No rule
Is written on a whim.
There is a reason
For the no
And the do not. There are
Forces that
Dictate the charges
By forging a path
For the righteous man.
His way
Is perhaps the high way
That everyone talks about
But few venture to enter.
-jim hill (12-23-08)
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Blue. Period.
FAITH
No one believes that it can’t happen;
In fact they believe that it can
A hungry man can walk
A sightless man can feed himself
An ageless sinner
Brought to her knees for a feast
The bright
The bushy can be tamed to obey
All these things
Are written
And what is erased
Can’t be put into words
Nor
Works.
-jim hill (12-17-08)
No one believes that it can’t happen;
In fact they believe that it can
A hungry man can walk
A sightless man can feed himself
An ageless sinner
Brought to her knees for a feast
The bright
The bushy can be tamed to obey
All these things
Are written
And what is erased
Can’t be put into words
Nor
Works.
-jim hill (12-17-08)
What You Do Around the Campfire
What You Do Around the Campfire
Pig on the spit
A feast
For
All.
Wearing out
Our welcome
In funny beach comedy style,
We swig
Cheaply
And break the zipper
‘round midnight
the coyotes come to
feast and scare
us
to death.
The fog rolls
As Grady
Dons a fat suit
And sweats
Out yesterday’s
Dr Pepper and Vivarin
While Margaret
Drives the midnight blue Vega
And watches
Me with the gulls
It's back
To swim
With the youngsters
Afterwards treat
My scalp
For “classic staph”
I call you
From a wal-mart phone
And leave
Cryptics that night
You promptly
Pre-empt an intercept
And tell the Englishman to hike
I was young then
I should tell you
Crayons were
My instruments of choice.
I work hard
At putting these together
So you can read
And meditate how you fit in
Which pronoun is you
As in which she am i.
Things are getting ugly
With the swirlies and the ADD
Kicking down the doors of
My sanctuary.
Just know that
I don’t dream of you
At the beach
‘cause I never saw you there
there is no sand in the li’l pink pouch
(which I’ve misplaced).
You gave me a book and a pen
And a bottle of wine
For Xmas –
Which I read, and used,
And drank. Thank you.
(These are
The things
That I found washed up,
Encased in
Beach tar, which no
Amount of scrubbing
Can remove).
-jim hill (12-17-08)
Pig on the spit
A feast
For
All.
Wearing out
Our welcome
In funny beach comedy style,
We swig
Cheaply
And break the zipper
‘round midnight
the coyotes come to
feast and scare
us
to death.
The fog rolls
As Grady
Dons a fat suit
And sweats
Out yesterday’s
Dr Pepper and Vivarin
While Margaret
Drives the midnight blue Vega
And watches
Me with the gulls
It's back
To swim
With the youngsters
Afterwards treat
My scalp
For “classic staph”
I call you
From a wal-mart phone
And leave
Cryptics that night
You promptly
Pre-empt an intercept
And tell the Englishman to hike
I was young then
I should tell you
Crayons were
My instruments of choice.
I work hard
At putting these together
So you can read
And meditate how you fit in
Which pronoun is you
As in which she am i.
Things are getting ugly
With the swirlies and the ADD
Kicking down the doors of
My sanctuary.
Just know that
I don’t dream of you
At the beach
‘cause I never saw you there
there is no sand in the li’l pink pouch
(which I’ve misplaced).
You gave me a book and a pen
And a bottle of wine
For Xmas –
Which I read, and used,
And drank. Thank you.
(These are
The things
That I found washed up,
Encased in
Beach tar, which no
Amount of scrubbing
Can remove).
-jim hill (12-17-08)
Even the Electric Songs are Ballads
Even the Electric Songs are Ballads
My fingers bleed
As my eyes are raw
You’re gone
And you've left me
Hearing
Voices
The walls
Move in
And i
Stay out late
Trying hard
Not to stray.
The sound
Of you
In my head
Is lost to erasure
And i
Dread rewinding.
-jim hill (12-17-08)
My fingers bleed
As my eyes are raw
You’re gone
And you've left me
Hearing
Voices
The walls
Move in
And i
Stay out late
Trying hard
Not to stray.
The sound
Of you
In my head
Is lost to erasure
And i
Dread rewinding.
-jim hill (12-17-08)
Friday, December 12, 2008
Untitled
Smoked radish
When I want
To say
I love you
Sun-dried Tomato Hummus
When I step
Out on the stoop
And bare it to the wind
Fondue and Feta for
A rush of that
Redness to the head
And heart
(but hide at home)
Cheese-blocks carved on butcher-block
Dovetails
Make me cry.
The craft and the hope
Of solidity
And permanence.
Your lips
Parted -
I recall
When they said my name -
Then bitten
By the host
Of this most
happy meal
-jim hill (10-17-08, 12-11-08)
When I want
To say
I love you
Sun-dried Tomato Hummus
When I step
Out on the stoop
And bare it to the wind
Fondue and Feta for
A rush of that
Redness to the head
And heart
(but hide at home)
Cheese-blocks carved on butcher-block
Dovetails
Make me cry.
The craft and the hope
Of solidity
And permanence.
Your lips
Parted -
I recall
When they said my name -
Then bitten
By the host
Of this most
happy meal
-jim hill (10-17-08, 12-11-08)
The Met
The Met
i’d like to
Be
the cool drink
Of water,
Quenching her,
her hydrophobic
Pallette.
a cat
To her burgled
Drawers –
Sniffing
And pawing and chasing
a phantom string.
A clutch bag
At her operatic
Position:
Full-throated
When
She ends the song –
As the singer stops –
Just as the singer stops singing.
-jim hill (12-11-08)
i’d like to
Be
the cool drink
Of water,
Quenching her,
her hydrophobic
Pallette.
a cat
To her burgled
Drawers –
Sniffing
And pawing and chasing
a phantom string.
A clutch bag
At her operatic
Position:
Full-throated
When
She ends the song –
As the singer stops –
Just as the singer stops singing.
-jim hill (12-11-08)
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Crystal Glue Equation
once he had
mountains
i believe
in the palm
his hand was
deft
and wrote (by rote)
many thing(s).
his books
took you
away
from all that
you were
and forced
you in to
corners
of a daft
and familiar certainty.
mountains
i believe
in the palm
his hand was
deft
and wrote (by rote)
many thing(s).
his books
took you
away
from all that
you were
and forced
you in to
corners
of a daft
and familiar certainty.
You Lose If I Keep the Original(s)
keep them coming, shysters
order off the menu, dweeb
pizza means italian, stupid
int hec hair
alli s lost
ma ns ma nhood
an dal lhis gl ory.
t heend
don't you see where all this is headed?
i'm talking about government-sponsored catatonia
in which the wide-eyed become
proseletyzers (or however it's spelt)
sure, as a medium,
ms. abbott
has grown,
but if she sticks
to the very bottom
of the food chain
perhaps she'll lose
more than the card-reading
pounds she's acquired
i don't pretend to "know"
people
i just shake them down when
i can
and pound the flesh
when it gets cloudy out
i saw a bruise once
that was shaped just like
italy
and that made me think
of padua
and those glorious
mortar-free fences.
i think it's architecture
that has ultimately boxed us in
with virtually nowhere to escape
we go to the jungle
and we look for the context
of the city
look for patterns and a way
through the maze
and the pilgrims
have been no help
not at all.
order off the menu, dweeb
pizza means italian, stupid
int hec hair
alli s lost
ma ns ma nhood
an dal lhis gl ory.
t heend
don't you see where all this is headed?
i'm talking about government-sponsored catatonia
in which the wide-eyed become
proseletyzers (or however it's spelt)
sure, as a medium,
ms. abbott
has grown,
but if she sticks
to the very bottom
of the food chain
perhaps she'll lose
more than the card-reading
pounds she's acquired
i don't pretend to "know"
people
i just shake them down when
i can
and pound the flesh
when it gets cloudy out
i saw a bruise once
that was shaped just like
italy
and that made me think
of padua
and those glorious
mortar-free fences.
i think it's architecture
that has ultimately boxed us in
with virtually nowhere to escape
we go to the jungle
and we look for the context
of the city
look for patterns and a way
through the maze
and the pilgrims
have been no help
not at all.
Friday, December 5, 2008
tell tale signs and pall mall cigarettes
Have been listening exclusively to Dylan's latest official "bootleg" - Tell Tale Signs - unreleased/live/alternative-takes of performances from 1989 (oh, mercy) to present (modern times). It is a fantastic 2-disk collection that will amaze and inspire you. It will also puzzle and mystify you. It will make you wonder what you've done with your own life - frittering away your time listening to someone else's song while your own remains unsung. The drawings you haven't made, the paintings you haven't finished, the plans for exhibition you haven't realized. yes, i'm angry, but also lazy and stupefied. paralyzed in a parallax view.
Maya Bloch
For all may visit this blog, you simply must also visit Maya Bloch's flickr postings. She is an Israeli painter/artist in Tel Aviv and her work is amazing, guttural, tender, eviscerating, real, and emotive. Please, please, please (as james brown used to say), visit her NOW!! http://www.flickr.com/photos/miainheskyofdiamond/
maybe i'll start another blog
There seems to be this need to for people to both express and connect. i visit many blogs a day and there is an infinite variety of these expressions and connections. whole networks/communities are formed by seemingly random and/or serendipitous clicking and accessing. It's amazing.
as for me, i'm thinking of starting yet another blog that will itemize/define/purge my growing list of obsessive tendencies. it would be a way to both save these things for posterity (as much as one can electronically) and serve as a reminder that i have traveled far but am no closer. it could also be a way for others to remind themselves that they are certainly not alone in their eccentricities. now - what to call this new blog?!! hmmm.
as for me, i'm thinking of starting yet another blog that will itemize/define/purge my growing list of obsessive tendencies. it would be a way to both save these things for posterity (as much as one can electronically) and serve as a reminder that i have traveled far but am no closer. it could also be a way for others to remind themselves that they are certainly not alone in their eccentricities. now - what to call this new blog?!! hmmm.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
aromatherapy
i first learned about aromatherapy the hard way - while working on a furniture truck and being trapped in the cab with an unwashed driver. it was winter (in cartown) and there wasn't anyway to escape. i think at that point i was forced to become a mouth-breather and remain one to this day. thank you, Percy Boutin - note: the Brut you applied did little but offer olfactory conflict - a condition to which i've never outgrown.
"... was thinking 'bout turquoise; was thinking about gold..."
Dylan's "Isis" came into my head. I first heard that - where else - on the radio - back in Jan '77. The album from which it came, "Desire," was an exclusive - played by a DJ at KPFT. Played the entire album. WOW!! don't you wish music still had the same sort of power - to make you long for a record's release? to compel you to the record store and be the first to purchase? I do.
Once the album was released, i bought it at evolution tapes & records in baytown (baytown is cartown), then took it back to college with me for my final semester of my senior year. what a time, what a time. That song and all of dylan's ouevre sustained me and a lot of the other art students. We played Dylan non-stop as we pulled lithos and printed intaglio editions. a great time - actually a "splendid time was guaranteed for all."
Back to "Isis." my girlfriend in late '79, early '80 - margaret carter - worked at the record exchange on westheimer in houston. knowing her provided me access to the store's entire selection - all their rare and bootlegged material. of that massive collection, they had a promotional copy of an ep featuring songs from "renaldo and clara" - the favorite of which was a blistering live take of "Isis." Holy Mother - the rolling thunder review pulled out all the stops on that song!!!! Mick Ronson on guitar!?! Dylan introduced the song by saying, "this is for Leonard if he's still here (referring to Leonard Cohen). Btw, a partial video of the song can be found on the official "bootleg" Live in '75. Check it out.
Once the album was released, i bought it at evolution tapes & records in baytown (baytown is cartown), then took it back to college with me for my final semester of my senior year. what a time, what a time. That song and all of dylan's ouevre sustained me and a lot of the other art students. We played Dylan non-stop as we pulled lithos and printed intaglio editions. a great time - actually a "splendid time was guaranteed for all."
Back to "Isis." my girlfriend in late '79, early '80 - margaret carter - worked at the record exchange on westheimer in houston. knowing her provided me access to the store's entire selection - all their rare and bootlegged material. of that massive collection, they had a promotional copy of an ep featuring songs from "renaldo and clara" - the favorite of which was a blistering live take of "Isis." Holy Mother - the rolling thunder review pulled out all the stops on that song!!!! Mick Ronson on guitar!?! Dylan introduced the song by saying, "this is for Leonard if he's still here (referring to Leonard Cohen). Btw, a partial video of the song can be found on the official "bootleg" Live in '75. Check it out.
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