Sunday, August 28, 2016

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Worksong 1

After eating burger king for three days straight while trying to finish an album my father had an attack of pancreatitis and had to stay in the hospital for three days.  On the seventh day we rested. He packed the car and left Hollywood and his newest and last recording deal, and we drove to Iowa and bought a house across the street from his mother's. He ate grapes and watermelon for three days straight and taught us how to crush the bitter seeds with our teeth and eat those too, the true nutrition in the fruit is concentrated its seed. Bosses aren't known for their laxity. At certain angles we look like statues and others the elaborate kinesis of breathing patents our astral duty. Don't be afraid to discuss blackness around white people. Even the time burger king almost killed you and saved your life. Supernatural messages stacked into form. How the size of your nostrils indicates brain development and the seeds the fruit lost make ghosts in your DNA haunting you into uselessness. Don't be afraid to fall so deep in love with yourself you disappear        There are no seeded grapes in Los Angeles and so many narrow noses    And beauty, finally, is about something you know   that only your body can communicate     I know why saviors take the long way home     why the seed tastes sweet even though it's bitter     and how to eat it   even when it's not there

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Monday, August 15, 2016

The Black Saint the the Sinnerman

A man and a woman meet in the marketplace. She is selling her body and he is beating his drum. A man and woman meet in a concert hall. She is thinking the music he spins loose as tantrum.  Ah Um and other standards of misused/freedom.  A man and woman meet on the radio. He calls her a hoe and she calls him a prince. Jokes are science. She wears white lace and he wears no rubbers. What eagles, also shrugs. Slugs Tavern smells like burnt wheat and hussies. A man and a woman meet there to touch. A man and a  woman meet at Univesity. She is studying Frederick Douglass and he is learning to count the bones. Jesus was a geneticist and we are mapping our way home. A man and a woman meet on the way home. He tries to corrupt her as if the sins of the father are being visited in prison. Dial tone. Heart bone. Copper and carbon make electricity. Ringing and spinning into thought. The copper in your pineal gland and the carbon in your cerebral cortex. A man a woman meet in the mind. She is electric and he is legba, the trickster, sluggish under her lucky sun. Not every love story is a fairy tale. In fact the best ones simulate the process of waking up from a nightmare; a man and a woman meet in that glare, fuzzy-hearted almost despair of morning. This is a story about the body. Brown in white lace, disgraced and redeemed. There are no more sour grapes. My teeth glow like a railroad. A man and a woman meet on a train. Your brother and your sister don’t speak to you, and I don’t blame them. Do you blame them? Sin is not as simple as breaking a man made rule. Sainthood is not as simple as being good. This is a story about the body. Sweet grapes. Sweetback. Sweet race. Sweet runner. Sweet earth/rising.

Friday, August 12, 2016