poeM oF thE daY

String Theory

There are seven strings
each of which provides the possibility
of connecting two souls
if it short circuits properly.
One of those strings is sex, of course.
Why else would you make that ridiculous face?
And one of them is music.
You'll have to figure the other five  out for yourself--
I'm just stating the obvious.

When Nick Harper is onstage playing his guitar
and he breaks a string
every member of the audience
who is not a neophyte 
smiles and leans forward
anxious for the string change part of the show.
I've talked to Nick a few times
(Clonakilty, Chicago, and Norfolk)
and although (of course) I didn't ask him about that,
having spoken to him I feel sure
that he never plans to break a string
though of course is not averse
nor, for that matter, surprised
when it happens.
He plays as if he doesn't care about breaking strings.
Which is the way we're supposed to live, too.
But when the string breaks
and Nick does the string change bit
(yes, he'll ham it up and enjoy that moment)
and that loose string sparks against our souls
we short circuit and our hair becomes electric
and we sing, connected.

And when Shara Worden sings
that broken wire in her soul comes free
and when it brushes against my soul
I feel the empty places filling up
with white lava
and it is what I imagine
a diesel engine must feel like
when it is steam cleaned
and all the matted sludge and filth
peels off and leaves
shiny chrome and steel revealed.

That's my theory, anyway.

lonG storY: sharA worden, whitE rabbiT cabareT, Q oN stagE parT II

o Thursday morning I tried to sleep a little later in preparation for the journey to Indianapolis, but wasn't able to get past 7:00 am. By 10:00 I was poking around on the internet looking for Shara Worden / My Brightest Diamond videos, and I happened upon this one

which I had seen before but felt like seeing again.  And when Shara pulled out her copy of RAY CONNIFF AND THE RAY CONNIFF SINGERS WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS 

I had, as we say, a brilliant idea:  I would go to Half-Price Books and purchase a copy of this lp, then take it to the concert and have Shara sign it for me.  Never mind the fact that the album had come out 52 years ago.  

And off I went to Half-Price Books.

I looked under "C" in the vinyl section.  No Ray Conniff.  I looked to see if there was a Christmas records section.  No.  I looked under the "special records" (or whatever it is called) section.  Nada.  I looked down at the hundreds . . . perhaps thousands . . . of records that were shelved down near the floor . . . the ones that sell for 25 cents apiece and are in no particular order.  I looked at a few spines.  Most of them were so frayed as to be unreadable.  I walked around to the other side of the shelf for some reason . . . no rational thinking there.  I sat down on the floor and started looking, and within the first thirty records, I saw a spine that said RAY CONNIFF.  I pulled it out.  It was RAY CONNIFF AND THE RAY CONNIFF SINGERS WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS .  

Now you've got to admit that the odds on that are pretty fucking long, right?  But this kind of thing does tend to happen to me--and most of my human contacts don't ever seem much impressed by these things--so while I was happy and surprised, I wasn't THAT surprised.  And I really had felt like I was going to find it before I even left the house   . . . .  not so much in terms of certitude as  fait accompli.  

So I put my copy of  WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS and my copy of Shara's EP NONE MORE THAN YOU and a big fat Sharpie into a Target bag and I was ready for the show.

a few hours and the concert is over and I'm waiting for Jacqueline to get down from the stage (long story) and I'm standing waiting for her and she starts toward me, then veers off to intercept Shara as she exits the stage, and I see Jacqueline kind of reach out for Shara, then Shara kind of reaches out for Jacqueline and they walk together to the front of the venue.  I trail behind them, catch up and Shara recognizes me from our last meeting or two, and after I tell her that Jacqueline is my daughter and allathat I tell her I have two things for her to sign if she would, and as I get my Target bag in the ready position I tell her, "I know you've signed lots of albums for people and maybe you've even signed people's arms and they've had them tattooed, but I'll bet nobody has ever asked you to sign a copy of RAY CONNIFF AND THE RAY CONNIFF SINGERS WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS  before," and I pull the lp cover out of my bag and Shara is just astounded, says, "That's the one!  That's the exact one!" (which is kind of strange, too, 'cause that video was put up a couple of months ago, and I hadn't mentioned seeing it, she just knew from the album) and we both have a good laugh and I ask her to sign it, "Shara Worden approved," which she does thusly:

So that's pretty much a one of a kind item.  It was quite great to see Shara get a kick out of it.  

Pretty much the best post-concert experience ever.




I love Shara.  No, like . . . I really love Shara.  And if you're thinking, "That's creepy," then you haven't met Shara.  Or listened to her music.  Or you're just a dumbass.

poeM oF thE daY

Even in this 21st century
It's mostly shitty movies for insomniacs
Too lazy to dvr
Which is how I end up watching
Ed McBain' s 87th Precinct: Lightning
Watching Cutter brother  Randy Quaid
Pretend to be a grown up New York City cop
In monotone
While people with for-no-discernible-reason surly attitudes
Swirl around him like mud puffing up around feet
That walk the river bottom
And I'm pretty sure if I'd been the cop in that scenario
I'd have left some fat lips in my wake.
43 minutes to go.
Good money after bad.

poeM oF thE daY

Looking at her picture
Easy to see
There was more love in her then
Than there is now.
The wicks of the lamps of her eyes
Have burned low
And the light no longer dances,
Now just clings for dear life
To that
Little
Wick.

poeM oF thE daY

I finally understand
why we need hundreds of Facebook friends
even though we rarely have any contact at all

we live in a world
in which no one really gives a shit
about much of anything
or anybody
but if you have hundreds of people you can contact
there is a chance that one or two of them
will be bored enough to respond to you
in your minute of need

I guess everybody else knew that
one of those things we just don't mention
but all know.

I guess I'm just a little slow.

bitcH

I guess it's no surprise that Bitch McConnell won his Senate seat for the 6th time.  It is Kentucky, after all. According to WlLKY news this morning, Bitch got 66% of the white male vote, 60% of the fortysomething vote, and the majority of people over 65 and those who earn over $100,000 a year.  Grimey won The Black Vote "nearly unanimously,"  60% of people who make less than $100,000 a year, and those who don't like tea.  So I guess I fit the criteria for a Grimey voter and for a non-Bitch voter perfectly.  

The best part of the post-election action came courtesy of John Yarmuth.  Here's what he had to say about Bitch:  "He has always survived by demonizing and discrediting his opponent rather than advancing his own idea. There is not one Kentuckian today, I will guarantee you, who can tell me or the people of Kentucky what Bitch McConnell wants to do as majority leader or even as a U.S. senator. He has no ideas, no vision, no passion, he just wants to be majority leader. I defy him to tell me one thing that he wants to do for this country."  

patriot$ v$ broncoe$

It's amazing, really
70,000 . . . 80,000 people
Pay what, a couple of hundred bucks each?
To watch 22 guys throw, run, and kick a ball up and down an empty field

And each of  those 22 guys are paid more for one year
Than I earned in 23 years as a high school teacher

But it's not just that.
It's musicians and writers and actors
We're paying to be entertained by millionaires
Instead of entertaining each other
Or hell, instead of entertaining ourselves.

Somewhere in your neighborhood there's a band playing in a bar
Which is more than good enough to keep you entertained
And the ten dollars you spend to see them
Is going to buy them groceries,
Not go to their portfolio options
Or wherever the hell millionaires put their money.

Come on, people
Now.