POETRY ON SUNDAY

The idea of posting poetry on Doc40 has been a question that I’ve recently mulled to only partial avail. Should I? Shouldn’t I? There was so much other fun to be had, but then a hip spinster of my acquaintance started posting poems on her blog that had previously been about angst and drinking, so I decided what the hell, some of you might enjoy it. This piece was written two or three years ago, it’s been performed a few times when Andy Colquhoun and I have been out doing our solo Hendrix and poetry thing. It was on the short list to be recorded for the Dr. Crow CD, but the composition had so many movements and stuff, it would have busted our shoestring budget. It’s also a great exercise in borrowed lines from other sources that span Oscar Wilde to Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller.

Because it was...

Just something to do between cigarettes

That was what I said as bought myself a ticket
Ventured into the darkness and sat down
Right there in the very first row
To take a good look
At Little Egypt and her tattoo
Her ruby
And the diamond big as Texas on her toe
But lord, lord, hey pardon me ma'am
It was really nothing
It was...
Just something to do between cigarettes

That was what I rationalized
As I cut myself free
From all tiresome reality
As I merged with the movie
And drifted through the sheen
Of the screen with a prodigious thirst
And became one with the black and white
There somewhere in between
But I swear to you all
I considered it...
Just something to do between cigarettes

And in the flash of a moment
I found my phone was tapped
And I was on the lam from Special Agents
Of the Red Queen
Who thought busting themselves a poet
Would provide a path
To painless professional prestige
With maybe blackmail as a fallback
And I told myself as I ran through the sewers
In a voice like Harry Lime
Hey you guys, this is a terrible mistake
It was...
Just something to do between cigarettes

And later that was the only
Explanation I could offer
To the girl with short black bangs, the satin dress,
The fuck me sandals and Rayban sunglasses
And who was pointing a revolver at my head
And seemed to be extremely angry about something
I'd done or maybe failed to do
But it didn't mean nothing, baby. It was...
Just something to do between cigarettes

Just something to do between cigarettes
And on a day trip in a dayglo blue bus
To the end of the night and all the way out
To the leading edge of insanity
Straining with bleeding ears
To hear the multitude sounds of the Earth
The million half notes
Played on the stringed lute of the world
By all the winds of the air
From Loanshark Laments
To the Chorus of the Cutting Crew
The requiem of the Murder Review
The faces lost and masks regained
And I will never be the same
A full half century pissed away
(Should I go or should I stay?)
And it seems like only yesterday
(I hardly believe in yesterday)
When all I needed
When I assumed all I needed was...
Just something to do between cigarettes

Just something to do between cigarettes

MARMITE

Some discussion has been taking place on the comments board on the matter of Marmite. For all of you who don’t know, Marmite is a brand of salty savory spread made from brewers’ yeast. It is a disgusting looking black/brown viscous paste that is spread on toast, or dissolved in water as a hot drink. It comes in a mysterious brown-glass jar with a Victorian label. Small British children become addicted to it at early age after being fed “Marmite soldiers”, small slivers of toast spread with the stuff to dip in their soft-boiled eggs. My personal, heart-stopping weakness was to fry slices of bread in either butter or bacon grease and then slather it with enough Marmite to burn off the roof of your mouth. The finished product is quite as daunting as Elvis’ fried peanut butter and banana creation. Marmite is alleged by some to cure hangovers, but I’ve never noticed that it did, beyond the obvious benefit if hot greasy food and lots of B complex vitamins.

For more check – http://waterpistol.davinian.co.uk

FROM THE EMAIL

The fine fidicen writes...
When this Interweb thing first hit I thought, mmmwaaahahahhaha, poets and freaks finally have the means to create, publish, and distribute from one point and on their own--this is the end of the JudeoChristiaNixonic Era... the Beast has been born in Bethlehem West, we shall hound the heathens to the far reaches of some doomed and frozen galaxy.
Then things sort of went nowhere except a slice of the smarmy indie musicians did all of their rot, and fairly poorly for the most part. Now seems like things are catching on. A non-Iraq voter has raised 25 or 40 million mostly via youth on the web and he will fuck things good even if they kick him out of the dance and now there's all this blogging and such, from Hollywood to Fallujah, not to mention blazing radical journalism like Counterpunch and tall walking bitches of digests like What Really Happened, Common Dreams, and Smirking Chimp. One could really get optimistic if one wasn't too careful.
So Bravo, we need you in fishwrap yes, but this is double plus good, and I will pass along to the ranks. 2004 is the time and the place. I reckon this is our moment to matter, at least until the next one comes--and I could live without that one if we fail here.
Give Them Hell,

And Dan forwards this important heads up...
Dear Friend,
As you probably know, Ralph Nader is considering running for president again in 2004. Like millions of Americans, I am disturbed that Nader may again cost the Democrats the election, and once again tip the balance in our closely divided nation to George Bush. Nader says he will make up his mind in the next few weeks. The link below will take you to a message about Nader's potential candidacy and a simple step you can take right now to oppose such a run.
Come watch Ralph Don't Run:

http://www.turtlerock.com/RalphDontRun

CRYPTIQUE – Without bread, you’re toast.