Aural Shrapnel

I’m re-discovering the joys of an Odeo account and have recorded a few poetry tracks. These and alot more will eventually be integrated into my web site, but until that happens, I thought I would share some mp3s here. Download and dig in!

After The Applause

A Glimmer

Big Bang

The War At Home

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And now a little noise

Head on over to DaDa Yow and check out the newest knotcast. I have one older piece of mine called ‘Alienation’, sort of a droning guitar noise piece, included in the set. Best part is I am right next to The Haters!

Knotcast #8 – Featured audio-artists in 8: B3nt M3dia, Krabatof Philharmonic Orchestra, Jewbagel, Wayne Mason, The Haters, and Justynn Tyme.

Makes me want to go do some recording again!

Back from the dead

I haven’t been on here on awhile, or much of anywhere else for that matter.
I’ve been pretty much dried up. Too much work, too much real life, I think it was all finally starting to win. But there is always this tiny spark burning inside that can never quite go out. The writing is coming again, the submissions are going out again. I haven’t felt like this in quite a long time.

Been reading a lot of Ryoken this weekend:
“Who says my poems are poems?
These poems are not poems.
When you can understand this,
then we can begin to speak of poetry”

Labor Day is this Monday, drink a beer for me and remember all the faceless proletariats putting on steel toed boots before dawn, but more so remember all the people for which there is no labor day from sweat shops in the third world to the fast food dives of America. Wordcore is Friday, I’ll be reading an “industrial” set for all of you!

Every day is labor day!

The work week is over, I have clocked out and left that factory far behind me.
But I close my eyes and I still see that cancerous blemish on Whitmans America.
In my ears it’s still the cacophony of commerce, the shaking hiss clanking of metal on metal.

Here I go again bitching and pouting. They say you become what you hate, I don’t know about all that although I am as daft and repetitive as that factory….. that factory makes money and that lets me out, all I’m making is a deep grave.

I’ve birthed to many poems due to that factory, and I’m working on one more. An epic one, a big bang, a poem made of blood and sweat, a poem for the nameless proletariats of America to the children in third world sweat shops.

For now, a drink for you.