Thursday, March 29, 2007

Going to Townes

In the call and response fashion that makes up true dialogue, Peteski has concocted an even more genius than usual pairing of music and image of T. Van Zandt and Dylan. This in reaction to my post about the late musician. The song twists a knife in my heart, but in a good way of course.

Is that too morbid, H?

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Promethean Fire Unbound

The Funeral of Shelley by Louis Edouard Fournier (1889); pictured in the center are, from left, Trelawny, Hunt and Byron

This from the funeral pyre of Percy Bysshe Shelley:

After the fire was well kindled we repeated the ceremony of the previous day; and more wine was poured over Shelley's dead body than he had consumed during his life. This with the oil and salt made the yellow flames glisten and quiver. The heat from the sun and fire was so intense that the atmosphere was tremulous and wavy. The corpse fell open and the heart was laid bare. The frontal bone of the skull, where it had been struck with the mattock, fell off; and, as the back of the head rested on the red-hot bottom bars of the furnace, the brains literally seethed, bubbled, and boiled as in a cauldron, for a very long time.
Byron could not face this scene, he withdrew to the beach and swam off to the Bolivar. Leigh Hunt remained in the carriage.
The fire was so fierce as to produce a white heat on the iron, and to reduce its contents to grey ashes. The only portions that were not consumed were some fragments of bones, the jaw, and the skull, but what surprised us all, was that the heart remained entire.
In snatching this relic from the fiery furnace, my hand was severely burnt; and had any one seen me do the act I should have been put into quarantine.
After cooling the iron machine in the sea, I collected the human ashes and placed them in a box, which I took on board the Bolivar. Byron and Hunt retraced their steps to their home, and the officers and soldiers returned to their quarters. I liberally rewarded the men for the admirable manner in which they behaved during the two days they had been with us. As I undertook and executed this novel ceremony, I have been thus tediously minute in describing it.

Extracts from Recollections of the Last Days of Shelley and Byron
Edward John Trelawny
Arkansas State

By the way, in Hebrew, the words for 'heart' and 'flame' are very intimately connected.

Early Onset Alzheimer's Victim

Add it to our list of character faults: prurient, immature, aimless, flip-floppy...

Evidence? This morning, after making coffee, we tried to store the half & half in the spice, coffee and tea cabinet.

Too young to get lost on long aimless walks.

Texas Cultural Appreciation Series, v. 1

"Well, many of the songs, they aren't sad, they're hopeless."

Townes Van Zandt, after being asked why he only wrote sad songs.

Pancho & Lefty

Living on the road my friend
Was gonna keep you free and clean
Now you wear your skin like iron
Your breath's as hard as kerosene
You weren't your mama's only boy
But her favorite one it seems
She began to cry when you said goodbye
And sank into your dreams

Pancho was a bandit, boys
His horse was fast as polished steel
Wore his gun outside his pants
For all the honest world to feel
Pancho met his match you know
On the deserts down in Mexico
Nobody heard his dying words
That's the way it goes

All the federales say
They could have had him any day
They only let him hang around
Out of kindness I suppose

Lefty he can't sing the blues
All night long like he used to
The dust that Pancho bit down south
Ended up in Lefty's mouth
The day they laid poor Pancho low
Lefty split for Ohio
Where he got the bread to go
There ain't nobody knows

All the federales say
They could have had him any day
They only let him slip away
Out of kindness I suppose

The poets tell how Pancho fell
Lefty's livin' in a cheap hotel
The desert's quiet and Cleveland's cold
So the story ends we're told
Pancho needs your prayers it's true,
But save a few for Lefty too
He just did what he had to do
Now he's growing old

A few gray federales say
They could have had him any day
They only let him go so wrong
Out of kindness I suppose

(off of the album The Late Great Townes Van Zandt, 1972)

"There are only two kinds of songs; there's the blues, and there's zip-a-dee-doo-dah."
- Townes Van Zandt

"Townes Van Zandt is the best songwriter in the whole world and I'll stand on Bob Dylan's coffee table in my cowboy boots and say that."
- Steve Earle.

"I've met Bob Dylan and his bodyguards, and I don't think Steve [Earle] could get anywhere near his coffee table."
- Townes Van Zandt.

Monday, March 26, 2007

More Unsavory Conversation

This from my friend, Juliet, after I gave her the lowdown on my dating situation.

Jules: "You know, at least you never really go out with assholes."
KF: "I don't?"
Jules: "No. You don't go out with cheaters and the really bad jerks. You might date some pussies..."
KF: "Who can hurt you just as bad."
Jules: "Yeah. Hurt you with their vaginas."

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Odd Sound Bite

My friend, Trace, after calling me back: "Sorry I had to get off the phone, I was having trouble maneuvering my sitar out from under the eaves."

Friday, March 23, 2007

Is It April Fool's Day Already?

Apparently, despite family history, it seems I might have a chance of not developing breast cancer.

I've no objections to this (sorry, is that an overshare? We're all adults, here...), but it seems an odd bit of research. One must always ask oneself when examining such claims, "Who stands to gain?"

Best line in the article? "The findings do suggest that there are other causes for breast cancer besides the absence of regular fellatio," Shafteer said. "It's a cause, not THE cause." Can they really claim any causality there? I'm just waiting to hear about the next guy who tries to use that on one of my girlfriends.


You know how to whistle, don't you?

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

To put it Bluntly

we don't like James, even if he is 'beautiful.' In our book, he's right down there with Josh Groban and John Mayer.

If you can bear to do a taste test, can someone tell me how to tell these three songs apart? All I can hear is his proboscis, that sad kazoo he sings through.

He gives me a saccharine heart-attack.

Does anyone else think he sounds like Tiny Tim, without the humor?

(Did you notice a very young Goldie Hawn right at the end of the video?)

Tough Love

"Get out of Pinkberry, you fucking loser!"

- Jimmy on his cell, to a friend.

(And anyway, Fiore in Little Toyo is better.)

Happy Vernal Equinox!

Will you be going out to try and balance an egg on end?

(Teaching Birds to Sing, Richard Doyle. I don't know what year, it's clearly Victorian. Stop bothering me.)

Monday, March 19, 2007


slides into uncomfortable shoes
shoulders ungainly chiffons.
Reluctant Atlas, she proms
like the hills carrying the gauzy damp lungs
ready to drop unpredictable outcomes -
will there be more sunshine tomorrow
or will there be tears?
The land is no virgin anymore
she has given all her best efforts.

People, tread with naked, tender steps,
the careful paces of those who know
that each touch
bite of bread
every seed sewn, every limb torn down,
garment dropped
button popped
every lay me down
should be handled like a prayer
whispered in earnest to the Mother
the ear of the lover
to the hole you dig in the ground
because each time is new
every all the time a beginning.
That is why she smiles as she goes
in spite of all the things she knows.

(photo by David Allan Harvey. 1998, Quinceanera. Cuba)

The Impossible Dream

How did I miss this guy in all those years in Portland? You know, you spend most of your life in one place, move to another, then realize your "soul-mate" was back home all along.

Read the whole thing, you won't be/will be sorry.

Did you read it yet? NO? Go back and do not continue until you have read the entire profile! The power of Froggy compels thee!

I guess no one wants to "Go it" alone. Here's my reply (unsent, but he'll "feel" it in the night):

Dear Lord Haywire -

I am very very pale. Some would even go so far as to call me Tasty. I don't really care for biting, but if you'll learn proper verb formation or at least to discern the difference between the second half of an auxilliary verb and a preposition, I'll fire RPK's, whatever they are, with you as we ride. You see, each of us has his own priorities and must honor those of our partner. That's the only reason I'll abide the bayonet babies. But do I really have to smoke? Do you? Does your mother know you smoke? What is a Strait Razor? Is it a type of skiff, narrow enough for tight passage? Or a blade that de-barbs country western singers? Does it cut through difficulties, like Alexander's broad sword cleaving the Gordian knot?

So many questions.

Have I mentioned how exceptionally pale I am? Oh, and I have very strait teeth. Just ask that OHSU dental student, Marty, I went on a date with. He couldn't stop talking about my perfect teeth and "class-A bite." Oh, he meant orthodonture, not foreplay. Don't get jealous.

Screw that skank at the coffee shop, she can't see how "hansome" you really are. She doesn't know that when you say you want to "hang out," you don't mean casually. You want a noose around our necks. I dig you. I dig you a grave.

Your cell-mate,


Sunday, March 18, 2007

What is the point

of one more 'I love you'
that flimflams against soft curves,
swindles the honeyed tress
trying so to curl up
in a way that pleases?
A girl gets tired.

I'm for me
you're for you
I'm for you -
that's the end of that
peculiar equation.

(photo by Bruce Davidson, 1959. Coney Island.)

Even if love

Once again in the world,
Of 1200 feelings
All in electric lights,
We see what we can

I love the sound wind,
Blowing at night through trees
From the roof i can see toons
Past the houses of the city

And i have been yours,
In fall and in praying
And i loved to look at you
From the side at night,
With music playing

And love will protect you
To the edge of the wood
And a monster will get you,
And love does no good

And even if love were not what i wanted
Love would make love the thing most desired

- Bonnie Prince Billy, aka Will Oldham

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Reading Carefully

My wiser elder brother advised me that the same Wikipedia link I provided as bio for Sandy Duncan averred, "She does not, despite rumors, have a glass eye." Clearly, my quick scan demonstrates that I have neither the speed nor the astounding retention of JFK. Evidently I was due to print some form of retraction over this, but in further consideration, I realized what vile mechanations were really at work.

I can only conclude that the cruelty of this woman knows no bounds. Don't let the fey innocence of the pixie fool you - they are notorious tricksters. After buttering up poor Sammy Davis, Jr. with false-camaraderie, she clearly enticed then crushed him in contest after contest, knowing he had no chance of besting her, what with his ocular impairment. Such behavior is tantamount to ridicule. Shame on you, Sandy. Shame on you very much.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

"Boy destroying a piano"

from the photographer:

This place, Panty-Waen, once voted the most beautiful village in South Wales in the 1930's, has long since been obliterated by opencast mining. This young boy epitimizes our ambivalent love for both rugby and music. When I asked him what he was doing, he replied, "My mother gave it to me to mend."

photo by Philip Jones Griffiths, Wales. 1961.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Love is the most universal,

the most tremendous and the most mysterious of the cosmic forces. After centuries of tentative effort, social institutions have externally diked and canalized it... Huge, ubiquitous and always unsubdued - this wild force seems to have defeated all hopes of understanding and governing it. It is therefore allowed to run everywhere beneath our civilization. We are conscious of it, but all we ask of it is to amuse us, or not to harm us. Is it truly possible for humanity to continue to live and grow without asking itself how much truth and energy it is losing by neglecting its incredible power of love?

- Teilhard de Chardin

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

An Eye for A Glass Eye Will Make the Whole World Blind

Few people know this, but Sammy Davis, Jr. and Sandy Duncan used to have stare downs. Afterwards, he would chastise her for her Wheat Thins consumption: "Sandy, stop eating crackers in bed!"

I wish I could remember where I read Sammy the Nice Jewish Boy's reason for joining the Satanists. He said the church appealed to him because "the chicks are easy."

Unsavory Conversation

(read at your own risk)

He: "...err, Ann Coulter."

Me: "I know. I wonder what the inside of her vagina is like."

He: "It's lined with sandpaper."

Me: "...and teeth."

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Either You or Your Head Must Be Off

"She is Joseph Goebbels with breasts," says Unremitting Mike.

I don't know what to say. Maybe Coulter's been sniffing glue. Ann, jet-setting liberals don't have genitals - you know that.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Betty's Words of Wisdom

When asked what advice she had to give to young actors trying to succeed in Hollywood, Lauren Bacall said, "Take Fountain."

Thursday, March 01, 2007

When they froze the horse

the sky blanched too
and all the men said
it was just the way life plays sometimes

but the fires wouldn't start
so the air breathed in and out thicker
the sun withdrew
into the dreamy haze
of smokey wicker
when things fall apart

(photo by Carl De Keyzer, russian prison camp, 2002)