eighteen with a bullet # 2

or 12 guage x 2 from marylandSome time before Christmas – and deep in the grip of dub – I received an e-mail from Brooklyn based singer-songwriter, Lisa Jaeggi, with links to her self-released debut album. While her list of influences at times reads like a “who’s who” of artists to largely avoid, if I’m

supergrass

“Somebody grassed me up,” he said. Eyeing the horseshoe bar like a felonon a three day ticket. A pocket fullof blunts, lids, and no sharp objects. “Aye,” said I. ” You are a fuckwit.” Nobody at our table slowed down a jot.Or quickened any. “Maybe it would be more prudent notto fire up your pipe

straight time. yule do.

And the weather forecast is thus: freezing f@cking fog. White snow, or not. Yellow. Slush. Or snot. I have no idea why it is the case, but one of those few films I have watched ad infinitum is John Carpenter’s “The Fog“. It is not particularly a great film. Maybe not even close. I have

(i don’t wanna go down to) the basement

not a rerun of the basement tapes, but an ear full of soot in the ink well. brass necked plagiarism, above, by ib. If you happen to be in the vicinity of Nashville, Tennessee this coming Sunday, December 13th, do not neglect to pay a visit to The Basement, 1604 8th Avenue South. Mixing up

cornerman

tick… tock… tick… Like my Polish grandfather, I findmyself preoccupied with watches.Wristwatches, to be precise;pocket watches, too. Silver oysters. Clocks, on the other hand… twicestrike me with deeper forebodings.The bronchial tick and tock, and dust,the pendulum swing. The chime. I have never been much of a one, allround, for keeping time. Punching in.Well-oiled or not.

fry and ham

And the curious thing is, I wasn’t frying up ‘Braveheart’ beef slices over yesterday’s post. I wasn’t even particularly fond of that movie. Out to lunch, is as accurate an assessment as any. Or old ham. Chalk it down as an excuse to serve up some reconstituted Jamie Reid.

bleak house music

Last night’s attempt at poetry stank, quite frankly.I woke up this morning and pulled the chain.Not being one to flush the baby with the bath water,I was loathe to disengage for the want of crying. Spilt milk; gluey sex; oil pastels; empty bottles.Bleeding containers of takeaway food. Sour spoils.Ah well. I am inured enough to

oranges is not the lonely fruit

What is it with oranges ? Anthony Burgess and ‘A Clockwork Orange‘; Jeanette Winterson’s ‘Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit‘; Mark E. Smith’s ‘I Am Kurious Oranj‘. Save it for evengelists high on fuzzy felted sadism. Bursting segments of citrus heresy. Orange is Ludwig ripening in the sun. Jaundiced droogs and rapists. Pez dispensers and

sack full of silver, or sugary shit

a rather antique silver teething spoon. On a somewhat rancorous note, I would like to lend a word or too of support to fellow Glaswegian, and stand-up comic, Frankie Boyle, recently censured by the BBC Trust. By the same token I would like to register mild disgust at Stephen Fry’s reaching for the smelling salts

saturday maybe

ahhh… Recorded on the 9th September, 2009 – 9/9/9 to those of you with a morbid fascination for emergency services numerology – “The Grass is Always Greener” is the second EP release from Nashville’s Max and the Wild Things. Something of a minor cause for celebration in my own household, it further cements my partisan

transcendentalist

ohm It has been a whilesince I had any truckwith gurus. The wheelscame off, then, andI don’t intendto begin fiddling witha socket wrench now. Not in this lunchtime.ohm Of course,I am not suggesting thatnot one of those fΩckerscan be trusted. (we all need a little help,from time to time,just to join up the dots…) ohm

crumbs of discomfort

illustration by robert crumb, garish colour by siblingshot. I see from the Sunday papers that wayfaring Clevelander, Robert Crumb has now illustrated The Book of Genesis: “All 50 Chapters!“. I may get around to perusing it in the near – to middling – future, but that will be as close to Genesis as I shall

90% dark matter

or, negatives, doctoring the tardis. I took our three kids to this science fiction exhibition. All summer they had begged me to take them. Andfinally I am motivated sufficiently to plan an outing.Finally, here, I have change enough to rouse myself. They seem a little hesitant. Smiling and laughing as we walk to the subway,

emotion tree

She sat barefoot in the middleof the floor,on sunlit boards browningin late afternoon.Surrounded by lengthsof copper tubing.Attaching paper notesto curling brancheswith surgical precision.Tied off with string. Wire. “How do you like my emotion tree ?” she asked. I licked the gummed marginspilling tobacco,and spoke out the cornerof my rolled up twist. “It looks like it

why balk at dressed crab ?

A third rate actor poses on the White House lawn on January 20th, 1981. The grocer’s daughter seeks a second marriage. Fittingly, Ronald Reagan was born in an apartment above a local bank in a red brick building in Tampico, Illinois. The nest he was spat into, then, was literally built on nickels, dimes and

travelling with demons, 5:9 – 8:34

for the record: Protect me from the mangled utterances ofwitchfinders and the convoluted,the diapered rebuke of incontinent dribblers.Flycatchers and the sanctimonious; “My name is Legion, and we speak for the many.” Protect me from rulers smiting down the left hand.Churchwardens waxing promiscuously.Deliver me on those days when the postman strikes,dyslexic, slovenly and ambidextrous. “My name

grease monkey

Take that thumboff your clitoris,the gym skirtto your stick shift,and jamb it Straight up –under the hood –your stalled anddragging tail pipe.You give me gas. engine block photograph found trailing on a thread.

shooting stars and piano tuners

detail from a photograph by norman snyder. I was looking for this photograph by veteran New York photographer – and ‘Time-Life‘ art director – Norman Snyder. I found it in a second hand hardcover I’ve had now for many years. Sadly, said copy is a survivor from those pre-internet days when I would scour and

night sweats

detail from “the nightmare” (1781) by john henry fuseli; 1741-1825. Sleep hy•per•hi•dro•sis |’hʌipədrəʊsis|nounmore commonly known as the night sweats, is the occurrence of excessive sweating (hyperhidrosis) during sleep. The sufferer may or may not also suffer from excessive perspiration while awake. Not making it to the bathroomon time,let alone the rent. Not making the deadline.

northern exposure

ed•dy |ˌɛdi|noun ( pl. –dies)a circular movement of water, counter to a main current,causing a small whirlpool.• a movement of wind, fog, or smoke resembling this. ORIGIN late Middle English : probably from the Germanic base of the Old English prefix ed– [again] From Montreal, Quebec, there is something of a “Rumours” era Christine McVie