i love it. that break they go into for a few measures around four minutes and forty seconds absotively kills the shit out of me. it’s a good song. it’s a damn good song. the precision with these guys live impresses the hell out of me. it’s nice when a band sounds airtight on lp and ends up being equally so live. very nice. examples? shipping news, kickball, shellac. especially the shipping news, though.
shit trips paper unsailing salient
turnip uplift upturn backlot trucktires
come on over here come on over here come on
over i’ve got nothing apsoulivative my friends are heros
titan gods of genius give me them where are they.
please believe please believe please
believe me belie me untie me when i tell you
that i love them all new and old
slightly fat suburban nintendo afterschool basketball latenight talks of girls punk
rock elations bedroom bands bathroom mischief secondary school suspensions
and endless nintendo, believe me
CHRLTN HSTON IS
A SEX MANIAC
Give me the letters i need words what’s Your name what’s my name what’s this an orange? Fifty Six People have died. Very affectative Unsedated naught but boozless rejection. The black sheep is the whitest uncletomming sonfucking bitch.
i want mischief. i want to be the sly irreverent careless crafty silly stylish uncatchable poet scourge lover of women breadthief with not but the stars for a blanket, and maybe perhaps the arms of some sultry slip of a summer girl. don’t get me wrong, i obsess over girls throughout the year, it’s just they’re best in the summer and i want to get lazy with them at any given moment. i sing the song of my cock. my oaken silky organ just want it to be grasped. don’t get me wrong, i like other things, too. but most of those things are things that i have and this is a time for longing. those things are: running around in the sun. ok, so you like girls and running around in the sun. well, yeah, and writing like this and singing and playing music and listening to music and people most of all people they fascinate the hell out of me i can’t stand how damn fascinating they are that’s the meaning of life right there: people. you’ll never learn them fully, just glimpses and fits and spurts. louisiana new jersey abilene malaylsia kentucky. people. god fucking shit, who could ask for more?
jamesing. i don’t know who reads this. probably all who do already know about this simple yet genius game, which is called “jamesing” or “the james.”
it’s so simple it would confuse zizeckk: you see somebody who’s name you know, they’re not looking at you. you yell, speak or whisper their name. they look, but you pretend like it wasn’t you. there are, of course, infinite variations of this, like trying to get somebody you don’t know with the name of a band they probably like, or guessing people’s names.
i can’t possibly explain the hilarity of seeing somebody whip their head around in almost childlike expectation, which then turns to confusion. it’s the best when they say “did someone just say my name?”
anyways, if you’ve read this just now, i implore you to give this a shot. you won’t regret it.
have fun, yall.
why do i feel guilty about not having posted in my web log for a few days? because i’m a pathetic loser, that’s why. ho hum.
i just got back from a good show. calvin johnson + julie doiron + recorders.
recorders were pretty cool. they were about as portland oregon as i ever seen, button-down wearing thirty year olds playing pretty music with a cello, four part harmonies and some space echo on the guitar. i bought one of their cd’s because it was the cheapest thing on the table and all i had was three twenty five. they were nice folks.
julie doiron blew the shit out of me. her voice and bassy fingerpicking were beautiful together, and it all got much better when her band came up and joined her. they “held it down” in a very serious way. i was thinking earlier that there’s no reason why any band should ever be quiet, but these folks pulled it off nicely.
then old calvin johnson. what more can one say? he broke my heart for the 32478th time, and i enjoyed it.
the place, the artistry on division street, was cool. after the show they had a free clothes box up stairs and i scored. my wardrobe is coming back to in the wake of my recent breakup.
on friday i went out to stonehenge to see the black black black and the mood and the last slice of butter. the mood were good and silly and reminded me of the slightly psychedelic music that will always have a place in my heart. the black black black surprised me in the best way imaginable by being really loud and having great drumming and guitars that reminded me of unwound. their recorded stuff that i’ve heard isn’t half as tough as they are live. the last slice of butter was a tougher-than-fuck power duo from seattle. they were a couple a nice fellas, and didn’t pull any punches musically. i bought their cd, which is packaged like a dvd. nic fixed my bike in between bands, so i made it home alright. perhaps i should’ve been a bit safer on those hills, but oh well. i’m still here, at least for now.
i’m psyched for microfest in july, which will have such awesomeness as: calvin johnson, the black black black, typhoon, kickball, mikah sykes and many others. i don’t know how i’ll get up there, but get up there i will, mark my words.
i wrote a couple of poems yesterday and a song today. one of the poems is really cool, but i won’t post it because i just posted like twenty in a row and i think that’s scared everyone away from the old web log. it’d be nice to get nem pomes published, but i really hate poetry, so, you know.
also, i’ve been really getting into ginsburg. he kicks a whole lot of ass, and is one of the few poets to have elicited actual physical responses from me (like moaning unintentionally).
if a bird sings at night
is she
i mean, “it”
a bird?
can you pet heavy twohanded?
can you haunt your bedframe
before you’re laid out?
lay bare you arms
unadorn your gilded heartframe
unspeak your words, unsing your song
undress yourself in earnest, and unclad
drone me your monotone
a harmony of
cacophony united
lose yourself within me and i’ll
loose myself upon you
i see millers
and millers’ daughters
wringing their hands like wraiths
seeking like falcons
i wring the sea of its salt
i adorn my delicate
limbs, as though it were spring
let’s get contemplative
down by the felled oak
why spread a blanket?
this grass is soft
it’ll do just fine
the river’s dirty with fish
don’t separate this touching
my hand is dirty with thought
which is not to say my heart’s not dirty with arising.
those brown doleful
eyes unbaleful
beckon
i mourn as i court you
this elative misery
shines smilingly
a graceless and perfect
lovesoaked juxtiposit
for the untainted want of braazilia
the almic in me does shudder turns
rolls over to look out the bedroom window
shit faced and heavy lidded
warring infractions have the way of
disuttering tendencies which i’d have rather left said
and the sad in me wants to tear my fingernails off
and the little boy in me wants older women and airplanes
the stream dries half sunk and i mire around in the shallows for a bit
i never could just give myself to sleep
life’s a game but life’s a lonely game
and girls with pretty haircuts are elusive
and my garish drawl is more than oft intrusive
but that’s alright, this kind of want’s conducive
to the shit i write, which even now you read
[note: going back and reading this a few days later, it seems a bit sad. i remember thinking it light-hearted and irreverent while writing it, kind of chuckling to myself, you know? i guess it's just me laughing at my lonely moments, which are frequent and creatively profound. the sadness comes from the sadness inherent in loneliness, i guess. but i never take that kind of abstract angst too seriously, because there's absolutely no reason to. i don't know. i'm sure somebody else could explain my poems to me better than i could to myself . . .]
