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Archive for March, 2008

Lemuria: Get Better (2008)-Constantine Koutsoutis

Monday, March 3rd, 2008

Lemuria: Get Better (2008)

By Constantine Koutsoutis
 
Friggin’ finally!
 
Get Better, the first proper full-length from Buffalo, NY’s Lemuria, is fantastic. Formed in 2004, this indie/pop-punk trio mixes the best parts of Husker Du, sweet-as-Splenda female vocals, and intelligent lyrics that just blow me away. This album delivers and more.
 
Having mostly released through a collection of vinyl-only 7-inches and splits with great bands like The Ergs! and Kind Of Like Spitting, Get Better is Lemuria at their peak of mature and intricate pop-punk. From the slow but still touchingly catchy, “Lipstick,” to the wonderful “Shut up, shut up…,” singalong of the album closer, “Mechanical,” almost every moment of this album is guaranteed to have you totally in your head.  You’ll sing along and wish you were at one of their shows, arm in arm with some random stranger who lit your cigarette outside earlier, or under the covers laughing and in love with someone you care about.
 
Getting to hear “Mechanical” alone is probably worth getting this album, but the whole thing should definitely be in your stereo – the soundtrack to makeout sessions and parties and good times and heartaches for many days and weeks to come. Bands like this, made up mostly of honesty and a desire for fun and to just play music, don’t really come along that often. So you should get into them while they’re around. Start with this record.
 

Copyright C. 2008 Constantine Koutsoutis

Jawbreaker: Ect. (2002)-Constantine Koutsoutis

Monday, March 3rd, 2008

Jawbreaker: Ect. (2002)

by Constantine Koutsoutis
 
I like digging through my albums and finding older gems I’d forgotten about, putting them on and remembering why I love music so much. They don’t even have to be that old either. I’ve bought so much music that sometimes albums just get forgotten. 
 
One of those was Etc., by Jawbreaker. I bust it out every so often, particularly when I go through what I like to call “Jawbreaker days”, but those aren’t that often. When I do listen to Jawbreaker, most of the time it won’t be this album, but rather a regular one. Etc. is a compilation of a variety of rare Jawbreaker songs, ranging from demo versions of classics like “Caroline” to then-unreleased songs like a redone version of their classic “Boxcar” (which later showed up on the re-mastered version of their major-label debut Dear You) and a cover of the Psychedelic Furs’ “Into You Like A Train.”
 
My favorite on the whole thing, though, is “Kiss The Bottle,” a sweet and tender song that encapsulates the types of non-conventional late nights and non-conventional relationships I’ve grown to love. But then again, I think just about any Jawbreaker song is great, even the terrible recording on the version of “Caroline” here. They’re a band that were probably the biggest part of my college soundtrack and still, in my mind, the best example of incredibly intelligent songwriting that doesn’t fall over into absurd hipsterness.
 
With some funny notes, funny stories, and cool pictures, it’s definitely something to look for if you’re a Jawbreaker fan. Hell, if you’re a fan you’ve probably already got it. If you’re just casually interested in Jawbreaker, then getting this will certainly be an experience. Already known for singer Blake Schwarzenbach’s rough vocals, the less-than-stellar recording quality of some of the stuff on here isn’t for everyone. Still, his incredible lyrics and the raw power that this Bay Area, CA three-piece managed to churn out, even in their early stages, will definitely make an impression on you.
 

Copyright C. 2008 Constantine Koutsoutis 

Jon Rae And The River: Knows What You Need (2006)-Ben Dugas

Monday, March 3rd, 2008

Jon-Rae and The River: Knows What You Need (2006)

By Ben Dugas
 
On their third effort, Jon-Rae Fletcher and the River have finally hit their stride. The songwriting has matured, the instrumentation has improved and, most importantly, the production work has captured the energy and enthusiasm of the live performances for which the band is known.
 
This is, keep in mind, a seven-piece band backed on this recording by a choir of six and horn section of five. Not only that, but a messy, energetic, bursting at the seams sort of band that plays like they’re trying to destroy either their equipment or the floor their standing on and capturing this sound must be a challenge to say the least. This is also the first album on which Fletcher has written all the tracks and the choice is telling of his progression as a songwriter. Where the best songs on previous albums The Road and Old Songs for the New Town were often lively covers of The Rolling Stones, Townes Van Zandt and Shellac, all eleven tracks on Knows What You Need are original and they’re good enough to ensure that the covers aren’t missed.
 
In fact, knowing the bands penchant for covers, it comes as a surprise that these are all new songs. From horn ballads “Just One More” and “Fuck Me,” to up-tempo pop tunes “Nothing to Do” and “Hard in the City,” Knows What You Need is full of songs both refreshingly original and strikingly familiar.
 
The lack of covers also helps to maintain the cohesiveness of Fletcher’s lyrical themes. From the thirst for the road (“Roll”), to the absence of the deceased (“Ghostsong”, “Fire”), to the lack of material wealth (“All that I Had”, “Nothing to Do”, “Best of my Time”, “Hard in the City”), to lust left unfulfilled by distance or circumstance (“Just One More”, “Fuck Me”), almost every line on the album dances around the theme of desire. Knows What you Need is about desire in its most potent forms and the struggle of living in a world where true fulfillment is always just out of reach. Not every song on here (“Fire” and “Ghostsong” for example) has the spirited punch of the stronger offerings but there’s more than enough substance and balance here to make this collection of songs worth coming back to.
 
There’s probably a better album yet to come from Jon-Rae and the River and this, isn’t and probably won’t be, the one to help them break out of their local circuit. But it’s a solid album by a talented group with nowhere to go but up.

Copyright C. 2008 Ben Dugas

The Prisoner-Dan Schneider

Monday, March 3rd, 2008
The Prisoner
By Dan Schneider
                               
 
8/29/68, Chicago
                              We’re not in….
 
                "….if I have broken a statute of Kansas, put me
                in jail; if I am not a lawbreaker your mayor and
                councilmen are. You must arrest one of us, for if
                I am not a criminal, they are!"- Carry Nation, 1900
 
 Mr. Chairman, my fellow Americans, my fellow Democrats- I proudly accept the nomination
of our party.
 This moment- this moment is one of personal pride and gratification. Yet one cannot help
but reflect the deep sadness that we feel over the troubles and violence which have erupted,
regrettably and tragically, in the streets of this great city, and for the personal injuries
which have occurred.
 Surely we have now learned the lesson that violence breeds counterviolence and it cannot
be condoned, whatever the source.
 I know that every delegate to this convention shares tonight my sorrow and my distress
over these incidents. And for just one moment, in sober reflection and serious purpose, may
we just quietly and silently, each in our own way, pray for our country. And may we just
share for a moment a few of those immortal words of the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi,
words which I think may help heal the wounds, ease the pain, and lift our hearts….
 
                                       2/20/62
 
            "Godspeed, John Glenn!", was what was said. "We’ll be seeing
            you, someday!", was what was thought. So young, in the mind,
            was where we were, with thoughts of the future freeing
            us from the Vermeerian still of the ’50’s,
            Eisenhower’s vegetariat of the mind,
            cancerous and deadly as the Dust Bowl ’30’s.
 
           Then the young prince strode with a swagger and guile,
            prodding us all to leave behind the last mile,
            as we did the Apocalypse of the ’40’s,
            to craft a new cosmos out of the power void-
            so we did, and today the nation is buoyed.
 
            "Godspeed, John Glenn!" May your memory have nine lives
            through the eons that break and remake the present     
            into a myth that stilly turns before it drives
            past all future reckons. Who will know what it means?
            As you hunch in arrival, a metal that went
            through years that never would have dreamt these simple scenes.
 
 Yes, I accept your nomination in this spirit and I have spoken knowing that the months
and the years ahead will severely test our America. And might I say that as this America
is tested, that once again we give testament to America….
 
                                       11/l/62
 
            The chimes of Big Ben would be more appropriate
            an end, than the ash of that fat Cuban’s cigar,
            that has no escape, and seems to render its fate
            with each and every audible inhalation.
            Every flick to the floor seems to gather much more
            importance to this pre-adolescent nation.
 
            Perhaps it is in the strands of sleep which answer
            dream, that Kennedy steels himself in the proper
            gamesmanship; such requiring the privation
            of the human things. Yet the nation, not sleeping,
            engages its own anguish, grape-wrung and steeping.
 
            Somewhere someone is jumping through the cigar smoke
            hoops of their memory. Somewhere someone will find
            that the lever is worn, and the inner spring broke,
            in the melodious evermind sensation
            that comforts us like Muzak, where we hope to bind
            and recall this time merely by its striations.
 
"Life is intrinsically,    * ROVER ME: "I knew of a physicist at the           This week our
well, boring and danger-   * University of Chicago who was rather crazy      party has de-
ous at the same time. At   * like some scientists, and the idea of the       bated the great
any given moment the       * insolidity, the instability of the physical     issues before
floor may open up. Of      * world, impressed him so much that he used       America in this
course, it almost never    * to go around in enormous padded slippers        very hall, and
does; that’s what makes    * for fear he should fall through the floor."     had we….just
it so boring."             *                    -Alan Watts                   papered over the
-Edward Gorey              *                                                  differences of
                              #2: I see you’ve made a friend. You’ve got      frank, hard de-
your invitation for the carnival tomorrow. It’s one of our little tradi-      bate, we would
tions. Each year there’s a fancy dress and a ball in the evening. We’ve       deserve the con-
promised a cabaret this year. You’ll come?                                    tempt of our
PRISONER: I have a choice?                                                    fellow citizens
#2: You do as you want.                                                       and the condem-
PRISONER: As long as it’s what you want.                                      nation of his-
#2: As long as it’s what the majority wants. We’re democratic. In some ways. tory….Democra-
                                                                              cy affords debate,
discussion and dissent. But, my fellow Americans, it also requires decision. And we have decided
here, not by edict, but by vote; not by force, but by ballot.
 Majority rule has prevailed but minority rights are preserved….
 
                                       6/12/63
 
            I met Medgar Evers in a dream, long ago,
            resigned from temptations. He-told me so. I said,
            "I miss Minnesota, but I don’t miss the snow."
            Evers-said to me, "I’m out on the otherwise,
            and playing the game between the living and dead."
            Then I woke. It was Christmas. Or so I surmised.
 
            Years passed. I grew up. Yet the game remained the same.
            Then I met Medgar Evers, both in flesh and name.
            He grabbed my hand, and pulling me closer cracked wise,
            "I remember yo’ fat ass." And I knew he did.
            But more than what he saidi to me, was what he hid;
 
            such as thoughts of the ladies, and of diamond rings.
            His eyes were a man’s, his desires a child’s,
            but he soon drifted on. What remained were the things
            of the game, in all of its violent ecstasies,
            where I met Medgar Evers, then watched him unfold-
            in the dream he was A, of the A, B, and C’s.
 
                  *    "We live in secondhand civilizations."    *
                          *    -Karl Popper, Austrian philosopher    *
 
 In the space of but a week this convention has literally made the foundations of a new
Democratic party structure in America….
 
                                      11/22/63
 
            The melting gentleness of space ended right here,
            in this news that can crowd out even football scores,
            from the source of all knowing. How many will fear    ROVER MYSELF: "It turns
            that it’s over? How many will sense that this pall    out that the answer is
            will upend? Who will protect this nation’s mores?     given on a different level
            As I sit in my chair I fear a free-for-all            from that on which the
                                                                  question was formulated."
            will ensue, in the American blood,                            -Martin Buber,
              that shapes                                                   The Path Of Man
            the world, and casts it in our own
              fears and hopes,                       PRISONER: Let us suppose for argument’s
            balanced between scalpel and butter-     sake that what you say is true. That I
              fly. It falls                          was planted here….
            to the blurry amalgam we call self       #2: By X04.
              to lead                                PRISONER: X04?
            us beyond the commonplace, beyond        #2: Hmmm….
              petty need’s                           PRISONER: Oh, very well then, by X04.
                                                     To check on Village security. To check
            thin smile of victory. We must take      on you.
              a breath                               #2: You were.
            and step back from the future that       PRISONER: What would have been your
              now flakes away,                       first duty as a loyal citizen? Not to
            and embrace this strange derange-        interfere. But you did interfere. You
              ment of air with death,                have admitted it yourself. There is a
            and follow its footfalls down            name for that- sabotage.
              the non-spartan halls,                 #2: No.
            that can be real, and not another        PRISONER: Who are you working for, #2?
              path that says                         #2: For us. For us!
            what we want to hear, or do hear,        PRISONER: That is not the way it is
              or not at all.                         going to sound to X04.
                                                     #2: I swear to you….
PRISONER: You could be working for the enemy. Or you could be a blunderer who’s lost his
head. Either way you’ve failed. And they do not like failures here.
#2: You’ve destroyed me.
PRISONER: No. You’ve destroyed yourself. A character flaw….      Yes, my fellow Democrats,
you’re afraid of your masters. A weak link in the chain of        we have recognized and in-
command, waiting to be broken.                                    deed we must recognize the
#2: Don’t tell them. Don’t report me.                             end of an era and the begin-
PRISONER: I don’t intend to. You are going to report yourself.    ning of a new day….
#2: I have to report a breakdown in control. #2 needs to be
replaced….Yes, this is #2 reporting….                         * "I think that if I recall
                                                                  * something, for example,
******************************************************************* if today I look back on
                                                                     this morning, then I get
an image of what I saw this morning. But if tonight, I’m thinking back on this morning, then
what I’m really recalling is not the first image, but the first image in memory. So that every
time I recall something, I’m not recalling it really, I’m recalling the last time I recalled
it. I’m recalling my last memory of it. So that really, I have no memories whatever. I have
no images whatever about my childhood, about my youth."- Jorge Luis Borges
 
                                       8/2/64
 
            What is war? The inaudible unsaid to love,
            or some synecdoche like heart? Who can truly know?
            Two destroyers are attacked- and the schizoid man
            not far behind in the boss’s brow. He squares
            himself with death; turns not to his Cabinet, though
            he keeps then around, in a soft parade, and dares
 
            them to challenge his manhood. Like that he will    win
            the war with himself before it was to begin
            a separate existence from his body. There
            is his reason, for being and winning- no Gulf
            of Tonkin is needed for him to be himself
 
            fully. Lyndon Johnson knows the national press
            will have its fangs in his hide. No need to decide
            is needed. For him congenital selfishness
            is as natural as Tricky Dick Nixon’s fear
            to him. As I rise and prepare for the brief ride
            to Blair House, I stroke my more quickly graying hair.
 
ROVER B: "When a dog runs at you, whistle for him."- Henry David Thoreau #113: Congratulations
#2: Come again. #113: Allow me to introduce myself. I am #113, and this is my photographic
colleague #113B. #113B: Smile. #113: We contribute to the local newspaper. The Tally Ho, you
know. PRISONER: Drive on…. #113: This is red hot stuff you know. Haven’t had a candidate
of your caliber for ages. PRISONER: Congratulations. #113: How are you going to handle your
campaign? PRISONER: No comment. #113: Intends to fight for freedom at all costs…. #113B:
Smile…. #113: How about internal policy? PRISONER: No comment. #113: Will tighten up on
village security. #113B: Smile…. #113: How about your external policy? PRISONER: No com-
ment. #113: Our exports will operate in every corner of the globe. How do you feel about life
and death? PRISONER: Mind your own business. #113: No comment….
 
 Let me speak first, then, about Vietnam….
 
                                       8/4/64
 
            The General walks in with no knowledge of them-
            the three boys who are missing in Mississippi.
            As he sits down he charts out how we will begin
            our descent into the jungles of Vietnam.
            He is all mouth, no ears, and though his eyes can see,
            he is strangely unnamed- or I feel that I am
 
            in his presence. The President furrows his head
            and glances at me, with a look somewhere near dread,
            that my mind is elsewhere. And it is true- I am
            redounding to the sounds of the boys’ names- Goodman,
            Schwerner, and Chaney. As a lieutenant walks in
 
            with briefings I feel no equipoise in the room,
            as the rest are engaged, some ten thousand miles
            away, yet I am drawn with a national gloom
            that pervades all the way from Maine to Vietnam,
          while skipping over this room. Not known for smiles
            the General seems pleased, or at least isn’t glum.
 
 May I remind you of the words of a truly great citizen of the world, Winston Churchill.
It was he who said- and we should heed his words well- "….those who use today and the
present to stand in judgment of the past may well lose the future."….
 
                                       11/3/64
 
            Goldwater and Miller never had a real chance
            against us that year. It was as if we were not
            touched by the smaller things. There was no relevance
            to their running, as In your guts you know he’s nuts!
            carried the day over heart. It gave us some cot
            to know that we stood at the acme of what gets
        
            at the American Psyche. And none too soon
            their quicksilver selves faded to oblivions,
            as if squashed by demand, not the drawing of lots.
            "Many happy returns!" and "Congratulations!"
            flooded our headquarters from many nations.
 
            I turned round to a staffer, and wondered aloud
            of the war’s direction; why were we there? And how
            the mood would change quickly the first time that a crowd
            saw body bags returning, instead of the neat
            crewcut of a son, whom parents gladly give now,
            to serve their country in victory- not defeat.
 
 Now, let me ask you, do you remember these words at another time, in a different place?:
Peace and freedom do not come cheap….
 
            1/20/65                     “We all know the man whom children or dogs love
                                        instinctively. It is a rare gift to be able to
A peace that thrives- alas, alas.       inspire this affection.”- A.A. Milne ROVER A:
 It is not near
this solemn dance of the dead. I        "The task is to break the hypnotic spell, so that we
 swear that I know                     become undeaf, unblind and multilingual, thereby letting
better ways to resolve things, but      the world speak to us in new voices and write all its
 say it not here                       possible meanings in the book of our existence. Be care-
for my President needs me- this is      ful in your choice of hypnotists."- Sidney Jourard
 clear. I taste
it in his dog-eyed expressions          #2: I have taken his place. I am the new #2.
 each day. It shows                    PRISONER: Get #1.
in retrospect. What becomes a           #2: As far as you’re concerned I’m in charge….What
 memory most?                          we do here has to be done. It’s the law of survival,
                                        it’s either them or us.
As a right hand rises, I notice it      PRISONER: You imprison people, steal their minds,
 is mine                               destroy them….
that has made its way upward, and       #2: It depends on whose side you’re on, doesn’t it?
 out of the brine                      PRISONER: I’m on our side.
of times past, when we swam in the      #2: Then we’ll have to find out where you sympathies
 seas, and a test                      lie….
was evading the jaws of a shark,        PRISONER: You know where they lie.
 or a ray,                             #2: Subject shows great enthusiasm for his work. He is
and not guiding a bill to the end       utterly devoted and loyal. Is this a man who suddenly
 of its way.                           walks out?
                                        PRISONER: I didn’t walk out. I resigned.
A few months earlier I sensed that      #2: People change, exactly. So do loyalties.
 a chasm                               PRISONER: Not mine.
was opening between us. Then the       #2: All very commendable. But let’s be practical. I’m
 President                             interested in facts. Your only chance to get out of
said: "Opinions are like cocks;        here is to give them to me….and if you don’t give
 every man has’em!                     them, I’ll take them. It’s up to you, think about it.
So keep yours to yourself- I like       Good day, #6.
 them kind the best!"                  PRISONER: # what?
So I folded my files, with a smile      #2: 6. For official purposes. Everyone has a number.
 went                                  Yours is #6.
to my office, knowing nothing-          PRISONER: I am not a #. I am a person.
 save that I lost.
                                        ***************************************************
****************************************
                                        "Suppose someone were to say, ‘Imagine this butterfly
exactly as it is, but ugly instead of beautiful."’- Ludwig Wittgenstein
 
 But the search for peace is not for the timid or the weak, it must come from a nation of
high purpose- firm without being belligerent, resolute without being bellicose, strong without
being arrogant. And that’s the kind of America that will help build the peace of this world….
 
                                       2/21/65
           
             "Checkmate!" cried old Edgar, as he picked up the phone
             and delighted to tell us, "That nigger is dead!
             If only King would follow, or leave things alone,
             this country would be back to the way it was- Right!"
             The circle of sight returns- but sometimes, instead
             of what was seen before, a death defines the light
 
             that covers things. In the White House Hoover would say
             how the President was better than JFK,
             and how appropriate that murder set things right-
             and how Johnson would wheedle him, as if to get
             some sip of a secret before it was forgot.
 
             Then he talked of Muhammad and young Louis X,
             and how bloodhounds return, no matter how beaten
             down, because that is a natural thing- like sex
             or death- and how the old man would gleefully cite
             many sources for his wisdom, and how smitten
             he was with LBJ; but I never seemed right.
 
 Now, our second reality is the necessity for peace at home….
 
ROVER MEDIUM: "Quit this world. Quit the next world. Quit quitting.”- Ram Dass
 
PRESIDENT: We have just witnessed the two forms of revolt. The first, uncoordinated youth
rebelling against nothing it can define. The second, an established, successful, secure
member of the Estab-
lishment turning upon                              3/21/65
and biting the hand
that feeds him. Well,         Bull Connor could not have done it any better-
these attitudes are           smash the hammer into anvil, excite the crowds,
dangerous, they con-          and the indifferent masses- it is the latter
tribute nothing to our        that is key. They are the silent majority
culture and they must         who do not register with words, but rather deeds,
be stamped out.               and now they are rapt, watching Cronkite on t.v.
 At the other end of
the scale we are honored      report on these crimes, the march on Selma, itself,
to have with us a revo-       and the unity of race relating to wealth.
lutionary of a different      Each policeman who wavers to hostility
caliber. He has revolted.     only makes King stronger; just as each hose that sprays
Resisted. Fought. Held        the marchers, here or there, just adds to the malaise.
fast. Maintained. Des-
troyed resistance. Over-      It was Salustius that said: "Myths are the things
come coercion. The right      which never happened but always are." In the past
to be Person, Someone,        I believe he was right, but today that point stings
or Individual. We applaud     as much as the flicker on the t.v. screen supplies
his private war and con-      to the average American who isn’t lost
cede that despite materi-     to what this country insists, and likewise denies.
alistic efforts he has
survived intact and secure. All that remains is, recognition of a man. A man of steel….A
man magnificently equipped
to lead us, lead us or          The simple solution of the frustrated and the frightened to
go….In this connection     our complex urban problems is to lash out against society. But
we have a prize. You will    we know- and they must know- that this is no answer.
see that your home is being
made ready. Above and beyond this we have the means for you to desert us and go anywhere.
Key to your house. Traveler’s
checks- a million. Passport. ROVER C: "’Your end which is endless is as a snowflake dis-
Valid for anywhere. And, er- solving in the pure air.’- Bassui, Zen monk. The snowflake,
petty cash. You are free to   which was once very much of a discernable subsystem of the
go.                           universe, now dissolves into the larger system which once
PRISONER: Free to go?         held it. Though it is no longer present as a distinct subsystem,
PRESIDENT: Anywhere.          its essence is somehow present, and will remain so. It floats
PRISONER: Why?                in Tumbolia, along with hiccups that are not being hiccuped
PRESIDENT: You have been      and characters in stories that are not being read."
such an example to us.                                      -Douglas Hofstader
PRISONER: Why?
PRESIDENT: You have con-      COLONEL: What are the facts behind the Town Hall? Town Hall?
vinced us of our mistakes.    PRISONER: That’s right.
PRISONER: Why?                COLONEL: Town Council?
PRESIDENT: You are pure.      PRISONER: That’s correct.
You know the way. Show us.    COLONEL: Were you a member?
PRISONER: Why?                PRISONER: I could have been. It’s democratically elected once
PRESIDENT: Your revolt is     a year.
good and honest. You are      COLONEL: Democratically?
the only individual. We       PRISONER: That’s what they claim.
need you.                     COLONEL: And they’re all #s? No names. No names at all?
PRISONER: I see.              PRISONER: Just #s.
PRESIDENT: You do. You see    COLONEL: I see.
all.                          PRISONER: #s in a village that’s a complete unit of our own
PRISONER: I’m an individual? society. A place to put people who can’t be left around. People
PRESIDENT: You are on your    who know too much or too little. A place with many ways of
your own.                     breaking a man….They have their own cinema, their own newspaper,
PRISONER: I fail to see.      their own television station. A credit card system, and if you’re
PRESIDENT: All about you is   a good boy and cough up the secrets you are gracefully retired
yours. We concede. We offer. to the old people’s home.
We plead for you to lead us. COLONEL: But no escape?
PRISONER: Or go?              PRISONER: They also have a very impressive graveyard.
PRESIDENT: Go if you wish.
PRISONER: But I….I don’t know….       * Perhaps my life is nothing but an image of
                                          * this kind: perhaps I am doomed to retrace my
            8/11-16/65                    * steps under the illusion that I am exploring,
                                          * doomed to try and learn what I should simply
L.A. is burning! It’s your funeral and    * recognize, learning a mere fraction of what
 home!                                   * I have forgotten."- Andre Breton
The President is sipping a draft beer,
 alone,
and flicking his thumb, as if a flicker could come,
set him on fire, so he could release a shriek,
and tell the world to screw itself. But it has done
that already- so he just slouches as he speaks
 
            of nothing in particular. The news from ‘Nam
            is not much better- reports laden with aplomb
            and civility, which cover what numbers lack,
            but add nothing to the day, save tinder and heat,
            enough of which is coming from L.A.’s defeat
 
            of itself. For the first time I wonder and pull
            myself from excuses. They turn over a car
            with a family in it. What kind of ungrateful
            monsters are breeding? The President takes a leak,
            and comes back, then turns to me: "Now they’ve gone too far!
            They’ve fucked’emselves good!" And I see into his smirk.
 
 I put it very bluntly- rioting, burning, sniping, mugging, traffic in narcotics, and
disregard for law are the advance guard of anarchy, and they must and they will be stopped….
 
                                     11/9-10/65
 
            A change of mind can slip in in the dark places
            where no sleep can know the weather of time and thought.
            It was here when the looters, with average faces,
            helped themselves to whatever that I thought it right
            to dream of Mother’s cooking, as if it were caught
            in my nose, again with delight, on this long night.
 
            I spoke with Governor Rockefeller who said
            by noon, tomorrow, all power would be restored.
            But, I sat in my room, away from the delight
            of myself with my own memory’s resurgence,
            to ponder the dark, and the others’ emergence
 
            through these times, in such ways, that cannot be controlled,
            that I long for the scents of a North Country stove,
            and on this night- without it- cannot be consoled
            in my yearnings. I dream of a different night
            when other than repressions can take to the rove
            of the mind, the shadow of all that is sheer white.
 
 We do not want a police state but we need a state of law and order, and neither mob
violence nor police brutality have any place in America….
 
                                       5/l/66
 
            Karen Young once mentioned Cambodia in class,
            and I recall no one knew where that country was,
            and I didn’t care, for many a year. I passed
            it by in my mind, like her red hair’s frieze of awe
            which filtered its way through the young part of me as
            a reason to move and keep on moving. A law
           
            of the cosmos that is just me. When I saw her
            answer the question that day, I had no horror
            at the name, nor this dream, that I’d slowly abhor,
            with a waking disdain- just more papers to sign,
            growing more heedless and careless, as if design
           
            could now micromanage my inner fears and cares-
            Do not forsake me, oh, my darling- dissolving
            part of my day, growing accustomed to despair,
            as the Indochinese do, in midst of their poor
            flights from fight-to-fight, war-to-war, never solving
            the unanswered questions of youth, weighing down more….
 
  And now the third reality, essential if the other two are to be achieved, is the necessity,
my fellow Americans, for unity in our country, for tolerance and forbearance….
 
                                     7/12-17/67
 
            No sagebrush in Newark, or none that we can see,
            seems to blow in their wind. The President will say
            why he canit understand living in harmony
            to be such a messy proposition, after
            all the laws he signed, the thickets cut from the gray;
            and no one can seemingly enjoy a laughter
                                                                  * “Truth
            at another’s expense. The President calls us          * is
            all in, and begins to mumble. Then he lets loose      * a
            a cannonball of cussing. There seems no greater       * lie."
            moment in his existence than when the prickles        * -
            apply themselves to another. As he chuckles           * Pablo
                                                                  * Picasso
            a call comes in. I do not know who it is from,
            but Johnson sits back in his swivelchair and spits
            out a piece of steak from his teeth. "Who can we blame
            for this bullshit?", as if a pretend debater
            awaited some rhetoric, like an old sunset
            in the West- only this was East, and was later.
 
                                     ROVER LOW:
 
"’I have also thought of a model city from which I deduce all the others.’ Marco answered.
‘It is a city made only of exceptions, exclusions, incongruities, contradictions. If such
a city is the most improbable, by reducing the number of abnormal elements, we increase the
probability that the city really exists. So I have only to subtract exceptions from my model,
and in whatever direction I proceed, I will arrive at one of the cities which, always as an
exception, exist. But I cannot force my operation beyond a certain limit: I would achieve
cities too probable to be real."’- Italo Calvino
 
So this is the message that I shall take to the people, and I ask you to stand with me.
 
******************************************************************
 
"’It’s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards,’ the Queen remarked."
                            -Lewis Carroll
 
******************************************************************
 
#2: Quite a beautiful place really, isn’t it?….Almost like a world of its own.
PRISONER: I shall miss it when I’m gone.
#2: Oh, it’ll grow on you. We have everything here….water, electricity, there’s the
council building. We have our council, democratically elected….we also use it for public
meetings, amateur theatricals.
PRISONER: Fascinating.
#2: Yes, indeed….there’s the restaurant….But did you know we have our own little news-
paper?
PRISONER: You must send me a copy….
 
                                       1/30/68
 
            Khe Sanh- where is that? Ninh Hoa- further to the south
            than- Rach Gia- another- one can barely keep breath
            from expelling itself, falling quick from the mouth
            as hamlet and city, do in this rueful tune,
            which reminds me of the song The Girl Who Was Death
            we used to sing at birthday parties, Halloween,
 
            or any occasion that a youth could concoct
            as a reason to be scared. And who could detect
            why a sane soul would choose to break peace with ruin?
            All these names and occasions- one can fill the blanks
            in, and still it would bear no meaning, or some thanks
          
            to the solution. Then the President declaims
            "To hell with this gook shit! Blow their asses away!
            Ho Chi Minh is a bastard, fuck him all the same,
            with his bullshit of peace talks, in Paris, by June."
            Then he tossed his mug of tea and whiskey my way-
            but I ducked. A shard stuck in his map of the moon.
 
 Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream. Robert F. Kennedy, as you saw tonight, had a great
vision….
 These men, these men have given us inspiration and direction, and I pledge from this
platform tonight we shall not abandon their purpose- we shall honor their dreams by our
deeds now in the days to come.
 I am keenly aware of the fears and the frustrations of the world in which we live. It
is all too easy, isn’t it, to play on these emotions. But I do not intend to do so….
 I shall appeal to reason and to your good judgment….
 
                  4/4/68
 
Once upon a time there were two men, in their way
a part of each other, although one could see more             * "Nearly all men can
than the machine; or, at least, only one would say           * stand adversity, but
he did. The other got rid of such things as sight,            * if you want to test
and decided to see if he could control law                    * a man’s character,
and order from the inside. One, it seemed, was right,         * give him power."
                                                              *      -Abraham Lincoln
while the other was not necessarily wrong,
it seemed inconvenient to just putter along,
especially when blessed with a skin labeled white.
But the day refused both, and the darker one would
try any avenue as long as it seemed good.
                                                            * “If your mind is empty,
Once upon a time there were two men, in their way           * it is always ready for
a part of each other, although one hit the floor            * anything; it is open to
of the machine, and his head full of dreams, would lay      * everything. In the beginner’s
in its sauce. The other man would take wobbly flight,       * mind there are many possi-
and see if the first man should have learned a bit more     * bilities; in the expert’s
than to court flame in the midst of a paper night.          * mind there are few."
                                                                   -Shunryu Suzuki
ROVER I:                                                            
        "It is as if I were attempting to trace with the point of a pencil the shadow of the
tracing pencil."- Nathaneal West
                                PRISONER: You chose this method because you knew that the
only way to beat me was to gain my respect? #2: That is correct. PRISONER: And then I
would confide. #2: I hoped that you would come to trust me. PRISONER: This is a recognized
method? #2: Used in psychoanalysis. The patient must come to trust his doctor totally.
PRISONER: Sometimes they change places. #2: It is essential in extreme cases….
 
 Believe- believe in what America can do, and believe in what America can be, and with the
vast- with the help of that vast, unfrightened, dedicated, faithful majority of Americans, I
say to this great convention tonight, and to this great nation of ours, I am ready to lead
our country!
 
                                       6/5/68
 
            I should have won California. Now a big fight           I know that every delegate
            looms over the country. And this small scheming man   to this convention shares
            thinks he is owed- thinks it is by a Divine Right     tonight my sorrow and my
            his. For once I even agree with the dark mind         distress over these incidents.
            of Nixon-                                             And for just one moment, in
                     What now? On the television screen           sober reflection ad serious
            only sound is supreme- only a shot is found           purpose, may we quietly and
                                                                  silently, each in our own
            in the din- the fallout can be just what we see       way, pray for our country.
            when we cross our fears with selfish destiny.         And may we just share for a
            The calls come in from the UP, the AP and             moment a few of those immortal
            Reuters, the Times and the Post, and dozens of more. words of the prayer of
            It seems that tomorrow even the goddamned war         St. Francis of Assisi, words
                                                                  which I think may help heal
           will be lost to the Front Pages. What will be         the wounds, ease the pain
            lost to me? What must I do to make this all end?      and lift our hearts.
            As the bodies mill, disperse, then mill more quickly,   Listen to the immortal
            I am struck by what Nixon must think of my bind,      saint: "Where there is
            and the crooked little smirk he loves to pretend      hatred, let me know love.
            a smile, and this night he must not seem to mind.    Where there is injury, pardon.
                                                                  Where there is doubt, faith.
*************************************************************     Where there is despair, hope.
                                                                  Where there is darkness,                                                                    "Beware, as they say, of mistaking the finger for the moon    *   light."
when you’re pointing at it."- John Cage                       *     Those are the words of a
                                                                  saint. And may those of us
*************************************************************     of lesser purity listen to
                                                                  them well and may America
ROVER HIGH: "The situation reached the height of the ludicrous                      tonight
when I suddenly realized one day that of everything I had written about the man     resolve
I could just as well have said the opposite. I had indubitably reached that dead    that
end which lies so artfully hidden in the phrase ‘the meaning of meaning’”           never,
                                        -Henry Miller                               never
                                                                                    again
#2: I’m #2.                                                                         shall
PRISONER: You are #nothing.                                                         we
            #2: I’m #2.                                                             see
            PRISONER: One minute thirty-five seconds.                               what
                        #2: Why did you resign?                                     we
                        PRISONER: I didn’t accept. Why did you accept?              have
                                    #2: You resigned.                               seen
                                    PRISONER: I rejected.                           .
                                                #2: You accepted before you resigned..
                                                PRISONER: I rejected.                 .
                                                            #2: Who?                   .
                                                            PRISONER: You….
 
Copyright C. 2008 Dan Schneider

It’s Just A Word-Michael Lefebvre

Monday, March 3rd, 2008
It’s Just A Word
By Michael Lefebvre
 
I’m not sure when I could ever tell you…
It has been ages since I truly felt this way, I suppose,
Because I couldn’t concoct something this heartfelt in a million years.
 
You hit something without even trying.
The walls are up at the front line and my back is against them,
While I battle it out for everything I am worth…
Everything the battle is worth.
 
You shouldn’t know my whole story,
Because I’m not searching for pity or a shoulder to cry on,
And I’m not looking to one up anyone on the hardship scale
Because my grace is broken insofar, as I have fallen.
 
But how could I tell you the way I feel, without being such a fucking sap that I would even disgust myself, and all the people around here, who have lost their faith and confidence in words and themselves?
 
Don’t we all forget at some point?
Don’t we all get disillusioned with this fleeting romanticism?
Because, you know, fuck all this drama
That gets us into so much trouble and makes us do stupid things.
 
Who am I to tell you how I feel? I should just give up on it all, because my heart,
After so many cracks, chips, and chunks taken away and thrown in the scrap yard,
Could be construed as worthless.
 
You know what I’m talking about, right?
This is probably the worst four-letter-word in this four-letter-world that exists and we could both come crashing, imploding on one another if we let it happen.
 
And I couldn’t mention it because I’m afraid of its nature,
Its insane, brutal, ecstatic qualities, its capacity to wreak havoc on anyone at any time.
Even the thought of its manifestation makes me tremble.
 
So, whatever the cost, I won’t verbalize it to you because
You deserve better than this word, which destroys, points and laughs at us all,
As it continues its onslaught.
 
I won’t tell you because if I did, you would come to expect to hear it all the time or Maybe I would just say it so much, ad nauseum, you would be sick of it and
I can’t take the risk of letting that happen to either one of us.
 
All I could do, in this day and age, would be to take your hand,
Put it on my heart, ask you to walk with me, and in walking together,
What I will do is show you.
 
Copyright C. 2008 Michael Lefebvre

Nostalgia-Jenifer Stroud

Monday, March 3rd, 2008
Nostalgia
By Jenifer Stroud
 
There’s a photograph I gaze upon
where I can see how the years
have changed your face
but not your smile.
My heart leaps in recognition
and my mind travels back
to the last time I saw you;
so vivid in my memory that I can almost feel
the texture of your hair between my fingers
the summer highlights shinning.
It makes me long to see
the way your eyes light up when you laugh again
and the warmth of your breath on my neck
as you say my name.
My heart strains to hear the sound of your voice.
 

Copyright C. 2008 Jenifer Stroud

Late Night Confessions-Jenifer Stroud

Monday, March 3rd, 2008
Late Night Confessions
By Jenifer Stroud
 
There’s a side of the bed
that’s empty without you.
I awake in the night
and trace my fingers
in the space
where your sleeping form
should be-
it’s so cold
and I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.
I’ve called out your name
but you haven’t heard me…
I’ve cried tears
that you’ve never seen…
I don’t like living my life without you
because you’ve always been the better half of me.
 

Copyright C. 2008 Jenifer Stroud

Discomfort In The Deep-J. Lee

Monday, March 3rd, 2008
Discomfort in The Deep
By J. Lee
 
Her body always did abstract things.
Mannerisms that oscillated between
alluring and just plain repulsive.
I was always cautious,
never to get caught in the undertow.
 
I should have paid more attention
to the wrinkles in the sheets
after the last time we were intimate.
They resembled an octopus
with too many tentacles
for its own good.
 

Copyright C. 2008 J. Lee

The Seed-J. Lee

Monday, March 3rd, 2008

The Seed
By J. Lee
 
translucent (you)
all the way to the bone
where vertebrae links together chain-like
almost impossible to see
deep red resonating berry
tiny and firm
ready to break free
from its protective
barbed membrane vines
 

Copyright C. 2008 J. Lee

Why Green Yarn Reminds Me of You-Bruce W. Niedt

Monday, March 3rd, 2008
Why Green Yarn Reminds Me of You
By Bruce W. Niedt
 
That day we went to the Fillmore East
in New York, to see a favorite “hippie” band
no one remembers now, you were
in Earth-mother mode, your gauzy blouse
teasing me with your nipples,
and you’d brought along your knitting.
 
As we left at the end of the concert,
your moss-green yarn snagged in the seat.
We were five rows up the aisle
before we realized it had drawn
a line behind you, as if to trace your path.
 
We laughed about it later
as we kissed and fondled in the rear
of the bus back to college, and your head
found my shoulder in sleep.
 
I never saw you knit again,
and not long after that, we began
to unravel, two strands pulling apart,
our love an unfinished scarf.
 

Copyright C. 2008 Bruce W. Niedt