October 24, 2006
In my messenger bag, there are usually several books, including (almost always) a collection of poetry. Though I stay current with literary fiction, graphic novels, and my other reading, I have been living in the past where poetry is concerned. I steal snippets of Wallace Stevens, Theodore Roethke, Frank O'Hara and others during the day, when a short story or chapter is not feasible. My emergence from the depths of these dead poets began earlier this year when I read Ange Mlinko's Starred Wire, but I finally broke the surface while reading CAConrad's Deviant Propulsion.
CAConrad should be our generation's Ginsberg, his poetry is immediate, visceral, and disturbing in all the right ways.
There was this crazy fag I met when I was 19 and he LOVED the band X, and soon enough I too was a crazy fag, LOVING the sound of that wicked bitch EXCENE CERVENKA! Excene drag is the BEST drag to do man! Curdled punk swaggering out, "A THOUSAND KIDS BURY THEIR PARENTS!"
All my writing has come ashore on white caps and pounding curls of song.
Music isn't just important, it's so important that saying it's important is missing half of how it has made the words you say it's important on. Music is all we have to hold our atoms in place, the air between the atoms is fine with the song, the stitch of song.
Tenderness, anger, all of it rolls in and out of the mouth at once some days, some songs.
Angry music gets into a kid's soul JUST at the right moment, meaning, no moment wrong. And f*ck the world for letting them OFF the anger. Music isn't something to channel your breaking wind through, IT'S TO BEAT OUT THE TREMORS OF THIS FALLEN PALACE THE GUARDS HAVE LONG AGO BEEN DRIVEN FROM! Centuries have been waiting for our own world to exhume itself like this, as though nothing came before. For centuries we've been building to the strength of mud. Hello Mud, how are you? I'm fine Mud, and how are you?
To drive an angry song out the door, EYES OPEN MORE THAN OPEN, you see the under sides of color, get the smells VERY correct, nostrils fine tuned machines, WE, ARE, GOING, TO, SEE, THIS, WORLD, AS, IF, IT, WERE, FOR, THE, LAST, TIME...
CAT POWER lanced me more than once, as only CAT POWER can! A bowl of oatmeal and a spoon made of candle wax from nine different candles. That'll smeech ya! CAT POWER's extraordinary "BATHYSPHERE" is the last call at the last bar in back of your dirty little smelly little delicious little brain that caught fire and never stops burning.
Got this page where it comes, cums off, from the dream I had, and the music, DOMP, DOMP, DOMP, DOMP, JONT, JONT, JONT, JONT, it's the dream of the crows, and I'm pregnant, a pregnant boy, and I give birth to a baby, and feed it to the crows. Now, in the dream, in the music, I'm not upset, or spent, I'm happy, I'm very happy, I'm SO HAPPY the crows LOVE the taste of my baby, they LOVE my baby's taste, eat him, eat my baby, he's for you, eat my baby, he's for you, ah sweet crows, I'm so happy! The baby was like a little cake, and they pecked him, eating every speck of my little cake baby. When I woke I was still happy because I was so happy in the dream, in the music, but then, well, the more I thought about it, I was sad. But then the dream came back, and the happiness. That's from the song of my dream, and it's on page 28 of my book Deviant Propulsion. 28's the perfect number for it too my friends, as together they're 10, and ten is 1 and 0 coming together to the 1 again. Atonement abounds with 28.
Groans have a special opening, somewhere waiting to be found. A song like Patti Smith's "Radio Ethiopia" gashes itself a door in you. Surely you have had a whiff, no? Yes, YES! Silicone implants on the top of the head, to stretch out the skin for the bigger brain on its way. I found a picture of myself as a kid, maybe 9 years old. I yell at it every once in a while, hoping to JAR the music of the yelling back through time to set a portion of my young mind aside for new awareness, and something seems to be working as I feel different with each yelling, like, I KNOW it's coming up through the ages at me. And here I am man, a man, a crazy fag, in LOVE with words, music. HELLO!
If you start listening to a song over and over, and stop cleaning, stop cleaning up, and listen. Start clearing out a little space in your filth, allow the filth to surround you, just let it, just shut the f*ck up and do it, just be there, be in it. There is an engine so powerful, so large we have not been able to see it properly, too busy scurrying around doing nothing important, but stop, sit, build filth as only creatures of dirty earth can, and get the song to take you to the turbines, the crackle of the cogs biting down into one another, THIS PLACE has been making itself busy for one purpose, to ignite a revolution of creative action. The place music best takes us is that self discovery. It's the sound waves themselves that get us in there. Every single person alive has the potential to be creative, to resurrect the creative, to light every candle in the f*cking room with the journey to believing we have this. And all that creative morphing we build together WILL CHANGE THIS f*cked up, stupid world, turn it on its f*cking head! What an awful, ridiculous system we find ourselves being sucked into at the moment. But it is changing. We will change it. Because we will change ourselves. No more selfish days my friends, let them be over.
Previous Book Notes submissions (authors create playlists for their book)
Note Books (musicians discuss literature)
52 Books, 52 Weeks (2006 Edition)
52 Books, 52 Weeks (2005 Edition)
52 Books, 52 Weeks (2004 Edition)
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