London 2012

August 26th, 2012 § Comments Off § permalink

More Jazz Poems

August 26th, 2012 § Comments Off § permalink


Cockney Accent


orange cat
whatever was keeping me warm is gone now
when the neighbors cough I hear it through our old walls
that got painted, and nailed, and banged on a few times.
Im finking I wish i spoke with a deep Cockney accent
like I would find my people.  We’d fall in
We’d backslap.
But then quiet and a stretch to hear the birds sing
a prego anticipation.
wait for it.
Or is it just me wheezing?



Little Dicks


Im marveling at the crotch of the New York Dolls
desperately trying to identify
We are a different kind of band
We try to angle our intellect to compensate for our little dicks.




This History Cannot be Deleted


i smell burnt hair on the outbreath
moving my head around to avoid the glare
it shows the fingerprints, this history cannot be deleted.
Access to star streams come form from the white man on the moon
and the Negro before Salt Peanuts, Charlie Brown vs the just plain bored.




A Canyon Etched in Lilting and Dappled Light


Shelve you meditation plans for today
thrill that she read the poem you posted in the bathroom
pick at your calluses
sit through the commercial
rub at your shoulders
groove on the canyon etched between your eyebrows
oh that’s character.




I Like to Call Him ‘Trane


Well shit, now i have to rally
Ryan is listening to jazz pretty hard.
No big i mean just like Coltrane
or ‘Trane as I like to call him.




We Interrupt


We interrupt this poem.




Four Seasons


four seasons
thats what i think i want
i think i am ready
i think i can handle it this year.



You Really Should


i have to get it before the screen changes
if its not here now will it every be?  whats with all the questions
What with the Soul?  the bass line pumps it hard.

PS. you’re really should




TheTortured Artist


The Tortured Artist
made sushi last night for Besse
washed the dishes this morning and sat down to write this.




If We are gonna do this, You have to drive


no i can’t drive
cars in the shop
no gas
ok no money for gas
id rather look out the window
you’ve seen all this a thousand times





We have to Grow Old


man i hate the internet cartoon on the tech savvy and
scarf wearing alt indie headphones guy that sells the life
we’ll never have because we just missed it.
what s all the rave is not our scene
but we cannot retreat to a park bench just yet
We have to grow old.





escucha un nuevo disco de
pablo arevan en spotify.

I took the tomatoes for show
like a vase or a smart people book.
a design within reach
here goes nothin.

Sorry Y’all.

August 24th, 2012 § Comments Off § permalink

Dang we have been busy!  Sorry to let the blog slide.  Man, we have alot to tell you having just spent the last 3 weeks in beautiful portland ore making a record.  More on it and some mp3s soon.  What should we call it?  Bitch, dont make me pee on your wig.

August 8th, 2012 § Comments Off § permalink

I’m jussa player dune wut the playrz do.

so here I would like to discuss what we do and why, and importantly how do we navigate the difference when our opinions do indeed diverge?  In a mature relationship, there a come a time when the honeymoon ends as it were and the beautiful couple then must move with greater compassion for want of understanding.  So, currently we are using words to discuss a singular phenomenon that dominates cultural discourse in this country via the fucked up shit that comes to the masses via the media.  Yet, our words are clashing in a sense though I feel we do indeed agree.  What are we really after?  internet fame?  this is a passing a phase as the viral video.  Put it all in a time capsule for the future historians up against Flaubert (whom i haven’t read) and measure cultural worth.  I feel that our difficulty in this is that we are concerned too much with a fast fashion that is being aggravated by our lack of institutional(?) validation.   Here is another blessing in disguise.  The very thing that is troubling me, I think in the long run, is what will make us and this project better; whatever that means…

The beauty of our embracing of jazz is that we now have myriad instruments.  We are creating music right now.  That is a cool idea that should be obvious to wynton marsalis but probably would not be.  That is why in the revolving door of art being better than music being better than art being…blah  we come out on top as fucking artists that can use any of that stuff and put it together in ways that mimics and comments on the state of  contemporary psychology (psychosis??) that we find when our nations second place in medal counts is assuaged by having not only the most tweets but the most SPIKE in tweets this hour…

Deeper into Jazz is all of that jazz.

So, I think we return to the “original” idea of using this project as an umbrella for housing and displaying all of our experimentaions and dicscovverues when we delve “deeper into jazz” because in doing so we will always being answering only one question:  is this right?

so again so la ti do.  We keep doing everything that we have done since our inception with this idea of music that we have formed independently in our minds.  We make jazz poems, photography, sculpture, rock, paintings, ceramics, rock and photography.  Oh and music.  Fuck it.   When all else fails, fuck it.  This is rock and roll and it is here to stay baby, so roll over beethoven and roll up that mutha fuckin blunt cuz MC MC is col rockin this mic………………….biatch.  Nam Saine?

Reality tv is a very important idea, but I don’t think we understand it like someone that is even ten years younger than us, much less a 15 year old american with extend cable; the notion itself is outdated right?  I mean doesn’t everything come either from a satellite or a GPS?   Lets do it, it will be great, even if just to us.  This is the magnificent gift of the MC, and a very important point to make in this age of blogging experts and faux news:  We have a built in audience of at least one who has invested the time and energy to understand.  This act, though not an act is what we want in a utopia.  impossible to achieve on a global or even national level, but here we choose to do it among ourselves.  Call it leading by example. holier than thou, out just following the words of Ghandi echoed in the oversized ears of the first Black President:  be the change.  It is good enough.  there is no difference in the words of John Cage or Ghandi, or probably even Jesus, or Garrison Keeler; do good work.  Its the american way, and as we lead the world into whatever comes next be it a fuel crisis or an occupation, let us me the light that shines on the world brother amen.  Let us just work and be willing through earned and pre scripted trust that we will die for this, and for what we believe in this collective of individuals with wide and varying taste and ideals.
heat that burned from where?  part of it is discipline.  ours is not in scales but in faith that we are indeed working towards making a statement to and of the world, and the earth that places even a sliver of meaning to this existence.  Everybody wants that, more than love.
Im letting go for now, my heart and head knows how to live on trying to live and making a bit of how we think visible, it deserves that simple because its us and not me.  This is what we do.
This is why.  Its a self serving and fulfilling prophecy that perpetuates itself on leaps of faith and climbing, oh so like a guilded phoenix from the ass and ashes of the american flag.  And the rockets red glare killed a family o’er there but the proof is still cool and we fall asleep grinning.  oh say, can I borrow a dollar til payday when the last of the free gets sucked up in the fray.

Where is the breath coming from?
is is the Holy Ghost?  the Father/Son?
The mama’s boy in corduroy
pick on me
I know it will only hurt for a minute
and then I can hit the showers

And now clean and now so shiny as if to lie
and steal the german marks for my own collection
to jerk of in the back seat while you drive the 500 miles

and 500 more to get me back to a place that I not only understand
but belong

My hero bought me these jeans
with all the money saved on butter and cheese
Thank you uncle for providing for us where our dad was
Jordache for you MOM
Guess at best for Sara
and we all know Meg was a “test tube baby”  I mean
The test of your tubes were a fail, an epic miracle that gave and gave and gave
and then finally held grandma’s hand as it slipped into the dirt, then survived so many
dog attacks
and gun points
and pissed jeans epilepsy
Where was I?  on the phone I guess
asking the standards, making coffee for everyone concerned.

Deeper Into Jazz Reality

August 8th, 2012 § Comments Off § permalink