The End of Dyslexistentialism

2011-08-22T05:17:00.001+09:00

T-Shirt Idea 1

Not sure I'm
part of the
solution

T-Shirt Idea 2

Will pay
for t-shirt ideas

2011-06-22T08:25:00.003+09:00

The Non-Interview with Prathna Lor. Finally it's found a home. And you know what his response was? It was funny. Great job. Read on, dear readers. Read on...this is my first interview done without the subject. The subject, of the interview. Missing. Missing subject. Absent subject. Subject not there. Empty. Filled in the spaces with. His words. From his chapbook. Ventriloquism. Yes. His words. But not his words. His answers. To my questions, not. His words. Yes. Not answers. Yes. Subject was. Absent. From the interview. There was no interview. Non-interview. Therefore. Read on, dear readers...

Stonecutter: STONECUTTER ISSUE 1 LAUNCH PARTY JUNE 29

2011-06-22T08:25:00.000+09:00

Stonecutter: STONECUTTER ISSUE 1 LAUNCH PARTY JUNE 29: "Please join us to celebrate the release of Stonecutter on Wednesday, June 29 from 7-11pm at 61 Local, 61 Bergen Street at Smith Street in..."

2010-11-07T14:09:00.002+09:00

Today I was hit hard by Anselm Kiefer's new exhibition at Gagosian Gallery. What was it exactly that hit me?

Forget the links, go see it. From the press release: "Kiefer has transformed the space that surrounds Occupations into a labyrinth of glass and steel vitrines, some more than twenty feet high..."

2010-08-12T13:15:00.019+09:00

Hanging out with Dikko Faust at Purgatory Pie Press in lower Manhattan. Purgatory Pie Press started in the late seventies and they are still creating museum quality handmade books using hand-set wood and metal type. Here Dikko is printing a three color job on his sturdy Vandercook machine. You might notice he is hand mixing the ink on the end there -- not work for a novice printer. Every movement he makes tells a story -- this has been his life for many many years, and he knows every aspect of printing from mark one. He refers to it as "a dance," where he trips the print lever, lets go of the floor pedal that holds the paper and swings it through the rollers across the inked plate. As each page runs through, he turns and hands it to me and I set it on a wooden rack for drying. The job is part of PPP's long postcard subscription; every single postcard is printed by hand with extreme care and expertise.

Faust also teaches advanced letterpress classes both at the Purgatory Pie Press studio and at the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan, and is currently on a tour of the northwest with his wife and partner in crime, Esther K Smith. Esther is herself the author of How To Make Books, Magic Books & Paper Toys, and The Paper Bride, available from Random House. Together they are Purgatory Pie Press, and have been doing this for thirty years. They have exhibited at Harvard University, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Smith College, San Francisco's Center for the Book, London's Victoria and Albert Museum, The Tate, MOMA, Brooklyn Museum, Cooper-Hewitt, National Gallery of Art, The Getty, Corcoran, The Walker, and the San Francisco MOMA.

On this day we were listening to Albert Ayler and Sun Ra. Faust told me one of his favorite drummers was Andrew Andrew Cyrille. We agreed also on Han Bennink. When I brought up William Parker something shifted in his speech, and he said, I've played with him. You've played with William Parker? I said. Once, he said. Faust was talking about his trombone, which was propped up under his extensive cd collection. Who is this man? Letterpress expert AND trombonist? This is no ordinary print shop. Check out their inventory if you will. Instabooks, Purgatoys, yearly datebooks all in limited runs. Does Dikko Faust have a batmobile? I wouldn't be surprised.....

2010-07-10T11:53:00.004+09:00

Guide To Self Marriage. 16pp., Illustrated by Zeami. Screenprinted covers edition of 100. Cerulean Blue and Copper. Six bucks includes shipping within the USA.

2010-06-24T02:13:00.001+09:00

MOKUMEDORI. Live at Gamuso. PAINT YOUR TEETH, Tokyo. PAINT YOUR TEETH.

2010-06-05T01:33:00.005+09:00

Umbrella

If you open an umbrella at night and leave it outside, in the morning you will have an umbrella garden. The umbrella garden will manifest in one of two ways: 1. a garden will grow on the umbrella. 2. umbrellas will sprout from the ground.

2010-05-27T06:34:00.002+09:00

Note to self. Recall the Denver Noise Festival 2010.

2010-05-26T05:52:00.001+09:00

Need an explanation? Oh no, you don't.

2010-05-17T05:30:00.005+09:00

It's getting better and better. This email is from today, from the one and only Munter Jack, with a link to a new interview in Word Riot by David Hoenigman, author of Burn Your Belongings. Hoenigman hosts a wacky performance art show in Tokyo, Japan called Paint Your Teeth. The shows he is archiving on video as well. The last video David sent me there was an impromptu stripper -- according to David his wife was only surprised that she stripped for free. Who strips for free? she said. Performers at Paint Your Teeth strip for free, apparently. What other antics happen at these events? Check for yourself. But first, read the interview he did with Munter Jack.

Here is an excerpt I really enjoyed from the interview:

Who or what has influenced your writing?

Old people. The older and madder the better. When I return to my home town in the north of England I spend a lot of time standing around in charity shops, listening to old people talking about hip operations, cataracts and mad stuff like someone they know who got CJD from eating squirrel brains. They have these fantastically dark and at the same time very humorous conversations as they rummage through large boxes of second hand underpants.

(cute email from Munter Jack posted below)

Hey David,

I'm in Word Riot. Your mate Mr Hoenigman did an interview. And, I owe you big thanks. Once again! Cheers mate, he found me through you and Louffa Press. Thanks a lot! He says you're going to publish some of his work. Go for it fella.

Munter Jack

2010-05-16T00:18:00.000+09:00

I received this email today from Jeremy Higgins. This made my harmonica happy.

David, I wrote a curious haiku (unconsciously, of course) for your Twenty Drunken Nights.

be a banana,
amplified tongue and others,
purchasing on fire.

2010-05-16T00:07:00.002+09:00

there once was a man from Bukovina
who was smitten with the countess Hermina
he wooed her each eve
with a pan and a sieve
and played tunes on an old concertina

--David Kornbluh

2010-05-10T04:35:00.002+09:00

BIG LANGUAGE: If WOODY ALLEN and HENRY ROLLINS had offspring that was then mutilated in a sixty car pile up and survived a plutonium cockroach attack, we would have something that sounded like BIG LANGUAGE. If CAN, HELLA, MASSACRE, FAUST, DAVID CROSS and THE HOLD STEADY joined forces and vomited on the grave of VLAD THE IMPALER, we would have something that sounded like BIG LANGUAGE. Thank you.<a href="http://biglanguage.bandcamp.com/track/random-fuzz-selector">Random Fuzz Selector by Big Language</a>

2010-04-20T02:18:00.008+09:00

This friday Beatriz Albuquerque is showing in NYC one of her video-performances in an event called GiSCA Palooza. Beatriz did not mention what GiSCA stands for, but it sounds to me like the Romanian word for goose. Gîscă would be the correct spelling in Romanian. But I'm sure this has nothing to do with geese. What makes me so sure? I'm going to ask Beatriz, and I'll get back to you.
GiSCA Palooza 2010 -- GiSCA Palooza 2010
An Evening of the Arts and Social Change
April 23rd * 7-9pm. Milbank Chapel, 525 W. 120 Street, New York, New York.

This GiSCA Palooza 2010 event is free and open to the public.
Beatriz Albuquerque

Current / Upcoming Exhibitions:

2010 GiSCA Palooza, Milbank Chapel, New York - USA.

2010 Fluxhibition #4 – amusements, diversions, games, tricks and puzzles, FluxMuseum: A Wing of the Ontological Museum, Forth Worth - USA.

2010 Forum de Ermesinde, Ermesinde - Portugal.

2010-04-19T00:44:00.006+09:00

New online magazine is open to submissions and fine dining. Lobster Cult. I'll take mine with butter and garlic, please. And a half carafe of Pinot Noir for both my wife and my husband. All three of us will be sharing the same glass. (Refer to my Guide to Self-Marriage, linked to herein, for the logic on that one. It makes sense. Believe me, it makes so much sense I can't believe I didn't think of it before.)

2010-04-13T09:07:00.011+09:00

Found another treat in my mailbox today, this one from Brooklyn, New York. "David, I do not know the abbreviation for the word Nebraska." And on the back she (Alex Cuff, one of the editors of No, Dear -- Founded in 2008 by Emily Brandt, Alex Cuff, Katie Moeller, and Jane Van Slembrouck) wrote an easter poem -- an invocation of Lynda Carter: Wonder Woman Stands Spread Eagle in Her Underwear.

Also enclosed was Issue Five (Edges) of No, Dear, hand stitched Limited Edition number 34/100. And I almost forgot -- the first poem is entitled Icarus Views Himself in a Reflecting Pool -- by Martin Rock. This hit me sideways because just yesterday I wrote a piece called Nicarussis. I was trying to find the hybrid between Narcissus and Icarus. The piece is simple -- Nicarussis. If Nicarussis drank from a pool of his own reflection, would it singe his throat?

2010-04-10T17:20:00.007+09:00

Two Junkies

Two Junkies are rolling up their sleeves. The first junkie snaps the tourniquet tight on his arm and says, Do you take Discover? The second junkie nods...

2010-04-08T10:27:00.002+09:00

To Cook a Thief

I have a pan and a pot. No spatula. No forks. This should change. One plate. I want your big language.

2010-04-02T06:46:00.005+09:00

Two new chapbooks now available at St. Marks Books on the lower east side of Manhattan. Copies also available at Powell's City of Books (Portland) and Quimby's (Chicago) and through me (edition of 150). Details at Louffa Press.

2010-03-29T23:15:00.002+09:00

New from Louffa Press ebooks. A scroll of collected flash fictions from Munter Jack, a gritty, laconic UK-based performer who also goes by the name The Fug. Offshore Navigation is a shark-toothed, lean, hungry-as-a-horse explication of the writer's dilemma in a world of loose dentures, fag ash, Special Brew and small animal disembowelment.

Offshore Navigation by Munter Jack

2010-03-25T12:17:00.002+09:00

This appeared in my mailbox today. From St. Paul, Minnesota. YES.

housetrainwreckoning

2010-03-23T21:41:00.017+09:00

Ilonna pulls up on her Italian moped. She has a forty resting in her left hand, and she's lighting up a filtered cigarette in Nebraska. Ilonna shifts her candle-eyed gaze to everyone on the porch and says, At one point I had no clothes and there were eight girls trying to hump me, three on this leg and five on that leg. The dogs were trying to hump me from behind. Cocker Spaniels, Pugs, Poodles, even a weasel. A weasel with a tumor the size of a golf ball. Somebody tried to get me to pet the tumor. I'm not petting no goddamn weasel tumor. Eight girls on my leg and some guy whispers in my ear, Do the humpty hump, and pet the tumor. Then I was in the bathroom, and this couple was arguing. The guy was freaking out. He was some kind of straight guy, white t-shirt, baseball cap. The guy said, Why are all these people naked in your apartment? It's like I don't even know you. The girl was like, relaaaaaaax. These are my friends. That's what you call friends? he says, his nostrils flipping from left to right. I have to piss like a racehorse. Guys, I have to piss like a racehorse, I tell them. She looks at me and says, Go ahead. And they keep yelling at each other. The straight guy says, What kind of a person are you, letting people piss in here like that? My pants are around my ankles and I finish and I try to get up when the girl says, wait. Stay there. She looks at me hungrily and takes her pants off. She sits down on my leg. She starts to rubbing, looking into my eyes with a question. All the time they keep arguing. Your friends are perverts, he says. No they're not, she says, still rubbing on my leg. Really moving it. She looks even harder into me with the same question in her eyes and yells back at him: My friends are beautiful. Ten, twenty minutes they're yelling at each other, all the time she's moving against me, streaks of moisture rubbing on my thigh. She seems to find the answer to her question on my leg. You never did understand me, she screams, but she's looking at me, and she's quivering. I'm starting to sweat. You never let me be myself, she says, rubbing more and more intensely. The door comes open, and it's the weasel. He hops up on her thigh, rubbing the tumor against her side. She pulls up her pants, and stands up. It's like her boyfriend didn't even see it. Prince's song Raspberry Berret just finishes and it's completely silent. There's a long pause where the weasel looks guilty and the girl looks satisfied and I'm wondering if I'm still alive. I'm sorry you guys are having relationship problems, I tell them. But can I put my pants back on now? Ilonna takes the cigarette from her mouth and flicks a three inch ash on the porch.

2010-02-02T01:13:00.006+09:00

BAY AREA PEOPLE: I just received a note from Joe Wenderoth, author of the flash fiction classic Letters To Wendy's, and The Holy Spirit of Life: Essays Written for John Ashcroft's Secret Self. He is exhibiting new photographic work along with paintings of Marc Wise at the Cricket Engine Gallery in Oakland. Wine, snacks, and weirdness opens February 6th from 3-7 p.m. Joe is doing a reading at the same gallery, feb 12th at 7 p.m! Don't miss it if you're anywhere near Oakland.

2010-01-17T18:36:00.013+09:00

I've heard it said that a writer should gain experience in the real world and that would greatly enrich and inform one's writing. I have heard that hyenas are nocturnal creatures that suck blood from wildebeasts. I have heard that the real world consists of things we do not enjoy, but must endure. I have heard that keeping it real means keeping it real compared to what? I've heard that over 65% of Americans have shoplifted at some point in their life. I've heard it's good luck to have cheese in your beard. That to throw salt over a rabbit's shoulder is wise. I've been told that having health insurance increases the value of my hourly wage by at least two dollars. I have heard that home is where you lay your head. I've heard that you can't go home again, but if you do, everything looks smaller. I've heard that books don't make people, people make books. Computers don't make mistakes, people make computers that make mistakes. I've heard that a well rounded education means you've read Shakespeare, the Bible, and a People's History of the United States. I have heard creatures I probably shouldn't have heard while standing next to a bat cave in the ruins of Palenque all night, waiting for the sun, my legs softening and bowing from exhaustion. I've heard I should have a t-shirt that reads, I survived a night of standing in the rain at the ruins of Palenque with an umbrella I fashioned from three large philidendron leaves tied together with a shoelace. I have heard it's bad luck to turn down an offer of water. That plants enjoy music and grow better with Mozart than Metallica. I've heard it's possible to be both a cult figure and a pop figure at the same time. That I'm not being lied to. That yesterday's classics were today's bestsellers. That today's bestsellers are yesterday's classics. That solitude and solitudeness are two different things. There's a kind of coffee from Brazil that comes out of a lemur's arse and costs twenty-three dollars a pound. That there are bass frequencies so low they can make you poop. Tha examining your poop can tell you vital details about your diet. That to be well adjusted to a sick society is not a measure of health. I've heard my elevator does not go to the top and the smoke alarm is always on. Recycling does not apply to mammals, otherwise there would be a bin for the green hampsters and no one would be offended when I asked them if they took it out yet. There is a sucker in every room, and it's likely they know the same whore and have high-fived over it while shaking their hips to Prince's 1999. That I am a latent heterosexual. That I should feel more concerned about my teeth and testicles than my prostate or penis. That being a comedian is the toughest job in the world. I've heard that surfing was invented in Northern Peru from a dealer in Huanchaco, that it was invented in Hawaii from a cokehead in Santa Cruz. That I should feel lucky to have a job. That I should never look back, even if I've lost my dentures. Go, go gadget dentures. That it's not wise to date someone by asking leading questions about the Carter administration. That I am doomed and I am going to hell because I was born in Boston instead of more educated rural Nebraska and have no appreciation for Sarah Palin. I have heard that Africa is a continent, made up of hundreds of distinct ethnic cultures or nations and made of more than one country. That you'll never get ahead by saying yes to the man. Walking is one of the best forms of exercise. I should stop my mind from thinking and just put on my anti-anxiety space suit.

2010-01-07T16:12:00.004+09:00

Kevin Keck on my CD release ASS LUNCH:

My wife has said that "Ass Lunch" now takes the place of John Moran's "The Manson Family: An Opera" as the music most likely to push her over the edge while on acid. I hope you understand that's a great compliment coming from my wife. I rather liked it; I like sonic mysteries.

2010-01-06T02:55:00.008+09:00

Okay, so this is going to be good. Jay Schleidt of Darbolistic Rex is putting together a double cassette compilation with a devil's slew of musicians -- and I even heard a rumor that Ember Schrag might be contributing a work using something she calls a Paper Ocean -- a prototype of a machine she has conceived where (as far as I gathered in brief conversation) the sound would consist of amplified paper moving against amplified paper in an origami or accordian fashion, resulting in an ocean-like soundscape. Did I get that right, Ember? Anyway, for this there are going to be a lot of musicians on this compilation, including but not limited to:

Fair Conditioner, Big Drum in the Sky Religion*, Earth Incubator*, Headless Kamikaze*, Illnathix*, Alexander Kibanov & Norihito Kodama*, CJ Boyd, eloi, Zebra Mu, color rabbit, Psychic Parrot, No One Conquered Wyoming, Ghost in My Veins*, larva, Big SAD, Aisle, Hyper Fighting*, Aural Resuscitation Unit, bwmh, Killian Lord
Benny the Church Mouse, Children's Prison, Christian Von Sponheim*, Rigor Mortis, Clitaurus*, Moscovich Meets the Fug*, Yana, The Men From... BEYOND*, Lazy Magnet, Instinct Control, Whip Cream Wars*, Gaybomb, Sobou Shuu, Dino Felipe, 7ym*, O.L.M., Be Rock, Terror'ish, mdm Hey, Kenji Siratori*, Sparkling Wide Pressure, Eric Andre, Gigantic Blonde Boy, snma, Endless Endless Endless, Munter Jack, The Boom Boom Booms, Joe Mc Nertney, Cocoon, Goldwater Marmalaid, Core of the Coalman, Bonus Beast, Inhibitionists,, Sensible Nectar, Inappropriate King Live.....

jay schleidt
Darbolistic Rex

2009-12-31T09:55:00.003+09:00

ACID LIVING ROOM still has a few tracks I recorded with Abusive/Consumer in the KBOO studios---the tracks are manipulated voice (effected by both Abusive and I, in turn)---part of the ongoing excellent programming of Jay Schleidt, host of ALR. Other artists on this show are recommended for deep listening, or music to write to. Music to type to. Enjoy, and check back with the ALR site as he updates it weekly with new programming.

2009-11-20T11:06:00.003+09:00

Hi everyone, I just recieved a note from Word Riot that my interview with Chelsea Martin will be posted on December 15th. It's exclusive, it's blunt, it will turn your mind in fond and lofty directions. Chelsea Martin, in case you don't know, has a book called Everything Was Fine Until Whatever (Future Tense Books). If everything was just fine, what happened? Chelsea might tell you with endearing sketches of horned beasts, ceiling fans, and hormonal ambushes in the night. And a refreshing take (ah!) on the world of non-dating, solitude, the quirky growing pains and social awkwardness of coming of age in America.

Item number TWO: Munter Jack has agreed to allow me a reprint of selections from Kinetic Meditations (Fug Press: 2009). Munter Jack, based in the UK, will slice you open with visions of tepid squalor and bottles of booze that leak like battery acid into your frothy, cuddly heads. He will bring you an England like the League of Gentlemen on crack. Get loaded and take a shotgun full of paint to the latest print edition of Naked Lunch. (I doubt Bill would take offense to that, RIP).

More soon. Just a hint of what is to come: In December, the flash fiction stylings of David Moscovich will be featured along with the soundscapes of Abusive/Consumer on a The Belsona Archive podcast. And you. December will be featuring you.

2009-11-08T14:44:00.006+09:00

"delirious, antagonistic, impossible, creatismiracole. there are two completely different kinds of imagination, one is the romantic....completely subjective, neurotic....in my case it is absolutely contrary....my mustache is the exact contrast of frederich neitsche." - Salvador Dali, in conversation with David Bryson in 1963.

"Ver ver teh teh. Ver ver teh teh oov upah gif." -Kurt Schwitters

2009-10-26T14:11:00.010+09:00

This video was shot inside KBOO radio studios in Portland, Or August of 2009. I had been reading from Cannibal Cuisine but in this moment just improvising vocally with Fiasco Improvisation. Tim Alexander and Jerry Soga doing most of the sound works. Video by Alejandro. The video gets better the longer you watch it. Feel free to scream. Don't think too hard. As promised, more from the Federman files underneath the video.

This is a poem I wrote playing around Federman's name. He said he already beat me to it, he already wrote a poem about his name. So he had to title my poem as well. He gave it the title through emails that we shot back and forth. MOSCOVICH, he wrote. I found a name for your poem -- go see -- I attached it to my poem -- (I haven't included his poem just my version, his was written long before mine of course)

Here is my version of the Federman poem, titled by Raymond Federman:

what is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal

FEDERNAME

Federmaniacal
Federmundo
Federdumonde
Federdemain
Federmawatt
Federmanism
Federmanistic
Federmystical
Federmanthanyou
Federmanicpolarity
Federmanicstate
Federminnow
Federmannish
Federmonocle
Federmann
Federmostly
Federmaninacloset
Federmanisaman
Federmunich
Federmaparis
Federmokyo
Federsanpetersburg
Federmabuchurestii
Federmanberg
Federhamburg
Federradio
Federmanation
Federemanation
FedearmanFederman
Feedermeinkampf
Feedorforget
Federmanstairwell
Federmandossier
Federmanitoba
FedermuñecaFedermarzipan
Federmantilldawn
Federmanewyork
Federmanewshooes
Federmanlooseshoes
Federforyabedher
Federmanabetterman
Federmanafeatherman
Federmandeplume
Federhomme
Federbien
Federbesticoulddo
Federbombastic
Federthantelevision
Federmanicstatic
Federbomb
Federnommedeplomb
Federinaditch
Federmolloy
Federmoran
Federmalonedies
Federgodot
Federgigi
Federoldman
Federcomposite
Federscan
Federmalgamation
Federbeckettian
Federbeckettic[etic]
Federbeckettsamman
Federmoinous
Federmanamredef
Federmanoffame
Federmanthesun
Federmanatee
Federprophecy
Federfiveyears
Federyouneed
Federapprenticeship
Federbefore
Federyoucan
Federcallyourself
FederawriterFederitwilltake
Federfive
Federyears
Federhesaid
Federmansaid
Federmanette
Federsucette
Federmashima
Federsmachina
Federstashima
Federmacaffery
Federmadaily
Federmatology
Federmanology
Federmanânc
TheFederToEatYou
Federexpress
Federmanpress
Federmalicious?
Federmanever
Federromantic
Federmaarphy
Federmaanothingstory
Federmaallarmé
Federmaanure
Federmaasurf
Federmaacritique
Federmavorbeste
Federmapoveste
Federomanian
Federmantuform
Federmaswing
Federmanmiss
Federaining
Federveteran
Federmanterpret
Federmonthedouble
Federmanitorleaveit
Federmanoodle
Federmosaicfederman
Federmoimoi
FedermerikaFedamerica
Fedhillaria
Fedallergía
Federfonda
Federmane
Federinnerman
Federouter
Federmaltiplicity
Federnaacomplicity
Federmatural
Federmontreal
Federmundo
Federration
Feduration
Federbeckerette
Federmasturbation
Federmanofwords
Federmanofworlds
Federmannish
Federmaninspanish
Federfrench
Federungaric
Federgermanic
Federmanaddict
Federmalingual
Federmerengue
Federmatwostep
Federmawaltz
Federmachacha
Federmaswinga
Federmaninone
Federmaparker
Federaphona
Federmajazz
Federmatrench
Federmanicure
Federmansays
Federmaniquote
Federmawhen
Federmaone
Federmatakes
Federmaones
Federmadesires Federmafor
Federmaones
Federmaneeds
Federmaor
Federmawhen
Federmaone
Federmatakes
Federmaones
Federmaneeds
Federmafor
Federmaones
Federmadesires
Federmaeros
Federmavanishes

2009-10-19T06:13:00.004+09:00

Raymond Federman (1928-2009)
For the moment I am still speechless and hungover with a sense of shock. I hope to write something of my memories of Raymond in the next few days as my fog clears up. I brought out his books, spread them on my writing table this morning. I've been shoving the emotions under a rock since I heard the news. It's time for me to face the music, and face that he really has changed tense. It's difficult to explain what this man meant to me. It's difficult to face the fact he is gone. I promise to post something of my tuna sandwiches with Raymond, something of my meetings with him in Chicago and San Diego. See you in the dreamworld, Raymond. See you on the written page. DM

I have re-posted the Interview I did with Raymond in 2005 for those of you who are curious: FEDERMAN INNER-VIEW

2009-10-18T09:03:00.006+09:00

Clawfoot House Benefit Show!
Please come. Clawfoot House is a non-profit venue, a home, a place where local artists can gather and share ideas, host of the Clawfoot Salon, and the experimental series which brings artists to Lincoln, Nebraska who would otherwise have blown straight through. Thanks, Clawfoot House for putting Nebraska on the map.

This Saturday and Sunday is a benefit show featuring a new play written by Robert Stewart (The Living Room) just for our space and music by 9 different bands for our most eclectic lineup ever. Among these rumoured also to play Sunday night is Howlooseanation, with possible creepy remote phone call-in performances from members Mark Baldridge and James Barnes A.K.A Jaroba. More info on Clawfoot House is available at www.clawfoothouse.com.

2009-10-06T00:58:00.004+09:00

Here's a fun writing exercise the artist Danny Smith turned me on to. He suggested taking the first and last entry on a page from Webster's dictionary and combine the meanings to create a new word -- he calls the exercise "Webster's Synthesized." He was reminded of this when I sent him a note about a word from James Joyce's Finnegans Wake -- now there's a book with thousands of invented words informed by Joyce's twelve or more spoken languages. Anyway, Danny Smith has come up with some royal ones. Instead of Webster's I used my Chamber's dictionary. Here are some of the ones I came up with this morning on the typewriter. At the end of the list are some unfinished terms which you, dear reader(s) I hope may fill in.

Coccid Cockatrice
a fabulous serpent with the wings of a bird and the head of a cock and a dragon's tail sprung from an infection that results from inhalation of the spores of the fungus coccidioides immitis, often affecting felines or small children, from whose nostrils this creature usually springs.

Hyman Hysteron Proteron
a very rare condition in woman where menopause precedes virginity.

Experimental Exsanguination
one of the various untested methods of Dr. Von Von Leibendorf, a Cuban vampire famous for draining the blood of his subjects using complex Goldberg style machinery (ex. a chicken pecks an egg which breaks the yoke which fills a thimble which drops into a water tank depressing a lever which releases piranhas that devour a mouse whose weight releases a seesaw with a hypodermic needle on the end which pricks the subject.)

Schlemiel Stone
a legendary stone in the northern reaches of Gallic country with a sword stuck inside of it. He who is able to extract the sword would gain extremely clumsy awful powers to lose any battle fought for centuries.

Lout Lozenge
a diamond-shaped parallelogram or rhombus, sweet, often medicated for the purpose of enticing then sedating an ill-mannered or aggressive man or youthful bumpkin.

Here are the ones I didn't write definitions for:

Reindeer Relapse

ICBM Ichthyic

Hack Haggis

Glucose Gnosis

Limbeck Limonite

2009-10-05T12:55:00.004+09:00

Life's guarantee: You'll never get out alive.

2009-09-20T03:54:00.002+09:00

LETTING GO

Getting into the elevator today the right half buckled and opened up into emptiness and I jump-gripped onto the edge, then climbed through the open door. Later some prick backed into my motorcycle then got out of the car and pissed on it. I saw that the prick was none other than Schneider himself, totally out of character for him to urinate on a motor vehicle. To make up for it, he lit up a joint, handed it to me, then got back into his car. I've never seen Schneider drive before in my life, and I've known him twenty years. Next thing I know I am watching a fresh oyster sparking and juicing it up on a grill. Then a guy in sunglasses sucks it up in a whiff of air. Two women dressed up as paper mache siamese turds, and another in a fly costume sticking to them. Want a shit sandwich? Two butter crackers and fudge. They ask me to empty my wallet. I oblige. The wallet is overflowing with kelp.

2009-08-29T07:19:00.007+09:00

A message from Richard Francis.

Here's what we have lined up for this coming Monday's (Aug. 31) Desolo Luna Vox Theatrum(produced by Richard and Sean and many friends) from 8pm to midnight:

As the show happens at 20 S.E. 8th:

Weird Fiction projecting visuals on the outside walls of KBOO--Complete Show--Weird Fiction does interpretive visual projection. They will be listening to the FM signal and performing based upon that. None of their performance will go on the air, unless someone can set up a webstream.

Other Local performers:

Fiasco Music prerecorded, Dr. Id Live, Sean Ongley live

Voices from the Fictionary (David Moscovich) fuses with Abusive/Consumer (J Morales) to become Voices from the Consumer performing their own works plus (with Richard Francis)performing some works by Oliverio Girondo prerecorded in Spanish and English

Broken Hours produced readings (by RF) of Oliverio Girondo

Along with the writings of Oliverio Girondo, there will also be prerecorded performances of these works:

Leonora Carrington's "My Flannel Knickers" and "My Mother Is A Cow" produced by Ani Haines, Fernando Arrabal's "The Two Executioners" produced by Rolf Semprebon and "The Folly Stone" produced by Richard Francis, Tristan Tzara's "The Gas Heart" produced by Sean Ongley

Tune in and enjoy at 90.7 FM or on-line at kboo.fm or better yet come on down to the station at 20 S.E. 8th to both hear and see the show.

Thanks folks,
L O V E
raf

2009-08-16T11:29:00.005+09:00

Oh, my. Interviewed in Word Riot [Good Writing No Remorse] by David Hoenigman, the author of Burn Your Belongings. David approached me with a few basic questions and I he answered them the bestest that I he could. Ish. Grab yer pint o fookin' Guinness an position your moose over theese:

Voices From the Fictionary Grilled Juicy Juicy Juicy

2009-08-10T17:40:00.003+09:00

UPDATE! from Abusive/Consumer.

I have a gig lined up for us. Wednesday, August 12, 2009. Abusive/Consumer and Voices From the Fictionary [david moscovich].

My friend Matt Hannafin http://www.myspace.com/matthannafin has started a lil series of shows at his place. I'm supposed to play in August so I asked if you could be on the bill. The yard is small and the idea is for people to play small amps or speakers at low volume to blend with the sounds of the neighborhood. We would play a solo set a piece and then a duo.

A transcontinental outgrowth of Brooklyn, NY's AVANT YARD performances, presented since 2005 by electronics player Brian Moran and percussionist Matt Hannafin, AVANT YARD WEST presents improvisational music and art performances in an outdoor setting, for small audiences. Artists are encouraged to perform quietly, using the ambient sounds and atmosphere of the neighborhood as an integral part of their performances.

The Yard will open at 8:00pm and the performance will begin promptly at 8:30.

Where

AVANT YARD WEST is located in Portland's Concordia neighborhood at 5239 NE 31st Ave., two blocks north of Alberta. Entrance is via the wooden gate located at the right rear corner of the house. Please be careful entering and exiting, due to the construction taking place next door.

Fixed seating is extremely limited, so audience members are encouraged to bring pillows or other ersatz chairs.

Admission is free, though donations for the artists will be accepted.

2009-07-08T01:51:00.002+09:00

This is where I want to go. And so by design, since you are reading this along with me, you must agree. You have no choice. You want to listen to their voice. Is. Voices. These. Are. Voices from the. Fictionary. Hand pictionaried. Be there in a red flyer wagon. Be there in a wheelbarrow. Be there floating in red gin and the ink of narcissus. Break your mirrors and listen.

2009-06-07T07:35:00.012+09:00

It was a legendaryary night at the karaoke club. My evil twin, Rex Ruthore had come out burning with The Greatest American Hero, leaving the crowd in a puddle of mixed awe, rapture and nitrous ecstasy. The applause nearly knocked him off his feet which sent me reeling with an exalted Barry Manilow afterglow outside the 'Nights of Jenny' stripclub, where I was inspired to do an unprecedented air-guitar dropkick backspin luther van dross smooth move special which landed my ankle in just the right position to floor me onto the concrete. This is something I did all by myself, and can be proud of. I was then escorted to my friend's car and supplied with crutches and a boot. Since I have gained thirty-six pounds and have spent an egregious amount of time watching the films of John Carpenter. On the bright side of things, however, I received correspondence from a strapping young Scottish buck [Craig Buchanan] whose poetry is reminiscent at times of Billy Connoly and at others of a straight shot of Kentucky mountain whiskey. With a Scottish accent. Craig [Craig Buchanan], in his letter regarding The Dutch Wife Chronicles, said that he [Craig Buchanan] had written a poem for nearly each of the titles in the 'handbook'. Now, just to freshen your memory, The Dutch Wife Chronicles -- we write the titles you write the story [Paul Blair/David Moscovich] has a rubber doll on nearly every page. What does this have to do with the creative endeavor, you might add? You might try subtracting to find out. Which is what we did with The Chronicles. We subtracted the stories. As if we had ever written them. Seriously, though, the stories aren't there, just the titles. And it's themed around Dutch Wives, you got that. And so does Craig Buchanan. Now as I've stated in the introduction to the book, it's not that the authors are inimitably in love, in lust, head over wheels shoving fists into sex dolls or sweating over their every seam and stitch seeking them throughout the land in every sex shop imaginable peeking behind the lavender lingerie the leather the leather the cuffs the peepshows the flyers for whores the sex museums the girl in the jean skirt standing on the corner with a hello kitty bracelet and a tattoo of a sphinx in minx with the d-cup bra with the tantalizing pinky furry cotton candy handcuffs it's not that we're obsessed with these often meaningless objects of capitalism and creativity melting into one perfect union of woman and plastic, no, but as a rhetoric, as a subject for a rubber dialectic, a false philosophy of latex air, yes, it is for the fascination of human diversity that we have pursued this noble goal. And Craig [Buchanan] [Craig Buchanan] the Scottish poet, has written many things inspired by this book, one of which I am about to read to you right now, aloud, but which you might decide to read by yourself, here, in this electronica, below.

Airms and legs

The guy had these fucking
manky hands
always looked like
he’d just come off
a twelve hour shift
in a baby stranglin’ factory.
he was always whingeing
bout puncture repair kits
for the
blow-up dolls
which he bought
from my shop.
And always wanted to
closely examine
the latex vaginas
out of the boxes,
poking at em
with those
black hands.

Day in question
he was mumbling
some shit or other,
i must have been
feelin inquisitive
“eh?”
“uv funt a wiy ay keep thum blown up.”
“what?”
should have just left it there,
but went
“what?”
“u sez uv funt a wiy ay keep thum blown up –
likes.”
“aye…
what…
how?”
“u cut the airms and legs oaf ay thum un u
stuff thum wi auld paper und tights.”

My bewilderment
forced me
to enquire of
this
man
what the fuck
he was talking about
“where the fuck
do you git the tights?”
-“just ken lyin about the hoose, auld yins
likes.”
“Fuck –
and where do you cut the arms and legs off?”
“mu garage likes...”
“i meant,
never mind,
never mind what a meant
if yer no buyin anything
Then get the fuck
out a my shop…
sir.”

Craig Buchanan is a poet and writer from Scotland, an often grey country renowned for strong drink, third world level mortality rates and domestic violence. In the haar of this blue funk lurk chance encounters with drunk she-men, sexual deviants and the gentlemen of the road – channelling these unheard entities is this poets work. And it is vital, and often dangerous work, which probably won’t be featuring on any Scottish tourism brochures. Come to Scotland we’ve some beautiful mountains and islands, and we don’t use dogs for live shark bait, yet.

2009-05-23T06:58:00.004+09:00

Sometimes you just have to hand it to French television.

2009-05-05T08:16:00.002+09:00

New interview up on Rain Taxi. This one concerns David Hoenigman, a Clevelander who calls Tokyo his home, and it shows. The novel is called Burn Your Belongings, and it does not read like a grocery store paperback bestseller. And that's one of the reasons I like reading it, also because it's readable upside down as well as hanging from the ceiling. David would probably encourage all of that, based on what he said in the interview. There are many things about this novel that are hard to pin down, and soft to pin up. Take it or leave it, David Hoenigman's novel is atypical in your not so average way. And we, the atypical generation, are here to pick up what he's putting down. Have a gander at the interview here.

2009-04-17T01:29:00.006+09:00

Today Whitney Woolf sent me a poem. Today this morning I recorded the sounds of birds in a city park. The rare red-breasted cardinal. The even more elusive pigeon. The city crow. The robin. Aviary rarities, ahem..... Whitney Woolf's poem:

visit in your cadillac,
trimmed with lace and feathers
riding on the wings of a boa constrictor
suffocating on raw cat food

them thar hills smell fresh
absurdists can't be absurd all the time
then they'd be consistent.

blink!
ww

ओल्ड इंग्लिश स्पेल्लिंग बी

2009-02-04T07:22:00.012+09:00

Portland Bike Ensemble Live in Japan. Vinyl. 200 copies.

We played with the idea of calling it the Portland Bike Duo back in 2006, as Kelvin, Shane, Mark, Whitney and J.P. (all quite indispensible members) were unable to make the tour. That left Craig and myself. For filling out the sound we recruited Shayne Bowden, who played with us at the Tetra and Kitakyushu gigs. That left the two of us playing most of the gigs as a duo. With the bikes we were an ensemble. And I felt that we were faithfully carrying the sound. All in all I`d say we stayed true to the Portland Bike Ensemble credos, unspoken yet understood collectively by members, staving off the tempatation of rhythm and basically doing a lot of listening, allowing the music to reveal itself minimally and organically. The bicycle is not at all a gimmick instrument -- anyone who might try to approach it as such would be best to stay away. Each bicycle has its own resonances, its own tricks and switchbacks, just like any instrument. There is a vocabulary that has to be developed, deranged, detuned, magnified. It should be noted that following one of these performances, Paul Blair, mighty Scotsman, did innovate the sound by using his gluteus muscles upon the tire tread. Woe is me. What is the sound of one hand reaching for the pedal and the other hand listening to the sound of the hand reaching for the pedal?

EQUIPMENT USED: Two random bicycles donated by local folk, contact microphones, four channel mixer.

LABEL: Olde English Spelling Bee. PS. I have remained in Japan so I don`t know how things are developing back home, but I enjoyed this recent performance.

2008-12-26T14:19:00.007+09:00

Hot Off the Dresses.
BUK SCENE 1, 110 pages! Published in Montreal.

Original ink drawings added to poems and color pictures, black and white pictures of Charles Bukowski,all taken from original oil paintings by Desforges.

Essays on Charles Bukowski by David Barker, David Stephen Calonne and others.

Poetry by Jordan Hurder, Linda King, A. D. Winans, Justin Hyde, Christopher Cunningham, Justin Barrett, Stephen Hines, David Moscovich, Whitney Woolf and others.

Memoriams on Dave Church and Michael Montfort.

Critical column on the small press.

BIG story on Steve Richmond by Mike Daily.

2008-10-29T18:13:00.004+09:00

A couple of days ago I got this email from Raymond Federman. In his metafictional exhuberance, he addresses it as if speaking to an audience in a hushed yet imperative voice, not at all stark and unedited and passionate -- and I'm going to take his advice:

On reading The Road

whatever you’re doing
stop
stop right now
even if you are in the middle of a dream
go immediately buy THE ROAD by Cormac McCarthy
right now -- No book has gotten to me that much since I first read Molloy or better yet How It Is this book shows us How it will be No book has moved me [even when I first read Calvino] than THE ROAD since I felt the little slippage when I first read Sam it may be because of my present condition as I confront my mortality up close it’s a sad mysterious cryptic and crystal clear
we are in the No-man’s land of deviltry
there is urgency to each page
raw emotional pull you cannot stop reading even if you don’t know where this road is taking you it is as if you must keep reading so that the father and the son can stay alive so they can survive this horrible How it will be if humanity doesn’t stop going full speed towards eternity it a violent story a grotesque landscape not unlike that in which Pim Pam Pem etc are crawling in How It Is a horrible landscape rendered beautiful and melancholic even though it is atrocious a darkness that glows with intensity a huge gift of language it is not the language of Sam in which one always hears a little laughter the language here is all sadness and yet happiness too the way the father love his son the son who carries the fire
the fire towards which they are perhaps going
should by accident humanity stop doing
what it is doing and reinvents love compassion and fear it is a disturbing book that exposes the blackness
that lies beneath this surface of grief and horror it is the inevitable culmination of everything becoming nothing just ashes yes ashes that’s all is needed to know when and where we are
on the road to nowhere it’s hard to comprehend how the writer managed to write the apocalypse in such beautiful words Well there is a bit of biblical stuff that circulates in this book
but wasn’t that true also of sam’s language
but with sam we don’t fall into the trap
here it’s not always clear it’s ambiguous what is for sure
McCarthy is the perfect cynic for our time a word to describe this book – devastating – yes a book about devastation -- lovely and sad
so sad it’s hard at the end not to let out a few tears when the father dies but then one remember what we read a few pages earlier Every day is a lie ... but you are dying. That is not a lie. Yet amid this Godot-like bleakness, McCarthy shares something vital and enduring about the boy’s spirit, his father’s love and the nature of bravery itself when it’s a matter of survival

2008-10-22T18:23:00.002+09:00

Deacon Don Sings

Deacon Don Says...

Currently I'm not quite a third of the way through a project to post a new clip to Youtube in each of the last 100 days of 2008, mostly new songs, mostly played on my new HARMONIUM.
http://youtube.com/theOFchurch

This project will serve as a kind of sketch book of new tunes and an archive of the process. Has it occurred to you that youtube clips, unless removed by their authors, will remain indexed and available for years and years - as long as the whole Google project to index all information lasts?

I wonder what use a historian might make off all those talking head responses to responses of vlog videos fifty years from now... 100 years?

I have three different playlists:
Song Seeds Sown is the raw sketchbook of tunes
there's a Saturday Cartoons list in which I animate one of the week's songs
a Sunday Service where I sing or preach or... well, it's evolving.

2008-10-05T19:39:00.000+09:00

Old, Grizzled Third-Party Candidate May Steal Support From McCain

2008-09-30T00:35:00.015+09:00

A FIRST IN THE I WISH I LOVED JAPAN SERIES. I EVEN BOUGHT MY OWN BULLDOZER TO SHOW MY PATRIOTISM AND PITY.

FUCKBAR Staff Says I’m Not a Human Being After DJ Attacked Me

FUCKBAR. Nice name.

Although expecting to find decent company, or any company at all, in an alcohol-fueled danceclub in a small city in Japan (especially one named FUCKBAR, nice name) is a case of being in the wrong place for the wrong reasons, I didn’t count on getting mauled by the DJ, threatened physically and dragged through the hallways and out the door because I “requested too many songs the DJ didn’t have.”

I’ve seen my share of DJ’s all over the world, good and bad, and everything inbetween. And this one was fulfilling the job description, spinning dancable r’n’b music for the typically mixed crowd that frequents the FUCKBAR. But the night took a sour turn when I requested The Beastie Boys’ Sabotage after a string of requests he couldn’t fulfill, and the DJ threw up his arms in exasperation. Apparently, it was my fault he didn’t have any Happy Birthday songs or any Beastie Boys because the next thing I knew he was on the floor with his arms in my face, screaming like a teenager on a rampage (he probably is a teenager for all I know), quickly and conveniently followed by some bald ape-like japanese staff who decided that pushing me into tables, chairs and knocking people over out the door was the good and decent thing to do. If ever I met someone who introduced themselves with their force, throwing me into the animate and the inanimate, first on the dance floor then into the bar then into the hallway then out the door, it was him. The baldy continued the harrassment in the gritty stairwell (about as welcoming as a trash compactor, fitting for this gem of a club). Apparently, he attended one of the more prestigious Universities in Japan and graduated with high marks with a major in Pushing Gaijin Into Walls, Tables and Chairs. I had never heard of it until that night, but after doing some research it seems to be a field of study that is getting more widely deserved acclaim, a stout reminder of the integrity of the Japanese education system.

It wouldn’t be fair to claim that I am unbiased on the events of the evening – but, as another gaijin shouted while the baldy was displaying his unique academic prowess, maybe I should “get a lawyer”. That might be an option if I felt that I have any rights as a resident of Japan. But the ape assured me this was no case of discrimination, as the DJ was not of Japanese nationality, and since the owner is an equal opportunity employer discrimination is out of the question. Sound logic. Hiring people of diverse ethnic backgrounds (read: one Korean guy counts as "diversity") apparently exempts a business, and all of its staff, from racism. Just like Affirmative Action guarantees equal treatment of minorities in American workplaces. Somehow, I don’t see the connection between hiring practices and behavior, but then again, it’s my fault for being a fan of The Beastie Boys, and, uh, birthday songs. Birthday songs are inflammatory. What shortsightedness on my part.

But again, to be perfectly honest, I’m not just an innocent victim, but I do believe absolutely that the brilliant baldy and the DJ were extreme in their reaction to my small offense. I flipped off the DJ. Immature, no doubt, but not professionally immature, as was his reaction. I wasn’t the one on the job. His ego was hurt, it’s very simple. But frankly, if you expect to please everybody your life will just be an extended disappointment. Which, come to think of it, is probably why I bought the bulldozer, out of pity for the DJ. You might see us riding in it together someday, proudly together with the bloodstain flag. Did I threaten him with a gun? Did I threaten him with a knife? Did I threaten his safety in any way? No, the answer is by anyone’s perspective, the attack did not come out of self-defense. The double attack, I will add. There was no threatening on my part, and as one customer remarked about my colorful plaid shirt and lanky legs, I was obviously physically assaulting them with my warlike form of dress. I was practically yelling `we need another Hiroshima! we need another Hiroshima!` by wearing a shirt like that. My friends were as startled as anyone else in the crowd who watched the DJ come out from behind his plastic screen to accost me, standing in the middle of the floor talking to my birthday friend. With reddenned eyes he accused my friends also of laughing at him, which surprised the hell out of them since they didn’t even notice him until he started pushing me. I thought I had made it clear to the DJ that it was alright he didn’t have the Beastie Boys, and a friendly bartender also told me the same, upon which I remarked, no worries, mate. And I thought that was that, until the DJ jumped down off his post followed a nanosecond later by the baldheaded expert in pushing, aggressing and dehumanizing gaijin`s. Which brings me to the final point, after which I want to let this episode go – after apologizing for my finger’s tendency to elevate when faced with a limited cd collection, he asked me point blank – are you even human? The given look of pleasure in his face told me immediately I was dealing with a world class dildo. Of course I’m not human, I’m a gaijin. I`m a zoo animal. I smell like shit and I`m spreading it on every wall in Fukuoka. Not so long ago people like me were cut open up and operated on for amusement by Japanese ‘medical practicioners,’ because they thought gaijin weren’t human, too. At the same time I thought, in false reminiscence, I wish I had attended some of this guy`s early junior highschool classes, where he no doubt first learned this airtight line of logical thinking that would put Plato to shame (read: got his head smashed in by some teacher whose father paid off the vice principal so he could get a job).

But of course, that’s hardly possible, even given a time machine for which to complete the audit. Because I doubt that he even graduated from elementary school.

Basically I can’t forgive the staff that night that decided to push me around with a good amount of pompous self-rightous violence. The dynamics of power in the situation was undeniably in the DJ’s favor, even as the staff only deemed it necessary to listen to his half-baked, maybe even cocaine-induced paranoid frenzy before attacking me. There are witnesses as to the DJ’s paranoia, bystanders who watched as my friends were shocked when he accused them of talking behind his back, with popping reddened eyes like he just came back from the bathroom from snorting a line of coke. Add to that the obvious disadvantage of being a gaijin in any club scuffle, where we quite likely appear to others as the instigator. Add to that the fact that that any staff at a club has a distinct power advantage over the customers, add to that the guy was twice my size. Add to this that I was expected to apologize for my non-violent action and they didn’t feel the need to apologize for their 100% violent response, for which I now have a swollen ankle, and large bruises on my legs and shoulder from being knocked around. This all adds up to a very small offense on my part and a tremendous irresponsible overreaction and unprofessionality on the part of FUCKBAR DJ and lead staff.

Shabooyah, FUCKBAR. Five Stars. Did I mention how that`s a really nice name?

2008-07-09T17:41:00.014+09:00

From Twenty Drunken Nights by david moscovich [Mummaliga Press: 2008] Now available at the New York Public Library and in very limited quantities at St. Mark`s Bookstore (NYC), Left Bank Books (Seattle), Reading Frenzy, the PNCA library and Powell's City of Books (Portland, OR):

With Bernie and I there was a genuine sense of comradeship, of chumming, and despite all his pining over superstar models he pretended to know intimately then lose in some heated barfight, he needed a friend more than anything, a partner in time. My best days with Bernie were when he managed to laugh, and when he was in a good mood, usually sunny and the rum was rolling, and we were playing Dick Dale up on volume twenty-six, and we turned the chair so we could talk to each other and not the hypnobox, we had a party for two that matched any existentialist nihilist drunkards’ super DJ house party in momentum, in density of emotion and raw animal magnitude, we were an 8.6 on the richter scale. At our best, Bernie and I were a lifestyle, a free-wheeling, fuck-the-world brotherhood that gave it to the man when and how we felt it best; because of Bernie’s status in the community we were able to pull off superhuman stunts in the realm of social experiments. There was no end to the piss we could take out of greenish grocery store clerks, gas attendants, car wash girls, whoever. Bernie and I always had to do the shopping together, that was part of the deal.

--What should we get at the store Bernie, I would ask, and he would cock his head to the side, and move his mouth to the corner of his mouth and slur

--Shockka shipps

--Chocolate did you say chocolate Bern

--Schokka shipps hookies

--Brilliant boss we’ll get some but you can’t just eat cookies – I don’t wanna tell you what to do but how bout some strawberries with that

--Nyeah nyeah nyeah wereel goo

--And hey you gotta remember to coordinate food with drink it’s just as important as getting the right shirt to match the pair of pants you want to wear

--Nrigght nnrii

--So if we’re drinking Cuba Libres tonight – you said you wanna drink Cuba Libres right

--Nyeah nuuba reebrayy

--Right so what kind of fruits might sit well for example cut and wedged into the side of the glass as a

--Numbrllas

--We need some umbrellas Bernie is that it

--Nfrr the nrokkrails

--Right super brill the little umbrellas you are always thinking progressively my friend – umbrellas and what kind of fruit did we say

--Rineapple

--Pineapple good one boss now can you tell a good pineapple from a not so ripe one

--Rnoah

--Well you gotta squeeze it like this then turn it upside down and throw it at the pile of apples like this, I say, and let it rock the Pink Ladys down the floor in a fruictilicious avalanche

The produce boy would come scraping the floor and I’d tell him,

--Sorry part of the job description buddy, and he would look at the corn exuding from my ears and keep scraping

--Nya, Bernie guffawed at the bumbling produce boy

--You know Bernie just asked you your name, I told him

--He asked me my name I’m so sorry I didn’t well it’s not that I didn’t understand but

--So just exactly what are you saying

--Look I’ll get right on it

--You’ll get right on what I think you’re taking advantage of the situation here just who do you think you are

--Nyeah haa haa han, said Bernie, pushing the wheelchair into the apple pile again and knocking back all of his work onto the floor again

--Look I’m going to have to call the manager is he on duty right now

--Oh please don’t do that

--You know and I know this is a clear case of discrimination against

--The handicapped I know I’m very sorry

--Handicapped who said anything about handicapped are you trying to say Bernie is handicapped

--No that’s not what I meant

--Sure it’s what you meant you people are all the same he’s not handicapped he’s a public nuisance

--That’s what I meant to say

--So you’re saying he’s a public nuisance are you, I said, raining the produce and cash registers with a booming Orson Wells voice

--Nyeah nyeah numbic nussann haa haa han, Bernie echoed, swaying his head in complete joy over the whole scene

There was nothing better than this moment, watching the pale awkwardness of a person who doesn’t know how to react, the vibrating smiles, the hands out of rhythm like some new teenager who sees a bit too much leg on his mother’s girlfriend, notices she enjoyed his nervousness – the joy of being with Bernie in the public sphere had much to do with that secret agenda, making people squirm.

2008-06-17T22:06:00.005+09:00

Reviewed: THIRTY-THREE CONVOLUTED SOLUTIONS TO THE WORLD'S SIMPLEST ROBBERY [2006]
by DAVID MOSCOVICH

I quite like this self-aware train-of-thought story - David Moscovich writes in a unique, absurd manner that is often quite funny. Taking on this piece can be a challenge - it is hardly a cohesive narrative, and it takes over half of its duration to move from the author's abstract ruminations to the actual convoluted robbery solutions in question. These "solutions" are actually the various hypothetical ideas the narrator and his friends come up with in order to rob an unlocked ATM machine seen in a burrito place. It's difficult to locate where exactly the story is set, and what parts are true or merely fantastical, but a well-executed twist on the last page provides the reader with a nice bit of closure. I recommend this to all experimental fiction enthusiasts.

-Michael Tau/Broken Pencil

2008-05-18T19:00:00.005+09:00

pichiciego
scaphocephalus
roy thought of the sound a skull-shaped boat would have made hushing through a viking tempest

dravidian langual
kanned kangaroo dog an odograph gravured in pearl sauce of en avant

novaculite: hone stone, siliceous rock of a new kind of fictitious narrative, supplementary to the Codex

porphyry: variegated purple hard made by slowly stirring oatmeal or rolled milk in oats, pursuivant of the English College of Elizabet
han half-penny`s,
pork scratchings

2008-05-14T00:22:00.011+09:00

Fiasco Improvisation(Tim Alexander, Alejandro Ceballos, Bryan Lightcap, Shane Schneider, Jerry Soga) with David Moscovich reading from Castro`s Weatherman: Ethnography of a Bumbling Sex Tourist. Recorded December 2007. Blame satan tomorrow for the sandwich you ate today. Probably does it to other fruits. Ethnography of a Bumbling Sex Tourist. That`s not Bellatrix, it`s too bright to be Bellatrix. Recorded amongst an audience of sheep. Let`s keep it that way. Proctology of a hurricane. Self refluxing again, are we? Caught in the rain in Palenque overnight at the Temple of the Inscriptions. Self refluxing again, are we? Permitted but irresponsible. Castro`s Weatherman....

Give Give Four

Take Take Three

2008-03-26T09:42:00.014+09:00

This just in... PROCTOLOGY OF A HURRICANE. These musings, unmastered yet totally listenable, feature musicians BRYAN DAY, MARINA HARDY and JOSEPH JAROS (of SHELF LIFE) creating raw insubordinate scraping resonating percussive analogue synthesized soundscapes, while DAVID MOSCOVICH reads tales of the narrator's poly-lingual, rum and haldol-induced incarceration from the novel Castro's Weatherman: Ethnography of a Bumbling Sex Tourist

It's midnight in Havana, and I have been walking for hours, trying to find someone, perhaps a couple who would want this paper bag full of condoms...

2008-03-25T17:35:00.004+09:00

Dispatch
.. dispatch
...dispatch

TATSUYA NAKATANI

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improvised solo percussion
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Sunday, March 23rd, 9pm
Valentines
232 SW Ankeny

performing solo,
then in collaboration with
Jonathan Sielaff - clarinet / bass clarinet
Ben Kates - alto sax
Mark Kaylor - drums / sousaphone
Matt Hannafin - percussion

Originally from Osaka, Japan, Tatsuya Nakatani is a world-renowned, contemporary percussionist who has created his own approach to sound and instrumentation, effectively inventing many instruments and extended techniques. His music is based in improvised/ experimental music, jazz, free jazz, rock, and noise, yet retains the sense of space and beauty found in traditional Japanese folk music. He utilizes drumset, bowed gongs, cymbals, singing bowls, metal objects, bells, and various sticks and bows to create an intense, organic music that defies category or genre.

sound sample:
http://www.hhproduction.org/sound_files/GR12%20Track1.mp3

more info:
http://www.hhproduction.org/TATSUYA_NAKATANI_WORKS.html

2008-02-11T10:35:00.001+09:00

vanilla arm pudding on fire\ バニラ腕プジング痛い

b.b.q.痛い痛い痛い痛スナック痛い痛い痛い痛い痛い
roasttodit picktodit痛い痛い痛いスペシアルミナイシウン痛い痛い痛い
greasedodit plucktodit smeetodit luvkodit codeinit heppodit baantodit haatodit
stillodit haatodit impossibit haatodit sureepressit wakkowit allnightit haatodit cannudiggit morpheinit onlyit takeawayit haatodit cannudiggit pinprickit danotits’ infernoit noexaggerit fukitallithaatafevah choppme ed off blimeyits a bbq of yunk meat mein.痛い痛い痛いエレベイタアイズリ痛い痛い痛い痛い痛い痛い
yaki.nande痛い痛い痛いめっさじ痛い痛い痛い
まっさじも痛い痛い痛い
dogs.bollocksshredder　犬も痛い痛い痛いきっすも痛い痛い痛い
b.sit.imp.cannot.laydunnsinnatriffle.waffled
.laidasaladyslay.sikcockle.ockle.poo.symponipium
.ten.milloguramu.pooa.nihongo.
setsumay.joobugdekinai.teme.flipwit.cunt
.sutikka.uppa.assa.yunk.prickus.judicius
.wetwick.pucknut.swimfush.limpdaddy
.asswhickle.fingerpluck.stenkfish.windowspicker
.bogeyfump.roborat
.programmedfatty.sensitivechyump.hyperduelingmunk.
you.impudentgimp. さわるも痛い痛い
痛い痛い痛いちょこぷじんぐも痛い
you.starchheaded.blimpmongrel.　
greenpeacereleasesdolphinsintoumpquanationalforest
.thestench.thewhimpering.thefakewhalemeat.

2008-01-24T20:13:00.000+09:00

To be released in the United States of America February 25 on the Eh? label:

おしり御飯ASS LUNCHおしり御飯moscovichおしり御飯ASS LUNCHおしり御飯moscovichおしり御飯ASS LUNCHおしり御飯moscovichおしり御飯ASS LUNCHおしり御飯moscovichおしり御飯ASSASS LUNCHおしり御飯BLAME SATANおしり御飯TOMORROWおしり御飯BLAMEおしり御飯SATANおしり御飯TOMORROW FORおしり御飯BLAME SATANおしり御飯TOMORROW FOR THEおしり御飯おしり御飯SANDWICHおしり御飯YOUおしり御飯BLAME SATAN TOMORROW FOR THE SANDWICH YOUおしり御飯ATEおしり御飯FOR THE SANDWICH YOU ATEおしり御飯TODAYおしり御飯moscovichおしり御飯BLAME SATAN TOMORROW FOR THE SANDWICH YOU ATE TODAYおしり御飯moscovichおしり御飯ASS LUNCHおしり御飯moscovichおしり御飯ASS LUNCHおしり御飯moscovichおしり御飯ASSASSASS LUNCHおしり御飯

2007-12-07T11:44:00.000+09:00

Meet Tesse. Curandero, Singer, Harmonica player, Brother, Cultivator of Pineapples, Palmitas, Yucca, Platano, Maiz, Uva, Expert Machette Wielder at this Zona de Conservacion in the Amazon Jungle.

2007-12-05T08:55:00.000+09:00

NEW RELEASE FROM LOST FROG
portland bike ensemble live at il corral
craig burgardt david moscovich kelvin pittman shane schneider whitney woolf

2007-11-19T08:56:00.000+09:00

moscovich arrival in tarapoto

grass huts national geographic scenery

one bathroom for the whole airport

no soap

motortaxi to the hotel

less than a dollar

the hotel is closed

the gates open for a moment

do you have any rooms

no

i know another hotel says the driver

i can trust his eyes

i can trust

snapping moving shots of the jungle whipping by

little did i know

in less than an hours time

i would be sharing a cup of

ubechada

a rare jungle fruit liquor

with three others in the wherehouse

and the señora the mother

would be telling me stories

about the seven cleansing herbs

she sells in plastic bottles

and that i would be telling her

about the cherry liquor i grew up drinking

that resembles the ubechada

how happy i would be

in less than an hour

in this humid jungle town

jungle town

more jungle than town

2007-10-30T13:28:00.000+09:00

恋愛恋愛It started恋愛恋愛恋愛when we were恋愛恋愛恋愛baptizing the恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛sheep.恋愛恋愛恋愛恋Papa Sweat,愛恋愛恋愛恋愛with his St. Nick's Beard恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛crisp as dewy dough恋愛恋愛恋standing taller than愛恋愛恋愛恋an acreage愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋in a caramel tie愛恋愛恋愛恋愛and cherry bomb jacket恋愛恋愛恋愛恋incanting from 愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋some Louis L'Amour愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛over the trough of dry ice恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋while I held suspended愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛the newborn lamb恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋her wool sticky愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛glutenous恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋gob-stopping愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋all over愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋my hands愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛he went on longer than usual恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛with the scene where恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋Faye O'Donner declares愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋her love for Sheriff Taylor愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛revealing a strawberry garter belt恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛and silky delicious恋愛恋愛恋skin愛恋愛恋愛Taylor says恋愛恋愛恋愛Now this is what I call恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋a room with a view愛恋愛恋and愛恋愛恋locks愛恋愛the恋愛恋door愛恋愛恋at the愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋Goathead Inn and Bar恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋carefully and with愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛uninterrupted eye-contact恋愛恋愛恋愛unravels her恋愛恋愛恋愛恋below the愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛WANTED: PITBULL JOHNSON恋愛恋poster愛恋愛恋愛恋愛and恋愛the恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛Goathead's very own恋愛恋愛恋愛恋39-years aged Malt Whiskey愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛恋愛

2007-10-26T12:02:00.000+09:00

Highlights of the NW tour.
All Seattle dates cancelled due to an extreme loose stool ping-pong tournament with the dogs of hell's lacerated intestines, in a discreet love hotel in Fukuoka City. a solo performance complete with I.V. Drip and a five-hundred dollar airplane cancellation charge. Thanks, Zawa Restaurant of Fukuoka, now and forever dubbed The Salmonella Cafe. What restaurant in Fukuoka serves sashimi on hot rice? The Salmonella Cafe. After driving down to Portland, a grand ol' welcome party show at The Barn with Oregon Artificial Limb Co., a bombshell blowout with Abusive Delay and Footsolo, Shane and I (Spasmolodic Duo) followed with a reading from atop a very comfortable bed, upon which I had been sleeping off my jetlag throughout most of the show. The performances were stella-cellular, comparable to the delicious warmth of homecooked bread, if the bread were laced with an angelic aftereffectivepneumonicpneullucination pill. Then came Tuesday, a perfectly wonderful set reciting short fictions and sputtering embargoes from Castro's Weatherman (my Cuban novel) wonderful because of the masterful Doug Haning, who was musing piano improvisations at The Tugboat Brewing Company, Portland's one and only living room for people with a palatte for Chernobyl Stout, 13% alcohol. That same night with CexFux at Valentines, just down the street in a sweatier, funkier game of pallandrominoes, a new expanded version of the impro-funkestra with Asa Gervich, JP Jenkins, Mark Kaylor, Jonathan Sielaff, Luc, Shane Schneider and a few others who brewed a palatable liver-cleanser of dense monstermash audio vittles, and as you can see below, god drew an impression of this young man's tender mobilibido as he spat nonsensical chatter-collisiosyms into the mike:
　　　　　∬　　ﾉ(　_,,_
　　　(＼＿／) ⌒ /../ ﾐ
　　　（´ 〜｀''）　././ ﾐ
　　／ ,.　　　＼_//　
　　ヽ_) 　　　 '┐
　　 i'　,,-*ｰ､. `i　　　
　（＿_|　* （＿_）　　
　　 *
*
*

Next stop on the NW circuit was the Someday Lounge, keeps a video archive of performances, including our This is Not This October 17th performance at the Phase One Words and Music Show, hosted by Garrett Strickland, archiving the nun's habbit I was sporting that evening, complete with a very, very, heavier-than-god silver cross around my neck. Jesus. Footsolo was on amplified bicycle baked to perfection like some slithering metallic goose in chocolate mole. One night later, or was it the night before, I was slated in on the mike with FIASCO, on KBOO radio's Night of the Living Tongue, hosted by the dangerously ravishing Jennifer Robin. Bass clarinets, blenders, egg beaters, keyboards, dulcimers, neon fan, trap-set, saxophones, guitars, electronic transliterations of the formulas for nuclear energy (I'm not kidding), with Tim Alexander, Jerry Soga, Juan, Alejandro Ceballos, Bryan Lightcap and the Reverend Papa Sweat. The final night was tied-up and hung at The Waypost, with Shaun opening the night on solo piano, followed by Plankton Wat on deliciously langorous solo guitar meanderings. The nun made an appearance there as well, with Footsolo screeching and tromping gears of metal eating itself on the electric bicycle, a former member of the Portland Bike Ensemble, Whitney Woolf. Another highlight was catching up with novelist and freestyle-fiction storyteller Mike Daily, whose novel and double-CD set ALARM [2007], an ambitious and psychedellicollaborative shout-out to experimental fictioneers (including Portland's own Kevin Sampsell, who is featured as a character in the novel) scored triple points with heavyweights like Eckhard Gerdes, Steve Katz and Raymond Federman, and he still has copies. IN between the madness, I managed to place copies of my chapbook of flash fictions, Voices From the Fictionary,at the wonderful Reading Frenzyand Powell's City of Books. I was also happy to be able to drop off a few copies of Donkeys, a brilliant gem of a guided tour through scurvy English freakculture by the one and only Nottingham poet and performance artistThe Fug.

And now for a more than surreal stopover in a small university city in the middle of the American prarie, in the middle of the middlewest, with an underrated subculture and plenty of time to reprint a more readable manuscript for Castro's Weatherman: Ethnography of a Bumbling Sex Tourist, before a few weeks in the sur-reality of the Peruvian Amazon....

2007-10-21T01:27:00.000+09:00

I'll be dressed as a bearded nun with a voice like satan, again, for this one...

this is not this - electronic voice
(moscovich and foots)

plankton wat - guitar

s.r. ongley - piano

the waypost
3120 n williams
saturday october 20
8 pm - free

2007-10-17T04:32:00.000+09:00

PHASE ONE: Words + Music. Portland, Oregon 10/17...

[NEWnewNEWnewNEWnewNEWnewNEWnewNEW
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NEWnewNEWnewNEWnewNEWnewNEWnewNEW
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NEWnewNEWnewNEWnewNEWnewNEWnewNEW]

WE (K)NEW:

- Finishing up a split-season residency of sorts, BECCA YENSER once again joins Phase One for what will undoubtedly be yet another stellar reading of her impressionist poetry and prose. With wry humor and unexpected poignance, Yenser deftly renders - with gem-like language – a pratfall ballet of tenderness, shame, and vulnerability; light refracted off the mirror of memory and back to illumine her characters’ purest and most unifying humanisms. A rising talent if there ever was one.

- Experimental electro/hip-hop multi-instrumentalist RASHEEDA AMEERA weaves entrancing beats and soulful vocals, rhymes and flutes, typewriters and turntables. We are very pleased to have her at this month’s show.

- NORA ROBERTSON, formerly McCrea, spent her first post-collegiate year in Cluj-Napoca, Romania, learning to cook a mean chicken paprikash, which does appear somewhere in the novel she’s working on. Her fiction, poetry and essays have appeared in such publication as Redactions, 2GQ, and Plazm. “How to Boil an Egg,” a recipe-poem from a collection-in-progress entitled Body Project: A Cookbook, was nominated by Redactions for the 2007 Pushcart Prize. Her spoken-word performances have been included in the 2007 Public Works multimedia series (curated by 2 Gyrlz Performative Arts), the 2004 Enteractive Language Festival, and in the multimedia reading series Phase One: Words + Music. She lives in Portland, Oregon and teaches ESL in the Portland Public Schools.

- Not as much a band as it is a ritualized gathering of energy, WHITE FANG plays songs the way that light does, bouncing and shattering and reforming without any real sense of self. Not as much music as it is a way of thinking, White Fang is more beast than band; that one dark form in the shadows that you shot at but didn't check to feel for a pulse and now there's something loud and bright coming up the stairs looking for you with beer and good vibes.

- DAVID MOSCOVICH is the author of the recently-completed book Castro's Weatherman: Ethnography of a Bumbling Sex Tourist, which is either a tragicomedic novel or a prolonged and lewdiculous way of clearing his (the author’s) throat. He plays the amplified bicycle, performs vocally in an invented and improvised tongue, and lives inside a scurvy, time-traveling shadow in Edo Era, Japan. (BLOG: dyslexistential.blogspot.com)

- Hailing from the myriad landscapes of Ohio – creeks, hills, rivers, farmland, and Native-American burial mounds - OHIOAN & NATIVE KIN is the familial joy-child of Oryne Warner. After hightailing it out to this, the other O-state, he went to work distilling both his and a musical history. The new album, BEING OF THE GOOD RIVER, is a culmination of this, a “life put into a canoe and set a-flame”. Featuring contributions from members of Shaky Hands, Old Time Relijun, Evolutionary Jass Band, Joggers, CexFucx, Eternal Tapestry, Au, LKN and many more, Warner has crafted a musical experience that musician and writer Adam Gnade has called “a haunted universe where high-plains drifting country rock rolls like a thunderstorm into swampy firefly-lit funeral processions that disappear; later reborn as junkyard free-folk or midnight dixieland-goes-drum-circle-joy freak-outs… Birth, death, rebirth, god and blood, love and strength, snow and fire, riffs cycle back over a clattering landscape of busted-up Americana, faces emerge out of the fog and it's fuckin' Mardi Gras down that rainy alley.” Definitely not to be missed.

All this WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 17Th
at SOMEDAY LOUNGE (125 NW 5th Ave)
9 PM. $5. ALL-AGES!!!

See you then, Portland!
- Garett Strickland
Host / Curator
Phase One: Words + Music
www.myspace.com/phaseonepdx

2007-10-05T00:39:00.000+09:00

The Quit-aholic

I had to have the job -- what's more, I knew it would be mine like the cheap, easy bitch of a job I knew it was, despite the claims it was a refuge for the gourmet palette in a tasteless take-out industry, I knew it was the dregs of this six-lane highway, that they called it a Boulevard was another greasy misnomer. I wasn't completely aware that I was doing it again, mouth dry as a whip, offering myself as the courteous, whimsical asset they just couldn't live without, dressed in my best corduroy blazer and purple necktie. My target -- Donald Levy, charismatic proprietor of the newest five-star drive thru (yes, a gourmet drive-thru monstrosity) in Los Angeles, and admittedly a brilliant chef. When in the initial days of training (he insisted everyone sample the menu in order to better serve the whiny, upper class, poodle-obsessed clientele) he offered us a green tea sour cream gelato, I had to admit I was dealing with a world class jackass -- the ingredients and the taste were of such high quality, such obscenely perfect texture and deliciousness, it deserved the same ambiance; an uptown location, the best crystal, the white tablecloth, the pristine service and at least two discreet on-location high class prostitutes. Instead, Levy was packaging his Huso-Huso Belugan Caviar in cheap, white polyurethane, destined only to be mauled in a CO2 frenzy by some ratty Chihuahua hussied up in rouge and a pink garter belt and netted stockings.

The ending should go something like this…

Dear Mr.Levy, and all the employees at Fiddler’s Feast,

I have a confession. I am a quit-aholic, and you are my latest victims. The past three and a half years have been a whirlwind of petty addiction, a relentless game of seduction, deception, capture and release – a dangerous adrenalin-ridden game of impermanence which at its base is a deep cloud of despair and a whole lot of valium acquired by unscrupulous means. And the loneliness of a man whose only sense of power lies in his ability to say no – No, I’m not waking up at 8:30. No, I’m not making coconut mousse Italian parsley cake for that whore with the Pomeranian in a wedding dress. No, I'm not going to light a Belgian chocolate candle at our only table for the 5-digit couple who want the romantic, slow-food experience at this absurd Dadaistic experiment gourmet fast-food Frankenstein. No, I’m not picking up my last paycheck and no, I don’t give a flick of a bugger’s ass.

Thus it is with regret, and a great rush to the head for me to inform you – I quit.

2007-10-01T13:46:00.000+09:00

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2007-09-26T08:18:00.000+09:00

Gaijinge*[GAI-JEEN-GAYE] Release Party. Neighbors' Complaints. Host dressed as a nun. An unidentified man streaked naked through the polluted river below. A cross-section of Fukuoka that includes five large apartment buildings, each ten or more stories high, each floor fifteen apartments, an approximate density of 2500 persons heard the noise coming directly from the nun's apartment. Live music by Common Laughing Point.

*Gaijinge is an annual Fukuoka music and new fiction magazine in both Japanese and English. Poetry by Onaka Shunsuke, The Fug, Hugo Velaquez-Marinescu. Comic by Greg Higgins and Mike Daily. Interviews and photos with Ai Yamamoto,Rokugenkin, 2-Bit Brain Boy, Yuko Kawasaki, Maruyama Yuji, Yuki Okumura, Anthony Guerra, Toshimaru Nakamura, new fiction by David Moscovich and a special bondage interview with Onaka Shunsuke.

Both Gaijinge and Voices From the Fictionary are now available through Dead Trees & Dye [UK]andWasabi [Japan]

2007-09-24T01:22:00.000+09:00

The Ronald Sukenick/American Book Review Innovative Fiction Contest

2007-08-28T14:46:00.000+09:00

Voices From the Fictionary
Volume One (24 pp.)

This flash fiction chapbook is volume one in a series of unknown length. Only fifty copies printed worldwide. And locally, how 'bout that. Get your copy now, before another printing makes this printing look antique, collector, cult, first edition, ah-hem. Experts from the CNN/ABC/CBS/C-SPAN/FOX NEWS NETWORK CONGLOMERATE are considering a new merge with Nancy Reagan this December.....

Now available through Dead Trees & Dye [UK]andWasabi [Japan]

2007-08-22T12:00:00.000+09:00

Did you see Randall Randy with his depixelizer couplet gun and his striped gangrene tracksuit at the arcade? He was pressing some old beige codger to push the button built into the back of his sternocleidomastoid.

Touch it, or I’ll find somebody who will! he screamed into the poor cranky’s ear. The aging bloke had just bet his entire bucket of coins on the number three plastic horse, but Randy’s voice clogged the horses’ hooves mid stride, with yellow number three leading and red number five a nickel’s length behind.

The old man was a hollowed out huffer in a Disneyland t-shirt and fell like an oily feather when Randy grabbed his finger and thrust it into the gristly pentagon soldered into his neck, sending security into paroxysms of nausea, instantly smoking the cameras and exploding the lights, tumbling the token changer machines and disintegrating every digital device in the room, and it was a room the size of an unkempt, ash blue city block.

When an addict has no social support, we all lose, don’t we?

2007-08-21T14:54:00.000+09:00

Like Some Kind of Language Slut
Thank you for your interest in Flash-Flood-Fiction magazine. Our decisions were difficult, but we have decided not to use your submission(s). We have included below our editors' comments on your work; we hope you find them useful.

David Moscovich/ Story: Masahiro the Bull

Editor 1 Vote: No
Ed. 1 Comments: I find this story Offensive.
Editor 2 Vote: No
Editor 3 Vote: No
Ed. 3 Comments: This story made me ill.
Editor 4 Vote: No
Ed. 4 Comments: A fresh voice, but not sure why he went home with the panties and kicked the pervert into the water.

2007-08-07T11:01:00.000+09:00

NIGEL STALEY PHOTO EXHIBITION: 23 August-9th September.
F U K U O K A
B I K E
E N S E M B L E,

CLOSING PARTY, ９月８日は I.A.F. SHOPで、 FUKUOKA BIKE ENSEMBLE福岡自転車音楽とmoscovich meets the fug１９：００すたとよろしくね！！！ come and have a DRINK!

2007年09月08日

FUKUOKA BIKE ENSEMBLEは.......麻子、ナイゲルステリ、デビドモソコビチ、と　かれたちの自転車です。たのしんでください！よろしこ。。。。 FUKUOKA BIKE ENSEMBLE IS......ASAKO, NIGEL STALEY, DAVID MOSCOVICH AND THEIR BICYCLES. TO BE SERVED HOT OR ICED. WORD, MOTHER-TRUCKERS!

2007-07-17T12:25:00.001+09:00

Letters to the Future: Ohtake Shinro

David Moscovich, meet Ohtake Shinro. Nice to meet you. I'm really fond of your cut-ups. Work. I'm fond of your prolific output.

That's about how it went with my historical meeting of Shinro Ohtake, the collage artist, who told me he started doing collage at the age of 21 (math tells me that's about thirty years of collage art), he recently had an art opening at The Fukuoka Art Museum, and I caught up with him at an afterparty at Tetra Artspace, quite coincidentally but for good reason. Not only is he a collage artist but also he plays in an improvisatory band called New Chanel, which he features in some of the collages. But don't mistake me, Ohtake's output is by no means limited to collage, and by no means limited to anything we can say about him. Beyond the found, collage, paste mish-mash everyday/travel inspired art, he used large wooden crosses plastered with photographs, spray-painted or arcyllicized. enormous vinyl shrinkwrap abstracts, emasculated Warholian screenprints, and he even designed and pepper spray-painted and cut-up an entire stage of musical equipment (complete with its own similarly pastiched control room) which he actually played with New Chanel on stage in downtown Osaka in the year 2000.

Nice to meet you, Ohtake. Hope to see you in the future present past.

2007-07-09T14:02:00.000+09:00

Have this text professionally translated for only $65: Japan is a gigantic lopsided cement scuplture gagged and hogtied, stuffed into the trunk of a BMW in wooden sandals going 125 on the expressway. プロとして$65のためだけにこのテキストを翻訳されてください：日本は、さるぐつわをはめられた巨大なアンバランスなセメントscupltureで、行って四つ足を縛られて木製のサンダルのBMWの幹〔トランク〕に高速道路の125を詰めました。

2007-06-29T16:41:00.000+09:00

Blair's Demands.
昨日私がもう1つを除いて首相名声のブレア氏からの緊急なメッセージを受け取ったわけではない　ポール・ブレア服を脱ぐことのために福岡で有名なブレア　知らない　ダンスパーティー奴と一般に達者なYakuza日本人の侮辱的なブレアが(それほどいい賞にかなり1人のポールだけにお世辞を言うことでそうすることができた)誰でもを飲んだ。後に続くか　ものが　彼の需要(私がロンドンのルーマニア人の大使館の取引に送るだろうことを約束した)です：

Yesterday I received an urgent message from Mr. Blair, not of Prime Minister fame, but another Blair, Paul Blair, famous in Fukuoka for undressing unaware drunk blokes at dance parties and generally insulting (in that simlutaneously flattering way only a Paul Blair could) passerbys in fluent Yakuza Japanese. What follows are his demands, which I promised I would forward to my contacts at the Romanian Embassy in London:

this time tomorrow, a dour, smelly scot will run the cultural mish mash
we know as the united kuntdom
i am not united.
i demand that the monarch be killed
and all ginger
children be drowned in buckets.
furthermore,i demand gaelic be reinstalled
as our national lingo,
only gay weddings are permitted,
and we should be
allowed to eat dogs.
oh, i want an embassy in the gaza strip.
what can u do for me?

2007-06-25T17:14:00.000+09:00

The museum is officially underway. A three-dimensional pop-up book style manga cut-up version of David Moscovich's novel Castro's Weatherman. Here are some photos of the initial construction and deconstruction. Bon voyage.
CASTRO’S WEATHERMAN
A tragicomedic novel or an exaggerated and prolonged way of clearing my throat

by David Moscovich

A schizophrenic expat living in Tokyo travels to the island of Cuba on a botched personal humanitarian mission to deliver thousands of free condoms to Cuban prostitutes in the midst of obsession, paranoia, murder and ancient voodoo rites in Fidel Castro’s Havana.

2007-06-25T11:21:00.000+09:00

Woah. I just got off the phone [enter name brand internet calling company here] with Whitney Woolf. As always, she turned me on to something new which isn't new that I thought was new but that I knew before that somehow I had missed or thought I missed but in fact, knew. She indicated that her [new] blog is up and at 'em, a blog focused on her already prodigious [a couple weeks in, a couple weeks out] [[way out]] clip-art mail-art projects. She said she checked out all the Brian Gyson she could find at the Portland Public Library. She has quite a few new clips, and they're in color [this isn't black and white], they feature poems, or words [[{it's more complicated than art}]] assembled to be interpreted as poems, or nuclear landscapes [colored beakers within beakers] which bespeak a unique and quirky world [enter Whitney Woolf's name here] that is and can only be [(Whitney Woolf)] Whitney Woolf. In this all-too commericalized [enter hairspray endorsement (FABB-BITCH, hairstyle for your babbage)here] and franchised [enter fast-food hamburger link here (Slackdonalds: Slimmer cages Sicker Cows Snot Really Beef)] and plagiarized [enter own website here] and self-plagiarized [enter another hairspray ad here] re-appropriated self-plagiarized [Bicycle Basket Escargot: You are Where you Eat.)]and de-fabricated [enter here] and refabricated and remanipulated [enter Foucault] and reinvented [enter enter enter] and later fabricated from facsimile [exit exit exit here] and copied from modeled after [enter exit delete delete delete] and resmacked retapped rebaffled rebuttled remixed reconformed refit-to-size retyped restretched unbleached world, it's refreshing to hear a voice [although it's not a voice, it's visual art you rumpus] like Whitney and also [new not new to me two you] Chauney Peck whom Whitney sites as an influence and contemporary.

Shwweeeeet.

2007-06-19T12:25:00.000+09:00

S-M Play Gallery Soap's 10th ann. party, hosted by Megahertz club in Kitakyushu. on the bill: The Munz, Common Laughing Point, heiraku G, The Tortoise City Band, Electro, and a tributary of DJ's... Atom, Gen, Jimi, Shim@, DJ Speedfarmer, Wada and Gizaju.

Starts at 20:00 1000 yen includes one drink and "food". Get there early, I reckon. 6.22.Friday.

2007-06-07T13:05:00.002+09:00

This Saturday June 9th, at Love Gallery (near Reisen park in the Nakasu red light district of Fukuoka), if you happen to be in the Fukuoka area, stop by and see Lawrence English do his magic. I wonder why they call it Love. . . .

2007-06-05T00:53:00.000+09:00

My buddy Paul Blair sent me an email early yesterday morning. This requires no explanation. If I were to explain the following email, I would ruin the suspense and humor carried within, which Paul himself carries within him, in his own special Paul Blair way, which I cannot and will not emulate, in my Moscovich way. If I were to attempt to emulate the Paul Blair way, I would end up sounding like Moscovich doing an impression of Paul Blair in the Moscovich way. Does that make sense? Incidentally, Paul Blair(e) told me there are many ways to spell his name, and the fact that I am using the Paul Blair way of spelling his name and not the Paul Blaire way of spelling his name is simply a tease. I say it's a tease because I think he mentioned some other way (the Gailic way) which may be entirely (other)different. I'm thinking further explanation is not going to detract from the following poem he sent me, as I said, yesterday morning, however, I will refrain from further explanation. I would like to add (if were hypothetically, to not refrain from further explanation, will you amuse me with your ear ((inner ear)) for a moment yes moscovich your nasty intercontinental belly is flopping tonight i can see) that lately I've found great pleasure (((presszure))((thats japanese for pleasure)(())) in introducing very short poems with long and pointless introductions. No doubt this self-satisfying playzure (playzury) in long introductions has its roots in (play-usury) a deep-seeded love for self-love (plagiar-usury) and intellectual self-flagellating seven bodied (seventh author) confusion infusion slash pumping of the trash lowbrow/highbrow hybrid sensibilities (Blare with me, now) included as in (real life architecture) of the parenthetical hyper-reality of living with a crash-course in the inimitible subtleties of the indirect gracefulness of passive aggressive Japanese prejudice (thank God ((with a capitol "G" as in Gaijin)) it's not a prejudice of the violent, virile, confederate flag waving variety in the modern (post-reality) north american south or confederate north for that matter ((read: go fuck yourself))). I may have forgotten to mention he sent this poem (((poem?))) to me very early, before nine in the morning, which is very early in the Moscovich way but perhaps not so unusually early in the Paul Blair(e) way way. And we're up, up and up again. Here's the poem. Here it is. At long last. May it ring through these plainless mountainless oceanless pollution-filled concrete pixelated streets (in the Paul Blair way).

ballad of moscovich

MOSCO BILLY
HAD A TEN FOOT WILLY
HE SHOWED IT TO THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

SHE THOUGHT IT WAS A SNAKE
AND HIT IT WITH A RAKE

NOW IT'S ONLY
THREE FOOT FOUR

-Paul Blair.

2007-05-30T11:12:00.000+09:00

Mike Daily's new novel and double CD boxset, ALARM, is set to print any day now. I've been keeping track of it's progress since Daily first showed me ALARM in its manuscript form, in two racecar red three-ring binders. I've seen him perform parts of ALARM live, and I've sat in with him a few times as well, knobbing various electronic devices while he spun the tale. It was always the propulsion of the narrator (and what he calls the alter-narrator, a voice projected behind [BRACKETS IN CAPITAL LETTERS]) that kept me and the audience into it. I asked Mike when the final print will be through, and what's the latest. Here's his update:

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
I'm guest blogging on Claire Zulkey's blogand doing another article in writeandpublishyourbook.com

"your book is a complex beast."
--Kevin Sampsell

The complexity caused delays w/ printer. The 15 copies I got on friday were fairly tight but the FC2 appendix was a bit jacked. I'll send you one of the next batch. I'm getting excited about it again.
End of the novel blues lighter. Going to give copies to the Hold Steady tonight, they are headlining crystal ballroom. O'Grady will be performing at the FC2 thing again this year.
Garett Strickland asked me last night. Learning new sections of alarm so I can make new videos. Every performance is documented.
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

2007-05-28T16:29:00.000+09:00

XXXXXXTRAVELOGUEXXXXXX. Los Viajes del Santo Monstrogringo Snorkeling on Iki Island renews my faith in this sepia world.

This last weekend I took my lovely girlfriend Asako to explore the charms of Iki Island (pronounced EE-KEY, not icky, for all you anthropocentric foot scratchers) in Nagasaki ken, and for the first time in quite a while I forgot that I am "one of these things that's not like the other", that is, a gaijin. I never liked that Sesame Street episode. That was Sesame Street wasn't it? For the most part it was a great experience growing up and watching kermit the frog, reporting from Sesame Street blah blah blah. Of course the classic Jim Henson Sesame Street is what I'm talking about. No I'm not. I'm supposed to be reporting on Iki Island (scratch, scratch). Right. So our plan was to go snorkeling, and of course we had to call and confirm the day before, and the day of as well. Yes, we're coming. But then the dude (Habu-san) picked us up from the hotel, patiently waited for us at least five minutes (which if you don't know, in Japan waiting five minutes for someone is socially equivalent to waiting an hour in the States, it's pretty rude). He wasn't miffed by the lateness, then it turned out he was a swell guy on top of it. He patiently waited for us while we took a lifetime to get our wetsuits on (what are they doing in the showers? I bet he was thinking) I proudly emerged to the front of the shop wearing the zipper down the front, which I knew was backwards, but Habu-san recommended I turn it around, smartly suggesting that my neck would get wet if I didn't. And I certainly didn't come here to get wet. Then he gave us a crash course on snorkeling, as it was our first time. Shape your mouth like the French vowel "u", clamp the rubber around your teeth and bite. Breathe gently. We waddled our way in the sand, mouthing our best French vowels, tripping over our rubber flippers, choking on saltwater, holding hands in the midst of the trauma. My biggest obstacle was trying not to hyperventilate while the saltwater invaded from around my lips and through the tube. I nearly drowned about eight times, a testament to my outdoorsy prowess. Marinesports Moscovich. It's the new me. In fact we signed up for the kayaking as well, but if I could drown with flippers and a lifejacket on, surely I would sink straight to the bottom of the sea without my beloved flippers. After the first few attempts at eating moss, shedding skin and bleeding, roughed up against the reef by the waves and the invisible lightening watersnakes, we finally got the hang of it and saw a fish. Asako pointed exitedly at the fish, as it swam in the monitors of our ridiculous silent film, it was about the size of a nickel, and totally in black and white, not like what I saw on the flyers. I didn't know everything underwater is black and white until that day, really I had no idea. Invigorating and humbling both. Actually it was more like sepia. We did get to see some lettuce-like seaweed coming up from the ocean bottom a good ten or twenty meters below. Another highlight was this half-bottle half-shell organism lying on the beach afterwards (pictured above left), which confirms everything I thought I didn't know about quantum physics, chaos theory, Ken Wilber and Reaganomics. The little guys inside the shells poked their heads out and I think they had long tongues like spider dicks (or miniature horse dicks if horses were miniature seacreatures that lived inside shells or people's minds who have the talent to nearly drown wearing flippers and a lifejacket) which like, totally creeped out my girlfriend. Later we went inside for cool beers and chatted with the truly amiable staff until Habu-san gave us a ride back to the port. I'm not kidding. Living in Hakata makes me particularly sensitive to people who are genuinely friendly, it's like watching a midget do a superjump to a thirteenth floor elevator then opening the door for you. Really quite out of the way friendly, Habu-san and staff at Hawaii Bar renewed my faith in life on this archipelagos.

Highly recommended: Iki Island's Bar Hawaii Marinesports.

2007-05-25T01:06:00.000+09:00

After reading Raymond Federman's recent novel about his life on a farm in Nazi occupied France, Return To Manure, I've decided that the secret to the brilliance in his writing is really deceptively simple. It's all about the numbers. I've calculated a rough word count for his recent novel, Return To Manure, thusly: an average of 12 words per line, an average of 25 lines per page, multiplied by 200 pages = Federman's novel Return to Manure. I believe that after reading and re-reading Return to Manure, the English language rewrite of his French novel Retour Au Fumier, the secret to his brilliance lies in the numbers. The word count. What does it all add up to? Roughly speaking, according to my average calculations, the rough word count for Federman's novel Return to Manure is 58,000 words. I believe that is the secret to the digressive brilliance of Return to Manure, a novel by Raymond Federman, an American writer a native of France famous in Germany and France winner of numerous awards and a brilliant digressive novel called Return to Manure and thirteen other novels. He currently lives in California.

I sent a letter to Raymond Federman, author of his recent novel Return to Manure, explaining my calculations. This was his response:

my dear David that's what writing is all about
to find a way of accumulating words on paper

12 words per line
25 lines per page

at the end of a couple of years you have a book

you should count the words and the lines
in the new novel I just finished

it's 204 pages long
I wrote it in French

it took me exactly 157 days to write it
therefore less words per line
less lines per page

it's that simple

everything I write is true - more or less -- though I agree with you that Return to Manure may read like a true memoire -- the way it functions however is that Federman and Erica [the fictitious ones] go in search of the farm in order to verify the bunch of souvenirs [more or less true] Federman [the real one] has in his head - but of course when they find the farm the souvenirs no longer match the reality of the place

you got that

or is that too confusing

wait till you read the book I just finished which related my childhood -- that is to say the 13 years [or was it 14?] that precede the closet -- it call CHUT: HISTOIRE D'UNE ENFANCE -- yes in French. It's a the publisher's now.

the most important - and you say it - is that it rings true

as D.H. Lawrence once put it

Trust the tale
don't trust the writer

2007-05-23T15:17:00.000+09:00

私も外人
あなたも外人
他の国いたっら
外人すぐなら
みんあ同じ外人ブルス！
i'm a foreign scum
you're a foreign scum
go to japan and you'll
quickly become
foreign scum, too
everybody foreign scum blues!

yo soy extranjero
tu tambien eres extranjero
si vayas a japon
cada dia sera un pinche extranjero
todo la gente tenemos el mismo sufrimiento
de los pinches extranjeros

The Unknown Comic

2007-05-23T07:56:00.001+09:00

2007-05-10T17:06:00.000+09:00

Excerpt from the novel Castro's Weatherman:

Again give him the alpha state the gentle landing on the Mare Triantium. Set the reprogramming dials on high. This is your brother. Repeat. Brother. Clone? No. Father. Vitamins? This is your Mr. Dilligent. Set the controls on high. We’re setting it as high at it will go, sir. Good. Repeat. Now with the images of the family home. And the poop under the carpets. Yes, the first house. The second house. The merry-go-round accident. The bicycle accidents. All. Repeat. We’re afraid your son has suffered a concussion, sir. He’ll have to take these for the rest of his life. Ease him momentarily into a hyperaware Cretenum Taruntius. Good. Swing him down from Crysallis, slowly into Alpetragius. Nice. Back to the Rear Martonis. And repeat. With the strawberry. The baby. The strawberry. The cries, the cries, the cries. Rewind. Ease him into a casual alpha. Lower pulse, breathing normal. Lower him into the water, easy now. Easy. Okay. Let go of the ark. Nola, let go of the ark. Am I going to have to detain you for subversion? Who’s side are you on here? The strawberry. The cries. The cries. Rewind from the top. Replay. The father. The garage, the tools, the paintings, the new girlfriend. The lovers. He’ll have to take these for the rest of his life. I’m sorry to say this. The stray cats, the first family home. The merry-go-round accident. Monday shephard’s pie. Rewind. Stoned again, looking for a virgin to huff. Bad habits start early. He’s a bummer he’s a bummer he’s a bummer every summer he’s a loyal plastic. Lower him down into the Marsh of Sleep, the Marsh of Decay. Alone in the bedroom, smoking out of a Taco Inn ashtray. Aluminum brain damage, Manhattan, Kansas. Iowa City. Paris, Texas, nickel in the water supply. Nowhere, Somewhere. Petinis Australagus. Begging from the rooftops of Lawrence. Lost in the soundtrack to Slacker. Scratching at the boots of his jailer, the first clone he wanted to fuck. Give him the images of the first clone he wanted to fuck, again. Again give him the treatment. The tenderloin steak. The alpha state gentle landing on the Mare Triantium. A stacked game of Monopoly, he’s building a ten story leggo lamp to pay off his debt. Excruciating unfulfilled lust of teenager. Medicine, turn on the medicine photographs, associate with relief. Headaches, nostalgia, psychosis, associate with health. Religion, contemplation, associate with nerves. Racked. Lower the body into the pine box, sending the message of cheapest burial. Pincher to the incher. Now the father. The scent of the vitamins under his nose, associate clone. Robot. Inhuman. Clarity of logic, emphasise logical thinking. Zoom out. Ease down from the dreamstate, ease out of the alpha, gently, up and up and up into the body. Resting normally.

2007-05-01T21:52:00.000+09:00

tuesday. eating in.

6:67 a.m
pissed and pissing in the Yodobashi parkinglot
urethra firetracks

6:78 a.m
still pissed examining random love hotel dungeons, on video

REST……………………..2850 yen
STAY……………………...6500yen
handcuffs………………...1500yen
furry……………………….2000yen

7:77 a.m
besamé mucho on infinite repeat
island of men with mp3’s for heads
the sun’s rays are pixels raining down untitled new folders

8:64 a.m
playing the electric fence with a tarpaulin dump transistor
seventy yellow and orange
ballons release from faux-spanish teal towers
flatulence ignited from two-timing towers
from babies with hips for teeth

119:76 a.m
wrinkled took off her pants
pointy missle granny breasts
pointing the way to gibraltar
outdoor shower beach all eyes
who’s that pointy-breasted gramma
on the new path to hell all eyes
on her alzheimers rum gun
on her alzheimers grin not knowing
on the new path to hell all eyes
on her alzheimers from where did she
escape
from why when
the next game of bridge all eyes
yelling “who’s hiding the soap?” all eyes
who’s that gramma pointy breasts
showering on the beach all eyes
“marmy needs the soap,”
volleyball kids under her legs
sandy ball rolling calves touching
singing
“i wanna be your barbie
i wanna be your toy
fuck me, play me, dump me…”
she'll
crack your ribs in tow just glancing at the contract
give you cataracts when she loans you her sunglasses
crack you on the bosom with her
plutonium rubber druck

2007-04-25T13:22:00.000+09:00

Tim Buck Tooth and The True History of Bigfoot

Walls made of hundreds rolls of carpets, livery breath odor of the sea, spermwhales, he asked us with twitching eyebrows to write in the Bigfoot log.

Bigfoot sometime try steal carpet. But no sighting today, said the milky carpetier, brandishing a map of bigfoot sightings.

Last sighting at Blue Mosque two thousand six, he said, snapping his fingers for the boy.

Ibrik, brought to the old Dacians inherited, I said, as we commoned our pasts and auctioned them for a tray of butter, black olives, bread, sheep’s cheese, yogurt drink, jam, and tea, tea, tea.

Bigfoot was first Ottoman king you know, said the voice from the bottom of the Arabian Sea.

Tim Buck Tooth gulped wide-eyed as we depreciated in our underwear...

2007-04-24T14:57:00.000+09:00

stoplight

is it YOU that wants to move
when it turns green
or the drivers
who expect you to move
don’t pedal
just sit and feel
the impulse to go is it
the switch
is it YOU?
is it electricity is it
are you being
conducted?

try sitting through five revolutions
at a stoplight
and see

2007-04-24T13:37:00.000+09:00

I have a nasty habit of eating one particular fruit to the point of paralysis. It takes me weeks to get over it. The last time it was [grapes]. I bought twelve pounds of [grapes] and ate them between Friday and Saturday. I went to three different stores and finished their supply. Friday and Saturday are my working days. I get bored. I start eating. It's become my occupation de facto. The job description just shifted. I could have put it on a resume. Then the fruit thing happened. Now it's about the fruit. A new fruit each week. I'm suicidal, really. No one will take me seriously, but I'm killing myself. The [grapes] were almost the end for me. How many pounds of [grapes] can one man eat before he bursts? What if it were watermelon? Or kiwi fruit?

Kiwi is the armpit of the fruit family. Now, I like armpits. When someone says, I’ve just been to the armpit of California, I wanna go. It’s my favorite part of the human anatomy. If I died from eating twelve pounds of kiwi I’d be happy, cause at least I had myself an armpit. Herein lies the poverty of my affluence. Where's my bible? I've got to read my bible. Ezekiel. No, Exodus. I don't know. I need to start over from the beginning. Start fresh. Renew. Recoil. Probably throw up.

Okay. I can do this. One more day. I can live through one more day. I know the perfect guava stand.

But I need that bible. Eccleisiastes, maybe?

2007-04-23T10:48:00.000+09:00

And now in breaking news from futureland....

Moscovich INBOX
One (1) New Message

Jonas Lazburn has DECLINED you as a friend on blahblahblah.com

(South Pole Station [none] Antarctica)

my god
what have i done

2007-04-18T00:12:00.000+09:00

Kurt Vonnegut's dead and I can't think of anyone better than Eric Spitznagel to kick off his memorial. Spitznagel, the author of one of the better books on being a pornscreenwriter, FAST FORWARD, I read faster than I read Kevin Keck's OEDIPUS WRECKED. Spitznagel is also the web editor of MONKEYBICYCLE, always a nice read for flash fiction, space and beyond. He's also co-authoring the new Ron Jeremy biography. I hope that didn't entail any one-site research. Then again, FAST-FORWARD was a memoir, or was it fiction. The lines are blurring....

Anyway he's got a fascinating (and I mean fascinating) blog called VONNEGUT'S ASSHOLE.

He didn't just create the site.

It's been around.

Check it.

2007-04-15T23:13:00.000+09:00

por favor lees si tu entiendes

ahora estoy viviendo en fukuoka pero fukuoka es un lugar que se puede cambiar
es un lugar con sonrisas falsas con hombres llena del dinero y no del corazon

corazon en mientira no es corazon en el hecho del sol del pensamiento del morte de lo no puedo decirte

a ti, como no entiendes casi ningunas palabras del mio, como puedes entender mi alma pero entiendes bastante bien, como soy, como no soy con las chicas altas del qualiquier nivel de la vida promisa ser una cosa del otra planeta donde

estas ahora, en su casa, solo, escribiendo un cuento nuevo
un historia del un escritor, que no puede escribe en su lengua propria
por que no le gusta inglez
lo que queiere es escapar del su lengua propria
y entrar en una casa negro, sin candellas sin luce sin lenguaje
y ser pobre, es una pobrecito corazon que queire ser peor, por que es un mediocre talento ascondida entre un cuerpo borracho, viviendo en espacia sin banyo

2007-04-09T12:25:00.000+09:00

Unit Structure

I asked J Morales (Unit Structure) if I he could ask himself a few questions, then proceed to answer them and send them to me for post on the blog. This is what he said:

How bout you come up with some questions, and I'll send whitty, erudite and curt replies. That way you can have proof you knew and interviewed me when I was more of a nobody.

Q. When did you first discover buddy rich, han bennink and ed
blackwell were your favorite drummers.

A. Buddy Rich was all flash and NO SOUL. Ed Blackwell as soon as I heard hit stick hit drum on "Free Jazz" . Han Bennink ? Slapstick in a viking wrapper (I mean that in a good way). My first favorite drummer was F.Meinheit (E.N.).

Q. Talk about RM.CLR, your old moniker. Did you really clear rooms?

A. More than I care to admit. Roomclearer is a dead language now.

Q. Who are some artists you collaborated with in the northwest. Can you contrast the NW scene with the SW scene, or others you've been involved with?

A. Steven "Shane" Schneider (aka Shane Ronet, Pixiestorm), Matt McCullough (aka Bad Pioneer 2000), Noely David Moscuvichy (aka YOU), Mike Daily (aka O'Grady). Everyone in the NW has such a postive attitude, I wish it rubbed off on me more.

Q. You are moving away from kit to pure electronics. Why?

A. When you have no car it is impossible to get your drums anywhere without begging band members and friends for a ride. My electronics fit in a suitcase and cover the entire audio spectrum 2. I DON'T WANT TO BE IN ANYONES BAND ANYMORE.

Q. When did you first realize that Brotzman is your favorite saxophonist. Contrast and compare him with david cross and neil hamburger.

A. Brotzman is ok. I'm more an Eric Dolphy man. Cross and Hamburger are what would happpen if you split my comedy atom.

Q. What is the role of comedy in music.

A. It has none. ALL music must be morbidly serious and painful.

Q. Tell me about your former but dazzling success as a comedian.

A. DRUGS

Q. How do you see your music evolving in the next 5 years

A. Arson will consume my equipment and I will become an overwieght bus driver.

Q. Films that influenced you

A. Satyricon, Eraserhead, Road Warrior, The Dark Backwards

Q.Top twenty artists, top ten or top anything

A. Top music makers on this day in my mind that I can come up with off the top o' my head and in no particular order:
Ali Farka Toure Pan Sonic Swans Eric Dolphy U.S Maple Funkadelic Einsturzende Neubauten. Chicago Underground DuoNeil Young Merzbow Fela Flaming Lips Bauhaus Master Musicians of Joujouka Fly Pan Am Aphex Twin Throbbing Gristle Laddio Bolocko Arab on Radar Wolf Eyes

Q. Prefer listening to noise morning noon or night?

A. Mid-day

Q. Can you address the time and place aspect of listening to music?

A. Whenever and wherever I can.

Q. Is there ever a bad time to listen to Merzbow?

A. During surgery.

Q. Disagree with this statement: "artists today are not discovered, they reveal themselves."

A. Frozen shit will never flow uphill.

Q. Difference between being an artist today versus 30 years ago, 50 years ago, 100 years ago.

A. Critcal mass has run roughshod over the individuality of "artists". Too many motherfuckers jumping somebody else's train in this here modern new fangles era. "Back in the day..." seems so much cooler since I wasn't there to bitch about it.

Q. Why the name change to Unit Structure?

A. Cecil Taylor album from 66.

Q. What about Cecil Taylor, are you like him, building simple themes into a complex cacophony?

A. Yes and no. No because he is a genius and I am disengenuous.

Q. Favorite 28th century classical composer?

A. Me! Many reincarnations from now, unless I get off the wheel, as it were.

Q. Links to your music.

A. I need to update the music on this BADLY: http://www.myspace.com/unitstructure. Soooon I will have stuff up for CEDARS as well.

2007-04-05T10:41:00.000+09:00

Two things.

One, Whitney Woolf's Rolling Papers. This microfiction is precisely the size of a zigzag box, but a lot bigger on the inside. Read it. Order it. Design, execution, electrocution. Yes.

"Keiko" is the one she sent me. But she has more.

Thing number two.

I found this in my mailbox today.

Hi David: just wanted to let you know that Smokebox no. 48 (April/May 2007) is live at www.smokebox.net, including your piece, “Voices from the Fictionary.” Thanks again for submitting and we look forward to seeing more from you in the future.
Marc Covert.

2007-03-28T12:23:00.001+09:00

I saw another great t-shirt today. REALITY UNDER FUNCTION. What could
this mean?

Letters from the planet sun.
Yuji Maruyama and David Moscovich after a Common Laughing Point show in Yamaguchi. Common Laughing Point (Warai No Tsubo) is a psuedo-comedy noise unit.

Genre: Psuedo-Comedy Noise.

2007-03-14T15:18:00.000+09:00

My Romanian buddy Elena asked me to give her some ideas to name her new women's clothing shop in Fukuoka. So I sent her this list:

UNKO BITCH

CHAT MUFF

DINGLEBERRY

MARLOVAH WITNESS

CASANOVA SUNDAY

JUMP JUMP

GRASS

SA SA

MUMU

CHIN SLAP

PAPPY

KONTRA

FINAL MONTA

YOKU YOKU

PEACHYPEACHY

WASURETTA

BIKKURI PAW

NOVIO

LETTERS TO HELL

DEAR ELENA

DRAGA MAMEI

ACUMA UNDE

IMA DOKO

BIKKURI BRA

WIPER DIAPER

LOVE, TRISH

SUPER DUPER

WONDERWEAR

MUSCLE LADY

MUSCLE STOP

PERFECT FIT

SAIGO WARAU

NANDE NANDE

SOKO SOKO

ACHIKA SOCHIKA

BANANA PANTS

SOCK IT TO ME

LOVER'S QUARREL

RUBBER DUCK

PATRON SAINT

QUEEN OF THE DESERT

SWEET LOTUS

SWEET MARIE

SWEET SWEET

DULCE BOOTSU

MARE FRICOSA

DEEP BLUE SEE

BARGEMAN'S POLE

CHIKYU HIP

LOST NINJAS

SIT AND PULL

FINGER FUCK (a spinoff of RINGER HUT)

BONYU PONZU

KANPAI BAYASHI

2007-03-05T17:03:00.000+09:00

The World According to Foots

2007-03-02T15:12:00.000+09:00

諸行無常

the impermanence of all things...