neath one interconnected sky

underground

the valley below

dusty roots and greenbagbeds

crows bluejays Buddhist chipmonks

no guns or violence

green

joy

peaks valleys

laps

present moment always interconnects to previous moments

invisible

sometimes visible joy

earthlings

blissful

earthlings

*written by Ich Ose Ols*

thewayoftheworld: Strong winds were never enough to send you off course you became straight...

Sat, 25 Apr 2009 16:20:40 -0400

thewayoftheworld:

Strong winds

were never enough

to send you off course

you became

straight ahead

this bad idea

of nothing left to lose

packed bags

frayed strings

barely holding things

together.

You arranged flowers

for your shadow

never seen again

mourned by the desperate

last minute men

in dark smokey hours

who consoled you

I told you

so.

How can something so simple

so difficult

as beautiful

bloom

from the hard ground

you walk all over?

thewayoftheworld: Outside my shuttered window is a disappearing lake under the spell of...

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 18:52:06 -0400

thewayoftheworld:

Outside my shuttered window

is a disappearing lake

under the spell of entropy,

slowly becoming marshland

then one day a grassy field

to be surveyed and staked.

At this brief moment in time

it appears to be owned

solely by a pair of nesting swans

who tolerate for a little while

the occasional migratory bird

heading toward or from

their own disappearing habitat.

It’s not for swimming or boating

and not for people who like fast things,

things on this lake move only as fast as hunger

will allow.

The swans had six babies last year

last seen, still brown coated from birth

who dutifully followed in their parents’ wake

until only one remained.

Did they wake to find their babies gone

to the passing nourishment

of one of God’s less liked creatures?

Did the fittest survive

or was it dumb luck?

Because there is no such thing

as smart luck.

Sometimes I want to fly away

sometimes I want to stay and drown.

ryanada-ms: The ink seems to fallabruptand spillOil into the sealike a Valdez newsprintjust as...

Sat, 11 Apr 2009 11:48:39 -0400

ryanada-ms:

The ink seems to fall
abrupt
and spill
Oil into the sea
like a Valdez
newsprint
just as toxic
and
harmful
to breathe
but they
made you
A different kind
A pretty mouth
and quirky tongue
placed
just
on the
edge
as you stare
and burn
through heavy-duty
Robot proof
white
and parched
and I
Would
Lose myself
Like a winded
Doll
Unwound
And
Maybe
Just
Cross
Fingers
Not eyes
That you your
Curves
Around my face
yould be less round
you know
maybe
shining
in a different
colored light
before
it got all
Rainbowfckd
and shitgreenbrown
whatever
You call that
I call
it
Waste Inc.
blah

"To those who say people wouldn’t look; they wouldn’t be interested; they’re too..."

Wed, 01 Apr 2009 01:25:00 -0400

“To those who say people wouldn’t look; they wouldn’t be interested; they’re too complacent, indifferent and insulated, I can only reply: There is, in one reporter’s opinion, considerable evidence against that contention.
But even if they are right, what have they got to lose? Because if they are right, and this instrument is good for nothing but to entertain, amuse and insulate, then the tube is flickering now and we will soon see that the whole struggle is lost.
This instrument can teach, it can illuminate; yes, and it can even inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise it is merely wires and lights in a box. Good night, and good luck.”

- Ed Murrow (Good night, and Good Luck 2005)

The name Caribou comes, through French, from \Mi’kmaq...

Wed, 18 Feb 2009 00:25:29 -0500

The name Caribou comes, through French, from \Mi’kmaq qalipu, meaning “snow-shoveler”, referring to its habit of pawing through the snow for food. In Inuktitut, the caribou is known by the name tuttuk (Labrador dialect).

One of my most beloved animals of the wild. I have witnessed them in my travels in Northern Yukon Territory, Alaska, Labrador and in the areas near Trepassey, Newfoundland.

I reached my fist into my chest spread my fingers wide tap, tap,...

Tue, 17 Feb 2009 23:06:26 -0500

I reached my fist into my chest

spread my fingers wide

tap, tap, tap

on my ribs

just for a laugh

turned my palm to rest on the

thump, thump, thump

dug my nails in

scrape, scrape, Scrape

away the years

funny how light it now appears

drip, drip, drip

blood not tears.

beacon~11

Black Breeze

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 21:03:23 -0500

theblackmap:

This is for the cosmos, and how it spins web after web of chance, future, and timely cigarette cravings.

Black Breeze

You set me on fire then walk away
Just dragging your smoke away from my face
Telling me there’s no time or place
Enjoying escape, the fall I can taste
A glance at your smile fills the chambers up
And why are there miles between us at all?
The record you gave me secretly changed me
So I’m not complaining, just sitting here waiting

To take care of someone you met on a line
Her spare heart pinned to you for a time
High over town shines a pinhole of light
I now see your eyes and the future behind

Tell me you need it, I’ll change you, kill softly
Connections of souls you talk about often
Show me your hand and I’ll show you the sea
A black ship on a black breeze
‘Cause the sooner I know, the sooner I’ll cease
Investigating the air that you breathe

To take care of someone you met on a line
Her spare heart pinned to you for a time
High over town shines a pinhole of light
I now see your eyes and the future behind

The black map is here
The black map awaits
This black map is yours for the choices you’ll make

Now I’ve forgotten thoughts from that day
The day I awoke to a misfiring dream
I wanted to end it with full comprehension
How alone one must be to reach this understanding
But I searched for a cigarette and walked out my door
In the moment I saw you my heart hit the floor
I searched for a cigarette and walked out my door
In the moment I saw you my heart hit the floor

francine: the dark seems so much darker when I first open my eyes, a big night in such small...

Sun, 15 Feb 2009 19:31:00 -0500

francine:

the dark seems so much darker

when I first open my eyes,

a big night in such small room-

a sickness happening in a corner

my soul is involuntarily disturbed, roaring

behind my black hour eyes,

warehouses with broken lights

and wet brick

and I’m counting backwards

stepping over garbage and oily streams

toward blue death,

following carefully arranged maps

in braille

confused by folds and tears

and then suddenly, everything goes

patient and gray

and windows with moons appear

before my cold, child-like eyes

and there it is-

I have been growing old

without ever being born

franziska: now

Sun, 15 Feb 2009 12:55:20 -0500

franziska:

now

Security Blanket

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 22:16:07 -0500

fgps:

There comes a day

when pacifiers

have to be put away

can’t all be as Linus

dragging around a blankey

‘til he’s buried with it

in a cartoon cemetery

the initial absence

is quite the harrowing experience

floor scuffed from paces

hair pulled out, leaving bare patches

nails chewed

‘til blood ensues

mind holds target

beating the horse long decayed

and then when all need

for security

is at it’s fervent peak

the ebb tide saves

erodes the need away

finding two strong legs

willing to carry you

towards a hidden path

that comfort obscured.

—foolishgirrl

Daylight Kisses Everything

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 14:36:00 -0500

Aimee smiles

through this portal

this computer screen

in this present moment

laughing joyful laughs

the laughs of an

unabashed fangirl

writing poems to the

platform shoes of

David Ryan Adams

and she smiles through

e-mails filled with joyful

moments as she discusses

nursing

Werepom

Ryan Adams lyrics

family

and catharsis found through writing

and when I read of her

doldrums

I wished that I could take the sun

to her

to brighten her day

for I feel as if I offered her

far less light

than she so selflessly provided

and now

in our present moments

Aimee

lives through us

and when we write poems

especially about platform shoes

and when we reblog

posts that remind us of

foolishgirrl

foolishgirrl2

or izaluckycat

when we think of her

when we think of

Aimee

in those moments

we consciously interconnect

and we live

we being Aimee and you and

all others touched by her

kindness

when we look at the sun

we know that Aimee

now writes poems

and sings songs

in a place

without darkness

where daylight kisses everything

*poem written by Jo Sonofjo Wolstenholme

for my friend and fellow poet

Aimee*

Arizona Rain (homesick)

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 13:58:00 -0500

izaluckycat:

desert cats

dance whenever it rains

my own eyes captured this view

of owls flight in celebration

and horned toads

on holiday

even the creosote is happy

and she releases her perfume

splendid gift

only her sappy leaves can bring

the pounding deluge

fills in dry cracks

rivers race

quenching thirsty washes

as the sky lights

in natural fireworks

and the crack

and the roll

of the most lively drummer.

*poem written by Aimee Marie Paxton-Reese*