Have you heard this yet? “Paper Hanging (Where the Blood Is)” by yours truly 🙌 – http://www.reverbnation.com/open_graph/song/30030769
“The escape would have been to love her; then, then he would have lived. She had lived—who could say now with what passion?—since she had loved him for himself; whereas he had never thought of her (ah how it hugely glared at him!) but in the chill of his egotism and the light of her use. Her spoken words came back to him—the chain stretched and stretched. * * * * The Beast had lurked indeed, and the Beast, at its hour, had sprung; it had sprung in that twilight of the cold April when, pale, ill, wasted, but all beautiful, and perhaps even then recoverable, she had risen from her chair to stand before him and let him imaginably guess. It had sprung as he didn’t guess; it had sprung as she hopelessly turned from him, and the mark, by the time he left her, had fallen where it was to fall. He had justified his fear and achieved his fate; he had failed, with the last exactitude, of all he was to fail of; and a moan now rose to his lips as he remembered she had prayed he mightn’t know. * * * * This horror of waking—this was knowledge, knowledge under the breath of which the very tears in his eyes seemed to freeze. Through them, none the less, he tried to fix it and hold it; he kept it there before him so that he might feel the pain. That at least, belated and bitter, had something of the taste of life. But the bitterness suddenly sickened him, and it was as if, horribly, he saw, in the truth, in the cruelty of his image, what had been appointed and done. He saw the Jungle of his life and saw the lurking Beast; then, while he looked, perceived it, as by a stir of the air, rise, huge and hideous, for the leap that was to settle him. His eyes darkened—it was close; and, instinctively turning, in his hallucination, to avoid it, he flung himself, face down, on the tomb.” — Henry James “The Beast in the Jungle” (1903)
— Read on m.facebook.com/story.php
Hey. It’s me. P.E.T. Trying out this Reverb Nation site to host my homeless music, because Soundcloud is a shitshow/clusterfuk, and Spotify will only host an artist that’s is vetted, so to speak, by their “editorial” committee, or “ministry,of culture”, or whatever—anyway, if you’re starved for some of that untouched, home-recorded (i.e. free-range), rock-hard-heartbroke, LSD-25 strength, um, jams…stop by? See ya around.
Gemini ♊️/down by law
THE VIMA TRESNA
“THE BLUE CURTAIN” (EXCLUSIVE DOWNLOAD)
“AS YOU WERE”
(…and other golden money shots!)
MEMO TO ANALYST CAPT. H.E. ORMOROD:
HUNTER, HOPE THIS FINDS YOU WELL!
THE BOYS HERE RECEIVED THIS A COUPLE DAYS AGO;
I GOT NOTHING…CARE TO VENTURE A GUESS? CALL
NEXT TIME YOU HIT D.C. GET A BITE.
—GEN. BORGES, L.C.Q.P.
:STATION MINOS HEARTBEAT:
I DON’T KNOW THAT THIS NAME, OR SET OF WORD-LIKE SYMBOLS HAS ANY MEANING IN
REALITY; I WOKE UP ONE MORNING CIRCA 2003 AND IT WAS ON THE TIP OF MY TONGUE. IT WAS IN MY HEAD. I DON’T KNOW WHY, OR WHERE IT ORIGINATED. I SUPPOSE IT WAS BRAIN STATIC WHICH OCCURRED DURING THE BROADCAST OF A DREAM. ONE OF MY DREAMS I ASSUME. WHO KNOWS?
THIS SONG I’VE SENT YOU; I WROTE IT A LONG TIME AGO, NOW.
“WHITE HOT DIMINISHED STAR”
IT’S KINDA LIKE DREAMING OF…LIKE SOMETHING PRECIOUS AND PERFECT…AND WHAT THEY MEAN WHEN THEY SAY: DID YOO SEE THAT FREAKIN’ METEOR SHOWER?! IT WAS “BEAUTIFUL”!;
THAT GIRL…WITH THOSE EYES…AND THE WAY THERE IS SOMETHING. ABOUT. THE NAPE…OF A WOMAN’S…NECK:
LIKE A METEOR SHOWER.
LIKE THE SHAPE OF ORCHIDS.
SHE (she must be a she, whatever it is that haunts this song. there was NOTHING and then one day there was HER. she had to be herself because, after all, she had no choice in the matter, kid.) ANYWAYYYYYYYYYYY…..WHAT IT COMES DOWN TO FOR THIS SADSACK NARRATOR OF THIS STUPID SONG IS:
dear, o, so dear to my heart & also it causes stomach aches!
a very foolish character is the guy in this song.
spectacular failure of a life. by now our narrator
is so thoroughly beaten down by life that
he almost seems to luxuriate in his vocation of
HOPELESSNESS as one does with a cozy, fraying
our, um, “singer”
is in a real hurry
to go ABSOLUTELY N-O-W-H-E-R-E.
but after having thoroughly soured on &
practically renounced any & all notions of
the vapid zombie-lust
“sporting life” wastelands
his head is turned one day
but in an unfamiliar way.
a strange HER.
she is simply going out
of her way to be openly, honestly
friendly to a fellow traveler on these
dark & lonely roads of
that was all it took.
little by little he started to
grow fond of the way his head kept
AND JUST WHEN HE REALLY, FINALLY LOOOOOKED AT SHE &
UNDERSTOOD OF SHE SOO NOT BEING
JUST ANOTHER PRETTY FACE
SHE STARTED TO GLOW & GLOW & GLOW
AND GROWWW TOO ILLUMINATED FOR HIM
WHO IS HE ANYHOW TO THINK HE COULD DESERVE TO BE ADORED BY
WHITE LIGHT ALIVE AND SO BRIGHT HE THINKS LIKE “OH I CAN SEE HER
AND REACH HER I’LL JUST BRING THIS RAINCOAT & THESE TWIZZLERS &
WHAT IF AN INCANDESCENT NUCLEAR PHENOMENON FELL
IN LOVE IN A SONG WITH A BOY WHO WROTE NURSERY RHYMES ABOUT
A FALLING STAR THAT GLOWED IN A SIMILAR WAY TO HOW THE MOON GLOWS
EVERY TIME IT FALLS TO EARTH?
WELL, HE MIGHT BE ON HIS WAY ONE DAY TO THINK HE CAN FIND HER SORTA
INNA GIANT FIELD WAITING FOR HIM & GLOWING FOR HIM TO COME…
WELL, THE WAY I UNDERSTAND IT HE CAN NEVER FIND HER NO MATTER HOW FAR HE TRAVELS OR FOR HOWEVER MANY LONG, LONG DARK YEARS HE SPENDS ON HER TRAIL.
I THINK SHE IS A MASSIVE STAR & PROBABLY NOT ANYTHING LIKE A GARDEN VARIETY
MOON, BUT HE’LL NEVER KNOW ANYWAY.
HE RUNS OUTTA TWIZZLERS EVENTUALLY, BUT STILL HAS THAT RAINCOAT AND HE WAS
SO SO ALONE AND JUST PINING FOR HER DAY AND NIGHT, SO HE WROTE THIS SONG
AS A WAY TO HELP WANE AWAY HIS PAIN EVEN FOR IF ONLY FOR LIKE TWO MINUTES A COUPLE TIMES A DAY.
AND THE SONG IS CALLED “WHITE HOT DIMINISHED STAR”
PEOPLE SOMETIMES HEAR HIM WAILING HIS RENDITIONS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FREAKIN’ NIGHT. THEY SAY HE SOUNDS AKIN TO A WOUNDED MONGREL DOG. LIKE ONE YOO MIGHT TAKE PITY ON IF ONLY FOR THE PAINFUL FACT OF HOW UGLY & SCRAWNY & HURT SEEMING IT IS.
STARS ARE IMPOSSIBLY HEARTBREAKING BECAUSE JUST WHEN YOU SORTA THINK YOU
MIGHT UNDERSTAND THEIR GREAT DISTANCE AND JUST KEEP YR EYE ON IT AS YOU TRY TO REACH HER IN THE NIGHT–IF SHE WOULD JUST STAY STILL!
THING IS THAT STAR IS NOT ONLY IMPOSSIBLY FAR AWAY; SHE HAS BEEN TRAVELING CONSTANTLY AWAY FROM YOO FROM DAY ONE.
AS THE UNIVERSE KEEPS EXPANDING AND EXPANDING AND EXPANDING FOREVER
©2017 P.E. Tottenham
“I am not rock and roll. I saw The Name of the Rose; I think I enjoyed it. The Mother’s
son expires in act of cowardice. They left his body by the river…”
Bottle Toom, N.B
At Sesuit Neck, South Dennis, MA
©2018 teagown records
“You’ve been held.
Obsessively since adolescence.
And this— This is the
Acme-appateaser - ”
“Oh! And - you’re my personal
Source of hot, creeping dread.
And the Cobb Sal - Oh, perfect!
Midge has your meat!”ϒÐ
“I mean she’s brought out –
Oh, you’re welc - uh,
The meat plate
(server, after some kind of overly long pause,
effortlessly flashes what may be the most beguilingly
lovely smile, which she will sustain for the eater
what would be for anyone…
for me, so
As you finish your Porterhouse steak –
(Sucking on another Pabst. Hm.) - by
The way…awful nice being your server tonight.
Oh, thank you!
Finally, as you make
The last Porterhouse piece
Disappear down your ugly mouthhole
From behind and into your head
I be the one driving A meat cleaver, hun.”
It finally becomes Crystal clear
That you have a Candle Problem.
The candles on every table in
The Steakhouse: stoicism
Yes. Vanilla scented.
And, yes, it’s true :
All of them sitting;
Ever-eating their Mumble.
Trying not to scream funny
Hope too see ya, too.
You’ve never ventured, erm, you know…
Outside Daddy’s county. And, well…
I think that’s a shame.
And I suppose while I’m at it
(this mildly imperious –
a bit entitled-seeming, yeah.)
I think I’ll repeat something to you:
I think that’s a shame –
I think you became boring.
Understand that it is yr narrow, ever darkening,
Staunch rigor in that stance;
That posture you plant
Pretty much anywhere and everywhere.
The black soil of this county favors one such
As you - you, again like yr Daddy –
Freaking standing: tall, straight, arms crossed.
Just gazing into a middle distance
That has never been
Even a little interesting.
You are this statue: silent, dreary with
Your County thoughts.
(Industrial Arson March 1, 1975, Shelton, Sponge Rubber products factory complex)