Raging gracefully

I have, upon much consideration, changed the title of this blog to one that didn't involve a pun about corpse-fucking. I'm not sold on "thats no way to make friends" as a blog title, but I like it as the title of SOMETHING, so here it is for now.

The new Nacho Picasso record is even better than the last two, and it all moves a little bit tighter. If you see me wandering around hillman, lake city muttering kicking down windows, high on cocaine! you can blame Seattle's burgeoning prominence on the national hip hop scene, and remember that singing it is probably better than doing it.

Feeling angry? Unsatisfied with the current level of critical discourse? Witness the usual mix of incisive verbosity and lowbrow brutality in Andrew Falkous' evisceration of a music reviewer. Granted, Falco is (as usual) a little bit tough on the lad-- it's a thankless job, I know-- but by and large he had it coming.

Words I said to other people:

Do you miss the sound of my voice? Listen to it at Steve Barker's Ordinary Madness Podcast.  We talk about Mudhoney, hip hop, small spaces, Linda's. . . lots of stuff and also some poetry. 

If reading is more your thing, then read this interview by Bryan Edenfield at Babel/Salvage. 

If neither of these things interest you, know that I read at the breadline and it went pretty good.
Setlist was the following: 2012
Neo Takes the Blue Pill
Paintings of Famous Satanists
(filthy jerry and)the Terrifying Truth About Love and Breakfasts
A View From the Hill
A Little Fear of Drowning 
All Things Return to the Charity Pledge Drive

The titles, they just keep getting longer.

Peter Falk, Where Are You Now? (post-midnight freewrite, 5/19(20)/12)

the zeros in the alleys. they zero in on alleys. cars parked, lights on. apartments on an incline. they must have been built in the sixties, because they look like something from an episode of columbo. in the parking lot men beat their chest. they zero in on corners. they corner zeros. seriously, from the font to the bad fake stucco to the faux-rockery, the whole building is hanna barbera. they err on the side of cologne. they err on the side of collars, and all the things you can do with them on a night that's poppin'. the zeros in the valleys. the heros in the alleys. the heros in the alleys and the heros who drag them there, by the collar, sucking or slapping. but really, who designs a building like that? can anyone imagine an actual person smoking anything outside it besides an oversized cigar? this is appropriate for talking dinosaurs, but dinosaurs would not survive out here.

I almost titled this post "elf-promotion" but that would have just been silly.

tomorrow! two readings. one here at the school, where I'll continue to erode my reputation as a responsible adult and then:

prepping breadline stuff today. none of this can change the fact that I'm premium-level irritated that you now have to enter HTML for line breaks in blogspot. you can't just press "enter?" no, you cannot.

Crime and the city

So, for the last three days I've been off my job at the bar, because my boss assumed we'd be slow. I was really hoping to, you know, get money these days, but I've been able to rest (life is amazing with more than five and a half hours of sleep), write (not as much as I'd like), and catch up on the handful of TV shows that I'd use the phrase "catch up on" about. I was readying myself to leave the house to write and eat and drink a little and accidentally socialize when there was a dedicated pow-pow powpowPOW followed by about three guys tearassing down Rainier toward Henderson. I decided it wasn't really in my best to be a peering face out a window at that point; they were wearing blue (I think) and I could tell they were african american but not how old they were or much else. About five minutes later, sirens: ambulances, firetrucks, cop cars. So what I'm saying is that 1) this post is largely a function of giving me something to do until I decide to leave the house and 2) it has nothing much of consequence and 3) when I write about crime, suspicious characters, or whatever, I'll use the more formal, pc "african ameerican," but if I'm talking about a musician I enjoy, awesome writer, etc, I'll just say "black." I noticed that and think it's weird, but don't have the energy right now to lambast myself for maybe being racist, or trying too hard to not sound racist and sounding stupid. have a song:

RIYL: Gigs upcoming/recently past, wishing for windows

I wish that the North Seattle Community College library had its computers right by the windows, like the lab at Swansea U. Because on a day like today when the rain is a little too sog-making for even an avowed sun-indifferent like myself, the best thing ever is to stare out the window with some coffee, while making minor progresses on various projects. The guy at the computer next to me is watching a preview on youtube for "terminator 5." While I'm not going to get too hung up on the artistic integrity of the work of any actors who went on to be politicians, I'd really rather the series just left in at the end of 2; with the metal hand sinking into moltenness. This month I've got two really exciting gigs: first up, on Sunday, I'm "sharing" at Weird and Awesome with Emmett Mongomery. The show, which I think I've mentioned here before, is one of my faves in Seattle. This'll also be the first time I have a gig where I'm basically just supposed to talk. Not do poetry, host something, perform the improv, or give a class presentation. I am excited and curious to see what my brain makes me do. Music break: More or less what I've been listening to while waiting for the new Future of the Left record. The following gig, in a few weeks, is a spoken word thing. I've probably also mentioned The Breadline here, or in other places, before. Stoked to be featuring. Working on some new shit, some new reading formats for old shit, all these things. I guess I should, for continuity's sake mention two previous gigs and their setlists: one at Laura Wachs' Hear/Art Series, where I read: 2012/Knuckledragger/Ways You've Addressed the Fact of being Homeschooled/Little Red Corvette/Rugby '08/National Dreams/A Little Fear of Drowning/Story Problem. I believe I've covered the subsequent gig in Everett. If not, may the demons of pedantry re-claw their way into my blogging habits. A few weeks ago I went to Spokane, featured at Broken Mic, decided I really like Spokane (at least the downtown) and read the following: Zombies and Paint Thinner/Read It Like a Goodbye Note/Secrets of the Hi Score Champions/Genus, Species and Flavour/Ambition is Critical/Hearing Foster the People in Rainier Beach/Little Fear of Drowning/Story Problem. Okay. Now when I lose my reading copies, I can scour my own blog to confirm that yes, a piece I wrote six years ago still often functions as a closer.