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

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)

I am grateful for “proper enunciation”

How Many Times Can a Person Have the Same Missed Understanding?

She says,

so… you’ve been insulted and set back, but you belong with the man who can straighten it all out, and you gotta cleave to him and then

what’s the matter

will end well

and if you find that one person who you can trust completely while in the middle of all that opposition and adversity, you ain’t so alone.

She nods.  Taps the card.  That’s the next picture you draw.  It keeps coming back.

***

The audio by House of Pain “Back From the Dead” is being posted here as a blaaaaaaastsppppprrrrrrt! from the past and for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

(Explicit Lyrics): “Back From The Dead”

Straight out the casket, rising up
Open up your eyes, can’t you see me
What the fuck is this madness
Pick up my bones
Erase my name from off the tombstones
Alive and kicking
Breathin’ the air
Call out my name punk
And I’ll be there
No question
My suggestion to the action
Caught smack dab in the middle of the blastin’
Messin with me
You’re messin’ with the best
Bleow, you’re takin’ to shots to the chest

‘Cause I’m back from the dead
Everlast’s comin’ back from the dead (Back from the dead)
You know I’m back from the dead
And I’ll put a friggin’ hole in your head
Back from the dead
Back from the dead

You can’t disrespect it
I’m the resurrected
Back from the dead
Just to mess with your head
I’ll stress what I said
But I won’t repeat it
If you’ve got a cold, starve it
If you’ve got a fever, feed it
And if you can’t feed it
Then why not blow
You might be positive
And not even know
I rock the hardcore
From the floor to the ceilin’
I give sexual healin’
I’ll get your girlie squealin’
Like a pig
My grave’s somethin’ you can never dig
I’ll rock a mausoleum
Backyard a colosseum

‘Cause I’m back from the dead
Everlast’s comin’ back from the dead (Back from the dead)
You know I’m back from the dead
House of Pain’s in effect, ’nuff said

Skip the autopsy
‘Cause I never O.D.’d
I only puff boom kid
I never get skeed
I don’t sniff or shoot up
Rip I’ll stick my boot up
Your ass quick fast
Everlast don’t jive
Just like Pearl Jam
I’m still Alive [sample of “Rumors” by Timex Social Club]
Spreadin’ like tumors
Gossip and lies
Exaggerated reports of my demise
And if you believed ’em
Well then you got gassed
The media deceived em’
Just like in the past

‘Cause I’m back from the dead
Everlast’s comin’ back from the dead (Back from the dead)
You know I’m back from the dead
And I’ll put a friggin’ hole in your head
Back from the dead
Back from the dead

Like Steven Seagal
I’m hard to kill
And like G.G. Allen
I’m crazy ill
I’ll beat ya down with my mic
Kick your ass with my Nike
Bust ya in the eye
If ya tell another lie
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Thinkin’ I’m dead
You must be smokin’ dust
Come see me bust in the flesh
It’s a must

‘Cause I’m back from the dead
Everlast’s comin’ back from the dead (Back from the dead)
You know I’m back from the dead
House of Pain’s in effect, ’nuff said
Back from the dead

I am grateful for: “The Deep Heart of Tuva”

The Radio Jockey called my request cowboy music from the wild east,  hollered

 Lo!

Deep in the Heart of Tuva. . .you’ll go!

***

The Yat-Kha “Yenisei Punk” (Full Album) is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.  

Yat-Kha, a band from Tuva, led by vocalist/guitarist Albert Kuvezin is a mixture of Tuvan traditional music and rock, featuring Kuvezin’s throat singing style, the kanzat kargyraa.  The name “Yat-Kha,” means a type of small, central asian zither similar to the Mongolian yatga and the Chinese guzheng, which Kuvezin plays in addition to the guitar.

Tuva is a remote, biodiverse Russian republic in southern Siberia, populated by traditionally nomadic, yurt-dwelling tribes. The Uvs Nuur Basin, shared with Mongolia, encompasses a bird-rich saline lake amid grassland steppes, cold deserts and high mountains home to endangered animals. The massive Yenisei River and its many tributaries traverse Tuva and its Soviet-influenced capital, Kyzyl.

To learn more about the siberian quartet and Albert Kuvezin check out the Rock Band Biography for: Yat-Kha

Track Listing:

Solun Chaagai Sovet Churtum

Karangailyg Kara Hovaa

Kaa-Khem

Kuu-La Khashtyn Baaryndan

Kamgalanyr Kuzhu-Daa Bar

Irik Chuduk

Chashpy-Khem

Kadarchy

Chok-La Kizhi Yry

Een Kurug Kagban-Na Men

Toorugtug Taiga

Kargyram

Kozhamyk

Doshpuluruum

I am grateful for: “Comin’ round, comin’ round, comin’ round”

No apologies.

I just wanna feel horny and dance, my luv… so…

Please enjoy a Three Song Suite without further ado:

The audio by TV on Radio “Ambulance” is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.  

LYRICS:

Your slim frame
Your eager eyes
and your wild mane
Oh they keep me where I belong
All wrapped up in wrong

You’re to blame
For wasted words of sad refrain
Oh let them take me where they may
Oh believe me when I say

Oh I will be your accident
If you will be my ambulance
And I will be your screech and crash if you will be my crutch and cast
And I will be your one more time if you will be my one last chance
So oh fall, fall for me

Your slim frame
Oh your simple stare
And your wrong wrong name
Oh they keep me where I belong
All strung out in song

While so tamed
We can shoot other vines through your good name
Sip slow from nights deep wells
and watch our garden swell once our seeds are sown
Wild and overgrown
You will see
Hearts colors change like leaves

Oh sweet sweet dream fall for me
Fall fast fall free fall for me
Because
I will be your ambulance
If you will be my accident
and I will be your screech and crash if you will be my crutch and cast
And I will be your one more time if you will be my one last chance
So sweet dream fall with me
Fall fast fall free fall with me

***

The audio by: TV On The Radio “Careful You” (Lyric Video) is being posted here for NO Commercial Purposes.

***

 The  video by: TV On The Radio  “Golden Age” is being posted here for NO Commercial Purposes.

LYRICS:

Heart beat sounding
Ricocheting in their cage
Thought I’d lose my balance
With the grounds bounce and sway
And all this violence
And all this goes away
And the vibes that rise like
Fireflies illuminate our play

Some light being
Pulled you up from night’s party
Said clap your hands
If you think your soul is free
And the silence was astounding
‘cept some “Oh Lord Mercy and Me’s”
And oh you can’t stop what’s comin’ up
You’re never gonna stop gonna live it up
And oh it’s gonna drop gonna fill your cup
And oh it’s gonna drop gonna fill your cup

The age of miracles
The age of sound
Well there’s a Golden Age
Comin’ round, comin’ round, comin’ round

Give it up
‘stead of grabbing for decay
What we viewed as gold
I believe pollutes this space

Like I said “Love’s Light is Laughter”
Like the sun spitting happiness into the hereafter
Oh here it comes like a natural disaster
Ah blowing up like a ghetto blaster
Ah here it comes, bring it faster
Ah here it comes, bring it faster

The age of miracles
The age of sound
Well there’s a Golden Age
Comin’ round, comin’ round, comin’ round

Love, don’t you falter
Burning hearts
Dragged behind
The horses dancing on the altar
Hooves breaking Gods
To diamond dust and stars
And there you are…

Now we’re all allowed to breathe
Walls dissolve
With the hunger and the greed
Move your body
You’ve got all you need
And your arms in the air stir a sea of stars
And oh here it comes and it’s not so far

All light beings
Come on now make haste
Clap your hands
If you think you’re in the right place
Thunder all surrounding
Aw feel it quake with the joy resounding
Palm to the palm you can feel it pounding
Never give it up you can feel it mounting
Oh its gonna drop gonna fill your cup and
Oh its gonna drop gonna fill your cup

The age of miracles
The age of sound
Well there’s a Golden Age
Comin’ round, comin’ round, comin’ round

The age of miracles
The age of sound
Well there’s a Golden Age
Comin’ round, comin’ round, comin’ round