I am grateful for: “every blow…”

Capitoline Wolf, 5th century B.C.E. or medieval, bronze, 75 cm (Capitoline Museums, Rome)
“may u continue to blossom”
he says and sends purple magnolia pictures;
not the white kind with brown velvet under leaves.
After “all that” I’m glad 
this train (of thought) is one he will fail to catch
because he’s a runaway
caboose:
bright yellow, expected to be pushy
while clinging
and not the heavy black steam engine
even though he’s picking up speed 
going downhill
some path of least resistance.
the Preface goes like that
especially
without a switchman.
You wonder, Where’s the f*cking switchman?
I draw a map
that leads to you
trace pencil lines
with finger tips,
cross the mountains
with my mind
an “x” where you live
a red dot where I start
and how the folds soften, threaten to tear
every time I collapse it into my pocket
some streets having totally disappeared.
I get closer with postage stamps
middleman messangering 
delivered through door slots and door chains
and how fast clouds pass on a flash flood day when May shifts from gold to grey 
making the gulls and crows crazy.
I could lose myself in this music,
a mixture of how much it hurts
and how good it feels
i feel you from miles and miles away
welcoming the pangs
luxuriating by suffering the blows
bludgeoned by the in-between times
how slow the minutes pass
how fast the day goes…
my restless sleep
finding you 
awake
but dreaming.
a hot bath drains
the agitated energy of
not eating enough anymore
because you are what i am hungry for
and have me 
stumbling in some dumb 
struck
fog
reporting how  it’s all your fault and I am grateful.
How does one thank you for destroying one’s life?
A man bolted by lightening survives
determined to spend the rest of his time
fastening weather veins to roof tops
and flying kites 
with keys tied to his tethering string
thinking, “Been… Been… Been…”
Until one day, out of the blue~
blue sad
blue sky
and nothing striking 
he puts it all away
and goes back to work and because he still looks 
familiar to his employees,
nobody asks any questions.
He mutters… “she’s still the she-wolf.”
imagines how I would nurse and birth 
the Future…
because after he asked me,
I agreed to take care of the pack…
sow The story gets passed down:
about The Big Bad wolf
and he Huffs and Puffs
knows how to Blow:
teasing a jazz horn
into a drum 
with an irregular heartbeat.
“A woman likes what is clever
about the wolf
not how he inhales his food.”  I tell you.
You say, “Capitoline needs to relinquish the swell of milk from her teats.”
so I know he’s not really starving.  He just needs his belly rubbed.
***
The recorded July 19,1973; Hendersonville by Johnny Cash (Audio) “I’ve been working on the railroad” (Demo version) is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

Johnny Cash I’ve Been Working On The Railroad Lyrics:

Down at the station early in the morning
See the little pufferbellies all in a row
Some folks go to work and others take vacations
One took Melinda to Cal-i-for-ni-o
Oh don’t go Melinda, please don’t go
You didn’t see the teacake I brung you from the fair

I’ve been working on the railroad all the livelong day
I’ve been working on the railroad just to pass the time away
Can’t you hear the whistle blowing, rise up so early in the morn
Can’t you hear the captain shouting, Dinah blow your horn

Dinah won’t you blow, Dinah won’t you blow, Dinah won’t you blow your horn

Dinah won’t you blow, Dinah won’t you blow, Dinah won’t you blow your horn

Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah, someone’s in the kitchen I know
Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah, strumming on that old banjo
And singing fee fi fiddle-e-i-o, fee fi fiddle-de-i-o-o-o, fee fi fiddle-de-i-o strumming on that old banjo

Some go to work, and others on vacation
One of’em took Melinda to cal-i-for-ni-a

I am grateful for: “my restless sleep…”

She says, “i can tell so much about myself and still not have said anything

show off my body with it’s own language(s)

and know;

i haven’t begun to reveal.”

He says, “I want to get to know you.”

She says, “i  create this identity

pretending there is such a thing

as my ego to deconstruct;

dance in my own shadows

and box them like i’m winning.

got in the way of being aware

of what is happening

so we don’t meet

never forgetting why i was born a perfect girl

and keep reminding myself, it’s nuthin’ personal.”

He says, “What do you want?”

…when they both know it’s a simple thing called love

she already feels

complicated by…

***

The Sade “The Sweetest Gift” (live music video) is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

Sade  “The Sweetest Gift” Lyrics
Quietly while you were asleep
The moon and I were talking
I asked that she´d always keep you protected

She promised you her light
That you so gracefully carry
You bring your light and shine like morning

And then the wind pulls the clouds across the moon
Your light fills the darkest room
And I can see the miracle
That keeps us from falling

She promised all the sweetest gifts
That only the heaven´s could bestow
You bring your light and shine like morning

And as you so gracefully give
Her light as long as you live
I´ll always remember this moment
The Sweetest Gift lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

I am grateful for: “Calling OUT Kellyanne Conway’s Sour-Puss Pussy Grab…”

Sour-Graper says, “Maaaaan Kellyanne, I feeeeeel sooooooo sorry for your kids, having YOU as a mom.”

Kelly-A Cunt-way goes, “OMG sour-grapers!  You’re undermining democracy with your freedom of speech against us white supremacists!  OMG sour-grapers!  Just because Prez-elect Trump incited our Merry Christmas Thank You tour minions to throw water bottles at the journalists, in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior, doesn’t mean you have a right to be all negative.  I mean, ‘c’mon you guys.  OMG!  You sour-grapers, you shouldn’t obstruct the Prez-elect Trump, just ‘cuz the republicans obstructed Barack Obama for eight years.  I  mean that was just brilliant savagery…”

Kelly-A Cunt-way attempts to appear cute and forces a little fake (hee hee)

“I mean… strategy.”  She says, “But not agreeing to a peaceful transition now is not only undermining democracy, it’s vengeful and you really need to just get over it and admit who won. All this calling us the KKK just isn’t fair. We have plenty of Uncle Toms.  Ben Carson, for example is going to be in charge of HUD housing so that when we gut the program, he’s left holding the bag!  So you can see where Prez-elect is being entirely inclusive.”  

Kelly-A Cunt-way attempts to appear cute and forces a little fake (hee hee)

She says, “Making America Great again means Prez-elect is a listener.  He hears the forgotten people.  Just ask those Alabama belles on the Thank You tour.  He listened to everyone of them squeal like pigs and giggle like underage school girls when he grabbed their pussies.”

(hee hee)

Kelly-A Cunt-way says, “OMG!  Sour-grapers of course our Merry Christmas Thank You tour is a big Fuck You to the muslims.  Duh!  But that’s because the separation between church and state is far less important than a peaceful transition.  So stop your whole crybaby freedom of religion thing and for sure don’t be doing your freedom FROM religion.  Americans like an atheist about as much as they like a vegan.”

(hee hee)

Kelly-A Cunt-way says, “OMG sour-grapers! You have no evidence Putin and Prez-elect Trump are good friends.  I mean everybody knows the Russians don’t trust a man who won’t drink Vodka!  Duh!  LOL!  And Prez-elect Trump doesn’t even drink clean water you guys!  I mean, c’mon!  He’s all for keeping the black-lung in coal country and the lead-drinking Flint-stone kids dumb as bedrock.  And as for those Sioux Indians who ruined Thanksgiving for the oil pipeline contractors that Prez-elect Trump is personally invested in?  Can we just say: ‘counter-sue‘ !!!”

(hee hee)  “Get it?  Sioux and sue?”  LOL!  “I mean… Gee you guys, you really need to lighten up.  Oil is HERE.  Okay?  We have cars.”

*sigh*  Kelly-A Cunt-way shakes her head a little so her hair does something mimicking carefreeness, that isn’t carefreeness. 

“But hey… No worries guys…”  She says, “Once Barack is out of office, the Indians won’t have an enforceable land trust or treaty.  And… remember this… Prez-elect fully understands that since the Indians don’t trust the Feds either, he’s already won.”

(hee hee)

Kelly-A Cunt-way says, “And mind you, Sour-grapers… Prez-elect Trump is already working to ensure a  surplus of golf courses, luxury hotels, and wrestling matches around the world which truly demonstrates his superior hospitality industry next to those dumpy Brexit B&B’s!  It’s so awesome how the Monarchy and Colonialists that occupied and used people as their hotel staff wherever they empire-built and vacationed, have to now depend on tourism for their economy!   I’m sure Prez-elect Trump will be the better job creator of how to make the beds and sleep in them. Not to mention a tight corner and a quarter that bounces off the military bunk with a hard ass like Mad Dog leading us into harms way!  And of course it’s all in Prez-elect Trump’s name, because c’mon you guys… I mean really, did you forget?  He SAID he’d fix it for you.  He’s not stronger together, okay?  He’s a ‘fixer’ for you.”

(hee hee)

Kelly-A Cunt-way says, “And I’m not saying Prez-elect Tump can’t, because he can, but if he can’t fix America and it doesn’t get great again…Well, then it’s your sour-graper fault for being all sour-grapes.  Because that’s what undermines democracy.  You have a choice to make a peaceful transition to be Uncle Tom or Uncle Sam.  No one wants an Uncle Paine.”

The KAALI MAA KA TANDAV (excerpt of theatrical film) is being posted here to proverbially KILL the Ringleaders of the RapeCulture (including the women like Kellyanne Conway) and for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

I am grateful for: “the way the wind blows”

Dear Mr.  Jacksonville,

My heart does pull in different directions, where to start, when I feel everything at once.

I wonder about all the tiny frogs that come out at night to crowd up the doorways of the gated communities constructed out of wafer-board and stucco-veneers; maybe entangled in the mosquito-netted patio tables buttressed around backyard golf-courses that share obstacle pits with local crocodiles.  How are they doing; those little barometers?

Bama says he’s not overwhelmed, or trying to convince you of an urgency even when there is obvious urgency in places with mosquito nets, but do you recall the time you said how “sometimes a luxury car dealership entitles a man to an early retirement?”  Well, I hesitate to name names.  I want to tell you this part “in general” to avoid admitting something about first love when it won’t last as a matter of principle.  Seems like if I went into it, I’d be trying to explain how the color jade came to be.  

Bama’s ma isn’t chatty and she has no body language to speak of, so when she laughs we honestly don’t know what’s so funny.  Bama tends to look away and says not to go with her eye language because he’s pretty sure she has ESP.  Bama says she doesn’t use it for anything, but it’s eerie.  

Bama’s Uncle says it’s not okay to take advantage of “Prematurely retired white men who require built-in cabinetry and surround sound speakers for their entertainment systems.”  Bama says that’s why he agreed to read “The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man” but discovered smoking pot gave him headaches.

Bama’s pa says he needs to “get a couple of big niggers in here to do the heavy lifting” then reports the next day how he “never knew how badly we treated the indians” after watching Kevin Costner in the movie, “Dancing With Wolves” on his new entertainment system with surround sound.

The ghost of Super Dome past offers Barbara Bush a nice cot if she wants one. After all, she’d do the same for your dog. Jeb says, “How come I can’t become president of the FEMA trailers this time?” George Jr. says, “Heck of a job Brownie! And hey paw… you think my painting of Vladimir Putie would make a good first lady present for your favorite adopted son, Billy?” George Sr. shakes his head and says, “No my boy, that wouldn’t be prudent…  better paint a consolation portrait of Obama’s Labradoodle for the old Hill.  Everybody likes Bo on account of that dead Lion.”

Several days later, seat-belted passengers become witness to slow-motion driving through rainfall so thick and heavy the sun illuminates it into bright white sheets.  Bama  occasionally hydroplanes despite knowing how to pump his brakes and he uses the faint tail lights of the car ahead to guide his Hatchback, blasting U2’s MLK on CD, declaring it necessary for steadier nerves, simultaneously reassuring himself aloud, “this is how people vacationing to SeaWorld every summer grow up learning how to drive….”

He hums along and sings Sleeeeeeep….

and the lyrics for MLK about Martin Luther King Jr. go…

Sleep
Sleep tonight
And may your dreams
Be realized
If the thundercloud
Passes rain
So let it rain
Rain down on him
Hmm-mmm-mm
So let it be
Hmm-mmm-mm
So let it be

Sleep
Sleep tonight
And may your dreams
Be realized
If the thundercloud
Passes rain
So let it rain
Let it rain
Rain on him
Rain on him…

Hungary says how she wants to cut to the chase, but that’s not how this stuff works. She says maybe you’ll bear with the way her husband paints pastel stripes. . . to find those quiet places in the roar, listening for our shared humanity.  Hungary’s husband wants to know if everybody is listening to Blur in Brooklyn but he puts it out there as a suggestion not a real question, so no one believes he’s still interested in being a quasi-romantic drunk in the French Quarter.

Bama says if he paints what looks like gift-wrap, people will get caught up and lost in the roar and if they give up due to the empty gesture he’s still excited about manifesting anticipation and disappointment.  Bama says it’s not copying Hungary’s husband if his stripes criss-cross.

Mac says, her first impulse is for the Pulse Club. How a hurricane doesn’t discriminate…  Mac says she tells the best ghost stories and can summon Cthulhu.  She says helium balloons can channel spirits, but you have to know how to entice them with baby talk.  She says it helps if you can make sounds like a purring kitten.  

Mac’s Rent Check is twenty years older than her and served in the U.S. military. He says  a hurricane doesn’t remember the U.S. Marine who served in Afghanistan and saved 70 people that night at the Pulse Club.  A hurricane doesn’t think back to an occupying war for oil in the Persian gulf called “Desert Storm.”  A hurricane doesn’t care what kind of car you drive during evacuation procedures, or how your gas prices changed into gas gouging, making you the victim of disaster capitalism.  A hurricane doesn’t know the difference between a gay person, a latino person, a black person, a hindu person, a veteran, or someone shooting them at their dance club in the name of Islam.  

Mac’s Rent Check says it’s a bummer this Sunday football season is competing with this Sunday’s presidential debate.

Rent Check’s best friend says it’s Rent Check’s swing in the video golf and he gets up to get a beer only to find out he needs to make a beer run.  “Who’s up for a drive?”  He wants to know.

Mac’s Rent Check says a hurricane doesn’t remember the earthquake that already devastated Haiti and derailed the joint business venture between Papa Bush and Baby boy Clinton. A hurricane doesn’t remember the outsourced jobs or exploitation of cheap labor or sewing machine sweat shops.  A hurricane moves on while former presidents drive around in golf-carts to inspect the damage of a hurricane.  

Mac says, and a hurricane doesn’t make fun of Sean Penn for caring more.  

Mac’s Rent Check says, a hurricane doesn’t know Hillary Clinton asked the Governor of Florida to extend the voter registration for his state due to Hurricane Matthew, or that the governor of Florida told her, “No” …because he’s voting for Trump. 

Trump twitters he’s sorry for ever wanting to grab Hillary’s pussy. 

Mac says that’s why she’s decided to sell make-up that recycles their lipstick tubes for the ethical treatment of animals.

Bama’s pa says “Sometimes a car entitles a man to a tank of gas…” but Bama doesn’t know if his pa’s position on price gouging has changed.

Bama’s pa says the hurricane better be sorry if he can’t get those four hours of the Nascar Charlotte Sprint Cup back.

Trump twitters, he’s sorry for ever wanting to grope Hillary’s fat ass.  “But how it was right there?  Am I right?”  

Bama’s pa says he doesn’t understand why the Scottish are so against Brexit when they already became caddies for Trump. 

Bama’s grandmother giggles.  

Bama decides it’s time to pick up the nearest magazine and hide his face with the cover of People.  

Trump twitters his support of Dirty Harry’s use of pesticide on golf courses and tells the EPA not to worry about climate change.  His followup tweet says  “So what if it’s real?  We get the Mexican Miss Universe girls to go topless and sell burn lotion.  What can I say? I’m a forgiver and a job creator.”

Kevin Costner invests in the science of how to clean up oil spills and wonders about all the tiny frogs that come out at night. How are they doing; those little barometers?

Lakota says the united tribes are taking a stand against the private oil interests of the Dakota Access Pipeline being built across their lands.  We are not fighting for the Public Trust, which is the right of ALL citizens to clean air, land, and water; for basic health and human safety.  This isn’t about CLIMATE CHANGE like the white feminists who want to usurp our voices say when they claim to be allies.  Standing Rock is the foundation stone of a growing movement against white supremacy.  When we protest or fight for our rights, we aren’t simply shot or incarcerated by the government.  We are erased.  Wiped out.  Made extinct.

All the barometors howl at the full moon, “To protect the water is to protect ALL life.” and then they get blown away, pretending they are dancing with wolves.

Sincerely,

Wild West

***

The Lucius “Almost Makes Me Wish for Rain” (live video) is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

Lucius “Almost Makes Me Wish for Rain” Lyrics:

Here we are
Thought you’d have to rescue me
But thankfully it didn’t get the best of me
It’s not worth a fuss
It’s not worth my time
I could lose it but
I’d be out of line

So here we are
On the side of the road
But the sun is out
Lightening my load
Just a flat tire and a helping hand
I could lose it but it’s just not so bad

Looking for a scene to cause
But the only thing I see, blue skies ahead of us
Searching for the empty half when somethings filling up the glass
I’m hopeless

It almost makes me wish for rain
When everything begins to go my way
This guilty feeling comes along with it and you know
It almost makes me wish for rain

So what it is about a broken heart
The harder times, the rougher starts
Inspiration feeds off of the deepest scars
And the easy streets well we drive apart

Looking for a scene to cause
But the only thing I see, blue skies ahead of us
Searching for the empty half when somethings filling up the glass
I’m hopeless

It almost makes me wish for rain
When everything begins to go my way
This guilty feeling comes along with it and you know
It almost makes me wish for rain

It almost makes me wish for rain
The sun is out and I should feel it’s rays
it’s like I’m waking to a dream day after day 
It almost makes me wish for rain

Fall on my head
Bring me to life again
The funny thing is that when I am okay
Oh it makes me wish for rain
I can’t pretend
To settle in
When I am not on the edge of the fray
It almost makes me wish for rain

When everything begins to go my way
This guilty feeling comes along with it and you know
It almost makes me wish for rain

It almost makes me wish for rain

The sun is out and I should feel the rays
it’s like I’m waking to a dream day after day
It almost makes me wish for rain…

oh, oh, oh,  oh…

I am grateful for “my private slaughter house”

Everyone new to them, asks if Nie and Nan are sisters.  They both hate this.  They see no resemblance.  Nie is actually Irish and Nan is “sorta” biracial identifying as mostly black.  They both fight over visiting Tomo who is Japanese.  Tomo likes everybody but wishes he met Nie before Xander and Xander is biracial identifying as British and looks white but he’s from India.  Jay is the All American white boy fed on superhero comics and planning to feed the world with them as a grown up.  Kris is almost a translucent blond she’s so pale but NOT an albino and she understands how mean ducks are.  How they bite and do not let anything but water roll off their backs. . .

Nie questions my “Hope” because she doesn’t know why I still have it and so as if to argue me off some ledge, she asks me, “Have you ever read The Jungle by Upton Sinclair?”

“No.” I say,  “But I actually own a copy.”

“Well read it and then after that, tell me if you still have hope.”

“Okay.” I say to her with good intentions but somehow I know I won’t read it.  I know I will look at it.  At the spine of the paperback.  And consider it like all those times before.  And now, I think about how it has sat there on my shelf for years… just waiting for me to lose all hope.  So I tell Nie, “A book can’t make me lose hope. If a book were going to do that, I’d have hung myself after reading the Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace.”  And then I can’t help a small shudder.  Since Nan decorates her office cubical with John Woo action movie stills, she simply takes her bulky sweater off to wrap around my shoulders, mistaking my repulsion with her own concept of Nie being stingy about the heat.

“The Jungle is a much shorter novel.  Just read it and then get back to me.”  Nie grunts.

“You’re daring me to lose hope?”

Ex-act-lee.”  She says and she doesn’t quite smile when she lets out a “Heh, heh” for a laugh.

We all watch Nie chop onions and tomatoes for the salsa and she asks me to do the limes and Nan the avocados for Nie’s famous guacamole.  Xander  hovers around us at the counter and eats nacho chips plain.

“Are you going to pour the bag into a bowl so we can all have some?”  Nie asks him and Xander shrugs.  “What bowl do you want me to use?”  He asks.

“Uh, maybe the giant one in front of your face?”

Xander silently pours the bag into the bowl and then wanders to the parlor where Jay is watching a Green Hornet re-run.

Nan winks at me and smiles like we’re cozy together in winter.

“Xander’s such a man.”  Nie says as she presses a clove of garlic, and she lets out another, “Heh, heh.”

Tomo is as close to Nie as he can manage, sitting on one of the high stools, and he stops swinging his feet from time to time like it helps him listen.  He asks Nie, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Nie says, “Tab’s never read The Jungle, Tomo.”

Tomo shakes his head no.  

“She lived in Chicago.  She’s not from there.” Nan explains to Nie.

Ex-act-lee.”  Nie says.  “Heh, heh.”

I tell Nie, “Rahm says he has an idea for Chicago.  He says, why not volunteer the Francis Parker School kids for community service?  He’s pretty sure that’s the solution to gang violence.  Get the affluent white 8th graders who need to work off their hours in a drug rehab program, to teach the poor black kids how to read.”

 “Diabolically ingenious.”  Nie says. “He doesn’t have to pay for the literacy program if the rich kids are required to volunteer and while the rich kids are being supervised and kept sober they act-tually think they are being mentors.  Rahm’s SO stomach and NO heart.”     

“Who wants to take turns reading The Jungle out loud?” Kris asks sarcastically and she laughs in an exceedingly high pitch. 

Nobody laughs or answers her.

“So hey… after the tamales, who wants ice-cream?” Xander proposes and he sounds tremendously hopeful.

Nan, Jay, Kris and Tomo all race to raise their hands.

And Nie goes, “Awww Xander, you have such a big mouth.  Heh heh.”

***

The Smiths “Big Mouth Strikes Again” (audio) is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

“Big Mouth Strikes Again” Lyrics:

Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking
When I said I’d like to
Smash every tooth in your head

Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking
When I said by rights you should be
Bludgeoned in your bed

And now I know how Joan of Arc felt
Now I know how Joan of Arc felt
As the flames rose to her Roman nose
And her Walkman started to melt

Bigmouth, bigmouth
Bigmouth strikes again
And I’ve got no right to take my place
With the human race

And now I know how Joan of Arc felt
Now I know of Joan of Arc felt
As the flames rose to her Roman nose
And her hearing aid started to melt

Bigmouth, bigmouth
Bigmouth strikes again
And I’ve got no right to take my place
With the human race

I am grateful for: “full on, bust out, laughing.”

She says to me, “So okay, you wanted to talk to him and your heart wasn’t just on your sleeve…he knows it’s burning inside your panties, you made such a fool of yourself.”

I’m in an impossibly good mood so I can’t help smiling but it’s too big and I look like an idiot. I tell her, “Uh… more or less, yes.”

She says, “And he told you, you needed a girlfriend?”

“To talk too, yep. . . but then I couldn’t stop looking at your boobs.”

She sighs.  “That’s you’re default?” She asks, “So now you’re just going to be turned on by everything?”

“Um… it’s in my own defense; not sure what you mean by a default.”

“Do I need to put my shirt back on or are you going to be able to finish the drawing like a lady?”

I hesitate.

“Seriously?  You can’t answer that?”

“You better put your shirt on.”

She hesitates.

She says, “Well, YOU best be careful.  You might be overwhelmed by what you’re attracting.”

“Hmmm. . .to be overwhelmed… by what I’m attracting…”

She smiles and basks in the light of my eyes.  

She asks me, “Why do we all let you get away with that?”

“I’m not getting away with nuthin’.  Who is we?”

“That’s a double negative.  And you know who we is.”  She says, “Anybody you walk up to and everybody following with their eyes… You get away with murder.”

“I sure hope you’re talking about crows.  I never murdered anyone.”

“No.  I’m talking~ moths to a flame.”

“Ah… okay I’ve gone too far.”  I nod, put down my pencil, and hand her, her robe.

She tries to hand it back.  “Wait. . .” she says, “We don’t have to be done!”

And I full on, bust out, laughing. 

***

The Kelis “Milk Shake” (music video) is being posted here for her Milk Shake and for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

I am grateful for: “large furry thinking caps”

 Some days it’s just all about the right hat. . .

* * *

The DakhaBrakha  “NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert” (live concert video) is being posted here for fusion and for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

DakhaBrakha is a Ukrainian folk quartet from Kiev, Ukraine. The group’s name derives from Ukrainian verbs Давати аnd Брати, meaning “give” and “take” also playing on the Art Centre’s name “Dakh” (translated as ‘roof’ in Ukrainian). DakhaBrakha (correct name is ДахаБраха) defined themselves as “ethno-chaos”.  Pronouncing DakhaBrakha you can hear the sounds like “RA” – God of the Sun for the Ancient Egyptians and the Old Ukrainians, “brama” – the gates, “Brahma” – the Supreme God of creation in Hinduism, “ptah” – a bird in a meaning of a singing soul…

Members:  Marko Halanevych – vocal, goblet drum, tabla, didgeridoo, harmonica, accordion, cajón
Olena Tsybulska – vocal,  percussion instrument
Iryna Kovalenko – vocal, djembe, flute, buhay, piano, ukulele
Nina Harenetska – vocal, cello

Set List:
“Sho Z-Pod Duba” (the Home That We Built)
“Torokh” 
“Divka-Marusechka” (Maid Marusechka)