since last saturday, all of that spare time was spent sick as hell. i'm still coughing and weak now, but i'm finally feeling human again :)
there are two things that i want to share w/you all today. one is the new Dangermouse project that you MUST download, because it may never be released. the other is a beautiful little poem. the poem is really what drove me to post.
also, DMRC people. seriously, i'm not posting music. i'm posting links to places where music is hosted. seriously. quit trying to cuckold me.
DJ Dangermouse & Sparklehorse. Dark Night of the Soul.
Download Link #1.
Download Link #2 (if you use this one, you'll need to grab the song below, as it's missing from this set.)
DJ Dangermouse & Sparklehorse. Revenge (feat. Wayne Coyne).
geez, this one's a story. not one of my rambling ones either, but it's a whole bunch of grown-up high-school drama. if you're into music news, i recommend the following links:
NPR's story (along w/the entire album to stream.)
DNOTS website along w/some David Lynch (yes, that one) visuals.
here's the gist: Dangermouse and EMI are fighting again. David Lynch (yes, that one) designed an intricate (and i'm sure dark, and odd, and surreal...like the one above) book of visuals to go with the album which Dangermouse is saying will be released with a blank cd and the following message: “For legal reasons, enclosed CD contains no music. Use it as you will.” how great is that?! basically, Dangermouse is asking you, the public, to find the album on the internet. torrent it--download it through the link above--whatever, just so long as you hear his album.
oh, and it's good too. not all of it is something i want to listen to all the time, but there are a few fantastic songs on there.
i don't post poetry very often but i wanted to share the following. i suppose i could start including poetry more often as i have many favorites, but this one is totally spontaneous. i stumbled upon it this morning and this is maybe the second time i've stumbled upon any good poetry (apart from the classics.) it's so american and so contemporary. it's a kind of poetry that i didn't understand when i was studying poetry, but has become my favorite since then. it's a short story, w/o all the junk. simple, matter of fact, grand.
DEATH AND TACOS
Waiting in line at a taco stand for my number to be called
I started talking to a six-year-old kid kicking his little foot against
A curb and waiting for his dad to come out of the bathroom.
And he said, “Why do you cough so much?”
And I said, “Because I have cancer.”
And he said, “Bummer.”
And I said, “Yep.”
And he said, “Does it hurt?”
And I said, “Only when I breathe.”
And he said, “Why don’t you hold your breath?”
And I puffed out my cheeks like Lois
Let him see it and held it for as long as I could
Before exploding into a hacking eruption of
Stupid sounds and saliva.
And he laughed.
And I coughed and laughed.
And he said, “Feel better?”
And I said, “A bit.”
And I showed him how much better with my
Thumb and index finger. And pointed at a green thread
of mucous that had dribbled out onto my chin
He said, “Gross.” And wiping it off
I said, “Yep.”
And he said, “My granddaddy had cancer before he died on the hospital.”
And I said, “You mean in the hospital?”
And he said, “Yeah on the hospital.”
And I said, “Oh, yeah?”
And he said, “He used to give me candy all of the times I ever saw him.”
And I said, “Sorry kid, I don’t have any candy.”
And, deflated, he said, “Are you gonna die on the hospital?”
And I said, “You mean in the hospital?”
And he said, “Yea, are you gonna die on the hospital?”
And I said, “Probably.”
And he said, “OK.”
And, upon giving that gracious consent, the boy’s dad came out and
The boy said, “Well, bye!” And I said, “See ya.”
And he ran off.
And, for a while, between the two of us,
Dying became so very ordinary, like candy or tacos or semantics,
And death itself suddenly just this obnoxious third-wheel
A pitiful nuisance with nothing better to do with his time
Than to tag along with me and this six-year-old kid.
And I sat smiling in the sun and imagining death at the moment,
A sad sack of lonely-self slumped somewhere in the distance,
As I waited for my number to come up.