Yes, this post is so deeply overdue, it’s a good-damn thing no one reads this page anymore anyway. Which is sad, but the fault does of course lie with those of us who are supposed to be supplying content for the silly thing. Regardless, I have now set my silly, sleep-deprived, ass down to actually attempt some form of summation of the inaugural Rothbury Music Festival.

i always get a little nervous when things are this clear,
when the manic energy has burned away the dissenting elements
and that clean, high, tone
is the only thing you can hear

should things be this obvious?

and then this…

sometimes i write these e-mails and by the time i’m done with them,
well the internet needs garbage like this . . . .

ok, so i just want to make beautiful things . . . oh yeah, and have people appreciate them.

i mean, without an outside viewpoint, can anything be truly beautiful? maybe it can, but i’m not interested in entertaining only myself, i want to share beauty with anyone who will appreciate it, or even those who won’t, because there are perhaps few things more terrifying than beauty that is not understood, or if we felt like polishing off an old chestnut that lays truth and beauty in a comfortable overlap, truth can be terrifying.

Title: Wolf Totem: A Novel
Author: Jiang Rong
LC Rating:

Every once in awhile I find myself reading a book that is just so impossibly true that it depresses the hell out me and compels me to continue reading non-stop thru the day until my eyes are strained, my nerves frayed, and my sense of indignation has been brought back to the forefront to the point that I feel like screaming at people. I imagine you’re currently scratching your heads and asking how it is that someone can actually enjoy this process. I loved this book, because it’s not just a book; it’s a weapon.

So I’m out and about, hanging out with plant last night; standing in his backyard talking about the strange sort of stuff the cognoscenti tend to talk about, watching kids run about, assembling bicycles . . . you know, the usual.

Anyway, I’m standing there looking at a radio-flyer tricycle, we all know the one, classic design, I had one when I was a kid; but I’m standing there looking at this ubiquitous piece of childhood paraphernalia and it strikes me that this particular example has, very much like my own as a child, a marked difference between the aim of the handle-bars and the alignment of the front wheel.

i’ll be leaving soon
i’ll have gone to find myself

at least this time i know what i am looking for
before it was only knowing that i needed…

…something

it is only after we have lost everything
that we are free to do anything

so i am going to go into the woods with one intention

i am going to kill myself

I am going to die.
i’ve know this for a while

I love this stuff.

how do you help the dead?
do the dead need our help?
more to the point, do the dead need our loose change?

Last night my friend and I went out on a beer run to the local market, and as we’re standing in line, I notice this container on the counter. It was a plastic tub that originally held a nationally known brand of margarine, but now the top had a hole cut in the center and there was a hand-written note on lined paper taped to the side. I will make no claims to be able to reproduce the message word for word, but the main thrust was quite simple, and the note read something like this . . .

{maybe i just need to prove that i’m still crazy}

i wish i could’ve
work was fun tho’ hahaha
man we should hang soon,
and if yer gonna have a myspace
thingy to look at all the band shit
you have to click the little button
that says you want to be my friend,
or else i’ll spread vicious rumors of you
all about the internet

So, I’ve been spending too much time on the six word story experiment. As a writer I’ve always strived for the great art of impassioned brevity. In coming up with story after story about myself I came to see that they all tend towards the tragic.

That frightens me more than a little.

You really have to be honest when you try to reduce your life to six words.

who are you
in those moments
when
you’re
only
trying to be
yourself

So you drive on the parkway
and park on the driveway
and fly on (well from) the runway
and run on the sidewalk

no wonder i’m always confused

well it started out with a robbery
that was followed by a death investigation
of a baby who was found in a trash can
then later it moved on to an upcoming meeting
about how to budget
and stay out of foreclosure
bush had some important things to say last night
i couldn’t bring myself to care
now i just keep thinking about the jury selection
for the mother who microwaved her baby

. . . he said, taking the guitar off his shoulders and casting a wary eye over the assembled crowd. He was looking for reaffirmation through negation, but after a momentary pause had yielded naught, he continued speaking with a false air of disregard. ‘I might never be famous, but I’ve come to the conclusion that this doesn’t matter.’

It’s good to see somebody isn’t just rolling over to our government.

AFP: Descendants of Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse break away from US

The Lakota Indians, who gave the world legendary warriors Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, have withdrawn from treaties with the United States, leaders said Wednesday.