Monday, March 29, 2010

Arcade Fire

Another bit from Arcade Fire to keep you amused as you hide from the mosquitoes & black flies in your cottage on a Canadian lake in Northern Ontario or the Maritimes or wherever or just enjoying the fog rolling in which is how I spent part of my vacation in Lunenburg Nova Scotia :

And here is Rebellion by Arcade Fire:

orlink to :

stage six Arcade Fire- Intervention:

Stage Six Divx Arcade Fire- Rebellion


Anyway on the lighter side of things I am still entranced by Arcade Fire's " NEON BIBLE" . There are only a precious few good quality videos available on line such as the couple from SNL Saturday Night Live & the British Jools Holland show . But I did find a great video of Arcade Fire live in Paris .

At YOUTUBE I found this video of the group performing in an elevator which I have to share since it is so strange & a bit off the wall.It adds new meaning to elevator music.

& here is a bizarre & funny ad for " NEON BIBLE" which can be seen in full at the Arcade Fire website but this version is found at YOUTUBE . The ad is done in the style of a 70s KTEL TV ad which were rather campy for selling crappy records but made the founder of the company extremely rich . The ad tries to convince the buyer that the lyrics are family friendly & support " Family Values" . Link to their website is in the links list to the side to the right.

And now for something completely different Sen Patrick Leahy in US SEnate speaking about the the two to five million EMAILS the Bush administration have just gone missing - are they corrupt or just inept -
Leahy says this is like saying The Dog Ate My Homework & reminds him of Nixon Tapes in which 20 minutes was missing erased on purpose.
It should be noted during the Plame affair the Bushites claimed that a number of Emails & documents had gone missing.

See article at TRUTHOUT :

Fitzgerald Cited Missing Emails During Plame Probe
By Jason Leopold
t r u t h o u t | Report

Friday 13 April 2007

In late January 2004, Patrick Fitzgerald, the US attorney appointed as special prosecutor to investigate whether White House officials knowingly leaked the identity of covert CIA operative Valerie Plame Wilson, sent a letter to then-acting Attorney General James Comey. Fitzgerald was seeking confirmation that he had the authority to investigate and prosecute suspects in the leak case for additional crimes, including evidence destruction.

The leak investigation had primarily been centered on an obscure law that made it a felony for any government official to knowingly disclose the identity of an undercover CIA officer.

Comey responded to Fitzgerald in writing on February 6, 2004, confirming that Fitzgerald had the authority to prosecute those crimes, including "perjury, obstruction of justice, destruction of evidence, and intimidation of witnesses."

Fitzgerald wrote Comey in part because he had become suspicious that White House political adviser Karl Rove had either hidden or destroyed an important document tying him to the leak and the effort to discredit Plame's husband, Ambassador Joseph Wilson. The document Fitzgerald believed Rove had destroyed or withheld was an email Rove sent to Stephen Hadley, then deputy national security adviser, in early July 2003. That email proved Rove had a conversation with Time magazine reporter Matthew Cooper about issues related to the CIA leak. Rove did not disclose that conversation when he was first interviewed by the FBI three months after he had emailed Hadley.

The same day that Fitzgerald received the written reply from Comey, the White House faced a deadline to turn over administration contacts with 25 journalists to the grand jury investigating the Plame Wilson leak. Cooper was one journalist cited in the subpoena sent to the White House on January 22, 2004. Curiously, the email Rove sent to Hadley did not show up during a search ordered by then-White House Counsel Alberto Gonzales in September 2003. Gonzales enjoined all White House staff members to turn over any communication pertaining to Plame Wilson and her husband, former Ambassador Joseph Wilson. Wilson, a vocal critic of the Iraq war, had accused the Bush administration of twisting prewar Iraq intelligence.

Anyway that's all for now,
stay tune for more updates on these & other important issues - it could save your life,
love you too,

Arcade Fire-Music For Driving & Sight-seeing

Anyway I am still on vacation but here's a couple of music videos by Arcade Fire - good driving music when you are heading to the beach or cottage or just sight-seeing so enjoy & don't mention the war or Bush or Cheney or torture etc.

Arcade Fire live - No Cars Go

Keep The Car Running - live eurockeennes 2007 c/o jaro youtube

Arcade Fire at Coachella 2007 - Antichrist Television Blues

Take care,


ROCK/POP MUSIC HAS BEEN RESURRECTED FROM THE DEAD!!!" My friend says and goes on & on...
There is an intensity & a sense of desperation which says these songs must be written & performed before it is too late. So WAKEUP all those singing poets who seem to have given up for your time has come.

A bit much don't you think I tell my friend.

No you see all we hear is all this rather empty-headed vapid shallow phoney balloney pop crap written for rich spoiled kids & the wannabees who pray at the feet of the beautiful people who haven't got a clue.

So beware this music might make you feel something real & you might be surprised & a bit frightened at first but let it go -just go with it-
---- Well that's about enough of that I think; so bye for now...GORD.

Here is part of a review of NEON BIBLE from Alexis Petridis in THE GUARDIAN:

...The first intimation of coming Armageddon arrives fewer than 90 seconds in and Neon Bible is still waving its End is Nigh placard as it draws to a close. Every song is replete with dread, nameless or otherwise: you're never far away from a rising tide or a grim prognosis or persons unknown kicking in your door in the dead of night. The sources of the apocalyptic disquiet are diverse - Windowsill manages to finger both "a holy war", and, more originally, MTV - but the end result never varies: "a time is coming - all words will lose their meaning", "not much chance of survival", "nothing lasts forever".

Nor does there seem much chance of the end of days being enlivened by the reappearance of a Messiah. The Christian figures on the album are subject to mockery. Building Downtown (Antichrist Television Blues) scornfully depicts a God-fearing father who seems to believe he can escape the horrors of the post-9/11 world by pushing his teenage daughter into showbusiness. Intervention is musically breathtaking - it opens with a pipe organ playing a portentous fanfare that quickly resolves into a sort of garage-rock riff, then gradually builds into an utterly glorious climax - but it's fuelled by withering disgust at anyone claiming God is on their side.

Intervention is perhaps the prime example of Neon Bible's masterstroke, which is to set all this doom-mongering to joyously uplifting music. There are soaring string arrangements, beautiful backing vocal harmonies, harps and French horns, great welling choruses and, perhaps more surprisingly, thwacking, propulsive rhythms. It's hard to think of another album that rocks in such an epic manner without sounding completely ridiculous. The effect is of a kind of triumphant gloom. The music implies you should be throwing a party at exactly the same time as the lyrics suggest you should be hiding under the table with your jumper pulled over your head. Throughout, it's difficult to work out what the Arcade Fire might have been listening to: a rare and satisfying sensation in 2007, when virtually everything sounds a bit like something else. The album's originality carries you through the odd moment when ambition outstrips ability, not least the closing My Body is a Cage, which rather overdoes the church organ in service of a lyric that sails perilously close to the perennially disheartening topic of how terrible it is being in a successful rock band.

But that's a rare misstep on an otherwise remarkable piece of work that at times seems magical. An album this mired in fathomless darkness shouldn't sound so dazzling, but it does. Like the band who made it, Neon Bible is a thrilling enigma.

Anyway here are the lyrics to:

Antichrist Television Blues

I don't wanna work in a building downtown,
no I don't wanna work in a building downtown
I don't know what I'm gonna do,
'cause the planes keep crashing,
always two by two.
I don't wanna work in a building downtown,
No I don't wanna see when the planes hit the ground.

I don't wanna work in a building downtown,
I don't wanna work in a building downtown,
Parking their cars in the underground,
Their voices when they scream, they make no sound.
I wanna see the cities rust
and the trouble makers riding on the back of the bus

Dear God, I'm a good Christian man,
In your glory, I know you understand,
That you gotta work hard and you gotta get paid,
My girl's 13 but she don't act her age.
She can sing like a bird in a cage,
Oh Lord, if you could see her when she's up on that stage!

You know that I'm a God fearing man,
You know that I'm a God fearing man,
But I just gotta know if its part of your plan
To seat my daughters there by your right hand
I know that you'll do what is right, Lord.
For they are the lanterns, and you are the light.

Now I'm overcome,
By the light of day.
My lips are near but my heart is far away.
Tell me what to say,
I'll be your mouthpiece!

Into the light of a bridge that burns
As I drive from the city with the money that I earned.
Into the black of a starless sky,
I'm staring into nothing and I'm asking you why:
Lord, will you make her a star?
So the world can see who you really are.

Little girl, you're old enough to understand,
That you'll always be a stranger in a strange, strange land.
The men are gonna come while you're fast asleep,
[ Lyrics found on ]

so you better just stay close and hold on to me.
If my little mocking bird don't sing,
Then daddy won't buy her no diamond ring.

Dear God, would you send me a child?
Oh God, would you send me a child?
'Cause I wanna put it up on the TV screen,
so the world can see what your true word means.
Lord would you just send me a sign?
'Cause I just gotta know if I'm wasting my time!

Now I'm overcome,
By the light of day.
My lips are near but my heart is far away.
Now the war is won,
Howcome nothing tastes good?

You're such a sensitive child!
Oh, you're such a sensitive child!
I know you're tired but it's alright,
I just need you to sing for me tonight.
You're gonna have your day in the sun;
You know God loves the sensitive ones.

Oh! My little bird in a cage!
Oh! My little bird in a cage!
I need you to get up for me, up on that stage,
and show the men that you're old for your age.
Now ain't the time for fear,
But if you don't take it, it'll disappear.

Oh! My little mockingbird sing!
Oh! My little mockingbird sing!
I need you to get up on that stage for me, honey,
And show the men it's not about the money.

Wanna hold a mirror up to the world
So that they can see themselves inside my little girl.

Do you know where I was at your age?
Any idea where I was at your age?
I was working downtown for the minimum wage.
And I'm not gonna let you just throw it all away.
I'm through being cute, I'm through being nice,
Oh tell me, Lord, am I the Antichrist?!

[ Lyrics found on ]
UPDATE: also check out review at CBC



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Anyway little did anyone know that Arcade Fire would release such a great new album called NEON BIBLE . Listening to NEON BIBLE is somewhat infectious or addictive . The tunes repeat themselves over & over in my head. I found their earlier work also hypnotic but these songs & the music is to say the least awesome & prove ARCADE FIRE’s sound is original & unique& not just some one hit wonder or even a “Nine Day Wonder” but a force to be reckoned with & enjoyed .

Their sound is as energetic & original as any of the Great rock & roll bands in the history of Pop & rock & roll .But they are far & above most of what passes as Pop or Rock & Roll these days. & they are beyond most labels or categories of music since they have a Grunge- Goth-Folk & a wild energetic experimental sound with some of the most interesting & captivating lyrics this side of Nick Cave or Tom Waits or The Dead Can Dance or even a Lou Reed or John Cage & whatever else they might throw into the mix.

The thing of it is as they say is that Arcade Fire uses certain repetitive sounds or musical phrases combined with repetitive words as in the phrase “ NEON BIBLE ” repeated over & over til it sounds like a child’s nursery rhyme which you had learned as a child & are now reminded of it or as if they had coaxed it out of some long lost memory so the tune & words stay with you for days after just hearing it once. But listen & judge for yourself.
A number of the songs are already available on YOUTUBE so check them out.


Here is a short bio from :

Win Butler, Régine Chassagne, Richard Parry, Tim Kingsbury, and Win's kid brother William Butler formed the Arcade Fire in summer 2003. The experimental indie rock quintet, who hail from Montreal, initially began when the elder Butler spotted Chassagne singing jazz standards at a local art exhibit at Concordia University in their hometown. From there, two became inseparable, both professionally and personally. Gathering Parry on organ, Kingsbury on bass, and the younger Butler on synthesizer and percussion, the Arcade Fire fleshed out an eclectic mix of bossa nova, punk, and classically tinged songs.

Here is a sample of the reviews the album is getting:

Arcade Fire parodies with Neon Bible
Justin Smith
March 8, 2007
The Daily O’Collegian
Oklahoma State University

Arcade Fire is back with Neon Bible, the Quebecois band’s new album on Merge Records.

The seven band members, including violinists, an organist/pianist and a horn player, introduced themselves to the world in 2004 with an interestingly titled first album, Funeral. While that album was more introspective, with songs about personal experiences of loss and redemption, Neon Bible is more evangelical, with outreaching messages of warning.

The band’s sound has many folk sensibilities with touches of punk in the lyrics and, this time, a more gothic quality.

Here gothic means the album was recorded in cathedrals, capturing the atmosphere. Fans experienced this gothic element during the band’s January and February church tour in Montreal, London and New York City.

The music is very important, conveying a feeling of paranoia and uncertainty about the world’s future. But, like any good folk-based album, the music takes a supporting role to the lyrics’ message, sung with the distinctively quavering vibrato of lead singer Win Butler.

The band continues to play off its moniker, presenting more songs about the loss of innocence and coming of age. The songs also call attention to the disconnect between common sense and the world’s current reality.

Every chapter and verse of Neon Bible, printed as such in a Bible-inspired booklet, reveals a different view and opinion on governments and religions. In the right margin of the pages are images that form a flip book, which seems blasphemous of the sacred text of the Bible. But, when taken with the context of the lyrics printed just to the left of the images, it’s revealed as more of a parody of the current, sometimes flippant, handling of the Bible’s message by its followers.

Nearly every song uses a Biblical reference to illustrate contemporary events: “cause the planes keep crashing/ always two by two” from Building Downtown (“Antichrist Television Blues”) and “MTV, what have you done to me?/ Save my soul, set me free,” from “Windowsill.”


Arcade Fire Neon Bible Lyrics
A vial of hope and a vial of pain,
In the light they both looked the same.
Pourred them out on into the world,
On every boy and every girl.

It's in the Neon Bible, the Neon Bible
Not much chance for survival,
If the Neon Bible is right.

Take the poison of your age,
Don’t lick your fingers when you turn the page,
What I know is what you know is right,
In the city it's the only light.

It's the Neon Bible, the Neon Bible
Not much chance for survival,

If the Neon Bible is right.

Oh God! well look at you now!
Oh! you lost it, but you don’t know how!
In the light of a golden calf,
Oh God! I had to laugh!

Take the poison of your age,
Don’t lick your fingers when you turn the page,
It was wrong but you said it was right,
In the future I will read at night.

In the Neon Bible, the Neon Bible
Not much chance for survival,
If the Neon Bible is true.


Arcade Fire Windowsill Lyrics
Don't wanna hear the noises on TV,
Don't want the salesmen coming after me,
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more.
Don't want it faster, I dont want it free,
Don't wanna show you what they done to me,
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more.
Don't wanna choose black or blue,
Don't wanna see what they done to you,
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more

'Cause the tide is high,
and its rising still,
and I don't wanna see it at my windowsill.

Don't wanna give 'em my name and address,
Don't wanna see what happens next,
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more.
Don't wanna live with my father's debt,
You can't forgive what you can't forget,
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more.
Don't wanna fight in a holy war,
Don't want the salesmen knocking at my door,
I don't wanna live in America no more.
'Cause the tide is high,
and it's rising still,
And I don't wanna see it at my windowsill.

MTV, what have you done to me?
[ Lyrics found on ]

Save my soul, set me free!
Set me free! What have you done to me?
I can't breathe! I can't see!
World War III,
when are you coming for me?
Been kicking up sparks,
we set the flames free.
The windows are locked now,
so what'll it be?
A house on fire, a rising sea?

Why is the night so still?
Why did I take the pill?
Because I don't wanna see it at my windowsill!

Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill!

Arcade Fire Intervention Lyrics

The king's taken back the throne.
The useless seed is sown.
When they say they're cutting off the phone,
I tell 'em you're not home.

No place to hide,
You were fighting as a soldier on their side.
You're still a soldier in your mind,
Though nothing's on the line.

You say it's money that we need,
As if we're only mouths to feed.
I know no matter what you say,
There are some debts you'll never pay.

Working for the Church while your family dies.
You take what they give you
And you keep it inside.
Every spark of friendship and love
will die without a home.
Hear the soldier groan, «We'll go at it alone.»

I can taste the fear.
Lift me up and take me out of here.
Don't wanna fight, don't wanna die,
Just wanna hear you cry.

Who's gonna throw the very first stone?
Oh! who's gonna reset the bone?
Walking with your head in a sling
Wanna hear the soldier sing:
«Been working for the Church while my family dies.
Your little baby sister's gonna lose her mind.
Every spark of friendship and love
will die without a home.»
Hear the soldier groan, «We'll go at it alone.»

I can taste your fear.
It's gonna lift you up and take you out of here.
And the bone shall never heal;
I care not if you kneel.

We can't find you now,
But they're gonna get their money back somehow.
And when you finally disappear,
We'll just say you were never here.

Working for the Church while
your life falls apart.
Singin' hallelujah with the fear in your heart.
Every spark of friendship and love
will die without a home.
Hear the soldier groan, «We'll go at it alone.»
Hear the soldier groan, «We'll go at it alone.»

Lyrics found on ]

Bye for now,

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Sunday, March 28, 2010

Glenn Beck Reformed ' 9/11 Truther' & Republican /Tea Partiers' Pretorian Guard "Blackwater Inc/XeServices " ???

Here 's ca couple of juicy bits
Glenn Beck was a 9/11 Truther
And Republican Party gains an army Blackwater

Glenn Beck & 9/11 truthers-he was one but now uses it as an accusation and to undermine someone he disagrees with on unrelated issue. Beck will use whatever issue he can to attack others.

Glen Beck is a hypocritical, false patriot, puppet for the government. Glen can be seen here questioning the official 9/11 story and then slams Medina for not bowing down to the official story while she was not even talking about that. Glen beck further attacks 9/11 families with insults. Glen Beck's purpose is to misinform and misdirect the real patriot movement.

So the RNC admits to being Blackwater XServices supporters - they have no qualmsby Blackwater mercenaries being unaccountable for their actions so RNC gives them blanket approval and carte blance -
Nor are the Republicans have no problem that Blackwater mercenaries murdered innocent civilians
Nor are they bothered by Blackwater's promotion of the idea that the War is really a Crusade to wipe out Islam
Nor are they bothered that Blackwater sold guns on the black market in Iraq
Nor are they bothered by sexual depravity of these mercenaries with company paid for prostitutes or that these men drank shots off of their buddies butts -
Nor are they bothered if Blackwater tortured prisoners or in some cases summarily executed them.
For the RNC and its operatives at Fox News including Glenn Beck have no problem with these behaviors since it appears they do represent Real Americans God Prostitutes Guns and Murder but if they are true Christians they were forgiven by Jesus before they even committed these deeds since they are the twice blessed having been "born again".

Ben Smith at Politico
March 25, 2010 RNC Blackwater event is on

Spokesmen for the Republican National Committee and for Xe Services, the embattled military contractor formerly known as Blackwater, denied to me last month that the party had any plans to host a donor retreat at Xe's U.S. Training Center in North Carolina.

Today, however, spokesmen for both said the event -- which appeared in a calendar in the leaked RNC fundraising presentation -- is on.

RNC Communications Director Doug Heye said the event was arranged after the leak of the document, which treated it only as a suggestion. The party's "Young Eagle" donors will gather April 22 at the facility in Moyock, N.C., which provides weapons and military training to soldiers, police, and vacationers alike.

and so it goes,

Earthbound Angels #1 Leaden Winged Angel




all pics from Hello & Picasa

So here is a poem from my series Earthbound Angels:

earthbound angels
#1 leaden-winged angel
edited 1/11/02

Sexually ambivalent
she sighs speaking
a woman's name
she secretly loves
she desires in dreams
fantasies only
caressed at night by angels
meditating on red & gold cushions
burning candles & incense
she bows to a photo of her Guru
her sensuousness left untouched
a citizen of a celestial city
a lost city in a valley paradise
in the mountains of Tibet
dreaming of Nirvana
the world around her too crude
her words whirl about
in a joyous frenzy
turning slowly into a mad angry dance
forced to live on this banal plane of existence
where sometimes even angels
cannot bring her solace
to her fevered mind
each step through deep snow
on slippery ice
a burden on her soul
the weight of earth's air & gravity
weighs down upon her
talking late into the night
unable to stop the rush of words
unwilling to accept
a world gone mad
a world of pettiness
a world of poverty
a world of intolerance
a world of brutality
a world where the rich stone the poor
cut off a hand for stealing bread
for each injustice
she dips her angel wings
into molten led
til her waking becomes
slow & ponderous
wondering where God's sympathies lie
seeking salvation in heresies
in the minds of muddled
addle-headed greedy
grasping half-drunk
spiritually materialistic mystics
seeking a soothing theology
a philosophy to ease the mind
to ease us all into a soothing sleep
a false hypnotic narcotic induced sleep
& not the sleep of angels
for the angels wander about
eyes wide open pierced by the light-

Earthbound the leaden-winged angel
cannot hear celestial voices
meets the prophet Elijah
does not recognize him
watches the Messiah approaching
only sees a solitary stranger in rags
fearful of his coming near her
she turns away
heads down another street
hearing his footsteps echoing
hurries home & locks her door
& begins her nightly ritual
retreating into her fantasies
lighting her candles & incense
chanting empty soothing phrases
dreaming of her secret lover
behind the masks she wears
beneath the lump of flesh
which weighs her down she searches for a way
to scrape the led
from off of her wings
still unable to accept
she is made of flesh
& not of pure shimmering light-

So long for now,

Friday, March 26, 2010


Anyway here’s the next installments of the poem



The Boys in the Back Rooms

and the boys in the back rooms they know the score
they’ve got it all worked out
they’ve got it down pat
just the threat of hunger
or prison or execution
ah what people will do for just a crust of bread
& for three square meals a banquet to them
they will kiss their Saviours’ feet
& kneel before them as if they were Gods
toss them in prison a year or two will soften them up
an electrode or two clipped to their genitals wouldn’t do any real harm
a little dunk in a tub of water what a joke
making them malleable for the new world order
besides we have a civilization to protect don’t forget -

And the people march in the streets
in their hundreds then thousands
and even in their millions but do not fear my friend
because the boys in the back rooms are making deals
stabbing everyone they can in the back
ah they got it all figured out so don’t worry your empty head
they’ve worked out all the angles they could imagine
they’ve calculated the upside & downside
and the hucksters & the front men & the PR Guys & Gals
know just what to say
to keep the people from rising up
to keep the people in their place
to keep the people in the dark
and if the people go marching in the streets
demanding a change demanding abstract justice
causing traffic jams slowing down the clockwork machine
making the empty headed hedonists late for work
unable to shuffle papers or cheat & lie
in the name of their unholy masters
protecting the rich the powerful the well connected
& the boys in the backrooms keep pulling the strings -

ah the boys & gals in the backrooms they know the score
and they know just what to do
they’ve done it all so many times before
a little tear gas a couple of hundred m16s blazing away
gunship helicopters swooping down
disappear a few here & there
just a little glitch in the machinery & nothing more -

and the boys in the back rooms plan another war or two
digging in for another hundred years or more
and they’ve got it all worked out
fighting the enemy within
finding traitors everywhere
hiding in cellars in attics & closets
in cafes in bars & on street corners
in the town square in the city’s gardens & parks
in schools & churches
in temples & mosques & union halls
in soup kitchens & food banks
in factories & orchards
in fields of wheat & snow
even in towers of steel & glass -

and the boys in the back rooms know what to do
and they’ve got it all figured out
silencing any who dare disagree
silencing any who dare object
silencing any who dare protest
silencing any who dare resist
silencing any who dare talk of peace
silencing any who dare talk of justice -


Our Safe Zones

the world’s gone grey but we’re alright
in our gated communities
commuting to work with police escorts
passing billboards which hide the slums from our view
while soldiers roundup the homeless & street urchins
& other disturbers of our peace
the complainers & malcontents
who dare question our God Given social order
returning home the TV reassures us
that it’s all ok telling us only Good News
never showing scenes that might upset our sensitive souls
so a neighbor or friend disappears but who cares
besides our memories are just a burden
as each day our world is made anew
living under a plastic bubble
and we haven’t a care
as all our air is filtered
and our water purified
our food all sterilized
no need to worry we’ll live to a hundred or more
and those beyond the walls why should we care
if they don’t make it to fifty
in their broken down world
as they breathe dirty air
and drink from cess pools
which once were lakes
but it’s alright
cause we who deserve it will go on
by the Grace of God
and by the Grace of Darwin
being the fittest we shall survive
and we’ll go on generation after generation
feeding upon the earth & those who are inferior
for that after all is their role
their raison d ‘ete
sucking life out of the earth
& the billions we have enslaved
without the use of chains -


Thursday, March 25, 2010

American Conservatives Vowed Revenge For The Health Care Reform Bill

To be updated later

Watch Ellen Miller get cut off in Tuesday's hearing:

Are Republicans interferring with the war effort by not permitting committees from meeting which deal with Armed Forces

GOP Senators Refusing To Work Past 2PM, Invoking Obscure Rule by Ryan Grim Huffington Post ,March 24, 2010

On Wednesday, the Judiciary Committee was forced to cancel a hearing as was the Senate Armed Services Committee.

Sen. Claire McCaskill (D-Mo.) tweeted today : "Disappointed. Rs refusing to allow hearings today. Had to cancel my oversight hearing on police training contracts in Afghanistan."

Sen. Mark Udall also complained that he had to delay a hearing on the cause of Western forest fires.

Making good on Sen. John McCain's threat to withhold all Republican cooperation from Democrats in the Senate in retribution for the majority party using reconciliation to pass health care reform, the GOP used the rule that states committees can only meet when the chamber is in session with the unanimous consent of all members. That consent has almost never been withheld -- until now.

Armed Services Chairman Carl Levin (D-Mich.) asked for consent for his panel to operate Wednesday afternoon. He noted, ironically, that his request had the support of McCain.

"There is objection on our side of the aisle and therefore I object," said Sen. Richard Burr (R-N.C.).

The GOP objection blocked testimony from Admiral Robert Willard, United States Navy Commander of the U.S. Pacific Command; from General Kevin Chilton, United States Air Force, Commander of the U.S. Strategic Command, and from General Walter Sharp, United States Army Commander, U.S. Forces Korea.

For his part, Judiciary Chairman Pat Leahy (D-Vt.) was livid when his committee was forced to delay consideration of several judicial nominees.

"I have accommodated requests from Judiciary Committee Republicans to delay the Committee's hearing to consider Professor Liu's nomination," Leahy said.

He continued: "For months, Senate Republicans have resisted efforts to enact important reforms to our health insurance system. But when the dust settles and the emotions are calmed, history will show that President Obama and this Congress responded to a pressing national issue, and proved once again that we can act with the purpose of advancing an important national interest. Sadly, actions like today's objections from Senate Republicans to the consideration of a highly qualified, historic nominee will be viewed as little more than petty, partisan politics.

...Sen. Daniel Akaka (D-Hawaii), Chairman of the Veterans' Affairs Committee, had his hearing shut down abruptly at 11:00 Wednesday morning, in the middle of a discussion on the effort to end veteran homelessness in the next five years. It is estimated that more than 100,000 veterans are homeless in the United States on any given night.

"AEI hits David Frum where it hurts" by Matt MillerPostpartisan Washington Post March 25,2010
Those Republican brutes! It’s bad enough not to tolerate David Frum’s dissent on health care -- especially since his judgments have been stunningly correct. But in ousting him after a mad overnight revolt among its donors, the American Enterprise Institute has put Frum’s family into precisely the health care hell that Obamacare seeks to remedy. What many people don’t realize about the think tank world is that the policy types who serve as modestly paid fellows do so in large part for the health coverage. In our antiquated employer-based system, middle-aged wonks simply have to be attached to a group to be insurable. If you and your spouse have reached your 40s and have had even modest health bumps along the way, you'll never be able to get coverage in the pre-Obamacare individual market

Talk about a two-fer. In one stroke, David Frum has become not only the poster boy for the Republican party’s incoherent tantrums, but for the need for Obamacare itself! It doesn’t get more delicious than this.

The Conservatie Movement has been sending out via the web an Enemies List that is those who were in favor of Health Reform or who support Obama in any way or those who don't accept all of the platform of the Far Right who now control the part.

Calling All Thugs: Gas Line Cut After Tea Party Leader Posts Enemy’s Address by Mark Potokat Hate Watch SPLC March 24, 2010

The latest news from the opponents of health care reform who like to suggest that supporters should suffer for their transgressions: A day after two Virginia Tea Party activists posted the address of the brother of a congressman who voted for the bill, authorities discovered that someone had severed a gas line at the man’s home.

According to The Daily Progress of Charlottesville, Va., Danville Tea Party leader Nigel Coleman was one of the two people who posted the address of Bo Perriello, the older brother of U.S. Rep. Tom Perriello (D-Ivy), who voted for the health care bill. “This is Rep. Thomas Stuart Perriello’s home address,” Coleman wrote Monday, going on to suggest that others who oppose the health care bill “drop by” and “express their thanks.” He added, “I ain’t holding back no more.”

According to the Politico website, Coleman, upon learning he had posted the wrong address, said on a blog: “Do you mean I posted his brother’s address on my Facebook? Oh well, collateral damage.”

Told by The Daily Progress of the severing of the line that connected a propane tank to a grill on Perriello’s screened-in porch, Coleman said he was “shocked” and “almost speechless.” He claimed innocently that he was against violence, and in any case wasn’t sure that the attack, which is under FBI investigation, was related to his post.

Coleman’s absolutely despicable actions were remarkably similar to those of American neo-Nazi leaders who in recent years have made a practice of posting their enemies’ addresses and other personal information. They, too, often suggested that their sympathizers drop by to let enemies know their feelings. But that certainly didn’t stop Coleman from engaging in his own mindless and dangerous provocation.

As if that wasn’t enough, opponents of health care legislation demonstrating in Washington, D.C., this weekend spit on a black congressman, shouted racial slurs at two others, and shouted an anti-gay epithet at yet another. A week earlier, a group at a Tea Party in Columbus, Ohio, taunted a man sitting on the ground with a sign saying he had Parkinson’s disease. “If you’re looking for a handout,” one of the protesters told the health care reform supporter in a scene captured on video and posted to YouTube, “you’re in the wrong end of town.”

These despicable attacks and those who help foment them are unworthy of any citizen of a democracy, let alone of those who pretend to be standing up for principled conservatism. What we are seeing is the infuriated response of thugs and those who like to encourage thugs. And what may be most appalling of all is the absolute temerity, not to say cowardice, of supposedly responsible leaders of those who opposed health care reform, almost none of whom have condemned the latest round of hate. It’s a sad commentary on America that this is what our political process has become.


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Anyway here is the poem Not A Prophet from my series of

poems entitled EARTHBOUND ANGELS:

edited 1/11/02

Awakened from narcotic induced sleep
hearing a voice reciting 'Kubla Khan'
over the telephone the poet behind the poem
says he'll not return to this city
to this half-baked Bohemian scene
he's off to other parts Paris or Madrid
or no place in particular
leaving behind his winter of solitude
& discontent to reinvent himself
he says he's not who they say he is
remembered in a long black trench coat
hiding a large hunting knife
within easy reach if needed
knowing if needed he would't hesitate
wears black steel-toed army surplus boots
claiming to be ex-military gives
instructions in the use of fire-arms
travels in underground circles
of the shadowy demi-world of drug-pushers
prostitutes & pimps old winos
teenage runaways homeless the centre
for them did not hold
some wear a dozen layers of clothes
their worldly goods stuffed in plastic
garbage bags they drag along
in shopping carts
some write & sell poems sing songs
play guitars trumpets alto-sax
conga drums in front of stores banks
caf‚s libraries & bars for change
to make ends meet some hold out a hand
just stand & wait being obedient citizens

Remembered perched on chairs
in bars a praying-mantis
choosing a woman for the night
these women taken in by his boyish charm
& his sad eyes of a romantic
& an outcast living on the edge
close to the ground
those college girls just looking
needing to go slumming
before they settle down in safe suburbia-

Remembered bumming cigarettes & beers
from friends convincing them
to take him out for supper
besides he'd say " they need the company "
running madly up & down streets
his coat becoming a rising cape
going from bar to bar
dragging along his entourage
later at " Last Call " bopping around
working the crowd
searching for free-wheeling all-night parties
some sweet weed shrooms to share
talking wildly left unquenched-

Remembered walking along the Harbour-Front
of that old historic city
sitting on a quay sharing a joint
just before dawn
his short stories & poems & novels
talked about endlessly
not quite finished barely started-

On the phone says he no longer finds solace
in the ghosts of romance
still he had his part to play
acting so cool so nonchalant
the nights of debauchery
bathing his brain in drugs & alcohol
entertaining his friends with tales
of his nightly adventures-

Remembered calling himself a Pagan praying
to Norse Gods Oden Thor & Frea
to trees & the sea & sky
casting runestones teaching neo-phytes
a misunderstood Messiah-

Now each notch upon his belt
an invisible scar on his back
a reminder of the soul-mate he lost
no longer Master of the Game
new born desires overwhelm him
with a bit of bravado gets through each day
scoffs at his own blind innocence
scoffs at those who wish to follow
in his shoes sending his regards
to former friends in the City
the telephone goes dead -

All these misunderstood Messiahs
sad angst-ridden fallen angels
turning quirky ego-trips
into Holy Dogma turned inside out
dharma bent to suit a corrupted soul
hiding behind masks of Innocence-

So bye for now,

Monday, March 22, 2010


Originally published March 2006

THE MOTORCYCLE DIARIES is a film version of CHE GUEVARAS roadtrip on a mororcycle across South America during which he became aware of the widespread injustice & oppression throughout the region which led to him becoming political & eventually a revolutionary. The film is also essentially a roadmovie & is quirky & humorous & sad & poignant & is a great piece of film-making at its best.

Before he changed the world the world changed him...

Let the world change you... and you can change the world... TAGLINES FROM THE MOVIE

The Motorcycle Diaries ( 2004)
Gael Garcia Bernal AS Ernesto Guevara de la Serna
Rodrigo De La Serna AS Alberto Granado

Walter Salles
Jose Rivera Screenplay (Adaptation)
Ernesto Che Guevara Source Material (from book: "The Motorcycle Diaries")
Alberto Granado Source Material (from book: "Traveling with Che Guevera: The Making of a Revolutionary")


Anyway I highly recommend this film as a good film & not just for its political overtones.

And now for a few more verse of my poem " AN EPIC FOR OUR TIME : A REQUIEM "


and someday the day may come

And when the people are no longer afraid
and the people cry out for freedom
and the people fill the streets protesting
and the people demand their rights -

and the generals send in their troops
and the profiteers hide behind the generals
and the foreign investors cry out for more profits
and the foreigners send in their gunboats
and the Gunship helicopters & fighter jets & B1 Bombers roar overhead
to maintain peace & security
to pacify the natives
with Napalm burning their flesh
charred bodies mere limbless lumps unrecognizable
& cluster bombs left to explode to mutilate for maximum effect
to teach them the ways of the world -

and the children in their hunger & suffering cry out
and wonder what is their crime
and they lay on the ground moaning
missing legs or arms
their bodies riddled with shrapnel & bullets
and the angry or just bored snipers on the concrete walls take potshots
at children going to & from school
and at children are playing soccer in the schoolyard -

every line of your history is tainted with blood & tears
blood of the innocent
tears of the mothers of the wounded & the dead -

and the soldiers & the leaders share jokes
as they toss bodies into mass graves
in the middle of nowhere
in the dry desert sands
in the midst of overgrown jungles
in city parks into quarries & wells
tossing dissenters into the Pacific or Atlantic -

their dirty little secrets growing year after year
and the press & tv praise them
and the well to do in cozy suburbia praise them
their cities & neighborhoods
and the citizens cry out
to hell with those who do not wish us well -

and all the racists are so politically correct
knowing just what words to say
and which words are forbidden
keeping their white robes hidden from view
as they rule from their lofty heights -

words burning your flesh like napalm
words spoken burned like shadows into cement sidewalks
silencing one nation after another -

secret planes secret prisons
secret police secret missions
its all a secret -

just a few bad apples they say
they say turn the other cheek
always say please & thank you
learn to share & play the game fairly
care about others
pray to God & the Flag
& the faces carved on Mount Rushmore
bow before presidents prime ministers & kings
kiss the rings of Popes pastors rabbis & archbishops
heed the orders of Tzars Pharaohs & Generals
while each of us spies on our neighbors
ready to turn them in
for some suspicious & subversive behavior -

as they conquer nations in our name
torture & kill all who dare resist -

blaming the victims
be silent no more -

and chorus girls dance the cancan
in the bowels of hell -



Monday, March 15, 2010

Van Gogh & My Poem "The Surrealist Poet Of The Cafe Apollinaire as Art Exhibit"

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Above are paintings of one of my favourite artist Vincent Van Gogh
whose works are filled with such passion and an exuberance of bold colouring which was a departure from the pastel pallette of the French impressionists painters who preceded him.

See website: Vincent Van Gogh Art Gallery

& John Coll website
Irish artist b. 1956

Anyway here is a poem which I first composed about a dozen years ago & has gone through several transformations to to the present version found here.


The Surrealist Poet of the Cafe Apollinaire as Art Exhibit

At Café Apollinaire the Surrealist Poet
after he & the Café had become well known
asked a sculptor to make a statue
to take the poet's place at the café
at intervals of each day
to give him some respite
a life-size mannikin with moving parts
like mechanical oversized dolls
of ancient Persia
to sit at the corner table
by the window overlooking the street
in the Café Apollinaire
with all the paraphernalia
associated with the Surrealist Poet
resembling the poet in every detail
fooling many newcomers to the café
sitting there with a cup of coffee
a cigarette which one hand lowers
to an ashtray then raises to its lips
takes a puff the head moves looking
out the window turns again
with a pen in the other hand
moving hovering above
the open note book waiting
to be written upon
surrounded by stacks of books
borrowed from the Public Library
just around the corner
of artistic movements
all those 'Isms' born
in such a brief span of time
from Impressionism to Expressionism
to Pointillism Vortexism
to the wild Fauves to Dada
to Surrealism to Cubism
to Futurists & Realists
to Photo-Realists Pop art & Folk Art
all at war with one another
all claiming to be the true voice of Modern Art
each a genius of one sort or another
all these works of Art & Music & Poetry
biographies & autobiographies
passing the time giving some solace
to the Surrealist Poet soon wears thin
no end to naive idealistic romantic poets
& artists soaring above mundane concerns
dipping pens & brushes
in the same well of inspiration-

til history intrudes upon the pastoral dreams
& fantasies of the romantic surrealist poet
opening those all too real books
opening Pandora’s Box unleashing the Furies
of the tragedy of humanity’s pride & folly
of the triumph of Tyrants & despots
Emperors & Kings & Queens
destroying in the name of God & Power & Greed
enslaving millions to perpetual poverty
as the High & Mighty rule the world
with an iron fist & the boot to the throat
of social histories & aesthetics
& the admixture of politics & history
& centuries dripping blood
& all those idealists & romantics dying for some cause
& failed revolutions & the horrors of war
& religion & science run amok
our dreams turned into a world of ashes
under ten thousand mushroom clouds
while thousands are tortured murdered
beheaded blown to pieces
strapped to the mouth of cannons
in the name of this country or that
in the name of one God or another
while the Angels look down & weep
as all these lost souls strike the drums
sound their trumpets of war
leading the Big Parade of millions
into the slaughter houses
& other persistent visions of madness
til poets & sages take refuge in the wilderness-

Now the Surrealist Poet is able to roam
about the City's streets
no longer chained to that Chair
& that Table holding court
pestered by would be poets
taken in by his self-manufactured mystique
forced to dredge the sea floor
reliving his life for their distraction
edification & inspiration fulfilling his role
of poet laureate of the oh so cool crowd
at Café Apollinaire-

So long for now,

AN Experimental Poem For Marcel Duchamp's Big Glass Sculpture : "The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors ,Even"

Here is a poem which I've been working on revising & re-editing over a number of years . It was meant as an attempt to put into words the experience of pondering a work of art by Marcel DuChamp made of layers of glass & involving various mechanized manifestations of DuChamp's wild imagination.
The poem is an exercise in some vague form of concrete poetry though more flexible than concrete. Which means the poem in its physical manifestation on the page reflects to some extent the theme & images presented in the poem.

“ The bride stripped bare by her bachelors,Even”
For Marcel Duchamp

Life & Art are in the details of digressions

a series of progressions
of various distractions
of mental formations
of labyrinth constructions
seen through prismatic glasses
illusions of dis
caught in the fish-eye-lens
of a camera held in your hand

the hand
the fingers
sorting through files
layered one upon another
distilled images
of stacked
silicon chips
fingers gliding through
mirrors spiraling
whirling whirling
spiraling mirrors
sheets of glass
in the China-Blue Sky
in the curved lens
of your eyes
a mirror you hold up to the world
the soft mercurial mirror
a swirling sea
of waves
ever changing
swirling in
the layered
prisms in the fish-eye lens
of your dreaming mind

built on
Even time & Space
inward imploding
words lost in explosions Even
images of ages of eons
poets babbling insane babblings

Words in drift-wood broken by crashing waves on the shores of shifting reason
seeking words babbling
left babbling


by blinding
brilliant light
shocking left in
fear & trembling
of revelations
of God
of Beauty
of Art
of all that is
all is lost in language
the de of is
lusion order lost
is not
the Over-Arching Experience
words lost

by a Tsunami
of waves bombarding
upon wave upon wave
of words of colour of sound
of visions of mishapen dreams of twisted memories
drowning the senses

Even -

If you have an opinion one way or the other on this experiment ,let me know.
See you around,

My Poem "She Said"

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“ When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen. ”

Samuel Lover

“ Hang the bard, and cut the punster,
Fling all rhyming to the deuce,
Take a business tour through Munster,
Shoot a landlord — be of use. ”
Richard D'Alton Williams - Advice to a Young Poet

Here’s a couple of poems for your amusement. These poems were written a number of years ago & were recently re-edited.

she said

don't go beyond your station
she said
as the train stopped -

after all these years
she said
finally you are silent -

read only comic books
she said
while watching television -

never rely on anyone
she said
as she walked away -

in the end we are alone
she said
as she hung up the phone -


the cold rain pounds
against the window
and she says have a muffin -

the brown leaves are blown
to the ground
and she says have a muffin -

the darkness surrounds us
our island of light fading
and she says have a muffin -

the shadows of a thousand crows
pass over
and she says have a muffin -

the universe is winding down
as the sun goes NOVA
and she says have a muffin -

the love we had for each other is dying
just a convenient lie to get by
and she says have a muffin -

death squads patrol the city streets
the madmen have taken over
and she says have a muffin -

empires rise and fall
millions on the tv screen are dying
and she says have a muffin -

thousands roam the streets homeless
and she says have a muffin -

another friend fails in their ambition
as she strikes them off her guest list
and she says have a muffin -

take solace in your success
forget about the rest she says
as she bites into another hot buttered muffin -

a thousand mushroom clouds boiling
above the earth
and she says have a muffin -

missiles rain down upon us
and she says have a muffin -

planes crash into skyscrapers of steel & glass exploding
while she says have a muffin -

friends are rungs on the ladder to success
ditch any who stand in your way she said
and offered her guests coffee and muffins -

And no tea & sympathy from me
she added -


Thursday, March 4, 2010

IN THE BEGINNING :The Genesis & Evolution of A Blog/Blogger 2005-2010

From Gord's Poetry Factory to CAFÉ Gordon to website GORD'S CAFÉ And Beyond...

In the beginning (2005) I began blogging in part as a showcase for my own poetry and thoughts on poetry.

Second stage I began to include poetry and short bios of other poets those I enjoyed or learned something from or who inspired me from Robert Burns & William Blake to Emily Dickenson & Walt Whitman to William Carlos Williams & Robert Lowell & Elizabeth Bishop to Alan Ginsberg & Kerouac to Charles Bukowski.

Later I decided to add images that went with a particular topic or poet or poem. This soon morphed into doing posts about art history; artistic movements and individual artists especially from the Post Impressionist period to the present including the German Expressionists Edward Much etc. to the Fauves to DADA & Surrealism to folk art & super-Realism & Pop Art -from Bruegel & Bosch to Goya , James Whistler,Gustav Klimt to Van Gogh , Gaugin, Rousseau, Diego Rivera & Frida Khalo Max Ernst, George Grosz to Picasso & Chagall and beyond to super-realism and photo-realism.
This then led me to DADA & Surrealism etc. which led to art as revolutionary and as propaganda. So I began working on the relationship of art to politics, social reforms , revolutions, rebellions , and other upheavels .

Thequestion arises again and again about the role of art in society should art merely reflect the mindset of the Elite or of the petty bourgeoisie . Is the role of art mainly used to maintain the status quo or should it question the status quo in order to change the status quo or just to raise questions and doubts about the status quo ?



In the beginning was the word-logos.

I will be posting my poetry on this site.

I intend to add more of my poems as frequently as possible. And I would appreciate any constructive criticism.

I will also try to share the process of writing as I have experienced it.

To follow the creation of a poem from the first glimpse of an image or feeling to adding & subtracting details & the generation of images & flights of the imagination as the core & heart of the particular poem is revealed over a period of time.

The experience of writing is at times like entering into a trance like state to a state in which for a moment everything crystilizes & a breakthrough is made & there is a feeling of nakedness & rawness sometimes euphoric sometimes seeing an image stripped of all its encumbrances though sometimes just simply enjoying the act of playing in the fields of poetry manipulating images & words for the sheer hell of it.

I have been writing poetry for over twenty years. I have been influenced by a number of writers of various styles from Robert Burns William Blake to Whitman & W.B. Yeats Emily Dickenson to Baudelaire Apollinaire Rilke Robert Lowell to Dorothy Livesay & Allan Ginsberg Charles Bukowski to Jack Kerouac Elizabeth Bishop to song writers like Kurt Weil Jacques Brel Bob Dylan to Leonard Cohen to Nick Cave to a hundred others that I have encountered & then moved on including a number of good friends who have been struggling in this strange bloodied field of poetry & art. To these friends I owe a great deal though we have gone our separate ways.

Poetry for me is like a photo of a particular experience of the outer world or of the interior world of a mental state mood or feeling. It is a form of psychological realism. It is not always purely rational. It is a way to express the inexpressable & the inexplicable. My poems take the form of confessional poetry with a sometimes heavy dose of surrealism. Though surrealism these days may seem a bit pedestrian since we are awash in surrelistic images on tv especially tv commercials & the news or in movies from the films of Luis Bunuel & Cockteau to Brazil & The Life of Brian to Clockwork Orange & Dr. Strangelove to Catch 22 & the Matrix to Big Fish & Moulon Rouge to Chicago to Kill Bill 2 or The Butterfly Effect Or Eternal Sunshine on the Spotless Mind & to movies like Shrek 1 & 2 to the bizzare like John Carpenter's The Thing to Basket Case to the House of A Thousand Corpses a few dozen others.

I will also be sharing my views on my other enthusiasms from poetry to music movies art & politics & religion. My interest in these subjects varies from day to day. One day I might be obsessing over the war in Iraq & George Bush's extreme right-wing agenda & then I could be exited by listening to the latest recordings of Nick Cave.
( I would recommend highly Nick Cave's newest cd The Lyre of Orpheus & Abattoir blues it contains some of his best songs yet. )

There is nothing about Bush on the other hand that I could recommend. But I am told I should be careful what I say in this post 9/11 world who knows who's listening in. He is in my opion ushering in a new age of mccarthyism & a dark age of US against THEM - we always seem to be in need of an enemy a great threat against our society.Many people it seems are like Bush & see everything in nice clean black & white terms . To insist that some issues are more complicated than this is seen as a form of moral cowardice.

I shall instead proceed as if we still lived in a free society where there is a free exchange of ideas. And further to add that the opions of others matter & not just those of the varying degrees of conservative thinking on social ,economic & foreign policy .
In part it is through art in all its myriad forms & through the study of history that we can try to get a better perspective on what is happening at the moment.

Anyway that's all for now ,hope to hear from you soon.




And someone asks:

Why Factory ? & Who is the Ancient Sage ? 1/16 05



So why refer to this site as a factory ? Because there is a need that qoutas on a weekly or daily basis be filled. Otherwise I feel as if I were merely dabbling & not taking the role which I have invented for myself seriously enough .
So who is the Ancient Sage ? The Ancient Sage is to some extent a composite of various people I have known combined with some quasi-fantasy elements & an archetype of the Wise One & the visionary artist.

Here is my poem about the Ancient Sage:

the ancient sage wandering the streets

Years ago the ancient sage with literary aspirations wandering the streets
through the darkening shadows of the towering towers of steel & glass
always in a state of crisis
dreams of fame
having no shame
lays his heart bare
in the tradition of Baudelaire
sleeps in a coffin
while candles flame and flicker
in the eyes of four skulls
placed upon the mantle-piece
in his heavily curtained room
borrows money from his friends & exlovers
& poor seminary students
to pay for rent & food
for packs of cigarettes & a few beer
steals from young seminary students
is proud to beg in the streets
waiting to be put in debtors' prison
under lock & key & waits for
the telephone line to be severed
for never paying his bills -

reading from midnight to dawn
a book or two each night
obssessed possessed by the Nine Muses
writing a dozen or so verses a day
he writes & reads too much
some say it will lead to brain fever
& an early death
declaring his own body as his enemy
an agent provocateur
an agent of the underground
his body is in anarchy
out to destroy him
to undermine his feeble efforts
as he is barely able to get out of bed
at any moment death will knock
upon his door
some say it's those morbid books he reads
obsessed with Nazi Death Camps
& he's not even a Jew
listening to classical music
so sad & somber& that oh so mournful jazz
of the nineteen -fifties & sixties
and poets singing songs of the naked streets
& his room is plastered with those
glossy copies of paintings
of swirling stars & men & women
sitting alone late in the night
at a café or bar
of a boulder in the sky
with a castle on top
of riders on blue horses
riding over a battle field
of corpsess ripped apart
Of fiddlers on roof-tops
of melting clocks
always someone gives their opinion
like some over the hill hippie
brain half-starved living off soy
new age health food a hundred natural vitamin pills
bland music & uplifting movies
no need to be sad & somber just smile
put your faith in Jesus or the Mother Goddess
wondering out loud why can't they paint
pretty pictures & sweet sentimental poems
of the sea & trees green not purple
of freckled little boys going fishing -

See you later,


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Oh yeah this site is in part about poetry so here we go...

Here is a poem by the American poet Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979) about the sense of alienation, fear, fantasy & desire experienced by the individual in modern society.

The Man-moth

Here, above,
cracks in the buildings are filled with battered moonlight.
The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.
It lies at his feet like a circle for a doll to stand on,
and he makes an inverted pin, the point magnetized to the moon.
He does not see the moon; he observes only her vast properties,
feeling the queer light on his hands, neither warm nor cold,
of a temperature impossible to records in thermometers.

But when the Man-Moth
pays his rare, although occasional, visits to the surface,
the moon looks rather different to him. He emerges
from an opening under the edge of one of the sidewalks
and nervously begins to scale the faces of the buildings.
He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky,
proving the sky quite useless for protection.
He trembles, but must investigate as high as he can climb.

Up the façades,
his shadow dragging like a photographer's cloth behind him
he climbs fearfully, thinking that this time he will manage
to push his small head through that round clean opening
and be forced through, as from a tube, in black scrolls on the light.
(Man, standing below him, has no such illusions.)
But what the Man-Moth fears most he must do, although
he fails, of course, and falls back scared but quite unhurt.

Then he returns
to the pale subways of cement he calls his home. He flits,
he flutters, and cannot get aboard the silent trains
fast enough to suit him. The doors close swiftly.
The Man-Moth always seats himself facing the wrong way
and the train starts at once at its full, terrible speed,
without a shift in gears or a gradation of any sort.
He cannot tell the rate at which he travels backwards.

Each night he must
be carried through artificial tunnels and dream recurrent dreams.
Just as the ties recur beneath his train, these underlie
his rushing brain. He does not dare look out the window,
for the third rail, the unbroken draught of poison,
runs there beside him. He regards it as a disease
he has inherited the susceptibility to. He has to keep
his hands in his pockets, as others must wear mufflers.

If you catch him,
hold up a flashlight to his eye. It's all dark pupil,
an entire night itself, whose haired horizon tightens
as he stares back, and closes up the eye. Then from the lids
one tear, his only possession, like the bee's sting, slips.
Slyly he palms it, and if you're not paying attention
he'll swallow it. However, if you watch, he'll hand it over,
cool as from underground springs and pure enough to drink.

See website

“ Elizabeth Bishop was born in 1911 in Worcester, Massachusetts. When she was very young her father died, her mother was committed to a mental asylum, and she was sent to live with her grandparents in Nova Scotia. She earned a bachelor's degree from Vassar College in 1934. She was independently wealthy, and from 1935 to 1937 she spent time traveling to France, Spain, North Africa, Ireland, and Italy and then settled in Key West, Florida, for four years. Her poetry is filled with descriptions of her travels and the scenery which surrounded her, as with the Florida poems in her first book of verse, North and South, published in 1946.

She was influenced by the poet Marianne Moore, who was a close friend, mentor, and stabilizing force in her life. Unlike her contemporary and good friend Robert Lowell, who wrote in the "confessional" style, Bishop's poetry avoids explicit accounts of her personal life, and focuses instead with great subtlety on her impressions of the physical world. Her images are precise and true to life, and they reflect her own sharp wit and moral sense. She lived for many years in Brazil, communicating with friends and colleagues in America only by letter. She wrote slowly and published sparingly (her Collected Poems number barely a hundred), but the technical brilliance and formal variety of her work is astonishing. Considered for years a "poet's poet," her last book, Geography III, was published in 1976 and finally established her as a major force in contemporary literature.”


And about her poetry:

“ Elizabeth Bishop's poems were always admired for the purity and precision of her descriptions, and now readers have come to see how, even in her early poems, the attention to external detail reveals an internal emotional realm. Bishop's early works use surrealism and imagism to create a new reality in which she minimizes the reference to self in poetry, but her later poems become more autobiographical and more concerned with a quest for personal identity.”

also has audio of the poet reading “ONE ART”

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“ Bishop often spent many years writing a single poem, working toward an effect of offfhandedness and spontaneity. Committed to a "passion for accuracy," she re-created her worlds of Canada, America, Europe, and Brazil. Shunning self-pity, the poems thinly conceal her estrangements as a woman, a lesbian, an orphan, a geographically rootless traveler, a frequently hospitalized asthmatic, and a sufferer of depression and alcoholism. "I'm not interested in big-scale work as such," she once told(ROBERT) Lowell. "Something needn't be large to be good." ”

Here is her strangely funny & sad poem:


The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Anyhow so long for now,


One of my favourite Nick Cave songs-

Nick Cave - Into My Arms Lyrics

I don't believe in an interventionist God
But I know, darling, that you do
But if I did I would kneel down and ask Him
Not to intervene when it came to you
Not to touch a hair on your head
To leave you as you are
And if He felt He had to direct you
Then direct you into my arms

Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms

And I don't believe in the existence of angels
But looking at you I wonder if that's true
But if I did I would summon them together
And ask them to watch over you
To each burn a candle for you
To make bright and clear your path
And to walk, like Christ, in grace and love
And guide you into my arms

Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms

And I believe in Love
And I know that you do too
And I believe in some kind of path
That we can walk down, me and you
So keep your candlew burning
And make her journey bright and pure
That she will keep returning
Always and evermore

Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms

Next is a video of Mexican artist Diego Rivera in America :

Take care,


......... KEEP GOING.......