Thursday, 6 August 2020

Wipe away

Well of seventy
Keep right eye on inner state
Best for mist alone

sourced from a far away planet

Tuesday, 4 August 2020

Sunday, 2 August 2020

White Griot

The sound of the sluggish, very early morning trickle into the toilet tank, due in part to this storey's elevation, reminds me of the handclaps on the third track of the Jon Hassell slash Brian Eno album forty full years old past April. The liner notes say that Gordon Philips, Andrew Timar, Tina Pearson performed them live with the rest of the musicians at the Art Gallery of Ontario.

On a very late night drive just as sleepy thirty years ago this summer, Daddy thought the music sounded like Frankenstein's monster clog dancing, a remark that might've come during "Delta Rain Dream", the previous track on the album. The substantive in this entry's title is the title of the third track, parenthetically named (as's pretension's wont) "Over 'Contagious Magic'". The title of the album inspired the extra pretension of the same of MiLkBabY's debut.

My pipedream to capture rainfall to supply the works in the water closet cannot achieve even nonstarter status, notwithstanding an architect roomie who inspires all manner of handy riggery, practical and ecological. The force goes into the flow. Jon Hassell released Seeing through Sound last month.

Though this is a blur, you can click or just hover for clarity. Mama took the picture of a graffito at a locale still with a name in my cloudy memory.

Grafoto Blur slash Grafoto Ma - 2009

Sunday, 26 July 2020

Allen Greenbaum's At Peace

Do you proud easily? So easily that you project it onto and all over others because your empathy reservoir is flooded with the belief that only being proud can achieve the level of self-esteem required to go on living between bouts of shame, dutifully spewed too wherever the wont warrants?

The first time I heard "Green Manalishi", it was from Judas Priest's Hell Bent for Leather, the American title of Killing Machine. The band added the earlier cover they'd done to the US release, which sported a title that was apparently more palatable to CBS/Columbia. It's been noted that this had to do with the Cleveland Elementary School shooting, which had just happened, and that the company didn't like the "murderous implications" of the British title.

Six months later, when the same company released "I Don't Like Mondays", the Boomtown Rats' song with an explicit reference to the same shooting in its title and lyrics, I guess the potential controversy had finally died from its injuries. Or it could be that the original title was just too on the nose for the sense of good smell of some executive, who had either moved on to other boardroom adventures by July, or for whom the implications of "Hell Bent for Leather" lay just as liminal.

Save for projecting squeamishness onto the image of the corporate suit, I do not intend to suggest that there's a comparison to be made between gay leather bondage and shooting people out of boredom, except to say that neither pride nor shame does much for either. Unless that's what you're into.

I listened to that version of "The Green Manalishi (With the Two Prong Crown)" on a Sony Walkman knock-off, manufactured by GE, the multinational that Tim Robbins said "brings good things to death", live on one of their network's marquee programs, which either confirms how free one was to speak truth to power, even via their own network, or is an indication of the meaninglessness of that brand of freedom. Unless being able to call out the things you cannot change is what you're into.

Green manalishi and its crown with two prongs is suggestive of a quite crucial freedom. It's a freedom pregnant with promise. It's also a freedom fraught with devastation.

In this free world, should one be lucky enough to be pricked by its offer, one can sign to a major record label and, as if winning the lottery, make enough to live for the rest of one's life, high on the pride of the accomplishment of moving units, living on top of the charted world, assuming one'd gotten a good deal. Or, should one be unlucky, receive the accomplishment with a feeling of emptiness and depression, or toil for someone who rips you off your entire career, or wallow in the frustration imposed by the stupid shame of a one-hit wunderkind.

Peter Green was luckier than all that, according to my projections. Whereas some attribute to LSD, and the subsequent onset of schizophrenia, a life cut short of its full potential, I imagine that he took a trip to the future and saw the glorious potential others would project onto him and decided rather on a version that includes the period at the end of this sentence. If the account is to be believed, at the full stop of his own life yesterday, peacefully and in his sleep, he was neither proud nor ashamed of the choices he'd made.

By his choosing to leave them behind, Peter Green led Fleetwood Mac to unrivalled success. He also avoided having to further experience all of that success' melodrama, something the band would also have in spades. Again, I wouldn't want to suggest that too many doses of a mind altering compound is better than a decade of cocaine abuse — even so, it really depends — for nothing I can say about either one alters the experience of those who had them. And in this particular case, nobody seems to be wanting to switch places.

And other than Peter Green, who's to say that his future with Fleetwood Mac would not have been the same obscure life he had had as an underrated blues musician? Why deny Fleetwood Mac and their fans much greater recognition?

With an ample catalogue of subsequent solo music as evidence — and this's just my projection, so it doesn't matter in the least — had Peter Allen Greenbaum never done acid, he'd have drowned in a bathtub in 1977, Mick Fleetwood would have jobbed as a hired drummer for the next decade and then done the same, and Buckingham/Nicks would've become a one-hit wonder capped off by a murder-suicide as an indirect result of an unfortunate session with the Eagles. And we wouldn't have The Green Manalishi.

Or this:

Sunday, 19 July 2020

The Opaque Network of Genii

The humorless musings from along the spectrum are legitimate as far as their being the default result of hailing from the spectrum, but the presentation of the assumption of good faith cannot keep it from popping up on the bullshit radar, especially when it's couched in the smarmily layered lingo of the concern troll.

Having said all that, it's not easy for someone not well-versed in certain rhetorical methodologies to recognize their use in conversation, let alone for someone unaware of their existence who happens to get caught in the flashy employment of every one in the wheelhouse.

Friday, 17 July 2020

Gorge Core - Battle of Songtan

In which an honest man does not ultimately spin what he could've so as not to lose an argument.

In the distance up the road, an 80's model El Camino taxis a black U-2 spy plane from the flightline around to the runway before speeding off and out of the way as the aircraft lifts off at a remarkably steep climb and disappears into the  grey sky behind the 40 foot drying tower of the shop.

The ear crushing rumble vibrates the barred windows that run along a wall to the side of a long table with a parachute stretched out on it. The noise fades, revealing a discussion from inside the BREAK ROOM.

Seated around a square table playing Spades are four men: Two sergeants, GEORGE and LEW, and one airman, ANDY, are dressed in olive-drab Air Force fatigues. An old Korean man, MR. SIN, is dressed in white coveralls.

Another sergeant, JERRY, leans against a sink at the window and reads from a thick, black binder.

JERRY: "An excessive purchase of duty-free goods takes place when an otherwise authorized individual purchases duty-free goods in excess of his or her personal needs."

LEW: See there? It's meant for family, George, not your yobo and all her girlfriends.

MR. SIN: (doesn't look up from cards, but punctuates the following with a finger)
Korean no can BX, no can Commissary.

GEORGE: Lemme see that. (grabs the manual and reads.)
"All personnel will restrict purchases to those required for personal needs, needs of authorized (sheepishly) family members, (reassured) AAAND BONA FIDE GIFTS!"

See! That means I can feed guests that aren't dependant family! 

ANDY: (laughing) How much can they eat?

LEW: Dammit, George! If you're buying that many cans of Spam every single time you go the Commissary, either you got one Spam eatin' bitch, or she's selling the shit downtown!

George throws his cards down, gets up from the table and storms out of the room.

GEORGE: I'm settling this once and for all.

Everyone else follows him, leaving Mr. Sin at the table alone. He throws down his cards.

MR. SIN: Sheeiii'!

George picks up the receiver of the phone on the desk and dials a number.

JERRY: Who you callin', George?

GEORGE: I'm calling the SPs.

ANDY: (laughing) The SPs.

LEW: Not sure that's a good idea.

GEORGE: Hi. Um, yeah. Can my yobo eat my Spam?  (...)  Uh-huh. Okay, thanks. Bye.


LEW: What'd they tell you?

ANDY: Yeah. What did they say, George?

GEORGE: They said sure as long as you don't tell us about it.


Monday, 13 July 2020

Lid or ratchure

Where the solution to "the system may _______ a small fee" is the result at the end of a movement that'd be tempting to call bloody Huxleyrious were it not already downright Forsterating.

Thursday, 9 July 2020

One Saul, One Cup

In this week's episode, tough but lovable killer Mike tells Saul what he's going to have to eat to survive.