This afternoon's soundtrack is jazz inflected j-pop from School Food Punishment. Yet another group (like The Housemartins) I found out about after they broke up. I may be counting it wrong, but I think that parts of "Flow" are in 5.
Saturday, October 13, 2018
Wednesday, March 7, 2018
Immortality
... of a tenuous, minor, sort. I'm mentioned in a footnote in Seth Michael Perlow's doctoral dissertation:
70 I am grateful to Charles O. Hartman for his email correspondence about DIASTEXT and to Ron Starr for making an online engine for diastic reading, along with a description of the process, which have disappeared since the time of writing. Hartman discusses his programs for computer poetry in Virtual Muse (1996).
Saturday, September 9, 2017
Heavy Metal in Hijabs
From Indonesia, Voice of Baceprot, playing "The Enemy of Earth is You."
More on the band from Reuters.
And, finally, "Hysteria."
Thursday, September 7, 2017
Bullies & Destruction
“You can’t beat a bully at his own games. And I’m not talking about one particular bully here; it’s energy. You have to out-create the destruction—it’s the only way.”
—Tori Amos
Sunday, September 3, 2017
Poet John Ashbery Dies Age 90
They Dream Only of America
John Ashbery
They dream only of America
To be lost among the thirteen million pillars of grass:
“This honey is delicious
Though it burns the throat.”
And hiding from darkness in barns
They can be grownups now
And the murderer’s ash tray is more easily–
The lake a lilac cube.
He holds a key in his right hand.
“Please,” he asked willingly.
He is thirty years old.
That was before
We could drive hundreds of miles
At night through dandelions.
When his headache grew worse we
Stopped at a wire filling station.
Now he cared only about signs.
Was the cigar a sign?
And what about the key?
He went slowly into the bedroom.
“I would not have broken my leg if I had not fallen
Against the living room table. What is it to be back
Beside the bed? There is nothing to do
For our liberation, except wait in the horror of it.
And I am lost without you.”
John Ashbery
They dream only of America
To be lost among the thirteen million pillars of grass:
“This honey is delicious
Though it burns the throat.”
And hiding from darkness in barns
They can be grownups now
And the murderer’s ash tray is more easily–
The lake a lilac cube.
He holds a key in his right hand.
“Please,” he asked willingly.
He is thirty years old.
That was before
We could drive hundreds of miles
At night through dandelions.
When his headache grew worse we
Stopped at a wire filling station.
Now he cared only about signs.
Was the cigar a sign?
And what about the key?
He went slowly into the bedroom.
“I would not have broken my leg if I had not fallen
Against the living room table. What is it to be back
Beside the bed? There is nothing to do
For our liberation, except wait in the horror of it.
And I am lost without you.”
Obituary in The Guardian.
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
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