And by came an Angel who had a bright key,
And he open'd the coffins & set them all free;
Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,
And wash in a river, and shine in the Sun.
- From "The Chimney Sweeper," a poem randomly selected this a.m. from William Blake's "Songs of Innocence and Experience"
Announcing the release of "23 Roads to Mythville," by Douglas McDaniel
This new collection of essays is a true DaVinci Code quest in real space and cyberspace as the experiential author examines the mysteries of himself and the world at-large ... Read More.
Mythinformation: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Atenveldt
As we walk through the trees, let us summon the Muses to invoke their aid for this adventurous song. Although our intent is to be armed with swords forged in light, by the time we get to the gate of Atenveldt, we are more wounded than whole. Dragging Merlin along is, well, the road to woe. ... Read More.
Radio Free Arizona: Steel Drums in the Desert
Kettle drums have come a long way in the past century, from discarded oil drums in the petroleum rich area of the Caribbean, where it is now the national instrument in Trinidad-Tobago, all the way to Arrowhead Lakes, where it is the sound behind the eight-piece group, Steelin' the Night Away. Read More.
Thus Spake Thundersaid: Typing Out Loud
What happens when you eliminate capitalization? You get really honest. Try it. What's that? You're not feeling compelled? Here, I'll start, just to show it doesn't hurt, and the laws of physics will not suddently rearrange themselves as a result. ... Read More.
New poems for "Telluride Sangrael
"Hotel Jerome" is the latest new poem for the upcoming book of poems by the Bard of Mythville ... Read More.
And Now for a Few Words from the Bard of Mythville: Ideas for Political Change
1) Take the confederate states up on their offer to secede from the Union.
2) Give the Louisana Purchase lands back to the French. Maybe they will do a better job spreading the liberte` and egalite`.
3) Chip away at the electoral college until we get one man, one vote!
4) Broadcast to the world, to those wolves at our gates, and to those who hide in the shadows of the Know Nothing terror: Sorry world, we will do better next time.
5) Become a planetary citizen.
6) Turn swords into ploughshares.
7) Forgive history.
.
8) Speak only in rhyme or not at all, at least most of the time.
9) Begin the new century by forgetting.
10) Understand: The revolution begins now, inside us all.
Mythville Book Store
To Bidi, Or Not to Bidi
Automous Author blogs as he struggles with smoking:
About a week ago I was having a coffee on a Sunday afternoon with one of my best bards at the Biltmore, a swanky shopping mall in Phoenix, when I noticed that while I was smoking the drift was floating onto the table of an older gent who was getting really annoyed. So I offered to switch tables with him so that we could be downwind from him ...Read more.
Hotel Jerome
By Douglas McDaniel
Staircases leading up
the old mining town,
now a town of ghosts,
not ghosts so much,
people in some kind
of haze. So many steps
to climb and they resist,
step in your way, but she
makes this place her hairdo
Set aside the residents
who fail to rhyme, act
upon their ghosts inside;
summoning the angels
who roll on scant radio
clattering on the street below
The city is falling off her back
and the dark daemons of Jerome
lust and burn, kept in tow.
Every feminine hijink
is working in bouncing,
pairs unbound, every
blitzed biker in the bar
locked onto the information
of her strawberry hips:
You out of love, into fear,
become the charmer,
drawing in the lusty,
flies licking, stuck on honey.
O, do keep your dearest near,
‘cause the next day, I rise,
look up the hotel second-floor
window, up to you,
the porcelain sheen shy as your lips,
glitters, graceful, in morning light,
I quiver and crawl, take photos
of two birds on the wire,
wonderin’ which one was right.
The rolling of the radio
clatters onthe street below
I lust and burn and dream
of return to Hotel Jerome,
knowing I will be there,
with you or alone like
a lost thing, counted
but forgotten, coughed up,
lost things spinning, in flames,
lost things, rotten things,
rusted things, the dead stare:
Stupid little things, the blue fame,
a memory, a cool lamp
at the bottom of an empty beer can.
We left as bits of corrugated
rusted metal, cut and bled,
needing tetnus from the gash
upon our hands.
- For a new book of poems, "Telluride Sangrael." See the Mythville Bookstore for more details ... OM
