Blurbs for That Rare Amalgamation of Blue Hair and Women's Formal Wear
I like Moscovich's book. Read it this weekend. Shards
of it pierced me. Like when you cut yourself a little
while shaving. You don't realize you've done it but
then you look in the mirror later and see a big red
splotch on your neck. Unsettling.
Not a single weak link in the whole thing, absolutely
superb sequencing. My jaw is agape as if I've lockjaw.
I laughed out loud throughout the read.
I like the way the words are on the page - it shows
care about the way one uses language.
I find this micro fiction not only well written well
conceived. I like especially the economy of the
language you use.
I like how yu squeeze other genres between the
micro-fictions -- streamlining the journey -- with a
powerful little aside --
oh I like the titles in large letters - makes it
easier for retirees to read them
Find a copy of the extremely limited edition, handpainted book at the following locations:
Quimby's: Chicago, Illinois
City Lights: San Francisco, CA
Magpie: Vancouver, BC
Confounded Books: Seattle Washington
Powell's City of Books: Portland, Oregon
Looking Glass Books: Portland, Oregon
Reading Frenzy: Portland, Oregon
Skylight Books: Los Angeles, CA
Guitarist Derek Bailey Dies December 25, 2005
Here's a group email I received from Portland improviser JP Jenkins, a guitar player carving his own niche in a wall of dried rosepetals.
Derek Bailey died of motor neuron disease (Lou Gehrig's disease) in
London on the morning of the 25th
I can only say that he is one of my heroes and if you don't know his
music you should try listening to it.
luv JP
"The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and
the intelligent are full of doubt."
-- Bertrand Russell
You can read an interview with Derek Bailey here, he touches on many things, including touring Japan:
Inner-View [The Painted Word]
This series of paintings were done in a Federfrenzy which broke my dot matrix printer. The text is taken from Federman's description of what this photographer put him through in France:
This is this new magazine. The photographer that was sent by the magazine. He came to my hotel room in Paris, closed the curtains, moved the furniture, put me against a little stool in one curtain. He said, look. I don't photograph you to make you look better, I want to find what's inside you. And I tell you that's what he did - look what the finger is doing. He kept saying, open your eyes, because I want to get inside.
Photos from The Sheep Boneyard at the Center for Dyslexistential Studies
Death is a perfect event because you cannot speak your own death. You cannot say, I am dead. Your death goes into the mouth of others.
Raymond Federman
Spasmolodic Duo live on KXLU Los Angeles-- givin' and gettin' BOOTY.
November 4 The Smell [LA] with Portland Bike Ensemble
November 5 Il Corral [LA] with Portland Bike Ensemble
November 6 David Moscovich interview with Raymond Federman
November 7 Recording with Mitch Brown, electronics-man-extraordinaire
November 9 2005 Spasmolodic Duo live on KXLU [Los Angeles]
With Mitch Brown
November 10 Luggage Store Gallery [San Francisco]
KFJC November 11 2005 [San Francisco]
November 5 Il Corral [LA] with Portland Bike Ensemble
November 6 David Moscovich interview with Raymond Federman
November 7 Recording with Mitch Brown, electronics-man-extraordinaire
November 9 2005 Spasmolodic Duo live on KXLU [Los Angeles]
With Mitch Brown
November 10 Luggage Store Gallery [San Francisco]
KFJC November 11 2005 [San Francisco]
I'm a Frisbeetarian -- Shane Schneider
I'm a Frisbeetarian. We believe that after you die, your soul gets stuck on a rooftop and you can't get it down.
Beer Breakfast With Anthony Cobb
Anthony Cobb licked a pane of glass for nearly four hours at the John Cage Music Circus in Chicago. He had placed himself, unmoving, in a turquoise cubicle amidst Dan Flavin's multicolored flourescent light exhibit . The licking was rapid, or should I say rabid, and there was a fractal streak of white saliva on the glass, a Fibonacci of spit. He held the corners of the glass from the center of his palm. About an hour into the performance, Bryan Markovitz sat down with a notebook and counted each time the tongue hit the target, in thick, black, permanent ink.
The day before, during a Howloosanation beer breakfast, I had the chance to ask him a few questions.
DM: So tell me about your project for the music circus -- what's your approach? what are you thinking internally?
A C: I think I'm still trying to figure that out, actually. But I can say that, so far, what I have been thinking about it separation. And I don't know exactly where that's going to end up, but that's what I read into it. It's something about separation to me. Ot her than that I don't have anything that's totally concrete. That's about the gist of it at this point. I have some sort of strange attraction t o working with glass right now, so this is my first time working with glass -- I have quite a few ideas I'm wil ling to explore. So I guess I'm still exploring. couldn't really say there is any deep meaning behind it. It's all about this idea of separation and I'm sure something will come out of it along the way.
DM: So when you say separation, do you mean separation between national borders, for example, or separation between people or psyches?
AC: What comes to mind immediately is on a smaller scale, so an example would be not necessarily individuals, but between people and their selves.
DM: You mean the false self and the persona, or the real self?
AC: Yeah, or maybe it's taking a step back. Maybe it's about observation. Maybe there's something about revealing one's self, also. There was a project where I ate as many onions as I could, fed to me by another performer. We didn't touch each other. I would take an onion, bite it, take an onion from their mouth, eat it.
DM: Heartburn city?
AC: No, actually I didn't get heartburn.
DM: Esophagus seared?
AC: Yeah, I experienced that.
DM: Did you get any bile or upchuck?
AC: I never threw up or anything. I surprised myself.
DM: How many onions did you eat? Where they white onions?
AC: (nodding) I think it was four onions total.
DM: Whole?
AC: Whole onions. It was about relationships. A lot of this is sort of loosely based. It's just about an idea, about presenting an idea, and an audience can take from it what it wants. That was the theme that came up and that's how we chose to present it.
DM: Right. So it's almost like improvising musicians who come to the table with a certain approach or angle but they don't know exactly what they're going to do -- it's more process-oriented.
AC: I wouldn't say it's exactly improvised -- it's definitely thought-through, although you don't necessarily know the outcome, you probably will plan for an outcome. Say, you plan to eat twenty onions, if you eat more than twenty onions and you're still standing, you might do this or that. Then you know the possibility that at some point the ending will not go at all how was expected. But at some point I wasn't thinking so clearly, so I stopped.
DM: Did you start hallucinating?
AC: No, I didn't start hallucinating, but, physically and perhaps emotionally I could not continue. I didn't get sick. At times there were waves of sickness that would come. But it didn't affect me that much, it was more about the inside of my mouth. That was the level where I just c ouldn't physically do it. For a lot of people that was hard to understand, because they said, you didn't throw up, or pass out. It didn't happen. It didn't affect me that way. But it did affect me so there was no way I could put something else in my mou th. So I just gently said, no more. No more. That was not expected at all. It did affect the way I was thinking, my emotional state. I knew how we were supposed to end the piece, but that somewhere was gone. And I could have physically performed that ending, but that was gone.
DM: What was the ending?
AC: Well, it was a simple ending. If something happened where I was ill, or my body just gave out, the performer feeding me the onions would turn, walk away, and I would follow. That simple. But that so mehow w as gone from my mind. And then that ending did happen, but there was a little addition to it.
The day before, during a Howloosanation beer breakfast, I had the chance to ask him a few questions.
DM: So tell me about your project for the music circus -- what's your approach? what are you thinking internally?
A C: I think I'm still trying to figure that out, actually. But I can say that, so far, what I have been thinking about it separation. And I don't know exactly where that's going to end up, but that's what I read into it. It's something about separation to me. Ot her than that I don't have anything that's totally concrete. That's about the gist of it at this point. I have some sort of strange attraction t o working with glass right now, so this is my first time working with glass -- I have quite a few ideas I'm wil ling to explore. So I guess I'm still exploring. couldn't really say there is any deep meaning behind it. It's all about this idea of separation and I'm sure something will come out of it along the way.
DM: So when you say separation, do you mean separation between national borders, for example, or separation between people or psyches?
AC: What comes to mind immediately is on a smaller scale, so an example would be not necessarily individuals, but between people and their selves.
DM: You mean the false self and the persona, or the real self?
AC: Yeah, or maybe it's taking a step back. Maybe it's about observation. Maybe there's something about revealing one's self, also. There was a project where I ate as many onions as I could, fed to me by another performer. We didn't touch each other. I would take an onion, bite it, take an onion from their mouth, eat it.
DM: Heartburn city?
AC: No, actually I didn't get heartburn.
DM: Esophagus seared?
AC: Yeah, I experienced that.
DM: Did you get any bile or upchuck?
AC: I never threw up or anything. I surprised myself.
DM: How many onions did you eat? Where they white onions?
AC: (nodding) I think it was four onions total.
DM: Whole?
AC: Whole onions. It was about relationships. A lot of this is sort of loosely based. It's just about an idea, about presenting an idea, and an audience can take from it what it wants. That was the theme that came up and that's how we chose to present it.
DM: Right. So it's almost like improvising musicians who come to the table with a certain approach or angle but they don't know exactly what they're going to do -- it's more process-oriented.
AC: I wouldn't say it's exactly improvised -- it's definitely thought-through, although you don't necessarily know the outcome, you probably will plan for an outcome. Say, you plan to eat twenty onions, if you eat more than twenty onions and you're still standing, you might do this or that. Then you know the possibility that at some point the ending will not go at all how was expected. But at some point I wasn't thinking so clearly, so I stopped.
DM: Did you start hallucinating?
AC: No, I didn't start hallucinating, but, physically and perhaps emotionally I could not continue. I didn't get sick. At times there were waves of sickness that would come. But it didn't affect me that much, it was more about the inside of my mouth. That was the level where I just c ouldn't physically do it. For a lot of people that was hard to understand, because they said, you didn't throw up, or pass out. It didn't happen. It didn't affect me that way. But it did affect me so there was no way I could put something else in my mou th. So I just gently said, no more. No more. That was not expected at all. It did affect the way I was thinking, my emotional state. I knew how we were supposed to end the piece, but that somewhere was gone. And I could have physically performed that ending, but that was gone.
DM: What was the ending?
AC: Well, it was a simple ending. If something happened where I was ill, or my body just gave out, the performer feeding me the onions would turn, walk away, and I would follow. That simple. But that so mehow w as gone from my mind. And then that ending did happen, but there was a little addition to it.
Din, Din, Din, Raymond Federman Is In
David Moscovich (You) meets Raymond Federman (He Said). Chicago. Friday, September 30, 2005.
Here are the highlights:
Din, din, din, ruffy din, din, din. Pasta, pasti, pasta pasty waste inca, litchka, kafka, broddka, gun, gun, gun, gunny shista, shitsa McBista, pista, lissa, lissa, lissa, you. A size seven shoe. Lissa, you, fatha hey farther you hay the frather you bathe. The way you stare wearing monster cock underwear, there's a yellow beak under there. This mahton, mahton, mccormick and shist. Lomy, ginny, gin, gin, gin bore yee, hompdatwinkle, take a tinkle in your din, din, din. Just as prehappens, per chapps, per chapps, po chapps I recieved an email you were in my cargo, key largo, shicargo, key largo, chicargo. Fall caps, happen staps, ansee, wankle, winkla fingerman, fingerman, finger your man, fenger your meng, fengler you'll tie the long, wet, sloppy winter, are you bund, did you bind, you flatter, Moscovich you slobber, you are too friendly, too cold, too old, too sorrowful and expatriated your kindness for a bottle of genna-lee whickey, whickey wong. That's me. Whickey Wong.It's All One Novel, he said. All The Books Are One Novel, he said. Federman said. In Many Installments, Yes. Many Installments. Yes, he said and admitted as much and very warm and very warm with eyes and generous with his stories, generous to the point you wonder how he keeps giving it, doing it, you a libra, you a toy, you a district seven boy, you are voy, voy you are, void you are, you are voi, you are, too, cake man two, who shuska, kafra, capra, kofta, simulacrayon, simultation, simultitted, pencilbaited, switch inflate, switch and wait, coddle, custle, hustle custard, mustard waiting for who brought you? Whatever You Do You Must Be Free, That's Why I Write, he said. Federman said. Whatever You Do You Must Be Free. De la mechanismu care te asteapta. (Free of the machine that awaits you). I never saw him take a drink, though believe me, his glass was filled with Merlot. Put down the pen, Moscovich, there are live people in the room and a jukebox, no, keep writing, your voice is louder this way, you don't have the din, din, din, ote, ote, ote, it's so terribly convenient not to have a wife. Poata si tot te asteapta -- toata viata m-am scapat de realitate, zice Federman, It's A Nice Place To Visit, Reality, But I Wouldn't Want To Stay For Long, he said. Federman said. Now you're getting lost in the Romanian subjunctive, he seemed to sparkle when he found out who I was. It's Guys Like You That Keep Me Writing The Way I Write, Federman said. You know your ignorance is an immeasurable void so you only listened. When the Russian approached Federman and said, you know, you should shorten your phrases, it's rather like a twitch the way you tell stories, he said. Why is it the Jews are always telling long-winded stories, ah? The Russian was playing his hand but he laid it down too soon, he was too drunk and lost in the din, Federman just winkled and went on. That's a twinkle and a wink. Because they travelled so much, to put it simply, they always carried the book with them. And When You Are Writing A Novel, You Are Working On It All The Time, he said. Federman said. We were watching Critical Mass from the third floor when he brings up the insanity, or was it the bat, who turned to me and said, I Eat Boys Like You For Breakfast. And what do you do for hors d'ourves, I asked and Federman started to quote Beckett, he said, We Are All Born Crazy Only a Few Remain So. A Laudal, de laudal, der monda, dei fondu, dei corpu, dumnezeu pe cuvintu meu, cu dumnezeu am fost in conversatie, draga, alceneva nu putea sa ma crede. No one else would have believed me, but Federman believed me, he belived me when I said I had somewhere to go. I thought I had somewhere to go. But there was nowhere to go. There was Wine and Sam's Sara.
Here are the highlights:
Din, din, din, ruffy din, din, din. Pasta, pasti, pasta pasty waste inca, litchka, kafka, broddka, gun, gun, gun, gunny shista, shitsa McBista, pista, lissa, lissa, lissa, you. A size seven shoe. Lissa, you, fatha hey farther you hay the frather you bathe. The way you stare wearing monster cock underwear, there's a yellow beak under there. This mahton, mahton, mccormick and shist. Lomy, ginny, gin, gin, gin bore yee, hompdatwinkle, take a tinkle in your din, din, din. Just as prehappens, per chapps, per chapps, po chapps I recieved an email you were in my cargo, key largo, shicargo, key largo, chicargo. Fall caps, happen staps, ansee, wankle, winkla fingerman, fingerman, finger your man, fenger your meng, fengler you'll tie the long, wet, sloppy winter, are you bund, did you bind, you flatter, Moscovich you slobber, you are too friendly, too cold, too old, too sorrowful and expatriated your kindness for a bottle of genna-lee whickey, whickey wong. That's me. Whickey Wong.It's All One Novel, he said. All The Books Are One Novel, he said. Federman said. In Many Installments, Yes. Many Installments. Yes, he said and admitted as much and very warm and very warm with eyes and generous with his stories, generous to the point you wonder how he keeps giving it, doing it, you a libra, you a toy, you a district seven boy, you are voy, voy you are, void you are, you are voi, you are, too, cake man two, who shuska, kafra, capra, kofta, simulacrayon, simultation, simultitted, pencilbaited, switch inflate, switch and wait, coddle, custle, hustle custard, mustard waiting for who brought you? Whatever You Do You Must Be Free, That's Why I Write, he said. Federman said. Whatever You Do You Must Be Free. De la mechanismu care te asteapta. (Free of the machine that awaits you). I never saw him take a drink, though believe me, his glass was filled with Merlot. Put down the pen, Moscovich, there are live people in the room and a jukebox, no, keep writing, your voice is louder this way, you don't have the din, din, din, ote, ote, ote, it's so terribly convenient not to have a wife. Poata si tot te asteapta -- toata viata m-am scapat de realitate, zice Federman, It's A Nice Place To Visit, Reality, But I Wouldn't Want To Stay For Long, he said. Federman said. Now you're getting lost in the Romanian subjunctive, he seemed to sparkle when he found out who I was. It's Guys Like You That Keep Me Writing The Way I Write, Federman said. You know your ignorance is an immeasurable void so you only listened. When the Russian approached Federman and said, you know, you should shorten your phrases, it's rather like a twitch the way you tell stories, he said. Why is it the Jews are always telling long-winded stories, ah? The Russian was playing his hand but he laid it down too soon, he was too drunk and lost in the din, Federman just winkled and went on. That's a twinkle and a wink. Because they travelled so much, to put it simply, they always carried the book with them. And When You Are Writing A Novel, You Are Working On It All The Time, he said. Federman said. We were watching Critical Mass from the third floor when he brings up the insanity, or was it the bat, who turned to me and said, I Eat Boys Like You For Breakfast. And what do you do for hors d'ourves, I asked and Federman started to quote Beckett, he said, We Are All Born Crazy Only a Few Remain So. A Laudal, de laudal, der monda, dei fondu, dei corpu, dumnezeu pe cuvintu meu, cu dumnezeu am fost in conversatie, draga, alceneva nu putea sa ma crede. No one else would have believed me, but Federman believed me, he belived me when I said I had somewhere to go. I thought I had somewhere to go. But there was nowhere to go. There was Wine and Sam's Sara.
Nu Să Mănîncă în Toate Zilele Placintă: You Can't Eat Cheese Pie Every Day
Interview With Romanian Actress Gabriela Marinescu
they gave me water so crisp and cold it froze my cheeks, water right out of the well, and we ate romanian meatballs you wouldn't believe, on the grill, and he was drunk like a horse, flattened, he didn't know his name and he kept pinching me
was he older?
no, he was 45-50 years old, much younger than me, he looked old, but he wasn't old, he was from the country (muncit), he worked his whole life and it showed in his hands, he kept pinching me on the ass, i didn't know how to get away from him -- they had chickens and ducks and geese and a dog that started barking when i went to the WC, a big black dog started barking at me -- it was chained, lucky me he was chained then we ate the grilled meatballs then palinkă (plum wine) and they said drink, drink, drink, bai mă că e palinkă!
my god
don't drink that unless you put a little water in it because it will burn the hell out of your throat
it's plum wine, right?
yes, ţuica, palinka
ţuica e palinka?
da, sau şliboviţa
şliboviţa
are aşa un sunet
you take the ţuica, and more ţuica, and let's drink some more, and they say, hi ma mai mănîncă -- ce ma nu mănîncă -- she doesn't eat, she doesn't eat at all, nothing, nothing at all, and then her father says, now i would like to see how she eats. I like the way she looks now i want to see what she eats. how she eats. and when she eats. when? when?
i say well i don't eat in the morning only coffee, i'm not hungry in the morning and at noon i might eat a little something, mayube a little salad or something
he says, a little salad? what's that?
then at night, and doina interrupts saying, oh, yes, at night she eats something if you can catch her eating
so then we went to sleep around nine
nine?
it was one of those obscure little villages -- not even romanians know about it -- poor as hell, but they have pigs, geese, vegetables, chickens, everything they need -- and they have a store they get newspapers and flour they make bread in an adobe oven at home -- they gave us a chicken, they caught it they defeathered it and boiled it
ai să jumulesc pă tine
they put the whole thing in hot water
then they grabbed some fresh eggs, hot right from the chicken's ass, you know that? they were hot, hot, and fresh milk with cream on top, right from the cow, only when i was little girl i drank milk right from the cow, fantastic, fantastic, a totally different flavor you know i don't drink milk otherwise
she was looking for her money and i don't know how many jackets she had and two or three hats on her head, and there was such heat in there
i had very few clothes
she was going from room to room in the whole house to find her money not mine, she didn't want to rob you she was interested in her own money, and finally she left and doina says, Tanti Prucină, culcă-te, te rog, te rog, culcă-te frate
she says i don't have any money, and that's how it was all night she didn't sleep all night that's how it was she spent the whole night looking for her money
she had almost 98 years you had to keep your eyes on her she kept trying to run away from home
she must have put it under the mattress
but she wasn't looking under the mattress
they gave me water so crisp and cold it froze my cheeks, water right out of the well, and we ate romanian meatballs you wouldn't believe, on the grill, and he was drunk like a horse, flattened, he didn't know his name and he kept pinching me
was he older?
no, he was 45-50 years old, much younger than me, he looked old, but he wasn't old, he was from the country (muncit), he worked his whole life and it showed in his hands, he kept pinching me on the ass, i didn't know how to get away from him -- they had chickens and ducks and geese and a dog that started barking when i went to the WC, a big black dog started barking at me -- it was chained, lucky me he was chained then we ate the grilled meatballs then palinkă (plum wine) and they said drink, drink, drink, bai mă că e palinkă!
my god
don't drink that unless you put a little water in it because it will burn the hell out of your throat
it's plum wine, right?
yes, ţuica, palinka
ţuica e palinka?
da, sau şliboviţa
şliboviţa
are aşa un sunet
you take the ţuica, and more ţuica, and let's drink some more, and they say, hi ma mai mănîncă -- ce ma nu mănîncă -- she doesn't eat, she doesn't eat at all, nothing, nothing at all, and then her father says, now i would like to see how she eats. I like the way she looks now i want to see what she eats. how she eats. and when she eats. when? when?
i say well i don't eat in the morning only coffee, i'm not hungry in the morning and at noon i might eat a little something, mayube a little salad or something
he says, a little salad? what's that?
then at night, and doina interrupts saying, oh, yes, at night she eats something if you can catch her eating
so then we went to sleep around nine
nine?
it was one of those obscure little villages -- not even romanians know about it -- poor as hell, but they have pigs, geese, vegetables, chickens, everything they need -- and they have a store they get newspapers and flour they make bread in an adobe oven at home -- they gave us a chicken, they caught it they defeathered it and boiled it
ai să jumulesc pă tine
they put the whole thing in hot water
then they grabbed some fresh eggs, hot right from the chicken's ass, you know that? they were hot, hot, and fresh milk with cream on top, right from the cow, only when i was little girl i drank milk right from the cow, fantastic, fantastic, a totally different flavor you know i don't drink milk otherwise
she was looking for her money and i don't know how many jackets she had and two or three hats on her head, and there was such heat in there
i had very few clothes
she was going from room to room in the whole house to find her money not mine, she didn't want to rob you she was interested in her own money, and finally she left and doina says, Tanti Prucină, culcă-te, te rog, te rog, culcă-te frate
she says i don't have any money, and that's how it was all night she didn't sleep all night that's how it was she spent the whole night looking for her money
she had almost 98 years you had to keep your eyes on her she kept trying to run away from home
she must have put it under the mattress
but she wasn't looking under the mattress
They Attributed Preservation to Extreme Polymer Fibers.
He asked for a report on why we entered the potato to begin with. The government went to court to stop The Times from publishing McNamara's report. They said you can not print that. You should not print that. What would have happened if The Times had lost? They called him Frankenstein though he played the fiddle like a refugee from Desert Storm. His glasses were fashioned from a Swiss cheese he discovered under an Aryan couch. Experts aged the cheese at sixty years and attributed preservation to extreme polymer fibers. The fibers were knotted in long strands by a molecular biologist who recieved a ridiculous grant to genetically test the perishibility of factory produced milk products. His favorite shapes were the figure eight, the infinity sign, and the number nine. Experts have the discussed the purpose of the tangential, and postponed conclusion hearings for next week. Experts visiting the Czech Republic early Tuesday morning publicly denounced the allegation that collective dreams reveal a vainly pubic chasm in the rift of the current administration. The Pennsylvania Commission on Human Rights Awareness called it quits this afternoon, after a bitter defeat in the courts over the right to be presumed guilty. Speaking from the steps of the courthouse in Philadelphia, Vice President Natalie Kowalsky said, the hope that Americans once had of regaining their modfeer has been dashed once and for all with this new research on the preservation of factory produced milk products. Although she graduated with honors from Columbia University, Eugene Ionesco had always been her secret obsession. This is Marlene Dietriche reporting from Rubble Without A Coccyx.
Brand-New from Dyslexistential: That Rare Amalgamation of Blue Hair and Women's Formal Wear
Buy it at Powell's City of Books in Portland, or http://www.powells.com
Here's a taste--
She was hoisted on a classic baby blue Vespa. She was there when I walked out of the drugstore. She had that rare amalgamation of blue hair and women's formal wear. SF is for softly formed. She turned to me and said, if I had to work here and listen to that music all day I would stab myself with a tuning fork. SL is for solid. I looked up to locate the outdoor spepakers. It was patriotic country music with a popsickle drumbeat. LQ is for liquid. I'd have to say, I began as she revved it up. She dropped a cell phone, bowled it over with a scooter. SP is for sadistic foreign policy. I wonder where she gets her ironing done.
Buy it at Powell's City of Books in Portland, or http://www.powells.com
Here's a taste--
She was hoisted on a classic baby blue Vespa. She was there when I walked out of the drugstore. She had that rare amalgamation of blue hair and women's formal wear. SF is for softly formed. She turned to me and said, if I had to work here and listen to that music all day I would stab myself with a tuning fork. SL is for solid. I looked up to locate the outdoor spepakers. It was patriotic country music with a popsickle drumbeat. LQ is for liquid. I'd have to say, I began as she revved it up. She dropped a cell phone, bowled it over with a scooter. SP is for sadistic foreign policy. I wonder where she gets her ironing done.
Short Fictions From the Fictionary (Part One)
Morty and I started going to miniature golf on Saturdays wearing pastel miniskirts. Morty is much hairier than I am, and I'm not exactly an olympic swimmer myself. Normally we've had the whole place to ourselves, as a kind of meditation retreat. There's t he giant sockpuppet hole-in-one, the magic castle, and the fourty-foot tennis shoe by Whammo. They must be the sponsor. Normally it brings me a sense of well being and calm, a warm assurance that all is basically right. The square fits into the square ho le. A body is a body. But this time a motorcycle gang called The Warriors were running the whole damn course. They had jean jackets and buttrock haircuts, red and black checkered shirts. They cut the Whammo with their butterfly knives. They stomped on the rock garden. They burned the stuffed jalapeno dinosaur. They took my club and put it through the gift shop window. Later we took the owners out for apple pie and ice cream at the twenty-four hour pancake house. Deborah was crying when they brought out the syrup. I assured the waiter it wasn't his doing. And please, bring some more butter when you get a chance.n
Meet JOY [jahweenah oweenahh youweenah!]
The name of this trio is JOY [Jump On Yourself].
Bryan Eubanks [saxophones]
Shane Schneider [drums]
David Moscovich [guitar/noise]
Go ahead.
Jingle the Owner's Yodel.
Bryan Eubanks [saxophones]
Shane Schneider [drums]
David Moscovich [guitar/noise]
Go ahead.
Jingle the Owner's Yodel.
Spasmolodic Duo
Check the sound bytes above for excerpts from their CD, Bay Train, Bake Five [2005].
the spasmolodic duo is a free improvising, crypto-psycho-rhythmic organism ranging from angry meditations on neo-imperialism to absurdis t postal-modern treatments of jazz standards to west african percussive free-noise.
david moscovich (prepared guitar, electronics, fiction) has studied and played with ghanaian master drummer ni ardey alotee, bassist glen moore, and other s. He has composed music for several nationally broadcasted documentary films, played with tucson playback theatre, cexfux, portland bike ensemble, slack variables, and collaborates closely with novelist Mike Daily, who by the way has a formidable a nd dangerously attractive blog [www.mickogrady.blogspot.com]. David has been known to infiltrate political conventions with a homemade press pass.
shane schneider (percussion, tenor sax) a force for dyslexistential improvisational music, his pencha n t for avant-performance art, garnished from decades as a comedian and performer, informs all his playing. Shane has toured internationally with the magic theatre, and for many years has been a n irrepresible pre sence in the west coast improv scene an d b ased i n portland, ore, touring with tat vamasi, portland bike ensemble, 411 collective.ibe
the Sock Puppet Coulda-Shoulda-Woulda Convention
The 3rd Annual Shoulda-Coulda-Woulda Sock Puppet Convention is a conglomeration of artists who get together on Monday nights talking about the revolutionary sock puppet designs that coulda, shoulda, woulda been, but never actually were, while adding the comment, Take It To The Convention (TITTC).
Three Tenets of the Convention:
Shoulda been the most revolutionary sock puppet that ever grazed the planet's surface.
Coulda been the most intricate, delicate, ass-kicking sock puppet ever. But it's just too late.
Woulda been one helluva world-shaking sockpuppet, but now it'll never happen.
Ah, shush. Take It To The Convention, will ya?
Three Tenets of the Convention:
Shoulda been the most revolutionary sock puppet that ever grazed the planet's surface.
Coulda been the most intricate, delicate, ass-kicking sock puppet ever. But it's just too late.
Woulda been one helluva world-shaking sockpuppet, but now it'll never happen.
Ah, shush. Take It To The Convention, will ya?
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