Weekday Literary Inspirations:

The Con Job
By C. Bukowski

the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here.
the U.S. ground troops were
largely
made up of
Blacks, Mexicans and poor
whites
most of whom had joined
the military
because it was the only job
they could find.

the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here
and the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
as on tv
and on the radio
the fat white rich newscasters
first told us all about
it
and then the fat rich white
analysts
told us
why
again
and again
and again
on almost every
tv and radio station
almost every minute
day and night
because
the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
at dawn
in a desert land
far enough away from
here.

-----
Thought that this would be a good representation on what the current fighting situation overseas is all about. And what Bush and Dick got us into.

Charles Bukowski Mondays

From the book:
Drinking With Bukowski

Charles Bukowski interviewed by Sean Penn

On Shakespeare:
He's unreadable and overrated. But people don't want to hear that. You see, you cannot attack shrines. Shakespeare is embedded through the centuries. You can say "So-and-so is lousy actor!" But you can't say Shakespeare is shit. The longer something is around, snobs begin to attach themselves to it, like suckerfish. When snobs feel something is safe...they attach. The moment you tell them the truth, they go wild. They can't handle it. It's attacking their own thought process. They disgust me.

On Writing:
I never write in the daytime. It's like running through the shopping mall with your clothes off. Everybody can see you. At night... that's when you pull the tricks... magic.

M.I.A & Jack Kerouac

It has been a crazy last few weeks so I apologize that I havent updated. My new seattlepi.com gig has kept me busy which has been a great blessing. So while I finally post a new piece I wanted to share some wisdom from the late great...



Jack Kerouac

Belief and Technique for Modern Prose, a list of thirty "essentials."


1. Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for your own joy
2. Submissive to everything, open, listening
3. Try never get drunk outside your own house
4. Be in love with your life
5. Something that you feel will find its own form
6. Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind
7. Blow as deep as you want to blow
8. Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind
9. The unspeakable visions of the individual
10. No time for poetry but exactly what is
11. Visionary tics shivering in the chest
12. In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you
13. Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition
14. Like Proust be an old teahead of time
15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog
16. The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
17. Write in recollection and amazement for yourself
18. Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea
19. Accept loss forever
20. Believe in the holy contour of life
21. Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind
22. Don't think of words when you stop but to see picture better
23. Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning
24. No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
25. Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it
26. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
27. In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness
28. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better
29. You're a Genius all the time
30. Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven

Charles Bukowski Mondays

the Interview

By Charles Bukowski

I read it all.
the poet went on and on
talking about the value of
workshops.
this poet taught at a
university.
believed in teaching poets in
prison,
and teaching poets in the schools,
high schools,
reading his poems there,
bringing the word.
this poet had studied under
C. and R. and O.
yes, this poet always carried
a notebook
to capture impressions
at odd moments
else they would be forgotten.
yes, this poet revised his stuff
many times.
as much as six revisions per
poem.
this poet had been awarded
grants and
prizes.
during dry periods this poet hiked
or rode his bicycle.
the masses, said this poet,
were hungry for poetry.
the reason the books didn't
sell was not that poetry itself
was insufficient but that the
masses were sadly unaware of
it.
it was our duty to awaken the
people he said, it was our responsi
bility, etc.

I dropped the magazine to the
floor, got up, walked to the
bathroom
and had one of my best
bowel movements in
several years.

Weekend Literary Inspirations:

Regarding the Writer's Life
By-Line: E. Hemingway, p. 185

"You must be prepared to work always without applause. When you are excited about something is when your first draft is done. But no one can see it until you have gone over it again and again until you have communicated the emotion, the sights and the sounds to the reader, and by the time you have completed this the words, sometimes, will not make sense to you as you read them, so many times you re-read them. By the time the book comes out you will have started something and it is all behind you and you do not want to hear about it. But you do, you read it in covers and you see all the places that now you can do nothing about. All the critics who could not make their reputations by discovering you are hoping to make them by predicting hopefully your approaching impotence, failure and general dying of natural juices. Not a one will wish you luck or hope that you will keep on writing unless you have political affiliations in which case these will rally around and speak of you to Homer, Balzac, Zola and Link Steffens. You are just as well off without these reviews. Finally, in some other place, some other time, when you can't work an feel like hell you will pick up the book and look in it and start to read and go on and in a little while say to your wife, "Why this stuff is bloody marvelous."
And she will say, "Darling, I always told you it was." Or maybe she doesn't hear you and says, 'What did you say?" and you do not repreat the remark.
But if the book is good, is about something that you know, and is truly written and reading it over you see that this is so you can let the boys yip and the noise will have that pleasant sound coyotes make on a very cold night when they are out in the snow and you are in your own cabin that you have built or paid for with your work."

Poetry and Prose...

"The next day"

Sincere exhaled laughter screaming from tree branches
lived in by sparrows
not anymore by crows

the sky is lighter, the unwoven streets less rough
with edges softened of padded concrete

tolerable days arrive once again
anger has subsided making way
for joy
I may spring for the expensive booze
this time

an asphyxiated feeling

even if short-lived.

I hope not
I have to hope not

A Great Opportunity Has Come My Way...

As an aspiring writer whose words mostly cling to the back of napkins and beer-stained notebooks, yet wish to write for a magazine or newspaper, it is always something to shout about when your pain-staking sentences see the light of day, up from the pitch-darkened "Office Space" basements while still holding on to your stapler. I have just gotten that opportunity, another baby-step closer towards a desk with walls. I will be a reader blogger for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer online at seattlepi.com. I will be writing about my neighborhood and the many musical and literary happenings that go on around there. I am very excited.

Do not fret as I will still have my "15 Minutes." I will post a link on here to my P.I. blog when I am off and running so feel free to check it out.

Poetry and Prose...

"Future"

Laying down my head
on a slab of concrete pillows
still and
motionless

with fear and anger
blistering in the sun of
a thousand fireflies surrounding
the clouded air.

All alone.

dreaded anger lingers the mind
where do I turn, who do I
turn to?

The beer bottle is my genie bottle.
suffocated breaths as I take gulp by gulp
I stare drunk eyed at the emptied demon rum

"Where are my three wishes"?

Charles Bukowski Mondays

found poems

By Charles Bukowski

I know I shouldn't write so many poems
but
it's a form of self-entertainment which
AMAZINGLY
I am paid for.
I live alone in this large house with 2
cats (there were 3, one died)
and at a my age it's realistic to assume that
I might also die
one of these a.m. nights
after writing 10 or 12 poems
and that's where the laugh
comes in:
before I bed down I place the new
poems
neatly in the center of my desk so that
when the stink gets bad
and the neighbors complain or
when my girlfriend phones and the phone goes
unanswered

the poems will be found.
not that my death will be tragic or
important

(I will be out of
here)

but the poems themselves will
let them know

(those carping little
critics)

that I was good until the end
or maybe even
better.

The Elephants Hate Democracy

I will return to Nostalgia Friday next week-or possibly later- but I wanted to take this time to discuss politics, particularly Alaskan politicking. I know, I know, the word "Politics" is in the same breath as four-letter bad words, underneath the same mushroom cloud as watching an explicit sex-scene at a movie theater with your parents or grandparents... its uncomfortable. Yet, I feel it necessary to bite the bullet, power through and well, just get it over with and out there in the open.

I am an Alaskan. I may not live there anymore but I was born and raised so I believe I still have some say and sway in being a true Alaskan-ite and listening to what goes on up there within the forty-ninth state. I have to confess that since the unveiling of Sarah Palin during the 2008 presidential election, I cringe every time I tell others where I am originally from. In the eloquent words of Seth Rogan discussing Paris Hilton from his 2008 film 'Zack and Miri,'"...And I'm pretty sure she's legally retarded." I think that also can be said about the Alaskan Governor.
That being said, I am fed up with what I've heard lately from Sarah Palin and the holier than thou Republicans wanting Democrat Mark Begich to resign after learning that Ted Stevens, a long-time and disgraced Republican, was set free by the Obama Justice Department. As DailyKos.com, a left-wing blog, asked in the link below,"Why do we hold elections anymore?":

"The Alaska Republican Party is calling on Democratic Sen. Mark Begich to resign his first-term post as senator, one day after Attorney General Eric Holder cleared former Alaska Sen. Ted Stevens of felony charges Wednesday...
The Alaska Republican Party...believes that current Senator Mark Begich should resign his position to allow for a new, special election, so Alaskans may have the chance to vote for a senator without the improper influence of the corrupt Department of Justice," the Alaska Republican Party's Web site states.

Yet, the felony charges were billed on the Republicans watch:

"The entire investigation into Ted Stevens' lawbreaking was conducted by a Republican Justice Department. And naturally enough, the Bush DOJ managed to screw up the investigation. Given that virtually everything the Bushies touched turned to suck, this is no surprise to anyone.

Now, I may be wrong on this and I have yet to see or hear any progress or change from Mark Begich, but isn't he or was a "Conservadem"? A Democrat who is actually siding with the Republicans at times? One of the few Democrats' who have been leaning to the Right on certain policies? But he is a Democrat who was elected legitimately. Why then, are the Alaskan Elephants getting their panties in a bunch? I wonder..
Sarah Palin and the Elephants are not the brightest bulbs in the light store. As the Daily Kos article reads, It was Palin who called for Ted Stevens' head when the allegations and indictments were brought, and now she has flip-flopped once again calling for a special election.

Apparently, the Elephants hate Democracy. From Alaska, to Minnesota-Where Norm Coleman has lost to another celebrity turned politician- and on their way into Washington D.C. The elections and the Democratic wins were legitimate. Get over it.

No wonder John McCain does not plan on supporting Palin in 2012 or 2016.
__________
*Update*
As this story picks up pace and confuses the media; Countdown with Keith Olbermann's guest host David Shuster tonight interviewed Margaret Carlson from Bloomberg News regarding the situation and Rachel Maddow even mentioned it. It seems as though the GOP (Grand Obstructionist Party) has been at it again. While it is absolutely clear that corruption did occur by Ted Stevens, the Obama DOJ did what had to be done because of the Bushian screw-ups. Yet, the Alaskan Elephants believe that Stevens should be part of a new election for some odd reason.

What did we talk about before Alaskan politics were revealed?


http://thinkprogress.org/2009/04/02/palin-begich-stevens/

http://www.dailykos.com/storyonly/2009/4/3/716141/-Republicans-Hate-Democracy,-Episode-532

Poetry and Prose...

"Normal"

Normality opens the mind
severs the body
soils the soul

Blurred vision viewing cannons
spewing dust in spurts
Normalcy is a disease

Hording the inner workings of
the machine
a disease conscious

contagious

live crazy.

Poetry and Prose...

"Improvisation"

Coming out swinging like antlers
on parade
Muscling its way through
the crowd

Booze Hounds, Run Downs
Whores
All were surrounded by light
Nothing comes, nothing goes

The Whore
She sure came deep throating
The Run Down
Hounds with booze in their
Hands

Charles Bukowski Mondays

Contribution to Voyagers "Poetry in Motion" Series from the 1990's

By Charles Bukowki



Transcript:
"Reading the poets has been the dullest of things. Even reading the great novelists of the past, I said, "Tolstoy is supposed to be special?" I go to bed, I read War and Peace. I read it, I read it, I say, "Where is the specialist in War and Peace?" I really tried to understand. I mean, and then many of the great poets of the past, I've read their stuff. I've read it. All I get is a goddamn headache and boredom. I really feel sickness in the pit of my stomach, I say "There's some trick going on here, this is not true. This is not real, its not good."
You see poetry itself contains as much energy as a Hollywood industry. As much energy as a stage play on Broadway. All it needs is practitioners who are alive to bring it alive. Poetry has always been said to be a private, hidden art. Not to be appreciated. The reason it's not appreciated is because it hasn't shown any guts, hasn't shown any dance. Hasn't shown any moxie. Poetry is generally very dull, very pretensive. Uh, those who say the poet is very private and precious person, I don't agree with. Generally, he is just a dumb, fiddling asshole writing insecure lines that don't come through, believing he's immortal, waiting for his immortality which never arrives. Because the poor fucker just can't write. Most poets, coets, whoets, carrots, can't even write a simple line. Like, "The dog walked down the street."Nothing should ever be done that should be done. It has to come out like a good hot beer shit. A good hot beer shit is glorious man. You get up, turn around, look at it and your proud. The fumes, the stink of the turd, you look, you say, "God, I did it. I'm good." Then you flush it away and there is a sense of sadness when just the water is there. It's like writing a good poem, you just do it. You, its a beer shit. There's nothing to analyze, nothing to say it's just done. Got it?
I really hate reading verse because you're really getting up there. You've written poems that you really meant alone, you know, by you're typewriter, then there's crowd out there drinking beer and all that. And you're reading it to them. The writer has no responsibility. Except to jack off and bed (vet?) alone and type a good page. I continued writing even though it came back and got drunk for 10 years. I felt there was nothing out there. So I had to continue because they were so bad, not because I was so good. And I'm still not so good, but they're still very bad. There is still room for somebody to step in here you see, and I hope he arrives or she.
That should be enough right there, with that bottle of 55 poets, that should cure them. With their melody but it wont. Goodnight, goodbye, and happy reading.

Weekend Literary Inspirations:

The Origins of Joy in Poetry

By Jack Kerouac
Chicago Review, 1958

The new American poetry as typified by the SF Renaissance (which means Ginsburg, me, Rexroth, Ferlinghetti, McClure, Corso, Gary Snyder, Phil Lamantia, Phil Whalen, I guess) is a kind of new-old Zen Lunacy poetry, writing whatever comes into your head as it comes, poetry returned to its origin, in the bardic child, truly ORAL as Ferling said, instead of gray faced Academic quibbling. Poetry & Prose had for a long-time fallen into the false hands of the false. These new pure poets confess forth for sheer joy of confession. They are the CHILDREN. They are also childlike graybeard Homers singing in the street. They SING, they SWING. It is diametrically opposed to the Eliot shot, who so dismally advises his dreary negative rules like the objective correlative, etc, which is just a lot of constipation and ultimately emasculation of the pure masculine urge to freely sing. In spite of the dry rules he set down his poetry itself is sublime. I could say a lot more but ain't got time or sense. But SF is the poetry of a new Holy Lunacy like that of ancient times (Li Po, Han Shan, Tom O Bedlam, Kit Smart, Blake) yet it also has the mental discipline of pointing out things directly, purely concretely, no abstractions or explanations, wham wham the true blue song of man.

(His complete view of himself as a poet)

Nostalgia Fridays: 1950's J.Ds and Rock n Roll

On this week's episode of Nostalgia Friday I present you with a clip of several Juvenile Delinquent movie trailers. It is hard to imagine that these movie trailers of: teenagers rockin' to an unfamiliar beat, racing down the streets in their hot rods, and on their motorcycles, and fighting each other with switchblade knives were treated as sycophants, "teenage cycle hounds going out for thrills, laughing at danger playing at love, the kind of playing that leads to plenty of trouble." That this type of behavior was the scourge of society, when in present day terms seems somewhat ridiculous and tame. It was, of course, a different time. American societal worries were few and far between. Where "Leave it To Beaver," "Ozzie and Harriet" reigned supreme and the rock n roll phase, to some, was about to be fazed out.



I recently bought a cd called "Rock N Roll & Rock A Billy Inferno."
It is a fabulous compilation of music from the 1950's with Elvis Presley, Gene Vincent and many other Rock n Rollers. What fascinates me about this 2-disc set though are the multiple tracks of actual radio broadcasts and commercials from the era. Beginning with: an interview radio DJ Bob Neal had with Elvis Presley before one of his shows in Texicana in 1955 (which also introduced, by name, a young performer named Johnny Cash), leading to a actual commercial for a 1957 Chevy and a debate with Beat Generation Poet Allen Ginsburg and others talking about the "Beat Generation" in 1959.
The coup de gras and most eye and ear opening, in my mind, is a debate on the Meaning of Rock n Roll in 1958 between an unknown interviewer and debater. It is an amazing listen and to hear some of what the debater speaks on about the relevance to what he believes rock n roll music to be and his idea that, at that time in 1958, it would be fazed out.

Interviewer: "Now, you know rock n roll, I think you'll agree, by in large has a bad name. Whose responsible for it?"

Debater: "Steve, the fact that parents did the same thing doesn't make it right. I mean, all I hear is that parents when they
were young fell into the same trap. Well, I say the trap is getting deeper. There is no doubt that its interpretation. The very fact that it appeals to a certain kind of interpreter. For instance if I say, (in a Sinatra voice) 'I love you truly, truly'. But if I say, (in a raspy voice) "I love you truly' and weave my eyes, twist my body when I say 'I love you truly, truly' you know what I attend to convey when I say 'I love you truly' that way. This is doing a great disservice and its being done strictly for profit. And incidentally this program is about four weeks to late because rock n roll is on it's way out as you know.

Interviewer: "Is it on the way out?"

Debater: With all do respect Joe, you being an attorney and I love ya, your a wonderful fellow its on its way out. Irving and LP records are in their way in.

Interviewer: "LP records are on their way in, but rock n roll is just beginning to make itself. I think the fact that a definite dance beat has been reestablished for the kids. I don't think the lyrics to which you were referred to, the lyrics to which you referred before as having a particular connotation. I think we can go to any...

Debater: "Well how was Rock n Roll born!? Rhythm and Blues and race. Now Joe, you know that Rock n Roll was born out of Rhythm and Blues and race, written by people who didn't know the english language, didn't know how to spell, didnt know how to play but could accompany themselves on the guitar and so forth and that's how Rock n Roll was born. And you know that, along came a clever fellow whose, like Buck Ram, who knew how to write good songs and to make a profit and I don't blame them for it, they imitated Rhythm and Blues and race and created Rock n Roll...

Interviewer: "Why did it get so popular though?"

Debater: "Anything can become popular over night. It's a six-month sensation, a year sensation. This is very fast era, that little thing called radio can make 170 people conscious of a thing AND unconscious all within one week ya know."

Quite fascinating I must say. I wonder what became of that debater.

President Obama Makes CNN's Ed Henry His "Companion"

I watched as President Obama addressed America and the White House Press Corps last night, and like many of the other responses afterwards, a few moments stood out in my mind head and shoulders above the rest: 1) The "race" question and 2) his smack down of Ed Henry from CNN.
I am not about to tout myself an expert on politics or on presidential White House press corps addresses, as I have only since the 2008 Presidential campaign jumped upon the bandwagon. Therefore, with regards to addressing the WH press corps last night, I am not sure how exciting or dull they are in general-or what are deemed stupid or insightful questions. Yet, I do have opinions on what I believe were important and exciting issues and topics.

To be honest, I watched unfazed, except for a few "yes we can" and "go on with your bad self" moments under my breath, as questions were being asked and answers were given. Until the President's unequivocal straight forwardness to the "oh no he didn't" moment(s) stated above. With regard to the "race" question the woman reporter asked on whether his first weeks in office have been colorblind, which seemed extremely vague and open ended, Obama reacted in a considerate and respectful way. Mulling over his answer with thought and precision. He spoke that the focus has been on the economy, not about race. He said the convention and inauguration was a time to address race, “but that lasted about a day.” As I now watch and read enthusiastically and with concern each day about what our government is doing to keep this country out of the "porcelain god" the Bush administration flushed us in, it is a relief to see our Commander in Chief put some smackdown on questions like Ed Henry asked on why it took a while for Obama to reveal his outrage toward the AIG bonuses, "It took us a couple of days because I like to know what I am talking about before I speak."

In the words of Keith Olbermann, "Ooo snap!"

In The Washington D.C. bubble in which these politicians and reporters live; where as I read somewhere Michigan could be considered a foreign country to them, and their constant 24-hour addictive craving for information, it is as if the idea of a head of state or even an elected official visiting and meeting with Main Street instead of Wall Street and actually thinking before speaking is a novel one. It blows my mind.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

On MSNBC tonight, Keith Olbermann interviewed Eugene Robinson of the Washington Post. They spoke on the reaction towards this news conference and rather bluntly in particular, the way Ed Henry got "owned" by the president where by Robinson uses, in layman's terms, a sports analogy of Kobe Bryant doing a reverse 360 degree windmill tomahawk jam over and in the face of his opponent and acknowledging the fact that "the guy just made you his companion."

At that moment I burst out laughing as well did Keith Olbermann because well... it was true. He did get "owned". President Obama's blunt, straight forward comment to Ed Henry I believe not only answered the question that was asked but sent a message to the country and within the Washington D.C. bubble that this president will think before he speaks.

Change has truly come to.

Drinking and Waiting...With a Smile

I went to a wedding this past weekend back home in Alaska. I watched as my best friend since grade school tied the knot. Went the distance. Took the plunge. Whatever analogy you would like to use, he is now grown up, the husband to a wonderful woman and I could not be happier. Being surrounded by the many friends and families that he and I both grew up with from the days of our youth and today, it felt like, not only a wedding of two friends, but of a family reunion of sorts. Growing up together all these years, I knew I would see the many different faces of my past; from grade school to high school. And like high school, I ended up traversing, mingling from person to person as I did a decade ago.
It was refreshing, cathartic. To be able to go up to nearly everyone there and begin again where we had left off. Not having the anxiety, constant and perpetual tiresome feeling of starting from scratch. Boring out nearly entire life stories. No, this time, we all knew each other's lives and watched as two of our own continued theirs together; it was something to witness.
The groom and I have had our ups and we have had our downs, we've had our share of bickering, laughter and tears. Yet, as with true friends both past and present, the good times always outlast the bad. Being a year older than I, he was like the big brother I never had. I could confide in him, lay down my guard with him, be myself with him. At a time where I questioned my place in society, his friendship made life easy. As I contemplate, I am reminded of a quote I have seen before from Henri Nouwen:

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing, and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."

and Charles Bukowski:

"That is what friendship means. Sharing the prejudice of experience."

Knowing that I can physically, or rather vicariously, go back home to my birthplace and see my friend(s) makes being alone tolerable. He let me be who I was and there was never a need to apologize for that. Like Bukowski, who in my view was the writer most comfortable in his own skin, demonstrated in simplicity the darker side of life, while shining through with style and unapologetic fervor. Even his friends and lovers knew who he was and accepted, or rather tolerated him. As, A.D Winans, a long time friend, wrote of Bukowski:

He would be the first
To tell you that
He was an asshole and
He was
And so are you and
Sometimes more and
Sometimes less
Depending on
The
Circumstances
He would be the first
To admit that
He was a hustler and
A con man and
He was both
But he did it with style
Which is more
Than you can say
For most of us

Amen
Rest in Peace

As I sit here scribbling once again all alone, reminiscing the past and my friend as silence mushrooms the air, I crack a grin. Things have changed. Time has changed. Therefore, I leave you with a poem called "drink and wait" by Charles Bukowski:

well, first Mae West died
and then George Raft,
and Eddie G. Robinson's
been gone
a long time,
and Bogart and Gable
and Grable,
and Laurel and
Hardy
and the Marx Brothers,
all those Saturday
afternoons
at the movies
as a boy
are gone now
and I look
around this room
and it looks back at me
and out through
the window pane,
time hangs helpless
from the doorknob
as a gold
paperweight
of an owl
looks up at me
(an old man now)
who must endure
these many empty
Saturday
afternoons.


I can now drink and wait alone with a smile.
Thank you Bukowski
Thank you dear friend

Charles Bukowski Mondays

Observations on music

By Charles Bukowski

I have sat for thousands of nights
listening to symphony music on the radio;
I doubt that there are many men my age
who have listened to as much classical music
as I have-
even those in the profession

I am not a musicologist
but
I have some observations:
1) the same 50 or 60 classical compostions
are played over and over
and over again.
2) there has been other great music written that we
ignore at our peril.
3) the second movement of most symphonies
is only kind to insomniacs
4) chamber music has every right to be energetic
and entertaining
5)very few composers know how to END their
symphonies
but
most opening movements, like romance, have
early charm.
6) I prefer a conductor who inserts his own
interpretation rather than the purist who blindly follows
the commands of the master.
7) of course, there are always some conductors with so much ego and
"interpretation" that the composer
vanishes.
8) music is much like fucking, but some composers can't
climax and others climax too often, leaving themselves and the listener
jaded and spent.
9) humor is lacking in most so-called great musical
compositions.
10) Bach is the hardest to play badly because he made so few spiritual mistakes.
11) almost all symphonies and operas could be
shorter.
12) too much contemporary music is written from the safe
haven of a university. a composer must still experience life in its raw form in order
write well.
13) music is the most passionate of the art forms;
I wish I had been a musician or a composer.
14) very few writers know how to END a poem like this one
15) but I do.

Charles Bukowski Mondays

Beasts Bounding Through Time
By Charles Bukowski

Van Gogh writing his brother for paints
Hemingway testing his shotgun
Celine going broke as a doctor of medicine
the impossibility of being human
Villon expelled from Paris for being a thief
Faulkner drunk in the gutters of his town
the impossibility of being human
Burroughs killing his wife with a gun
Mailer stabbing his
the impossibility of being human
Maupassant going mad in a rowboat
Dostoyevsky lined up against a wall to be shot
Crane off the back of a boat into the propeller
the impossibility
Sylvia with her head in the oven like a baked potato
Harry Crosby leaping into that Black Sun
Lorca murdered in the road by Spanish troops
the impossibility
Artaud sitting on a madhouse bench
Chatterton drinking rat poison
Shakespeare a plagiarist
Beethoven with a horn stuck into his head against deafness
the impossibility the impossibility
Nietzsche gone totally mad
the impossibility of being human
all too human
this breathing
in and out
out and in
these punks
these cowards
these champions
these mad dogs of glory
moving this little bit of light toward us
impossibly.

flophouse

By Charles Bukowski

you haven't lived
until you've been in a
flophouse
with nothing but one
light bulb
and 56 men
squeezed together
on cots
with everybody
snoring
at once
and some of those
snores
so
deep and
gross and
unbelievable-
dark
snotty
gross
subhuman
wheezings
from hell
itself.

your mind
almost breaks
under those
death-like
sounds

and the
intermingling
odors:
hard
unwashed socks
pissed and shitted
underwear

and over it all
slowly circulating
air
much like that
emanating from
uncovered
garbage
cans.

and those
bodies
in the dark.

fat and
thin
and
bent

some
legless
armless

some
mindless

and worst of
all:
the total
absence of
hope

it shrouds
them
covers them
totally.

it's not
bearable.

you get
up
go out

walk the
streets

up and
down
sidewalks

past buildings

around the
corner

and back
up
the same
street

thinking

those men
were all
children
once

what has happened
to
them?

and what has
happened
to
me?

it's dark
and cold
out
here.

Weekend Literary Inspirations:

The Loser
By Charles Bukowski

and the next I remembered I'm on a table,
everybody's gone; the head of bravery
under light, scowling, flailing me down...
and then some toad stood there, smoking a cigar;
"Kid you're no fighter," he told me,
and I got up and knocked him over a chair;
it was like a scene in a movie, and
he stayed there on his big rump and said
over and over: "Jesus, Jesus, whatsamatta wit
you?" and I got up and dressed,
the tape still on my hands, and when I got home
I tore the tape off my hands and
wrote my first poem,
and I've been fighting
ever since.

Nostalgia Fridays: Live Fast, Die Young, The 50's Mad Ones

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!." - ( On The Road by Jack Kerouac)

What Is Happening To Our Newspapers: Will They Survive?

One particular segment of the Rachel Maddow Show intrigued me while watching late last Friday night. Usually I am entranced by her entire show; with her charm, wit and excellent reporting of each days breaking and sustaining news stories, yet this one particular segment piqued my interest. It had been reported a while back that it was probable one of Seattle’s daily newspapers, The Seattle Post-Intelligencer, would become a web-based news resource. The owner of the paper, Hearst Corp. had put the flailing newspaper up on the auction block back in January of this year stating it will close down unless a buyer was available to save it. It was also mentioned, if that were to be the case, Hearst Corp. would have the P-I re-emerge as an online-only publication. With the 60-day deadline to find a buyer nearing, it is looking as though we Seattlites will have only one daily soon enough.

Most recently, in late 2007, three smaller newspapers from the Midwest and Plains: the Cincinnati Post, Kentucky Post and Capital Times from Madison, Wisconsin, all went the way of the web. So, while turning solely to the internet for former printed news publications is not an original solution, for Seattle’s second largest daily newspaper it just might be. For the P-I, which began publishing in 1863, would be the first big city paper to join the digital ranks.
According to the reports, those online-based local newspapers have seen substantial gains, not only financial, but in readership as well. Therefore, this departure from print to web-based may help the P-I, at least for now.
With news of other newspapers in numerous large cities filing Chapter 11 bankruptcy itching our minds, On Friday’s show Rachel Maddow interviewed Greg Mitchell, author and Editor for Editor & Publisher Magazine. Doing his best to talk her down, the two discussed the recent news out of Seattle and whether the news media and democracy itself can survive on blogs alone?
It is no surprise of what society, especially people in prominent and affluent positions-within government, entertainment, sports, and business-to name a few think of the media. Like Maddow parlays, from both the left, right and center, the news media is constantly berated with names, for example, “Brain-dead media,” “Mainstream media,” “Drive-by media” . Reminiscent of our middle school days and the bully from the Simpsons who points and laughs repeatedly. “Ah ha, Ah ha, Ah ha!” With multiple newspapers disappearing, we will be hard pressed to continue name calling, pointing and laughing with a mouse in our hand.

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Maddow states, that there is no reason why a free press cannot be evident online. I agree whole-heartedly, but I also feel, as she so eloquently mentions, that within a democracy, there needs to be a plethora of reporters, journalists, photographers dispersing the news full-time. That we cannot survive on blogs alone. I ask the same question, Can we?
Look, I am not saying that blogs authored by, in Rachel Maddow's words, “spunky, volunteer citizen journalists,” myself included, have to stop or be rendered useless. We all have our reasons of why we began blogging in the first place, whether they be for personal diary-type reasons or to put our name out into the void. But what I believe will be missed if most print turns to digital is the actual feel, the news literally at our fingertips and the objectivity. As Maddow and Mitchell both acknowledged, the use of professional print resources is key to distributing to the masses what our world is doing, and the maintenance of other news mediums like television and radio. Even though I am part of and supportive of the new media, I feel that print journalism is the original key component to our society and a way of garnering and broadcasting local, national and world events. As Greg Mitchell states about newspapers, “I see the tremendous work they do everyday to expose things as real watch dogs.” While commenting as well, that the new media is one of the reasons Barack Obama is in the White House.
Considering our media's past, their are limits to what our present and future forms will be capable of doing. I do see that our new media, like blogging, that are here now and which will be in the future, are beginning to have sway over a wide range of original coverage which unfortunately has taken away the importance of our professional reporters, editors, and photographers.

With that being the case, while I do enjoy purchasing the newest everything, including supporting any type of new media that comes now and years from now. Nevertheless, I am cognizant of the importance of both a free press and the use and feel of professional print media as well.

Charles Bukowski Mondays

Excepts from
"The L.A Scene: The Poets, The Madmen; The Impoverished and the Rich of Soul; The Bland, The Bastards, The Drunks and the Damned..."

By Charles Bukowski

"After a bad marriage I decided, well, hell, I might as well be a writer, that seems easiest, you say anything you want to and they say, hey, that's good, you're a genius. Why not be a genius? There are so many half-assed geniuses. So I became another half-assed genius.
My first thought was to stay away from writers, artists, creators, feeling that they could take one off the path with the misdirection of their ambitions. After all, a good writer need only do two things well: Live and write, and the job is done. In Los Angeles it is possible to live in total isolation until they find you, and they will find you. And drink with you for days and nights, and talk for days and nights. And when they are gone, others will come along. One doesn't mind the women, of course, but the others are definitely consumers of the soul...."

"Los Angeles is full of very odd people, believe me. There are many out there who have never been on a 7:30 a.m. freeway or punched a timeclock or even had a job and don't intend to, can't, won't, will die first rather than live the common way. In a sense, each of them is a genius in his or her way, fighting against the obvious, swimming upstream, going mad, getting on pot, wine, whiskey, art, suicide, anything but the common equation. It will be sometime before they even us out and make us say quits.
When you see that city hall downtown and all of the proper precious people, don't get melancholy. There is a whole tide, a whole race of mad people, starving, drunk, goofy, and miraculous. I have seem many of them. I am one of them. There will be more. This city has not yet been taken. Death before death is sickening.
The strange ones will hold, the war will continue. Thank you. "



(Trailer for the film "Factotum")

Nostalgia Fridays: Greasers, Hot Rods and Rockabilly- The Original Punks

I love the 1950's. More precisely I love the greaser, rockabilly and hot rodding lifestyle side of the 1950's. As I have heard from a few of my fellow bloggers and friends, it seems we were born in the wrong decade. My love for this more care-free, rebel way of life, which brought up my own parents, is like Marty McFly going back in time in Back To The Future but without him desperately trying to return to his cocoon of the 1980's.
I am not abashed to confess I went through many phases of acceptance and comfort. Essaying forth questions in my mind of who I was and what type of skin I felt comfortable in. Changing outfits and interests, not only to please myself, but to please others and to fit in. Not until I found classic cars, hot rods, Rockabilly and original rock and roll music - like Elvis, Johnny Cash, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, Eddie Cochran, Gene Vincent - did I feel comfortable with my surroundings and who I am. Wondering why it took me so long to realize.

I cannot fully explain my love for 1950's nostalgia but from today onward I will bring you bits and pieces each week from the rebel without a cause side of our classic and wistful past beginning with an educational hot rodding film from 1953.

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Going Postal Vicariously Through the Arts

Have you ever had days where you felt you just wanted to hit something? Scream turrets at the top of your lungs? Yeah I thought so.
That is what I have been feeling like all day today. That song, "Break Stuff," from the late 1990's - early 2000's rap-alt band Limp Bizkit comes to mind. I realize how cheesy that band is and I would not even have mentioned them if for reasons: 1) They had a song called "Break Stuff" where within the entire video there are ordinary people intertwined with famous faces nodding their heads together, dancing around and screaming into the camera (while Pauly Shore is humping in the background), and of them well... jumping and breaking stuff, plus 2) The lyrics actually coincided with what I wanted to do all day:

Its just one of those days
When you don't wanna wake up
Everything is fucked
Everybody sucks
You don't really know why
But you want justify
Rippin' someone's head off
No human contact
And if you interact
Your life is on contract
Your best bet is to stay away motherfucker
It's just one of those days!!

And 3) that song just popped into my head.



Screaming profane words at the top of my lungs is always a good elixir for my few and far between foul moods I tend to get in when the day just does not turn out the way I would like it to. It reminds me of the two scenes in Mike Judge's 1999 cult film "Office Space" where Samir has had it with the fax machine and the three friends go out in the field and beat in the uncooperative machine.

We all have our good days and our bad days. I can scream and shout. I can jump around and break stuff. Hell, I can also go out with friends onto a hill of grass with a bat and my fist and go postal on a fax machine.

Yep, I love living vicariously through the Arts. I feel much better now.

To Understand Life and The Sexes I Turn to Bukowski

“Show me a man who lives alone and has a perpetually dirty kitchen, and 5 out of 9 I’ll show you an exceptional man.” - Charles Bukowski, 6-27-67, over his 19th bottle of beer.

“show me a man who lives alone and has a perpetually clean kitchen, and 8 out of 9 I’ll show you a man with detestable spiritual qualities.” - Charles Bukowski, 6-27-67, over 20th bottle of beer.


Forget E! Entertainment’s experts. I dump on the Queer Eye Men. I scream turrets at morning talk show relationship gurus. I discredit the so-called how-to “experts” on the world wide web. On matters of the heart of the sexes, I prefer to get my information from Charles Bukowski. The late acclaimed writer and poet takes on the mind-set of the male and female species with straight talk and no inflated bullshit puffery of any kind. According to him, “the state of the kitchen is the state of the mind.”

In “Sensitive,” within the pages of Tales of Ordinary Madness, Bukowski deliberates both men and women and their habits all which seem to be dependent on how they keep their kitchens. As he essays forth his wild mind,

“ ...confused and unsure men, pliable men are the thinkers. Their kitchens are like their minds, cluttered with garbage, dirty ware, impurity, but they are aware of their mind-state and find some humor in it. At times, with a violent burst of fire they defy the eternal deities and come up with a lot of shining that we sometimes call creation; just as at times they will get half drunk and clean up their kitchens, but soon again falls into disorder and they are in the darkness again, in need of BABO, pills, prayers, sex, luck, and salvation.”

While on the other hand he believes the ever-orderly kitchen is the freak.

“His kitchen-state is his mind state...he has let life condition him quickly to a basened and hardened complex of defensive and soothing thought-order. If you listen to him for ten minutes you will know that anything he says in a lifetime will be essentially meaningless and always dull.”

In just a few short sentences, he puts forth genuine thought about the state of mind in relation to how we keep our kitchens. How we function through life. Society sizes one another up by the simplest forms: how we dress, the types of shoes we wear... how clean or impure our kitchens are. We all know what he is talking about, we have experienced or have even let ourselves go at times, even women.
“some women have theories on how to save the world but can’t wash out a coffee cup.” Bukowski adds.

What makes Bukowski’s advice and knowledge about men and women more applicable than the so-called “experts” with letters after their name is that of his no-nonsense, “I don’t give a damn” attitude and perspective. He does not shy away from controversy or the truth. That is why I am fascinated by him. Plus, to many of whom follow his words, he is the literary-equivalent of Led Zeppelin and classic Guns n’ Roses -just to name a few- whose love for the debauchery and perversions of life nearly equaled their genius.
Categorically documenting the sordid details of life living in Los Angeles, Bukowski chronicled what he knew - that old adage of write what you know - he knew his surroundings and the people living in it. He even surmises, “ perhaps I have wandered from kitchens to vindictiveness. There is a lot of snot in each of our souls, and plenty in mine, and i become mixed-up on kitchens, mixed-up on most.”
Bukowski speaks in words on the sexes and on life openly and with scarred but real authenticity and candor. He opens wide his Muse with topics ranging from drinking, women, sex, fighting, the toils of nine to five, and in this example, kitchens.

In a world full of faux know-it-all’s posers bullshitting about the grit and the grind of life on celebrity television and morning talk shows, Bukowski’s words are a haven. An escape.

Charles Bukowski Mondays

If I Taught Creative Writing
By Charles Bukowski

now, if you were teaching creative
writing, he asked, what would you
tell them?
I’d tell them to have an unhappy love
affair, hemorrhoids, bad teeth
and to drink cheap wine,
to keep switching the head of their
bed from wall to wall
and then I’d tell them to have
another unhappy love affair
and never to use a silk typewriter
ribbon,
avoid family picnics
or being photographed in a rose
garden;
read Hemingway only once,
skip Faulkner
ignore Gogol
stare at photos of Gertrude Stein
and read Sherwood Anderson in bed
while eating Ritz crackers,
realize that people who keep
talking about sexual liberation
are more frightened than you are.
listen to E. Power Biggs work the
organ on your radio while you’re
rolling Bull Durham in the dark
in a strange town
with one day left on the rent
after having given up
friends, relatives and jobs.
never consider yourself superior and /
or fair
and never try to be.
have another unhappy love affair.
watch a fly on a summer curtain.
never try to succeed.
don’t shoot pool.
be righteously angry when you
find your car has a flat tire.
take vitamins but don’t lift weights or jog.
then after all this
reverse the procedure.
have a good love affair.
and the thing
you might learn
is that nobody knows anything–
not the State, nor the mice
the garden hose or the North Star.
and if you ever catch me
teaching a creative writing class
and you read this back to me
I’ll give you a straight A
right up the pickle
barrel.

a poem for swingers, a poem for the playgirls of the universe

By Charles Bukowski

I like women who haven’t lived with too many men.

I don’t expect virginity but I simply prefer women

who haven’t been rubbed raw by experience.
there is a quality about women who choose

men sparingly;

it appears in their walk

in their eyes

in their laughter and in their

gentle hearts.

women who have had too many men

seem to choose the next one

out of revenge rather than with

feeling.

when you play the field selfishly everything

works against you:

one can’t insist on love or

demand affection.

you’re finally left with whatever

you have been willing to give

which often is:

nothing.
some women are delicate things

some women are delicious and

wondrous.
if you want to piss on the sun

go ahead

but please leave them

alone.

Charles Bukowski Mondays

Friendly Advice to a lot of Young Men
By Charles Bukowski

Go to Tibet.
Ride a camel.
Read the Bible.
Dye your shoes blue.
Grow a Beard.
Circle the world in a paper canoe.
Subscribe to "The Saturday Evening Post."
Chew on the left side of your mouth only.
Marry a woman with one leg and shave with a straight razor.
And carve your name in her arm.

Brush your teeth with gasoline.
Sleep all day and climb trees at night.
Be a monk and drink buckshot and beer.
Hold your head under water and play the violin.
Do a belly dance before pink candles.
Kill your dog.
Run for Mayor.
Live in a barrel.
Break your head with a hatchet.
Plant tulips in the rain.

But don't write poetry.

the worst and the best

By Charles Bukowski


in the hospitals and jails
it's the worst
in madhouses
it's the worst
in penthouses
it's the worst
in skid row flophouses
it's the worst
at poetry readings
at rock concerts
at benefits for the disabled
it's the worst
at funerals
at weddings
it's the worst
at parades
at skating rinks
at sexual orgies
it's the worst
at midnight
at 3 a.m
at 5:45 p.m.
its the worst

falling through the sky
firing squads
that's the best

thinking of India
looking at popcorn stands
watching the bull get the matador
that's the best

boxed lightbulbs
an old dog scratching
peanuts in a celluloid bag
that's the best

spraying roaches
a clean pair of stockings
natural guts defeating natural talent
that's the best

rugs with cigarette burns
cracks in sidewalks
waitresses still sane
that's the best

my hands dead
my heart dead
silence
adagio of rocks
the world ablaze
that's the best

for me

Movies in 3D: Peeking Into the Future Through Glasses From the Past

Looking through Willie Wonka, the 21st century version, goggle-type sunglasses in the vast sea of families seated beside me, with creatures from under the sea mercilessly coming towards me while listening to Jim Carrey's narrated voice made for some interesting entertainment this morning.
Today, I ventured out to meet my sister and 3 and a half year old nephew to the Pacific Science Center in Seattle. We were experiencing a new underwater film in 3D at the local IMAX theatre. "Under The Sea 3D" transports moviegoers to some of the most exotic and isolated undersea locations on Earth, including Southern Australia, New Guinea and others in the Indo-Pacific region, allowing them to experience face-to-face encounters with some of the most mysterious and stunning creatures of the sea.



As I was watching and enjoying this 45 minute film which depicts some of the rarest and beautiful creatures below the ocean, I came to a thought: Are Hollywood films in 3D becoming a mainstay? Will we see Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, Mickey Rourke,Will Smith and others up close and personal, face-to-face? I hope not. The reason I feel this way is because, while the horror film "My Bloody Valentine" in 3D was interesting to watch and gruesome as the blood spatter flew towards me onto my lenses, I was sometimes too occupied trying to keep the gigantic 3D glasses on over my own regular spectacles that I missed parts of what was going on. I'm used to be called four-eyes but six-eyes is ridiculous.
Everywhere now I see movies, mostly children's, advertising 3D. Like "Journey to the Center of the Earth" with Brendan Fraser where if you do not have 3D glasses all you are able to see is double vision.

While i do see the enjoyment of 3D, with the screen popping out in front of our faces and nearly giving us heart attacks when something or someone unexpectedly comes roaring toward us, but maybe I am old-fashioned and do not understand the 3D spectacle beyond the IMAX and retro theaters. Bringing us back to a time when it was new.
The 3D technology and sunglasses are much improved since the first feature film in 3D, "Bwana Devil," in 1952. Their advertisement for this new craze promised, "A lion in your lap! A lover in your arms! Newer than television!" It was definitely newer and the industry began to cash in right away with films like "It Came from Outer Space," written by Ray Bradbury and "House of Wax," staring Vincent Price. With the 3D bonanza coming in and out of popularity for three decades, having it's final Howrah in the 1980's, 3D was the thing of the past.



Yet, as we all now know, things from the past always seem to find its way out of the woodwork and become fashionable and new once again. but i am still unconvinced about this possible born-again 3D excitement. I enjoy the 2D experience and knowing that i can come to a theatre or pop in a dvd at home and not have to worry whether I can see straight or not. Therefore, If Hollywood hopes to profit from 3D, it better learn the lessons from its history, especially the lesson that it can't make a crappy movie any better.

Ken Griffey Jr.: Seattle's Field of Dreams

I was not born in Seattle but I consider myself a Seattlite. Hell, i gave that distinction to a fellow blogger friend of mine and she does not even live here, but because she loves the Emerald City so much, we thought it would be only right to present her with an honorary "Seattlite" title. Therefore, as a implanted Emerald Citylite, it has been amazing to witness and hear the enthusiastic, thunderous roars of the original natives reacting to the return of Ken Griffey Jr. to the Mariners.

Let me backtrack just for a second. As the 2009 Major League Baseball season begins to rear its bloated steroid filled head, and signings begin or continue to happen, It was a back and forth waiting game between the city, the Seattle Times, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer and Griffey's decision on where he was going to play ball this coming season. Apparently his decision was between the Atlanta Braves, his hometown but where he is considered only a named 39 year old veteran past his prime or here in Seattle where he began his Hall of Fame career and is considered the savior and the lifeblood of this city and franchise even after many years away.

This morning it became official. He signed a 1 year deal with the Seattle Mariners. I can hear the rumblings and roars of "World Champs" mushroom this city already. Waking up to my morning sports radio, i found it amusing and thought provoking to hear the talking mouths discuss what it means for the Emerald City and surrounding areas to have "The Kid", as Griffey was rightly nicknamed, come back home. Amusing for the fact that we now believe the Mariners to be automatic contenders, if not World Series champions when for the past eight years they have been abysmal at best. Thought provoking, for the fact that even though i too am excited to see him back with the team he began his career, as an original Alaskan i cannot see what positive force he will have for this team besides leadership in the clubhouse and the praise and honor of the city crowd, like a true Gladiator winning his audience as he slays his enemy.

As i was listening to the radio hosts display their overt affection and admiration, telling their audience that fathers and sons will now come from far and wide to see Ken Griffey Jr. play and they will tell stories to their youngsters about the first time he played here and the fascination he brought to the game and their lives. It reminded me of Kevin Costner's 1989 film, "Field of Dreams" and the same way Costner's character, Ray Kinsella, built his baseball field; Ken Griffey and the Mariners have built the optimism back into this city. As James Earl Jones' character says to Ray in the film, "The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again. Oh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come."

I might not see right away the positive cause and effect that the Mariners will make this coming season with Griffey in the lineup. They might still be abysmal or they might actually win games, but one thing is clear:

People will come, people will most definitely come.

More Bailout Money for the Greedy

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The Mayor of Lansing, MI is absolutely right. It is hypocritical of the banks and Wall street to receive OUR money without a second glance while main street and the auto industry plead for their collective lives. In the past i have been skeptical and critical of the CEO's of the big three auto makers, of any CEO really, when they first came to Washington in private jets but they cleaned up their act and demonstrated that they understand the crunch America is in at this moment.
I cannot say the same for Wall street and their greed is good, self-serving, more more more attitude. I am fascinated by their exuberance and disdain for the true Americans, Main Street.
I realize that the suits', on their high horses looking out of their high rise corner penthouse offices, attitude and greed will never cease but i do hope if we finally decide to disperse the stimulus money to the people and companies who really need it then Wall street will at least give a second glance if not a second look.

Charles Bukowski Mondays

So You Want To Be a Writer?

By Charles Bukowski
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.
don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.
when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.
there is no other way.
and there never was.

Searching for My Black Rock

Before i explain my dilemma, i should explain that "Black Rock" refers to the title of a song by the band O.A.R which apparently is a road and area in Rockville, Maryland, where the band originates. That area is apparently where the lead singer and his band mates went to relax and get away from things, write songs and gather ideas.
I have been searching long and hard for my black rock, where i could go and write freely and have not a care in the world. I believed i had found my rock many times before yet each time i realized it was not for me. I do not know why it seems so frustrating to find a place to relax, write and read where i am.
I have read numerous books on famous writers like: Hemingway, Joyce, Salinger, Whitman, Kerouac, etc... I have read what their daily writing habits were like, where they went to write and get away. They all were different. I have learned that it is not always the place itself but how you feel in that place that works for you and your writing.
Also, It is funny to make this connection but i am reminded as well of the last moments of the movie "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" when Matthew McConaughey's character confronts Kate Hudson on the Brooklyn Bridge and deters her from leaving New York. She tells him she has an interview in Washington for another publication and McConaughey's character, Ben, keeps asking her "Where are you going?" And she tells him its the only place she can go to write what she wants to write. Ben tells her that he does not buy that because she can write anywhere.

That is true.

I may struggle in finding my Black Rock but learning and believing that we, as writers, are able to write anywhere. It does not and should not matter where our "place" we escape to is.

Obama's Speech on Lincoln's Bday 2/12/09

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I wanted to share with you this video because I felt compelled to show what a true president sounds like and what weve been waiting for for 8 years. As i watched him so eloquently speak this speech live today, it reaffirmed in me as well as kept up what he has been committing to the American people. Yet acknowledges the irresponsibility and dumbfounded actions the Republicans have taken towards him and US, the American people, since Nov. 4th.

Do any of the GOP realize that Lincoln was in their party??


With it being Lincoln's 200th birthday and in inspiration of Obama's speech today i feel compelled as well to share some thoughts of my own from a poem i wrote entitled "Letter to Mr. President".

"Letter to Mr. President"

I sound my barbaric yawp in silence
In cathartic sound I cling to sanity
Needing to
Define America, her athletic Democracy*
What is happening to her? Lady Liberty
Is welting away.
I am but only one man sounding my horn
My barbaric yawp screams
Please sir, sound yours!

*From Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass

For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)

From Oct. 2006
Revised Jan. 2009

The Meaning of it All:
John Cusack has made it impossible for any guy to up the ante in the arena of wooing a woman. Cusack, whose quintessential character figure for love lorn teenage angst, Lloyd Dobler, who he made famous in "Say Anything" and who every guy that comes in contact with every 20 to 30 year old straight woman is measured upon, states in "High Fidelity", when discussing the process of a mixed tape hit it on the head;
"The making of a great compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do and takes ages longer than it might seem. You gotta kick off with a killer, to grab attention. Then you got to take it up a notch, but you don't wanna blow your wad, so then you got to cool it off a notch. There are a lot of rules. That is why the making of a great tape has to take considerable thought, precision, and one should allocate precious time in deciding exactly what song to choose and where it should go."
Making a tape for our own personal enjoyment aside, creating a mixed tape is a risk. It is not as big of a risk like Russian roulette, playing chicken at the top of a cliff or even climbing Mt. Everest but in certain situations and on occasion it can definitely feel like, if its not legendary, the barrel of a gun is pulling back its Lay-Z-boy and making itself at home while permanently making an ass print on the side of your temple.
If anyone has been living under a rock the past number of years or has never before attempted to mix a tape and you are asking yourself, what the fuck would make one feel this way? It is simple, to make the person they like like them back without saying the actual words I like you. Its the teenage, young adult and quite often the adult equivalent of a boy pulling a girls pig-tails or making a boy chase a girl around the playground. Its basically flirting for the musically inclined, the introverted loner or even the extroverted wild-child.
Look, not to say that Im a true expert in the art of mix tapes or anything, a tape-mixatologist if you will; but I would hope that I have some kind of authority because if I can remember back correctly I may have concocted a mix tape for almost every single girl that I had a crush on or wanted to date. I cannot remember the exact number because it was a shit load. Want to know how I made out? Well here are my essentials as of today: I am a 29 year old, single white male living alone in a one-bedroom condo the size of a small sardine can and I spent the better part of the entire weekend writing to you fine people. How bout them apples?
Damn you Lloyd Dobler!

The Disclaimer:
Realizing that it is the year 2009 and that the majority of the teenage population in America possibly has yet to ever hear the word Tape let alone see one; I want to assure them that I am using that word in a more general context. Do not fret younglings, I will distinguish between a mix tape and CD soon enough.
At the risk of bombarding you all with, what I deem my top secret recipe and I-can-tell-you-but-then-I-would-have-to-kill-you formula, I have finally come to the realization that perhaps if I finally divulge then maybe, just maybe the one person out in the void who actually is reading this will be successful where I have been confidently mediocre.

The How To: The Format, What Type Are You?
Well boys and girls, let us now begin the exciting journey of how to mix a tape. There are numerous components that you have to consider even before choosing a list of songs:
The Tape Guy:
As we all know by now, CDs, digital music and their technological advances have flooded our society and popular culture. Yet, I have to believe that there is that Uncle Rico clone somewhere out there in the great wide open, living vicariously through the glory years of 1980's high school and heavy metal hair bands with their long protruding locks and enough spandex to suffocate King Kong, yet who is still rocking out to Dolby cassette tapes. This one is for you Uncle Rico, for those about to rock (We salute you)
With mixing a tape, because there is no skip to next song button, one has to be cautious not to over populate one side and have a song cut in half. I dealt with this problem the same way I dealt with the broken gas gauge of my used 91 ford escort; I guessed. When the needle was nearly ½ or ¾ empty I just filled it up again neverminding what was left. Therefore, if you are left with space full of annoying and awkward silence right before the end of Side A and/or Side B then so be it. It is better to have the entire song then being left wondering and half satisfied. Am I correct ladies, no woman wants that!
The CD/IPOD Guy:
A CD can be either seemingly simple or treacherously hard. Simple, for the primary fact that the new and improved Extreme Makeover: Uncle Rico edition does not have to suffer through another painstaking and embarrassing guessing game of being left wondering whether the unlucky soul recipient of his tape was satisfied or is now sitting shotgun in Jake Ryans Porsche.
For that reason, the art of burning a CD is so much easier because the maker finally knows how much space there is and how many songs would be able to be on one compilation. Yet the treacherously hard part comes into play when, in the process of downloadable burning, you lose everything you so diligently worked all of 24, 48, 60 or 72 hours straight for, only to have stopped for bathroom breaks, coffee breaks and intravenous shots of Redbull, because the reliable and unbreakable PC and/or laptop that youve had since college spontaneously decided to take a shit. Dont you hate when that happens?

The How To: Songs and Who to Make Them For...Decisions Decisions!
Now that we have gotten the nitty gritty aspect of mixing tapes out of the way, I can focus on the more enjoyable choosing of songs. Wait, did I say enjoyable? Forgive me; this is when the barrel of that gun that is waiting ever so patiently, protruding on the side of your temple would come in handy. The process and decision making of song choosing is an art all to itself. It is like what the knight at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade said when Indiana and Donovan, the bad guy, were trying to decipher what the Holy Grail looked like; You must choose, but choose wisely. For as the true Grail will bring you life- the false Grail will take it from you. That is why this process is risky business; a truly great compilation of songs can bring you a potential relationship a failed one can potentially take a relationship from you. Or so I assume. But really what do I know? I had made a countless number of mixes and yet nothing came of them. I can only imagine that all of my mix tapes that I had made for my middle school and high school crushes are collecting dust and/or are being used to prop up a table with one leg shorter than the others. This leads me to the question of which songs and how to decipher between audiences?

The How To: The Mixes
Once again, I refer to John Cusack's statement in High Fidelity, You gotta kick off with a killer, to grab attention. Then you got to take it up a notch, but you don't wanna blow your wad, so then you got to cool it off a notch. My formula for any tape that I have compiled has been quite similar in the way Cusack describes: Lead off with a killer, heart-pounding track, push it into second, third and fourth gear with similar sweet tracks, then pull back leaving the listener time to recoup and cool down with great low-key tracks. The next couple of examples I feel represent the only reasons for truly making a mix tape (excluding our own enjoyment and family member birthdays):
The Crush Mix:
Heed these words for life boys and girls: "You think you know, but you have no idea." Look, we all can attest to having our musical preferences, whether it is: alternative, the blues, country, Emo, heavy metal, hip-hop, R&B and the like. We love music-I would not be writing this if I didnt and obviously you, my lone reader, would not be reading this-but the fact of the matter is, if you want to be freed from Duckie-ville and have your crush finally acknowledge that you exist then pander to his or her musical choices however popish, gothic, electronic, metallic it may be. Secondly, being that this tape is for your crush, you want to be as subtle with your chosen songs as one can. The entire purpose of this tape is to show, through songs, how obsessed you are for your crush without blatantly and overtly demonstrating your Duckie-type behavior. Thus, there should be no problem if your subliminal love songs are woven throughout regular killer tunes.
*Crush Mix Disclaimer: If you only take one thing from all that I have taught you today, let it be this: Never, when making a tape, fill up the entire Side A and B with only one song. I learned the hard way, when in 1992 my mother requested that I make her a complete tape of her favorite song-notice that is not plural- at the time, Whitney Houston's I will Always Love You. To this day, I still cannot listen to Whitney Houston. I was, am and will always be traumatized.
The Significant Other Mix
Let me dispel any quandaries that you may have. Yes, this tape is for the girlfriend or boyfriend, yes I do realize that my relationship track record after having given a barrage of mixed tapes is not so impressive (0 for I lost count). And yes, I know that I should be a member of the Official Duckie Fan Club. Yet, what I can do is acknowledge the fact that, in the eyes of the women I so dearly wanted to date and be boyfriend material too; my tapes were only seamlessly mediocre so you can keep your significant other while I can keep my record intact. Being that I am single but yet have had the opportunity to make a tape for an ex-girlfriend of mine, I am happy to report that she enjoyed it,... well at the time that we were going out she did. I can only imagine, at the present time, the tape that I gave to her has taken its proper place, propped underneath a slightly shorter coffee table leg.
Making a tape for someone that you are already involved with, once again seems so simple yet treacherously hard. Simple, for the primary fact that the one making the tape would not have to worry about being subtle with their subliminal love songs, just as long as the songs that he or she chooses send a clear message about the state of their relationship. The songs Ugly Kid Joe's Everything About You, Nazareth's Love Hurts, R.E.M's Everybody Hurts or even Johnny Cash's Hurt would probably not sit well with your significant other, unless the message that you wanted to portray was of disdain and contentment ultimately leading to a break up. Yet, the treacherously hard part comes into play, for example, when I am reminded of a scene in an episode of FRIENDS where Chandler and Monica, while planning their makeshift gifts for Valentines Day, are both mentally stuck in neutral of what to give. In a panic, Chandler seeing a mix tape presents Monica with it. With Chandler seemingly in the clear- -having Frank Sinatra's The Way You Look Tonight playing in the background- -a sudden blow to his ego knocks him on his ass as the voice of Chandler's ex, Janice, screams in her irritating and annoying high-pitched voice from the stereo "Happy Valentines Day my Bing A Ling, I love you Chandler Bing." Do not let this happen to you or you are sure to be one of those unlucky, failed relationships.
What Lloyd Dobler has taught us is to never stop looking for that dare to be great situation. True, I had my pitfalls, my trials and my tribulations going through this mix tape process, all along believing that maybe just maybe one girl would have accepted my tape and view me in a different light, both daring and great. That, I thought, would be my situation. Yet, the fact of the matter is, that is not it at all...it never really was. I have come to the realization, that with as much time and effort that I put in to those mix tapes for other people, I found the process equally if not more rewarding for myself. Needless to say, inasmuch as those relationships were concerned...well there were none, but all in all I sure learned how to make killer mix tapes.
Thank you Lloyd Dobler!

Starbucks: Still Progressing Culture One CD and One Cup At A Time

From 2005:

“The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee: Short, tall, lite, dark, caf, decaf…lowfat, non-fat, et cetera. So people who don’t know what the hell they’re doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self. Tall…Decaf…Cappuccino!”
---- Tom Hanks in You’ve Got Mail

Feeling like a life-sized prune from the constant and seemingly torrential down pouring of rain that has ferociously graced the Emerald City, I enter my local Ballard Starbucks, all of which is no bigger than my 500-square-foot studio condo with the Rolling Stones rocking out in the background, conversations galore flowing back and forth and with enough stampeding action through the doorway to make even people-watching seem like a fulltime job, I keep pondering to myself how this miniature cubicle of a Starbucks can constantly succeed, pack the crowds and gain even more speed-racer momentum on the much smaller coffeehouse competition? I have found that combined with their stranglehold on the coffee industry and in true Starbucks fashion, which mind you could be deemed ‘go big or not at all,’ has been their entrance and more precisely their impact within the music industry. Like many in the entertainment and sport business who decide to accomplish two professions at once, Starbucks has become another fixture in the ‘two sport profession.’
For that reason, it may be possible, when devoted coffee drinkers of the Seattle-based coffee connoisseur order their usual combinations; they may as well soon hear “Would you like Alanis Morissette, Coldplay, Ray Charles or the Rolling Stones with your double tall venti peppermint latte?” Starbucks, who have proudly made drinking coffee much more complicated for the entire world with their hundreds of arrangements of sizes, blends and syrups, finally have made the lives of the indecisive much more difficult. The coffeehouse behemoth, who started out selling one cup of coffee at a time back in the early 1980’s have now, twenty three years later, begun to sell one CD at a time. In many ways, one could say that the largest coffee company in the world has drifted more and more into the media age and that according to an article from Mediabistro.com, “Is rapidly becoming a media company that just happens to sell beverages.” On the other hand, according to Michelangelo Matos of the Seattle Weekly, “Its perfectly logical that Starbucks is the biggest comer in music retail…For one thing, there are more of them than there are most music chains.”
Now, that does not suggest that we will be seeing the Starbucks mermaid in any scantily clad bustier and g-string outfit, grinding on the leg of what would be deemed a perfect specimen of a man, in her own music video on MTV or TRL anytime soon, but the sounds of ka-ching have already been heard resonating in the ears of much of the popularized world for a number of years now. With the foundation of their own independent CD label, Hear Music, Starbucks is the first to have developed a way to combine both coffee and music without the use of live instruments that was ever so prominent back in the late 1950’s and ‘60’s, especially since the beginning of a tall, grande and venti size which practically has made ordering only black or cream nearly obsolete. Coffee music (or coffee AND music) has indisputably become a 21st century phenomenon. As a result, the coffee goliath has attained the ability to figure out a way for customers, myself included, to proudly, excitedly and more importantly, impulsively not only sip on their $3.00 hot chocolate but at the same time be able to burn and buy an entire CD from their numerous media bars, where one can download an eclectic collection of digital Mp3 songs of their choosing all in one fluid motion with their rapid borage of musical merchandise. Mr. Matos similarly reacted, “And when the rest of Starbucks’ customers wanted to know who sang the song that was playing while the barista prepared their vanilla lattes, the clerk only had to point to the CDs standing in front of the register. Point-of-sale impact: immediate…By catering exclusively to impulse shoppers, Starbucks created the most successful cross-marking venture to hit the music business since MTV.” In the immortal words of the men in those Guinness commercials, “Brilliant!”
Starbucks has not only become an icon in business but within the realm of popular culture a force in the music industry as well. Therefore, together with the 9,500 or so stores worldwide ranging from: North Pole, Alaska, a small town where it is literally Christmas 365 days a year to Moscow, Russia; and with forty-five coffeehouses with media bars in Seattle and Austin, Texas; it seems only fitting that Starbucks, with its metaphorical fangs already dug deep in the meaty coffee industry, expand into music. With their record label prominently expanding, specializing in various compilations, and mixes compiled by numerous artists like; Coldplay, Dave Mathews Band, The Rolling Stones, Joni Mitchell, Lucinda Williams, Sheryl Crow, and Ray Charles; artists who keep churning out multiple five figure albums, Hear Music has ample prosperity. Plus, if the results from this past Grammy Award show is any indication, with Ray Charles’ final album, Genius Loves Company, sweeping all categories, I can only imagine what their next move, not only in music, but all media will be.
As someone who confesses to not like the taste of coffee (hence the hot chocolate references) but who can confidently admit to truly being an addict of, in the words of Starbucksgossip.com, “America’s favorite drug dealer”, and is all but one more relapse in introducing myself at a twelve-step meeting for anonymous Starbucks devotees; it is still quite surprising that the colossal franchise can still provide its customers with a sense of community and a small town feel. While I have shown much love and announced my own addiction to the mermaid label, I have no intention to scale Howard Shultz’s home anytime soon. My admiration stems from, not only the scrumptious concoction of my usual peppermint hot chocolate, but also the atmosphere and ambiance of what Starbucks brings to drinking coffee. While many stores may seem crowded with: people, with merchandise galore in lieu of standing room and almost no seating unless, either you come at the break of dawn or you bring your own lawn chairs; conversely, how I view the coffee king of Seattle is as the Central Perk of the real world. I understand that many may not share in my viewpoint, but what I have come to realize in being a regular customer is that, while numerous people are minding their own business, hovering over and rocking out to the silent humming of their laptops – like myself at the moment – and even if a number of their coffeehouses could be confused as another Sam Goody, the type of environment that they offer, once again, provides customers with a feeling of community and relaxation. As Howard Shultz, the CEO of Starbucks, so eloquently stated in his book, Pour Your Heart Into It, “We try to create, in our stores, an oasis, a little neighborhood spot where you can take a break, listen to jazz, and ponder universal or personal or ever whimsical questions over a cup of coffee.” In that sense, one could view a Starbucks as their home away from home, be able to take a break and converse with friends, family and or co-workers. Talking about life, love and the pursuit of happiness; and along with employees that know the names of the regulars that peruse the delicatessen counter with the soothing sounds of smooth jazz, classical and modern rock in the background, they have become the place where everyone knows your name, the Cheers of the 21st century.
With that said, I doubt that it will be possible for one to see live soap-box speeches, literary debates, poetic auteurs or Bob Dylan or Joan Baez singing acoustically without a WI-FI connection but with the progression that Starbucks has made I would say nothing is impossible. Even with its: progressive powerhouse mentality, their own record label and radio station on XM Satellite, media and downloading bars in more coffeehouses than there are music chains; the impact Starbucks has left digitally, musically and more importantly, culturally still resonates as they dispense considerate, complex and progressive culture one CD and one cup of coffee at a time.