The Canberra moon festival 2018

Hi my name is Johnny brown and we had just seen a great performance on stage with a lady who does great things with a hoop and I can tell you watching it from here was absolutely amazing and I can tell you, dudes it was fantastic
And now Lucy sugerman is about to perform for us and mate, it is going to be so radical dudes, and there is going to be a great parade at 3-00 and yes it is going to be cool, and you can make lanterns as well, well that is going to be cool for everyone and now here’s Lucy with her music
Johnny’. Wasn’t Lucy fantastic
I really liked the songs she sang
And some songs that really struck our hearts, she is a fantastically talented girl and I especially liked when she sang candle in the wind, in which she sang when she was doing her live shows and it sounded really beautiful, she will be judging the talent show here at the moon festival tomorrow and rob jarrah is coming out to sing his great single called fire in me and I can guarantee he will blow everyone away with his great voice
And yes, he did blow the crowd away and now we have the ANU
K-pop club doing their dance moves for us, and boy are they the fittest individuals you have ever seen and yes, well they are displaying all the right moves
Getting into the party spirit here at the Canberra moon festival this is really cool, dudes and dudettes don’t you think and as they swing their hips and thighs
You just sit back and enjoy the music they dance to, this is really cool, hey
Yeah the ANU k pop club was really good to watch and mate
I really was tapping my foot to some of the best dance music around and they make dancing to it, so easy and well we have only 1 hour and 10 minutes from the great parade, and I think it will be cool and coming on the stage now looks like a variety of different instruments and I wonder what music they’ll play
Well, we just have to wait and see, I will try to catch the groups name, I am sure they will blow us away I just found out that the next act is the ANU Chinese classical music ensemble and I think they will be showing some great sounds for us
Yes, I thought the ANU Chinese classical music ensemble was excellent and very very cool and now as they leave the stage and the next group is the belly dancing group called bellyup
And we will see them wriggle their bellies to great Chinese music and they are cool, let’s get apart of it, well it is easy just tap your foot
Those were great belly dancers weren’t they and mate I will wanna join them on stage and yes they will blow us away and now here is a song from two students from mulwaree high school in Goulburn and mate the harmonies which are coming out of their mouths are really cool dudes
They were great and now it is the kids turn with the Australiasian school of contemplirary Chinese and these kids have a great deal of talent, they are letting their little voices become the better of all of them, and their music are radical dude and as they leave the stage, the next group are playing the beautiful sound of the flute and yes it sounds really cool, yes let’s get ready for a party dude
The flute sounded so great and the kids were very cool, even if I must say so myself and the parade starts soon starting with the dragon dance
And wasn’t that a fantastic dragon dance, they used a lot of force to shake it up, and I liked that a lot and there is a fantastic jiving dancing bunny dancing around and he surely was showing off the right dance moves, and VIP is over and we aren’t very long away the big party, the music is going to so radical dude and mate, if any of you have seen my Facebook page you will see the jiving bunny as well as the dancing dragon, it was really cool
And now we are sitting here listening to this great band rehearse and get the sound right for their performance tonight, this is going to be a great evening at epic and as the venue is the true part of the atmosphere (epic) and they have moved the VIP seating so people who feel like it could come in and party this evening and this is going to be a cool evening dudes right through to 10-00 pm tonight LET’S PARTY
As we are waiting for more performances here is a Canberra moon festival poem
We are a cheering
For the people on the stage
As well as the dragon dance
That is pretty cool
And the people on the rides
Yes they are having fun
And smooth ops rehearsing all
Their music oh yeah that is cool
Yes we are getting with it
Every single day
Party from start party from finish yeah that makes me radical dude
There are also talks on stage
From different but interesting people
Oh yeah and let’s not forget
The jiving bunny yeah he is pretty cool
And the pony and horse rides
Yes the kids love that lots
They go for a ride through the
Amusements yeah that is pretty ace
Ace ace we’re from space
And we party from the start
Till we do a ****
To prove this will be the best

And now we are watching a video on the Asian language
And yes they are telling you about how important it is to learn
Yes, this is going to be one hell of a party, don’t ya think
It was a really cool martial arts display and I thought it was pretty cool, kids and teenagers kicking each other around
And yes, it is pretty radical
The way they break the piece of wood, yeah that is really radical dude and they are going to have more belly dancing soon and yes mate I am looking forward to seeing what that is about
The belly dancing had started and some of the younger folk are coming up to try their hands on a bit of belly dancing and we are seeing everyone even the organisers or volunteers doing a bit of belly dancing it looks like people are going back to the 70s with their belly dancing skills how cool is this and some kids are learning the different styles of belly dancing and one kid made a frog lantern, pretty cool, the music is sounding great and his voice is starting to say I am a lovely lively singer
And I am cool too, yes rob jarrah
is cool and his voice is too die for and mate everyone is gathering in the area for the big party later on, mate rob has a great voice entertaining us till the main concert begins
Rob was great, his voice really expresses himself and now ANU Korean pop comes into the stage to perform some very interesting dance moves and mate they will get this party started for us tonight and they probably have been rehearsing for months to get this dance routine right, let’s get this party started
ANU k pop were ever so cool, as they move all parts of their bodies and they look ever so fit and now here is the Australian school of contempary Chinese again with some kids dancing for us and they look very fit as they are throwing their arms and how they are showing good movement yes, they are cool
And then a guitar solo and a vocalist come out to display their talents and I am sure they will be cool
I thought he sang nicely and now Micah absalum and Bryn wood and they sing for us a beautiful ballad and there is a lot of meaning in this song
And they sounded so radical as they sang it with so much meaning in it and now a ballet number which in her movement she is expressing herself as a positive and compassionate person
We have been seeing more dancers who were really cool and now there is a great young pianist named grace gee and her voice is to die for, ballads are the sound for today but dance has been coming up a close second and grace gee is good on the guitar as well, pretty awesome stuff as she sings one of her own songs which sounds great
The lights went out when Wednesday moon was juggling to lit up rings and it looked really awesome and it lasted for 2 minutes, then they had some great dance routines as well as
Some belly dancers who really shaked their bellies right and then after that they had a belly dance dance off and the winner won $30 gift voucher and she had an absolute ball it was awesome and now it is smooth ops to keep the party rolling awesome dudes
And the party is great
Smooth ops are rolling hits from John Farnham Aretha Franklin
Rip and ac/dc and abba and a bit of uptown funk you up and keeping the party rolling with a bit of the Jackson five and Tina turner’s nut bush city limits and mate this band smooth ops a fucken awesome and they are radical as well and I am well into the party spirit dancing away to these great songs, I hope the second half is just as awesome dudes and a few other oldies as well and then smooth ops came back on the stage and blew the crowd away with great music like it’s raining men and madonna’s cherish and like a prayer and a few of the hip songs that are hitting the charts now and then they played Kylie’s spinning around and thendomino and I will survive and living on a prayer which was the finish of it, it all was pretty radical dude and I can just say
With all this music and fun we had tonight, everybody was in a party mood, there were a man dancing as well as his son yeah that was so cool and now we will say party party party
Till the very end bit

I wish I had a life's moments eraser
To erase all the bad moments from others memories
But I would like to keep them in mine
They give me humility
They give me the charm and qualities I have now

I wish I were beautiful
So that I could not be so nervous when I talk to people

I wish I were a better writer
So that I could be famous for it

I wish I were a better vocalist and that I were musically talented
I can sing already I just want to be better

But I'm the exact opposite
I can't erase my bad moments
I'm not beautiful
And I'm an alright writer, I'm just not the best of them
I can sing good, but I'm just not great

*But I wish most of all to be able to have children someday

1) 12 thousand tweets and none of them are substantial. They're becoming less and less about you though. Maybe that's what is substantial about them.

2) Something in the way you wrap sin in worship.

3) I'm an arson waiting to happen, is the funeral pyre really necessary?

4) Writing about you angrily isn't doing it anymore. I want to smash bricks through windshields that used to hold flowers I bought you.

5) Looks like you're not at the bottom of this one either. ****.

6) My love has always been leprosy.

7) You're the interlude, not the chorus. But, that's okay I'm a terrible vocalist anyway.

8) She wants to date boys that are self aware and boy did she hit the jackpot.

9) You smile with the grace of grandmothers and I'm a bad boy like your grandpa after the War.

10) Can I cut out your grin and put in on the wall next to my framed poster of Bob Dylan and Charles Bukowski?

11) Trace my outline in chalk when I finally drink myself to sleep. I'm euthanizing the pieces of me that belong to you.

12) If I find you in Heaven won't you be in his arms? If I find you in Hell won't you be my torment?

13) You make me feel as insignificant as God does and I think that says something about prayer.

14) I quit paying my phone bill so I'd quit dialing your number like a suicide hotline.

15) My teeth are rotten like the lies that spill out of my teeth. You find me beautiful and I've never been more self-conscious.

16) Your silence fills my abdomen like daggers and words clot where crimson should flow.

17) Loving you is *******.

18) My heart is at a crossroads and you're drowning in dust in the rearview mirror.

19) You prefer the subtle burns. The flames so hot they sever nerve endings when they lick your fingers the way I imagine I would.

20) She sings the body electric and I'm forced to worship her through computer screens and the scratch of needle on vinyl.

VERSE ONE

You can't take my happiness from me before I do
Sitting in class, barely breathing
Nobody's listening
Everybody's slacking
She's asking us to nod if were alive
Still at first,
Then I nod my head,
Sadly, I am alive.
I'm starring out the window,
Realizing how selfish I really am
I can't leave him here alone
He loves me
And I actually love him back
The poor soul,
Stuck with a ***** like me.


CHORUS ONE

For get that! (Scream whole line)
***** the depression,
The self pity,
I don't need it, or deserve it.
Don't feel sorry for me,
Listen to me! (Scream whole line 2x)
That's all I ask...(repeat line 2x, 2nd time quieter)

VERSE TWO

At home lying in bed
Wishing I was dead
Music blaring in my ears
Not caring about all the people, all the tears.
They want help from me,
They want me to soothe them,
To calm their fears,
Break me down,
Make me feel less than human,
Then build me back up...
Just to make the fall that much more devastating...
I won't help them.
They don't deserve it.
Maybe, if they'd leave me alone,
And gather their wit,
They wouldn't need me.
Separate paths...
Gone in a flash
They won't even notice til' it's too late.
By then they'll have decided my fate.

CHORUS TWO

***** the happiness,
The wishing I could be...
This I'm telling you,
I'm sick of the confessin'
Sick of the depression
Done with the last-stand wanna-be's
Saying goodbye to my fair weather friends!
***** those who say they'er trying,
While I'm left here dying! (Lead into scream from 8th line)

VERSE THREE

Not praying to a God I'll never believe in
Placing plans for what lies ahead
Laughing at all of you when your dead (Scream dead, second vocalist sing dead)
I can't believe you fell so easy,
While I fell so hard
I can't wait so see you brutally mangled and scarred (Scream whole line)
I was stupid to have let you win for so long
You think your safe?
Better watch yourself, because I'm about to do something...
Something I really can't identify as wrong! (Laugh evilly after line)
Leave me alone!
You can't take back the things you've said and done
I want to bury you
And I'm not the only one! (Scream whole line 2x, 2nd time softer)
I'm loading the relief and sharpening the happiness
I'll release you from your high horse,
I'll bring you down back to Earth,
So you can't make anyone's life worse! (Scream whole line)

VERSE FOUR

You can't take this happiness from me before I do
Lying in your grave, still breathing
Nobody's listening, Nobody cares! (Scream Nobody cares)
I wasn't slacking, i did my part!
I am alive, your dying!
And I'm done trying.
I'm starring at the sky.
Waiting for you to die.
Do you realize it yet?
Do you realize how selfish you really are? (Scream whole line, 2nd vocalist sing in sync with scream)
I won't save you.
I hate you! (Scream whole line 2x)
The world is rid of a ***** like you...

FINAL CHORUS

Forget you
***** your regrets
Wallow in your self pity
I won't feel sorry for you,
No, not ever! (Scream Not ever)
Your getting exactly what you deserve! (Echo Deserve with a scream)
No! I won't Listen to you! (Scream whole line)
You never listened to me! Scream whole line)
I could never understand some one to cause so much pain,
So don't ask me,
Because I never could...

All my friends are fictional. Anyone who can come close to understanding me is black ink on paper...or, I suppose, a screen. The words seem to be extracted from my own mind, and in some sense, they are, or at least the meaning I've given to them. I think the author and I would get along, but of course, I'll never know. Provoke the melancholy, poke the sleeping bear.  Look up into the air and wonder "Why?". "Why everything? Why anything? Why do I keep asking why? Why do I waste my time with empty questions?". Some of my friends are sound waves.  I think I would get along with the vocalist, or even, the guitarist. Not the drummer though. Never got along with drummers too well.  I listen, as they speak to me in a foreign, yet, familiar language.  A sort of tounges, a melodic pig-latin. A nearly dying, or, freshly dead language. A corpse comprised of chords.  I think, "They must be just like me. They understand how asinine of an existence us humans have".  But, I'll never really know.  A painting or a picture that I often let my eyes visit is my longest, dearest, friend.  With strokes and lines in colors that surround me and embrace me with their vivid visual prowess as a sort of pet.  A silent friend. A friend whose company alone is enough to warm me.  And I think, "Wow, I wish I could make things like that. I wish I could speak without words and without fear".  And then I meet the artist, or at least, read his or her statement, and realize that the speech intended to be delivered was something else entirely, and usually not achieved without enduring his or her own self-projected labrynth filled with pits of fear and dead-ends. And I realize that I can make things like that, that ultimately. I just did.  By creating the meaning that I thought was their intention, I drew my own maze, all that's missing, is the courage to endure it.  And I think, "Wow, what a lonely sad soul that artist must be.  No one will understand what they are trying to say the first time around.  They will constantly be frustrated with the mundane experience of incessantly repeating themselves.  They will make enemies out of the very things they once loved.  They will isolate themselves from those who may have given them everything they wanted."

Huge shame this morning
to hear the legend
Keith Flint the rave vocalist
of The Prodigy pass through
to the other side.  

Brought tears to my eyes.
been a fan since I was 13
brought all the cd's,
brought a smile
fuelled my desire to dance.  
  
His band The Prodigy's music
radiates pure energy in a fast cycle of
beats per minute,
taking you to another place,
a new high,
so addictive.  
It makes you want
to dance in the club,
makes you want a mosh
in one of their concerts;  
makes you want to get your body
moving in every way
even exercise in the gym
you can not resist the beats
making you move your feet,
the rhythm makes you want to
move fast, oh how much
you want that sensation to last.  
Keith Flint's vocal's  
blast out into fire,
the vocal growls
makes your hair stand on end,
the video trippy  
full of sounds and
bright bold colours,
exploring an whole
another world. 
whole new universe dimension  
Amazing vocalist, amazing band
such a shame to lose and too soon,
I never got a chance to
see you mate at one of your gigs
and meet you in person
RIP Keith Flint hope you
have you an amazing
flight to the dance floor
in the sky.

I argue the point and take a stand.  How is eating food and sliding a fork in and out of your mouth so much different than a kiss?  It is a sensational thing to be fully present for either but if I cannot be kissed I will eat like it is my ***!
A hard chair.  Sit upright.  Dress right..or undress just right.Heels of course.  No Tv.  NO PC.  Silence or the Cocteau Twins Treasure.
Treasure is the third studio album by Scottish alternative rock band Cocteau Twins. It was released on 1 November 1984, through record label 4AD. With this album, the band settled on what would, from then on, be their primary lineup: vocalist Elizabeth Fraser, guitarist Robin Guthrie and bass guitarist Simon Raymonde.
The album reached number 29 on the UK Albums Chart, becoming the band's first UK Top 40 album, and charted for 8 weeks.[9] It also became one of the band's most critically successful releases, although the band themselves have expressed dismay at it.  Know your ******* music!
Sit proper and nice.  Make a nice table setting-IMPRESS YOURSELF!!!!  I mean **** who is in your mouth??  You have more sensations all over than you use..I might spank you if you do not do a nice setting and snap a photo..you know I want to sea green IT!!!
Now take the time to feel the complexity of the flavors built, skill involved-maybe a ******* KILT!
Feel the sliding of the FORK IN AND OUT..little strokes in your pout.
Let is slide so slowly out..feel the edges..nice and smooth..let it slide feel that tine groove.
Chew so succulent and slow..feel the textures and LET THOUGHTS GO
Feel the flow, taste everything within it sink below.
Belly warm, food is desire..imagination and being present is all that is required~

The best way to treat myself is some fine dining.  Living watercress & Italian parsley- balsamic vinegar salad on the side of a tempting dish of white beans with sun dried tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, celery, cilantro,orange peppers and some garlic and chili paste with a lemon slice I ate right away and dashed the whole thing with a drizzle of balsamic.  I did not taste test anything.  I know what a good balance is.  My meal was a 5 star worthy dish.  I ate everything on my plate.

Sometimes the world is white,
Colorless and on flight
With a million, billion tiny stars,
Who really aren't so tiny after all.
Who really chose blue for the sky, anyways?
Some painter's eye,
Not satisfied with conventional things,
Like butterflies.
Or kings with their wings-
They flap around too high for him.
Kings' men too low-
Like the children found in the crowd of a well loved show.
The vocalist vomits words-
They mop it up, loved verses
Shouted at the tips of their tongues,
Out at sea.
Or was it see?
I can't really remember,
Everything is so confused these days;
Who really chose blue for the sky, anyways?
Yellow is a much more fine color.
More satisfactory to feel.
Mellow yellow.
Blue is feeling blue-
And maybe that's why the world is so sad.
Maybe the sky would be red if the world more mad-
But let's be honest, the world is already full of red.
The blood in our veins,
The dead laid to rest underground.
Ever stopped to wonder if their minds are still breathing?
I do, too.
But they're stuck with a decaying body.
And we're stuck with blue.

They baptized all us children
At that old country church
They saved this wild young crazy man
From going bad to worse
That old preacher took my hand there
And he walked me to the creek
When he dipped me in the water
He knew who I would meet...

I'LL ALWAYS LOVE
OLD SWEETWATER CHURCH
THEY TAUGHT ME I SHOULD LOVE THE LORD
AND PUT MY NEIGHBOR FIRST
IF YOU EVER DRINK THE WATER
IT SURE WILL EASE YOUR THIRST
I'LL ALWAYS LOVE
OLD SWEETWATER CHURCH

When we sung Amazing Grace
We sung it from the heart
The words from that old preacher man
They always hit their mark
We could feel that spirit move us
Up there on our front row seat
That good old time religion lives
In that chapel by the creek

CHORUS

Bridge:    
Now sometimes when I wander
Too far from the truth
I look back and remember
The lessons of my youth.....

CHORUS

From a song with vocalist Jeff Allen

Raw is superior to polish.
Better is worse than before.
Spent a night on the rusted pier,
ain't nobody come here no more.
So, we've gone equals.
We've no settled score.
We've settled down in our hometown,
living life full of galore.
Glamor shots and tequila cops.
Ain't a single night spent alone.
A fistful of whiskey neat,
eyes full of buzzing,
and bonfires made of bone down on the shore.

"It's good to have a schedule, 'cause then you'll have at least pseudo-legitimate excuses not to do things you want to do even less than what's scheduled. It can also be nice to have a regular rhythm in Life other than your heartbeat and breathing, which, if you're like me, go overlooked enough as it is."

"If I need more rhythm in my life, I play drums."

"You fancy yourself a percussionist too, eh?
Well, for a fellow clock, you're pretty **** sharp!
What the hell you talkin' to me for? You got it already."

"Just finish tuning that guitar already. 'Open Z minor,' right?"

"It's 'drop go-****-yourself,' actually. Your mom's favorite."

"Funny, your mom loves it when I bang with my eyes closed."

"Alright, both of you: shut it before I leave both of your moms beggin' for more. After last time, they sure as **** know we bassists go deeper."

"As the frontman and vocalist, all I have to say is that worthy ladies appreciate the guys who are confident and good with their mouths, so y'alls gotta be sure to get in on those backup vocals! Also, before I forget: please ask your moms about my Funkadelic records. When things have gotten a little too freaky, I tend to be in a hurry. Whips, latex, chains, *******, ball-gags, belts, oils, sandpaper, rubbing alcohol, vinyl, blowtorches, candles, wine.. you know how it is: it can be hard to remember everything you leave in the locker at the end of a long day at the gym!"

"Hah, I'm sure. But, like I was saying.. we need to schedule more gigs."

"I already scheduled some more with your m-"

"I know. She told me."

I stared the crowd down squinty,
always squinty,
a jaw tooth grinding, neck vein
throbbing squinty.

I ****** the mike like a baseball
and spit the windscreen drenched
with naive codified lyric.

They took it all in.

The blender chewed them
to a fine puree of sweat,
bodies and stomped glasses.

And I eyed them squinty,
angry less at Reagan,
angry less at their sheepish
individuality, less
at proliferation or the grim
disparities of class or color -

more so at the soap
in my hair that gave me spine
and drooled stinging into my eyes.

Walking a little bit sideways
While on the wrong side of the road
several weeks flow into days
and every prince is just a toad
though the nothings are a something
'cause the world is viewed through eyes
of a vocalist that cannot sing
and fancy men without a tie
cause suicide is just another way to die

My sentences are forming on the remaining rusting hinges of over exersion
Awake - if my open eyes  and rote memory skills constitute my presence than I was with you guys for the last 14 hours

Please go now

Too many people in my room

Conversations strangling the beauty of a human voice

No wonder we like a talented vocalist so much

One person discovering the pinnacle of their unique interpretation of sound with emotion

Such a delicate process to find the balance that other people can escape into
Tonight there is nowhere to escape to


Instruments and a quiet place I can write- a rich palette to draw from -
interpret -
I really do hope this something I believe in is worthy
- I'm not sure I will ever be a mother but I have projects manifesting inside me-
their slow birth and evolution is fulfilling
Although ...
tomorrow.... I won't remember writing this, but ill sweat the subliminal loneliness that comes with a practical and self sufficient artist's patience.
Surly and divided
decidedly sweet,
you'll see the smiling me rush through the hallways
Are you spinning yourself in the echoes of many girls with  high heels on?

Cosmic dust,
run around the cloudless sky.
Angelic voices,
Sublime with the silent night.

Oleic vocalist of Ibredeic origin,
spin macho skulls like some bottles of dry gin.
Lanky keyboardist of jeremic extraction,
blends those notes to audience satisfaction.

Bees buzz in their budding hive,
preparing to fly away some sunny night.
Trapped in a summer,
no space to run further.

loosing those strings,
built by camp stings.
Drowns those feelings,
in the ocean of friendship.

Don't run to a stranger,
Just to have a taste of life outside the manger.
Don't forget years of shared hopes and strives,
Just for the promise of a ride
or nuptial flight.

Is that a black mote I espy,
Or a still, simpering fly?
Breathing the words of our king,
So soft the susurations ring
That I must strain to hear
And still it come not clear?
Must I sit and wonder
Of I've lived asunder
When the tiny, dark vocalist
Rests calmly from Life's cold jest
On the white wall adjacent
To me?  Oh! If only I knew what it meant
When he lay glassy and grey
In the receding light of day -
I bet, dare I say,
He doesn't matter in the fall -
He doesn't!  No...
Not at all.

there should be easier ways to buy jazz records...
perhaps i should be more familiar
with black literature... perhaps will alexander
is not enough... oh god: i just stepped into
a reverse psychology faux pas...

  again...

there should be easier ways to buy jazz records...
but clearly there aren't...
for years and years i sat on the tube as it rolled
between leytonstone and leyton...
they now have a grand mount... for the new graves...
prior to... the graveyard stretched...
almost the entire distance from one station
of the central line to the next...

i did plan to go into london before
lying myself to sleep... once upon a time i would
go all the way... into tourist central...
i'd go and do the usual... tate modern...
tate national...
i even dressed myself for the occassion...
well... "dressed"...
does a dog change its fur...
i had to capture the sensation of wearing
the same clothes for long enough...
washing, personal hygiene -
change of t-shirts... of course...
but today i was going to buy myself some
jazz records...

i couldn't just hop on the bus (when was
the last time i used a bus -
rather the centipede of my own legs?
you never forget to swim or ride a bicycle -
when was the the last time
i used the tube?) -  and just head to the shop...

that would be so boring...
and i'm not a female to window-shop either...
what ensured a diversion?
immaculate timing...
   walking up to the bus stop...
a girl... probably 16... sitting and waiting...
bus pulls up... i gesticulate: ladies first...
and she gives me a smile...

that decided... winter! it's winter!
and Freya's daughter took a needle's eye
and brought me before the altar of my original
whim...
jumped on the 66 bus and then on
the central line... newbury park,
gants hill, redbridge, wanstead,
leytonstone... leyton... and onto st. patrick's
roman catholic cemetary...

just before spring comes...
to find the absolute nadir of winter -
perhaps autumn is when romance novels
are written about death...
but i much prefer graveyard in winter...
i would have gone further into london:
but those jazz vinyls are not going
to buy themselves...
plus... i find graveyards... well...
hardly morbid... i like them because...
esp. the roman catholic ones...
have statues... and...
well... who wouldn't want to see
a museum of statues: al fresco!

reiteration - because i can't mumble
or metaphor myself or make this succinct...
graveyards are museums al fresco...
whoever was the sculptor... of the crude stone...
the second artist... the weatherer has also
done his bit... coy wind... a splattering
of "paint" with rain...
the... basking in the sun...
the drop in temperature...
i like to see the "other" artist at work...
give me this one life's span a peek into
the deeds of this almost eternal sculpture
baron...

whether god or: death personified...
               the theological god can return to his
origins story... the sun the moon the stars
the: what came first the chicken or the egg...
what came first... the spiderweb or the spider?
pointless hamsterwheel questions:
a priori this... a posteriori that...
museums are stuffy... they might hold
under their roof... in pristine vacuum...
the Elgin marbles... but i want to visit a museum
that breathes! these gravestone statues...
breathe! if you're not careful enough...
you might see a wandering eye...
as if someone transcendent has touched them...

graveyards: museums al fresco...
and in winter? and it's your typical sodden...
overcast... london clepsydra of drool and dire
and the scent of wet dog fair...
and there is no chance to intoxicate yourself
with the decomposition of autumn's fall:
banquet of leaves... and that sickly sweet
botanical scent of decay...
it's winter and raindrops become piercing
needles of sensation...
you wouldn't even dare... to blink.
                    
- of course i had to take a few photographs...
it would be weird if i didn't...
once upon a time even death was due
man's concern for beauty...
in these grave statues... whether it's a 1000th
jesus or some obscure saint...
whatever it was... it was certainly worth...
imitating a ******... getting all wet with
goosebumps on the ******* sack tickling you...
no hard-on... whenever you'd want
to gasp and spew some variation whale
sonar: morse onomatopoeia: coy cooing an ooh...

so back on the tube and to the record store...
****... need to ****...
to the pub and half a pint of guinness...
again: a woman's smile is so up-lifting...
and that surprise as you're only there for half
a pint... up the stairs to the toilet and...
out the pub...

the thing about buying jazz records...
why would i buy a gramaphone...
if i didn't intend to only buy jazz records for it?
why buy, modern vinyl?
the thing about buying jazz records...
you need to know a few names...
you always look at the... "starring"...
i know there's another term for what i'm
looking for... "starring" is easy...
and it's in no way related to the word:
repetroire... but it is french etymologically:
although mutated from: ensemble...

i'm pretty sure there is an english equivalent
to ensemble: which is not "starring"...
accompanied by...
                 that sort of mid-way introductory
statement by the vocalist...
on the piano we have...
on the guitar we have... and each band member
does a little accent impromptu:
accent impromptu: which is not a full-on
hair-metal solo 2 hour slow bbq **** chicken
strutting send-off into the stratosphere...

never mind... can't a white guy just appreciate
jazz... i'm tired of the sycophants of classical music...
including charles bukowski...
the japanese have covered this sycophancy
and elevated it to virtuosity of the drum-kit
monkey... fair play...
but jazz never allows you to... over-think...
anything... a head without thought
and all that sea of feel...
logic is over-rated... i like my cushion of
the antithesis of descartes: res cogitans in that
i find pleasure... in res vanus...
- and classical music is over-thought...
to me at least... it's a falling piano of notes
and no breather... no feel for bass drums or pause...
for an accent of sorts...
no real idiosyncracy - beside the idiosyncracy
of the oeuvre...

jazz says to me: i don't want to over-think:
not-thinking...
it's as simple as that... i hardly think a cat
allows that onomatopoeia: meow...
i hardly think a dog allows that onomatopoeia:
bark / woof... to enter and govern his mind...
this imitation of being: surrounded
by beings with complex prompts and
a car-wreck of sounding verbiage...
hardly a woof or a meow to be "deconstructed"
in those furry-heads of theirs...
how does a sax sound in my head...
when i can't hear a sax outside of it...
i'm not a composer... letters would congest
the sponge... soapy water instead
of live-young evian... pristine cool and crisp...

drums and all their ambience...
when there's the intro by the horn...
before the protagonist sax takes over...
sly little horn...
jazz... i don't like to over-think not-thinking...
classical music?
i tend to over-think not-thinking...
with jazz i can never over-think not-thinking...
because: feelz... and what-not...
it's hardly an armchair of apathy...
it's hardly a sofa of tolerance...
it's a cushion for a head that sometimes
feels like a tonne of lead...
and the air doesn't become water: "magically"
to even wish for a sinking sensation...
blurps of bubbles no...
there's only the almighty fall or an explosion...

feelz... (this will be addressed...
the Z... in german... that i do promise...)

- again, not again, again... i can't buy the same old
stale **** narrative behind the slave trade...
there's a jack of spades in here somewhere...
no blacks in h'america: no jazz...
it's that simple... god forbid where i'd be at if
i were to still praise the suffocating confines
of classical music...
this is classical music to me...
this is... everything that's suffocating about
Bach's innovative polyphony...
polyphony sure... but what jazz allows and
what classical music doesn't...
it's hardly called a solo if only the piano gets
it... a chopin or a liszt...
any... famous violinists sharing the stage
with the pianists... the piano is the only instrument
that's allowed a solo: proper...
but in jazz... you can get all the instruments
in the ensemble given a fair share...
no africans coming over to h'america...
no jazz... instead:
       pirouettes in corsets and crinolines!
ugh...
               liberated into: chain-smoking
and giggling why pulling an imaginary chain
saying: choo! choo! this train has nowhere
to stop... beside a tomorrow...
and should tomorrow come...
                                      that's still only a gamble!

jazz because there is no singing...
            well... 'my funny valentine'... chet baker...
better known on screen as ethan hawke...
astronaut... thespian... at large chameleon...
dat dere: the disappointment from
having chamelon leather shoes...
that will riddle... should ever a pair be made...
no fluorescence no change in the weather...
just at the time of the killing...
would the pigment remain: "thus desired"?
well... i don't know what the muslims
and the yids have against pork...
i'm pretty sure most standards of belts
and shoes are... made from pork skin...
which is... well... leather...
perhaps they should don the orthodox ***
yom kippur statement of running
into the synagogue wearing sneakers!

just saying... porky pink and whitey sneaked
in with a guitar and a piano...
sonny clark also tip-toed on the black
and white cascade...
                                  interludes from absence...
or the myth of the custard -
               it boils like a voice unearthed from
mud... tinged with surprises of a canary...
gloating glutton of the stove...
               jazz in the kitchen,
jazz in the bedroom... jazz in the living room...
jazz sitting up, jazz sitting down,
jazz drinking a hop-heavy lager...
jazz sober...
                                        it's not jazz:
because i live in new york and i have a feel
for the romance with frank o'hara and all things
gay and otherwise cosmopolitan...
romford is probably like hull...
and i'm the antithesis of phil larkin...
my verse is more scribbles and scrabble than
his neat: your parents ****** you...

jazz is a rebellion akin to 'my parents ****** me'
when they fed me a classical music diet
as a child... rock guns 'n' roses grunge and punk
were minor rebellions: teasing pop...
but nothing to match to the diet of classical music
ingested early on in life...
                          jazz was and is, though...

- when buy a jazz record... you have to look for
the usual suspects...
sometimes you look what the lead protagonist
is playing... after hearing Grachan Moncur III's
avant-garde... i'm not convinced...
but there is a list of the usual suspects...
evolution just reminded me of everything
i didn't like about eric dolphy's out to lunch...
but there's a list of usual suspects...

'i can't believe i almost bought a vinyl of a c.d.
i already own... money jungle by duke ellington...
good that i didn't...'

the usual suspects of an ensemble alternating:
eric dolphy, paul chambers, freddie hubbard,
sonny clark, joe chambers, herbie hancock,
john coltraine, sonny rollins, kenny burnell,
art blakey...            wayne shorter...
what would probably become equivalent to...
sitting through a ****** movie...
but otherwise finding the end-credits more
entertaining... the ******-movie of what's not
remembered as that golden fleece of mid-20th
century nostalgia...
i once placed my nostalgia in h'american
hippy culture... come to think of it...
i guess my nostalgia is: the coming out of
1950s america and no quiet going the full mile
into beatnik poetry recitations with jazz
in the background...
no one would **** the poets:
instead the jazz musicians...
                     somewhere cowering under
an umbrella sown together from moth wings...
assuring himself a lightbulb was
the sun... evidently no formality of language
genesis: dear sir / madam
exodus: yours sincerely / yours faithfully...
and all of this... in between?

                         shoes shoes...
two jazz records is hardly an extravagance...
these days...
oliver nelson - the blues and the abstract truth...
sonny rollins - the bridge (jim hall on guitar)...
well... because sonny rollins and: colossus...
24 quid...
                why am i supposed to remember
the slave trade... am i a native of these parts?
i thought i was the "dumb ******" industrial n-----
joke? don't shoot the messanger...
do i look like i've just killed your grandma'
by playing a ******* harmonica?
not everyone is going to be listening to rap...
what jazz gave rap... isn't gonna give
that easily for me to ingest... *****-nilly...
sonny rollins... looks like a well attired man...
even if it is 1963... perhaps my own ambitions are lax...
i'm the son that wouldn't become
his father... and he was always the son
that was going to overshadow his father...
and that leaves me with my paternal grandfather...
all that remains to be said...
by my maternal grandfather: we has a hard worker...
well... stick that as an epitaph for
anyone without an epitaph on their grave...
i'm sure those dates will look like
candy dripping from a ******* rainbow
any day soon!

thighs, legs in total, comic sanskirt of the brains
between the gallows of *******....
and hands: all those geisha hands...
are the erotica canvas for my no-thrills
genocide *****-and-tic canvas work of a tissue...
because... even if i "cant get any"...
any is just as plenty...
i shared a moment in a supermarket with
a guy who was buying...
wine and bread... honest to god...
he was buying wine and bread...
i missed the last supper and that magic
of a philosopher's stone of:
the wood of all metaphors...
that great driftwood of history...
the postage stamp of contemp. african
get-togethers in europe...

                       an eric dolphy or an bobby hutcherson
on cymbals... "vibes"
   ("vibes" could also be made synonymous
with a prog rock artifact...
a Hammond E-112 ***** too)
                            could work...
the cymbals or the xylophone or whatever
that elevator muzak attache is...
could work... in synch...
on something like grant green's idle moments...
as forrest gump would have said it...
the gi(t)ar is in symbiosis...
but please no horns no sax...
well... sax ever so slightly...
just below the drums...
most certainly beneath the bass...
keep it clean with the guitar and the piano...
only then... some sort of equilibrium...

otherwise what's 120 quid?
something my hands can touch and the sort
of money that i would never spend:
how much vinyl can a man eat
before he realises... this **** isn't liquorice!
from pocket to pocket...
from hand to hand...
                  i never gave that money 10 quid
short with a box of chocolates or a bunch
of flowers... so i guess...
that's money best swept under the rug
of daily needs... flowers wither and chocolate...
eh... chocolate...
                                it's not the thought
of liquorice when playing a vinyl record on
a gramophone... anise amber anise amber anise...
cinnamon and...
and and and and... the raven hair of
bulgarian prostitutes... fingertips...
if only the tongue could read braille...

       i'd ensure that if i went into a brothel
i'd spend a good ten minutes moving my fingertips
ferocious against a brickwall...
some might say: i wanted to experience
of feeling oysters under my fingertips...
when caressing the otherwise sandpaper of skin...
and time...

beer becomes an elevated circumstance
of some leftover whiskey...
and this... cameo cinema of my memories...
yes... rubbing my fingertips against
a brickwall... before walking into
a brothel...

- the germans have been lying!
they have another "secret" letter in their arsenal...
although they will not outright admit it!
perhaps the ß (eszet) is interchangeable in
younger brother ßaß (saxon) english...
surprise: surpriße!
                
             most of the arabs flock around
the nationalflaggehandelsflaggeparteiflagge...

perhaps there was an S-to-Z-to-S-to-Z
interchange bound to the ß...
aber...

wo alle straßen enden...
                     hört unser weg nicht auf,
wohin wir uns auch wenden,
die Zeit nimmt ihren lauf...

         yep... that german "z"... which is more like...
a "russian" c... a ****** c... most certainly
a wet snare sizzle of... a ... Ц...

   das herц, verbrannt...
                   im schmerц, verbannt...
so цiehen wir verloren durch gas graue
niemandsland.

              then again... that all depends which german
dialect you're talking about...
and that russian spy ц is most certainly missing
upon a: schwarzdeutsche
             richtigerdepflugdeutsche rendition of:
zu...

and that's the compensation dynamic...
i'll reach into the zenith of jazz...
but come into the nadir of german army songs...
i'll squeeze a horn but then
come and drop a stone dipped in honey
into a hornet's nest...

              perhaps i haven't been the best
tourist when it comes to the concentration camps...
but i have visited the mass graves of the germans
from the first world war around Ypres...
and i have been to the graveyards of the allies...
a sparrow or a robin always seems
to sing each individual german soldier's lot
in the graveyards of the sleeping en masse...
the silence always breaks...
seeing how they were piled up...
                 compared to the individual graves
of the allied soldiers?
it's almost like going to see the end product
of the contracetion camps...
              a heap of bodies readied for a mass grave...

let's not riddle a liking for folk songs into this...
folk songs are non-negotiable details in all of this...
a black man can call another black man
a n-----... well...
i might as well call another white man...
carelessly and with ridicule... a ****...
sorry... hehe... "oops"... a... naцi...
                                                                a нaци...
         beware the german Z given the ß und Ц...
eh... don't mind the S... it's hardly a caron (š) S...
you'd need to compound -sch- into the whole affair...
and still the east germans would write
ich... их... but... somehow make-out to say:
isch... iś... which is not a caron (š) S...
nor saшa...            it's... somewhere "in between":
                                 š   ś
                     via rammstein's ich will...
well... it's not french... so there's no grave S
          to compliment... so... das ist das... yener...
                    
so much for a friday night...
              before the altar of Moloch...
and his resurrection... busy body demon deity
of the abortion clinic...
and these are the old gods united
under the single Mammon facade of the semites...
Moloch is alive and well...
perhaps the babies sacrificed to him
are not still-born or otherwise...
perhaps the strain of the argument from
the conservatives whispered a retort for me
to utter: that each ******* if a microcosm
genocide... i will not utter the name...
call it an elevated sort of superstition...
or rather... i don't have to say the racial
slur... because... i'm pandering to
                                   porцellanmenшen -
that's two russians "spies" in already...
                                       regarding the иɐzᴉ...
at what point...
                                     under what authority...
it's a **** good metaphor though...
"metaphor"...
          that Moloch is awake once more...
as a deity in his own right -
no longer the "fallen angel" in the pantheon
of semitic gods brought to heed...
before ha-shem.

Be, from whatever party you represent?
It's hard to please everyone, when you're in government.
Especially if you're the president.

The voices of negativism loves to speak.
Except many complainers afraid to run for offices of government.
But quick to say, who's the worst president.

Churches seems to be the most vocalist.
Because your views represent things according to them against scriptures.
But they can't accept some truth that's emerging about Jesus.

Besides, if you say they should pay taxes.
Then you see various uproars.
But many quick to say, who's the worst president?

And those celebrities that feels they were done wrong.
Cause the president agenda doesn't line up against their opinions.

All those historians love to address this subject too.
Then in all honesty , its just their views.
The best president is considered by some the worst president too.

lively music breaks out
from the stage
a friend of mine (Daniel)
his band is playing


the night is hot
to spite the frigid weather


from start of the next set
the crowd's a wreck
many rode hard
now wet with sweat

a female vocalist lit up the scene
with a sonic scream
bodies were flailing around
she kept wailing out


the war rages on
until early morn
everyone screaming and jumping
all passengers caught up in storm


having been transported now
[to a land far away]
for most of the night

i'm feeling ragged
[worn out]
but still pretty high

if a person is famous
they name a bridge after you or
a street

at least a rest stop
on the turnpike

greatness

however

is a different matter ...


melodious percussion

the guitar player
in dark sunglasses
wearing a fedora hat
the brim pulled down

the vocalist
with a voice
like rain


you find greatness
in the strangest of places

a pint of bourbon
a poem

or

at
a strip mall on rt. 9

sure I'd *******
if you want to
but conditions apply
there's a list of reasons why
you may deny my acceptance

1. turn off the lights
I feel safer under the shelter
of a night sky illusion
where your hands are guides
to the lines of my body
and you're too distracted to draw conclusions
about the fact that i gained ten pounds
it sounds like I want to hide from you
but in truth it's not you
it's the curves of my stomach
the stretch marks on my legs
only the light can reveal my disfigured shape

2. don't leave hickey's on my neck
my skin is a blank canvas
yet to be burdened with bruises
so there are no excuses
for leaving them where eyes roam
you don't have to be gentle
I don't mind coming home
and seeing your art work
but I don't want to have to explain
it will **** the beauty
when everyone can see
what somebody else could do to me

3. don't make promises you won't keep
don't decide to hold me
and tell me you love me
I accept your arms around my shoulders
I will not listen to your words
murmurs of nothing mean nothing to me
and I find it hard to believe
another girl won't fill the space
in the bed I'd once been
if it isn't forever
then let's not pretend
i'd much rather love you
and say you're a friend

4. play records in the back
I don't want to hear silence
or the sound of our movement
anything but nothing
would be an improvement
the whine of a vocalist hitting my ears
is the only thing that may keep me sane
I can never think straight
this strain on my brain can only be tamed
by the gentle noise
of Arabella in my head
If I can only hear your labored breaths
i will never feel relaxed
when I'm in your bed

5. don't do it again
I know the game
I'm willing to play
but I will not succumb twice
my heart may break the next day
when I realize your phone call
got lost in the mail
so I have to cut ties
because I'm not dumb
I mean nothing more
than any girl you had before
you see I do not pretend
that you love me
I know that tomorrow is the end
so do not ask me to come back
because I will
don't attack my heart with hope
when none remains

agree and i'll *******
if you still desire
true it seems strange
what I ask is required
I don't think it's too needy
just five simple tasks
but if it's too much
forget that I asked

I once sat here on my balcony
-around this time I think-
Writing songs out
Phonetically for you all to read..
Eventually I decided to just set
Paper and crayons
On fire while surrounded by
Those three dead bees my mother killed
With my chancleta earlier...
**** was brutal because she was
Yelling while killing them...
And I remember that I couldn't help
But laugh at her and her distraught!
I imagined her as a ******* vocalist for my band..
I think she'd suit a straight-edge band though..
Maybe some Christcore..
But she hates my music and we've grown apart.

But just as I was sitting here melting
And burning stuff, and writing stuff amongst the dead,
I was sitting with them, the bees,
For those past few days when they were alive..
I even took pictures and videos..  
I can imagine myself saying "I didn't want them to die"
Because perhaps I didn't want them to die.

"Go **** them! Death to bees! Take this broom! It's on the net!"
But I didn't do it.

I once sat here on my balcony
Around this particular time and
Wrote a similar poem..

I once, but in intervals, did twice
The movement of a single brisk breeze
For double the time of a considerable
Moment amongst the living.
It was deafening.

i know i was sent away for boy problems
exactly 13,750 kilometres away from all the raw joy pain tears frustration infatuation
those sloppy kisses
you slipped through my lips and whispers of promises
as i cried out in pain when you said everything will be okay
never will i forget
you took the effort to squeeze through the sweaty foggy crowd
heineken in hand
you stuttered as you tried to shout over the vocalist.
dark hair and equally dark eyes.
i should've noticed the telltale
signs
of stay away.
miss you like how a girl addicted to heels would.
getting blisters and before they heal can't wait to get back into them again.
and repeat.
you left the sheet stained.
crimson in red.
you left for the shower
and before long i left for good.

You are one of the most loving people
I have ever met

Maybe closer to an angel than a human being
Thank you for listening to me
With such understanding

A vocalist, musician, therapist, professor
And soon to be mom too
Is there anything you can't do?

Well,
It is a great joy to spend time with you