This is finished

I am done here. the heart is dead. But then there was light!

Littletrout.tumblr.com

go there for some music and what not

What I bought.

Just found this in an old cigar case I found while going through a chest of drawers Sal gave me a couple months before he past. I remember this chair.
__________________________________________________________________
What I Bought.

What I bought was an old orange chair.
Inviting with the arms of a grandmother.
An anchor, really. A line taught to the floor.
Well, I sit there and I read. I put my feet up
on one of the family's old wooden dining chairs.
Inherited somehow.
Kind of like parting a pack, when you think about it.

The orange fabric is scuzzy with age though taught as a youth.
Its got a hugging type of feel to it. Sitting there it pokes you.
Gently while wispering funny stories at your sides.
The back rest is concave. Most likely from too much elderly usage.
A borrowed pillow returns the plush vibes it once gave off.

What I bought was relaxing comfort.
Both physycally and mentally.
A chair to call my own in a world i'm revisiting.
We'll get to know each other over the coming years.
Until the dust becomes too unbearable
Or your springs become too brittle and break
But I see none of that happening anytime soon.


Lexington, KY 1991
____________________________________________________________________

The Means

Sal sent me a little piece of paper a few years ago. He told me it was something that fell out of an old hat box, which he was taking to the trash. As an apologizing for not actually sending me the hat, Sal sent along lengthy essay about some wandering neighborhood cat. I guess that was when i really realized he was starting to go. This little poem was found at the bottom of the envelope.
__________________________________________________________
The Means

I'll catch up with the rest of them.
Run out of this fog wearing the best matched clothes of them all.
I'll meet them at the finish line.
But after it's over I'll be able to take that shit off, returning free.

Fort Worth, TX 2/14/1990
__________________________________________________________

Chanbara

I think if Sal were still alive and kicking I'd have shown him this video. I remember him asking me if I were into Myles Davis and some other jazz artists. My taste for jazz unfortunately came a bit later as well as my taste for the music of At the Drive-in. I'm sure, though, that Sal and I could have reconciled the differences between the two artists and he could have really liked this band. This one's for you, Sal.

Back to school!

Finally a last push towards the end of the semester. Papers and projects. Most of the students have been showing up to class completely unaware that there was actually homework during the break. This made for a real awakening once class started last Monday.

Here's a poem from from the mid seventies. I think it tells a good waking up story. Makes me feel all rosy inside.

________________________________________________

Looking around the room. I've awakened in a foreign bed.
Not so bad as there is someone here with me.
Soft scratching sounds as my hair rustles against the pillow.
Warm orange light coming in through the wall of curtain covered glass.
Its fresh. She must have opened the window.
I wonder what I'll eat for breakfast. Last time it was pasta.
Today warm bread and jam. Espresso on the side.
I have not a care in the world.

Gretna, NE 7/16/1976
_______________________________________________

Forever New Year

I made it back from Budapest last night. It felt as if yesterday was split into two days. The first part was spent traveling (16+ hours by bus and train from Budapest to Jena by way of Bratislava, Prague, and Dresden). The second part punctuated by the ever human quest for nourishment (a trip to subway followed by a very mouthwatering supermarket visit). Now, however, I am waiting for sleepiness to take over as I watch 'State of Play' and anticipate the new day tomorrow. Classes begin again for me at 2pm. A relaxing reintroduction into curricular matters is slowly taking over.


Christmas was another amazing adventure altogether. I had no expextations except to eat, and eat we did. I was met at the Roman airport by my good friend Giulia, who was kind enough to let me stay with her and her family. From the 23rd to the 28th of December mastication was the main activity. Though on repeat occations the Itallian family with whom I was staying made it implicitly clear that the amount of eating going on during the holidays is not normal and by no means should be a measure of the typical Italian's lust for food. If I were to come back any other time, they promised, I would see a very typical culture of food. During these five days my mouth was literally overrun by all things edible. On the 24th the meal consisted of five rounds of fish. The meat came the next day. It was on the 26th when i thought to myself, "I could never live here. Its an Italian restaurant with no end." That is by no means a negative. But growing up with the American food culture i have become very used to trading off food nationalities as my desire sees fit. By the 28th it was time to say goodbye to Rome for a while.

I caught my plane back to Berlin where I hopped on a train to Dresden. In Dresden I was layed over until about 3am on the 29th when my Hungarian bus arrived to take me away to Budapest.


For the four days I had some company. I would be spending alot of my time with two very pleasant Brazilian exchange students, Bernardo and Gabriel. I've known Gabriel since the beginning of the winter semester so it would prove no problem to pal around with them and see what trouble we could get into. Where in Rome I just ate in Budapest I just danced. I was able to bring in the new year by dancing for seven hours straight. It was at dawn we finally made our way back to the Hostel. The new year should prove to be a good one. I'm very glad to meet you 2010. Double digets is cause for double trouble? sure.

I Found a poem in Sal's box written while bringing in the year 1982. It must have been a somber and reflective time for him. It's not so much a sad poem as it is contemplative one. Enjoy...
_____________________________________________________________________________
Forever New Year -

In a forever new year I trace dark wrinkles between thumbs and index fingers.
... I walk and remember those connections like tendons severed for lack of interest.
... I gaze around rooms and contemplate the cracks and lives of dust bunnies.
... I make a reference, though whispered, in homage to all things humanly created.
In a forever new year I wait for the sun to rise and watch as this space gains a soul.

Cody, WY 1/1/1982
____________________________________________________________________________

The Snap

Before I hit the road tomorrow to Rome I thought I'd share another poem from Sal's earlier days. It's one of my favorites.
______________________________________________________________________
The Snap-

Took a break to snap the fingers a few times.
You see, I've been working up a technique, here.
Never been really good at the snap in general.
Giving more chances than I should seems to be my nature.
In this spirit I gave it a few more tries.
A snap, a quick little kick of a couple appendages.
The middle finger and the thumb.
Though this may be disputed, it's what I've shined to.
I'm sure there's some wildly deep meaning for these two fingers,
But who's the time to get into that debate.
The problem I run into when snapping
Is my fingers haven't grown out of their soft macaroni phase.
This lends to my utter inability to grasp any finger-centric
Operations that cross my path.
Just send the task on down the line.
It's going to be the way of this 'snapping gesture' as well.
Damn lousy fingers...

Bismark, 6/13/1970
______________________________________________________________________

The box keeps giving.

A another lost poem by my good friend, Mr. Song. May he rest in peace.
_________________________________________________________________
Insect Love -

The man jumped in order to punctuate his thought.
He jumped up straight with purpose and fluidity.
The jump was nothing special, though.
To be honest I almost missed the thing.
Tragedy struck on the return landing.
The poor man landed and ended a black ants life.
To be clear I love a good bug squashing.
But I had my eye on that ant.
Had my eye while the man was ranting and sputtering.
It held my gaze as my mind began to wander.
What are you ant? How do you think?
For a moment I was in love.
I contemplated my life with the ant.
A six hour ant foot massage.
I became restless and my eyes watered.

Thud

The ant was a wreck.
It's bunda continued to squirm around.
Trying to separate from the crushed head.
I Held my breath as long as I could.
My ears popped with pressure.
How long is too long?

"Sal!"

I coughed out and inhaled.
Looked up and panted.

"You know you killed an ant?" I asked.

"Hmm?" the man didn't understand.

"That ant there." I came back clearly.

"Lets get some food." he muttered with a shrug.

I ate twice my weight in french fries for my lost companion.
Because what is there to do after realizing your love has no boundary.

New Jersey, 12/20/1985
_____________________________________________________________________

I think I'm in love.

I think I'm in love with with a Bolivian climate negotiator but I just don't know how to tell her. I feel it would be advantageous to take a trip to her country, say hello and just see what happens. Life.

Incredible

A Present Day Family Hux

Last day of classes before the Christmas break. Next Wednesday I will be on my way to Rome til the 28th. I am really excited to spend the holidays Italian style. This will provide many opportunities for me to make an ass of myself, Tony style.

And for your enjoyment here's another poem from the shoebox of the late Sal Song:
__________________________________________________________
A Present Day Family Hux

Pockets need a datebook like a bomb needs a fuse.
Keeping them dates like it's the mid-eighties and your Claire Huxtable.
Swinging your hips while your way-too-cool-to-look-cool husband rants about jello near the couch.
Disorganization is the cesspool of the gods and playground of the devils.
Please be sure to remember to jot down names AND numbers.
Because who knows what may come up later?

Idaho, 4/17/78
_________________________________________________________

Debate Class

I took some major time off to contemplate the death of Sal. You see he's been morphing into something really different since he'd past. For a moment there i didn't even think he was truly dead. I stumbled upon a shoe box with some of his poetry inside. I'm sure he wouldn't mind me putting it up on the nets...

_________________________________________________________________________________
Debate Class

Eating an ice cream cone from the bottom up - AKA 'stuffed-crust style' -
is equal to the writing of a word made up of consonants but only using vowels.
Turning pages only because there may be a chance of a paper cut
is equal to rolling on the ground. period. because who rolls on the ground?
Petting animals from ass to head just to give them a different feeling
is equal to making movie posters to books you have never read.
Debating the moral worth of soft drinks in terms of their fattening qualities
is equal to believing in the premise of 'Pay It Forward'.

Ontario 7/19/1980
________________________________________________________________________________

Damn, I really miss that guy.

Picture = Damien Frost "Me and Jill Stowell reflect on our lives while smoking crack in a cheap motel room somewhere in South Western Australia"

It's about damn time

This planet has just waited to damn long for this.

christmas time

Do They Know It's Christmas? from Scott Aukerman on Vimeo.

Motherfucking deer bit me in the neck!

Joe v. the Deer 911 Call sound bite 911 Calls sound bites

Butterfly 911 Emergency Call sound bite 911 Calls sound bites

Never Gonna Catch Me sound bite 911 Calls sound bites

Twins: the metaphor for how it really is.

I was sitting towards the back of the bus this morning. It made a stop at Gustav Fischer Str and two twin boys about 4 years old take the seats on either side of their mother. I spent about five minutes just staring at them while bobbing my head to the music coming in through my headphones. Three minutes in one of the twins is staring back at me imitating my head movement. Our eyes meet. It was strange. I knew he had no idea what he was doing or imitating. Quickly I looked away, as would I have done with a peer after being caught staring. It was then that I realized what these two small kids were, to me anyway.

In my twisted thoughts they started me thinking about some long and linked chain. A chain of people. A chain of organisms. These two small boys linked by their mother to everything and everyone around them. My eyes and thoughts started to wander around the bus mingling with the other passengers. I was recognizing connections all over the place. the mothers body language to the kids and the kids' to the older couple sitting adjacent. There was also this seemingly disgruntled woman of about 27 who looked like she wanted nothing to do with these kids. It could have been their hygiene as I could definitely smell some kid stink being wafted about.

It was at that moment that everyone turned into a tribe of monkeys or apes. all their sideways glances and shifting about to get to the most opportune spot without having to interact or create conflict with the others. It was animal behavior. I was at peace. We are no better and we are no worse than those friends we keep in the wilderness, our bestial counterparts.

I would whistle in octaves

I'm gonna find you, love.

Fugazi - Repeater

This song is too damn good.

Primer

I just finished watching this film. It was made on a 7,000 dollar budget and is just over an hour long. Just long enough to really twist your brain in a knot.