Pedestrian Blues
Three miles from Costdale
Half a mile from home
Got everything but the girl
I guess, and, of course,
that’s not enough
I’m three miles from Costdale,
half a mile from home
Got a coat, a hat & vest,
Gonna test the West,
a road that’s rough, I guess
Forty four on Indian School,
Forty six on Highway 101
All the while time’s clicking
on my heels wondering:
What would running water do?
I’m fifteen-hundred miles
from Costdale, Arizona,
but a hundred miles of gas
will do. Gonna do what lasts,
the past is past: Ninety more
miles will do
Clipper Ship
Overlooking a seawall
cracked silly open by
a storm with ninety
mile per hour winds,
the fourth one in forty days,
eighty nights
I crawled on the floor
covered with newspaper
sports, scores and more,
scrambled for my glasses,
when the pressure dropped
I gasped for air, a coal mine
canary who could breathe
the bubbles of God’s
invisible clipper ship,
colliding
Dreadlines
And when your hear
the sucking sounds
And fear the rain
between your coats
Go on out, row your boats
The pirate of porn walks
the land, regretting, since
he can’t see his spyglass
he’s peering through,
can’t see you, combing
your hair, back there
Don’t worry:
You looked fine
Mormon Book of the Dead
People in hell
want ice water
People in heaven
want a cup of Joe
Thoughts Written on a Canyon Map
During a Coffee, Bidi and Piece
of Some Kind of Prettily Made Bread
While Gazing at a Hummer-Covered Parking Lot
at a Gentrified Surbuban Republican Bistro
I charted this course
with a red string
on a map of black chalk
The roads are many,
the final choice, new
I climb up the cafe canyon
walls to get a better view,
to see over the trees
and see my way to you
Having returned like Prometheus
to my city in pretty chains of light,
the rains have stopped like Porches
braking in the sun, which burns,
big and bright, drying this coffee stop
tabletop with its eviscerating truth
Gathering force, moving toward
the majestic and mysterious,
the merely merrily whimsical
snowcapped peaks of Ouray,
just a day away, as Latin horns
are piped through soccer moms
in sweatpants and motors purr
Is this city immune to war?
This cream of violence
rises to the top
For what they eat and taste
and buy and like,
they will not stop
Mechanized sweet, sweet soap,
the umbilical sword of the clean,
is the last potable hope
of water for the healing
and giving peace a hearing
And while the danceworld cult is searing,
I advance across an asphalt clearing:
In my heart, the key is just the start,
this language of escape
is now my art
West Coast Storm Warning
The world’s end wind
is just a frantic curtain call
of polarizing sun, oceans
rising before the fall
The world’s end wind
is you, watching TV,
swearing me away
as if tea and Tiffany
were a mortal plug
I know I’m going mad
The world’s end wind
is shaking sense into the house
The world’s end wind
has blown me off the tracks
The world’s end wind
puts the cat in heat asleep
The world’s end wind
is you on a bucking final horse
breathing sweet acetyline
What Would Water Do?
The water would run to work,
but turn, gone amok at the work corner,
toward the One-O-One
to drink a red eye and puff a smoke
in the early morning Ra
The water would pick up
trash along the way
but wait for more force
to finish the job
The water would arrive
on time and unplanned,
feeling out each empty
bottomland space
since every handmade
space is disorganized
differently
The water would percolate
in the apocalyptic heat,
catch the wind
and go fly a kite
The water would commit
murderous rage and recede,
unpleased, unsatisfied,
moving on the moon
22.2.06
2.9.05
The Road to Mythville
A collection of poems on the new millennium in America, drawing from a decade of bouncing across the country as a journalist and Kerouac-style poet, from the Southwestern deserts to the shores of New England and back again.
Read more
Mythinformation Radio Free Arizona O.-Links: Psychic Weather Report Avatars R Us Submit Your Poems The Bard of Mythville New Media Shredder Willy B in Cyber S Mythville on the Google Stretch Come, See Jerusalem Enviro Digita Radio Free Arizona at G21.net Automous Author Last Water
One Quarter Now, One-Click Wars to Come
A collection of essays on the media arts during a time of war, the book looks at everything from cyberwar to video games, as well as technology and violence in the new century.Read more and purchase
Angel of the Avenues
Includes the experiential essay, "Time Enough for Smoke," and new poems written during the long hot 2004 election season in the Southwestern United States by Douglas McDaniel..Read more and purchase
23Roads to Mythville
The combined three books of "The Mythville Trilogy" in the one book, an apocalyptic journey across America and meditation on the imposition of order in space, both cyber and dirt real. By experiential author Douglas McDaniel, who explores the mysteries of American networked life in a real-life Da Vinci Code quest..Read more and purchase
Ipswich at War
A few days after Sept. 11, 2001, poet and essayist Douglas McDaniel moved to Ipswich, on the North Shore of Massachusetts. A collection of poems from that period of fear and anxiety, as well as the polemic essay, "Media Arts and War."
Read more and purchase
Glasnost Lost
As an act of defiance after the botched election of 2000, experiential author launched himself into a journey into the underworld of American life, or, what he calls: The Science of Descent. Read more and purchase
Experiential author Douglas McDaniel launches himself into a real-life search for the so-called Da Vinci code, driving into the networked thickets of American life, looking for signs of myth and romance in the age of automotive machines.
Read more
The journey continues as the quest for myth in an age of information overload leads to online life as an editor for Access Internet Magazine. A story about all human search engines as they chase the ghost in the machine.
Read more
Experiential author Douglas McDaniel takes on the visionary art and poetry of William Blake, comparing an otherworldly worldview to that revolutionary, romantic era to our own wild, wired, mythic world.
Read more
The Kachina's Son
Poems about the Four Corners area written while author Douglas McDaniel was living in Telluride, Colorado.
Read more
Ipswich at War
A few days after Sept. 11, 2001, poet and essayist Douglas McDaniel moved to Ipswich, on the North Shore of Massachusetts. A collection of poems from that period of fear and anxiety, as well as the polemic essay, "Media Arts and War."
Read more
The Road to Mythville
A collection of poems on the new millennium in America, drawing from decade of bouncing across the country as a journalist and Kerouac-style poet, from the Southwestern deserts to the shores of New England and back again.
Read more
Mythville:
For more info on getting your book listed here contact
mythville@yahoo.com
Mythinformation
Radio Free Arizona
Jaimie O.-Links:
The Psychic Weather Report
Submit Your Poems
Telluride Sangrael: New Poems By Douglas McDaniel
New Media Shredder: An analysis of online media in Arizona and beyond
Mythville on the Googlescope
Stretch: Jaimie O.
Come, See Jerusalem
ENVIRO DIGITA:
Investigations in
MetaScience, Nature
and Supernature
Click Here
Receive a free e-book from the Mythville series. Just respond to mythville@yahoo.com
and make sure you have downloaded the latest version of the reader at: Microsoft eBook Reader Download.
Read a Blogger Novel
GREETINGS FROM MYTHVILLE
Click here
Meet the Citizens
of Mythville
Jaimie Ondrea Dunn
Jaimie O.
Publish your book today
Lulu.com
Sir Speedy of Scottsdale
Self-Publishing Links
Click Here
From the DIRECTOR
OF MYTHINFORMATION
News from Mythville
A collection of poems on the new millennium in America, drawing from a decade of bouncing across the country as a journalist and Kerouac-style poet, from the Southwestern deserts to the shores of New England and back again.
Read more
Mythinformation Radio Free Arizona O.-Links: Psychic Weather Report Avatars R Us Submit Your Poems The Bard of Mythville New Media Shredder Willy B in Cyber S Mythville on the Google Stretch Come, See Jerusalem Enviro Digita Radio Free Arizona at G21.net Automous Author Last Water
One Quarter Now, One-Click Wars to Come
A collection of essays on the media arts during a time of war, the book looks at everything from cyberwar to video games, as well as technology and violence in the new century.Read more and purchase
Angel of the Avenues
Includes the experiential essay, "Time Enough for Smoke," and new poems written during the long hot 2004 election season in the Southwestern United States by Douglas McDaniel..Read more and purchase
23Roads to Mythville
The combined three books of "The Mythville Trilogy" in the one book, an apocalyptic journey across America and meditation on the imposition of order in space, both cyber and dirt real. By experiential author Douglas McDaniel, who explores the mysteries of American networked life in a real-life Da Vinci Code quest..Read more and purchase
Ipswich at War
A few days after Sept. 11, 2001, poet and essayist Douglas McDaniel moved to Ipswich, on the North Shore of Massachusetts. A collection of poems from that period of fear and anxiety, as well as the polemic essay, "Media Arts and War."
Read more and purchase
Glasnost Lost
As an act of defiance after the botched election of 2000, experiential author launched himself into a journey into the underworld of American life, or, what he calls: The Science of Descent. Read more and purchase
Mythville: One
Godz, Cars & CannonExperiential author Douglas McDaniel launches himself into a real-life search for the so-called Da Vinci code, driving into the networked thickets of American life, looking for signs of myth and romance in the age of automotive machines.
Read more
Mythville: Dos
Human Search EngineThe journey continues as the quest for myth in an age of information overload leads to online life as an editor for Access Internet Magazine. A story about all human search engines as they chase the ghost in the machine.
Read more
Mythville: Tres
William Blake in CyberspaceExperiential author Douglas McDaniel takes on the visionary art and poetry of William Blake, comparing an otherworldly worldview to that revolutionary, romantic era to our own wild, wired, mythic world.
Read more
The Kachina's Son
Poems about the Four Corners area written while author Douglas McDaniel was living in Telluride, Colorado.
Read more
Ipswich at War
A few days after Sept. 11, 2001, poet and essayist Douglas McDaniel moved to Ipswich, on the North Shore of Massachusetts. A collection of poems from that period of fear and anxiety, as well as the polemic essay, "Media Arts and War."
Read more
The Road to Mythville
A collection of poems on the new millennium in America, drawing from decade of bouncing across the country as a journalist and Kerouac-style poet, from the Southwestern deserts to the shores of New England and back again.
Read more
Mythville:
For more info on getting your book listed here contact
mythville@yahoo.com
Mythinformation
Radio Free Arizona
Jaimie O.-Links:
The Psychic Weather Report
Submit Your Poems
Telluride Sangrael: New Poems By Douglas McDaniel
New Media Shredder: An analysis of online media in Arizona and beyond
Mythville on the Googlescope
Stretch: Jaimie O.
Come, See Jerusalem
ENVIRO DIGITA:
Investigations in
MetaScience, Nature
and Supernature
Click Here
Receive a free e-book from the Mythville series. Just respond to mythville@yahoo.com
and make sure you have downloaded the latest version of the reader at: Microsoft eBook Reader Download.
Read a Blogger Novel
GREETINGS FROM MYTHVILLE
Click here
Meet the Citizens
of Mythville
Jaimie Ondrea Dunn
Jaimie O.
Publish your book today
Lulu.com
Sir Speedy of Scottsdale
Self-Publishing Links
Click Here
From the DIRECTOR
OF MYTHINFORMATION
News from Mythville
27.5.05
When Eddie Albert died last month at the age of 99, one of the early pioneers of American culture was lost. As the star of the popular 1960s television comedy series, "Green Acres," he was Oliver Douglas, the New York lawyer who settled in a generic caricacture of farm life with his glamorous wife, played by Eva Gabor. And so, one of the enduring themes of pop culture was set: That of a city clicker perplexed by the antics of the residents of rural America.
This theme has been repeated over the decades. American film and television has continually recycled the charming schism of this fish out of water story. Eventually, after his on-the-tube career as a Chicago psychiatrist ran out of ideas about dealing with the crazies of urban America, Bob Newhart moved out to the country, too. And there again was Newhart, scratchin' his head, dead pan, about eccentric country folk.
Then, in the 1980s and early 1990s, a sea-change occurred with "Northern Exposure." Based on the life of a tiny, remote town in Alaska, and the adventures of various city slickers who had also come out to the country in search of some kind of Eden fantasy, the question was turned on its ear. That is, who was more comedic, the city slicker or the laid-back logger, the dingy waitress or matter-of-fact restaurateur.
Arguments could be made on both sides, but if urban America's interest in this theme is any indication, there exists deep in the heart of the national fabric a lingering desire to return to "Green Acres."
To extend this deep-seated need into reality then, one need only to look at changes in the local rural environs as loads of people come up from Phoenix or other cities to attempt to find the sort of nirvana implied by escape from the city. In counter to this, long-standing residents of these rural areas regard such folk with suspicion. Typically, there is a fear these people want to bring the city with them.
So there exists, in the election of Camp Verde Mayor Tony Gioia, or, a refugee from more populous places such as newly elected Councilman Ron Smith, a natural rflex action that their values run counter to what old-timers whose families grew up here believe in. That is, a rural lifestyle.
One need only to look at the voting record of Gioia, as his votes continually are a minority on the town council, that there is an Us vs. Them formula at work. However, as more and more people come to town from the cities, with ideas of controlled growth and supposedly radical notions of preservation that seem to run counter to a general community desire that more is better, always better, one might take another view of these newcomers with a fresh thought: These people are canaries who have just come from the coal mine.
This theme has been repeated over the decades. American film and television has continually recycled the charming schism of this fish out of water story. Eventually, after his on-the-tube career as a Chicago psychiatrist ran out of ideas about dealing with the crazies of urban America, Bob Newhart moved out to the country, too. And there again was Newhart, scratchin' his head, dead pan, about eccentric country folk.
Then, in the 1980s and early 1990s, a sea-change occurred with "Northern Exposure." Based on the life of a tiny, remote town in Alaska, and the adventures of various city slickers who had also come out to the country in search of some kind of Eden fantasy, the question was turned on its ear. That is, who was more comedic, the city slicker or the laid-back logger, the dingy waitress or matter-of-fact restaurateur.
Arguments could be made on both sides, but if urban America's interest in this theme is any indication, there exists deep in the heart of the national fabric a lingering desire to return to "Green Acres."
To extend this deep-seated need into reality then, one need only to look at changes in the local rural environs as loads of people come up from Phoenix or other cities to attempt to find the sort of nirvana implied by escape from the city. In counter to this, long-standing residents of these rural areas regard such folk with suspicion. Typically, there is a fear these people want to bring the city with them.
So there exists, in the election of Camp Verde Mayor Tony Gioia, or, a refugee from more populous places such as newly elected Councilman Ron Smith, a natural rflex action that their values run counter to what old-timers whose families grew up here believe in. That is, a rural lifestyle.
One need only to look at the voting record of Gioia, as his votes continually are a minority on the town council, that there is an Us vs. Them formula at work. However, as more and more people come to town from the cities, with ideas of controlled growth and supposedly radical notions of preservation that seem to run counter to a general community desire that more is better, always better, one might take another view of these newcomers with a fresh thought: These people are canaries who have just come from the coal mine.
14.5.05
Mythville became a quiet little place, but then the dogs began to bark and I couldn't stand the silence anymore. I'd thought I'd gotten away from the noise pollution. Getting older, my sensitivity to noise increases. Then the builders came. Filled every atom of air with a turbulatin conundrum. I came all the way out here, to a place where I can look over a valley of cottonwood trees and whitewashed cliffs on the other side, black hills and birds and insects flying around, and then the builders came. Civilization is chasing me.
As an embedded reporter here at the fort, I often notice the flag of Mythville flying stiff in a ceaseless wind. Reminds me of Apache hunting days. That flag flying stiff and straight as the one planted on the moon. Stiff as the lockstep mindset of faraway leaders with the voice of god and cannon talking to them, pleading with them, making them do what they do.
Far away from that as I appear to be here, looking over the valley, Mythville is a porous channel for their energies. Everything I have done since my last post on December 24, 2004, has been a slow crawl to find a new Mythville. Well, here it is.
What I can report is the following: Education is dirt poor here and the dialect is rough. People are strange. That's the fun part. Call them hicks if you will but they are fairly entertaining. One of them asked the Mythville town council to set regulations for the proper care and maintenance of the flags. The flags around town are apparently not being properly cared for.
This same councilman has had little to say on other matters. The whole town is being vivisected by developers. Groves of cottonwood are being sold off by realtors for trailer parks. Everything related to town business is done because growth is necessary. Growth for its own sake. Apparently, getting bigger is always better. But on the flag matter, well now that's an issue he can get his mind around. We must care properly for our flags. And if we can't, if they get worn, well then, stiff penalties are needed.
Flag maintenance. Apache hunting daze. Wind blowing in gusts to make me wonder if the earth energies are finally willing to burst. Flag maintenance. Quiet, shady real estate deals. Everything for sale. Open space needs to be filled in. Way up river, they are digging a well so deep a small community turning into a monster community just might dry up the last remaining perennial river of the Southwest because they believe bigger is better. Flag maintenance is needed. There must be a policy. Marshals in the trees. Dogs barking, sniffing out trouble. X-ray eyes, the Fourth Amendment has been runthrough by a templar sword. Flag maintenance. Indeed.
Gotta keep track of this.
As an embedded reporter here at the fort, I often notice the flag of Mythville flying stiff in a ceaseless wind. Reminds me of Apache hunting days. That flag flying stiff and straight as the one planted on the moon. Stiff as the lockstep mindset of faraway leaders with the voice of god and cannon talking to them, pleading with them, making them do what they do.
Far away from that as I appear to be here, looking over the valley, Mythville is a porous channel for their energies. Everything I have done since my last post on December 24, 2004, has been a slow crawl to find a new Mythville. Well, here it is.
What I can report is the following: Education is dirt poor here and the dialect is rough. People are strange. That's the fun part. Call them hicks if you will but they are fairly entertaining. One of them asked the Mythville town council to set regulations for the proper care and maintenance of the flags. The flags around town are apparently not being properly cared for.
This same councilman has had little to say on other matters. The whole town is being vivisected by developers. Groves of cottonwood are being sold off by realtors for trailer parks. Everything related to town business is done because growth is necessary. Growth for its own sake. Apparently, getting bigger is always better. But on the flag matter, well now that's an issue he can get his mind around. We must care properly for our flags. And if we can't, if they get worn, well then, stiff penalties are needed.
Flag maintenance. Apache hunting daze. Wind blowing in gusts to make me wonder if the earth energies are finally willing to burst. Flag maintenance. Quiet, shady real estate deals. Everything for sale. Open space needs to be filled in. Way up river, they are digging a well so deep a small community turning into a monster community just might dry up the last remaining perennial river of the Southwest because they believe bigger is better. Flag maintenance is needed. There must be a policy. Marshals in the trees. Dogs barking, sniffing out trouble. X-ray eyes, the Fourth Amendment has been runthrough by a templar sword. Flag maintenance. Indeed.
Gotta keep track of this.
24.12.04
The Iluminati Papers
Once thought lost documents reveal, with some insight, despite the idealism of youth, secrets of the Bavarian Illuminati during the Revolutionary period in American and European History, through the life and lesson's on Antone Mesmer ... Read More.
Robison's "Proofs of a Conspiracy," an expose written in 1798 at the height of the Illuminati scare in New England, and therefore, America, during the Age of Enlightenment and Revolutionary War ... Read More.
Illuminati specialist and cybercaster Meria Heller is detailed with a revealing new look with an article, currently set to be run in January's Java Magazine, by Douglas McDaniel ... Read More.
Thus Spake Thundersaid: Force-fed Fruitcake Recipes
Christmas is not my favorite time of year. It's almost blasphemous to say such a thing, isn't it? It's downright un-American. Well, I don't care. After all, there is very ... 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.
Announcing the release of "23 Roads to Mythville," by Douglas McDaniel
This new collection of essays is a true Da Vinci Code quest in real space and cyberspace as the experiential author examines the mysteries of himself and the world at-large ... Read More.
Radio Free Arizona at G21.net: Rider in the Sky Ron Previtt
The story of Americana music as told by cowboy troubadour Ron Previtt ... 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
Once thought lost documents reveal, with some insight, despite the idealism of youth, secrets of the Bavarian Illuminati during the Revolutionary period in American and European History, through the life and lesson's on Antone Mesmer ... Read More.
Robison's "Proofs of a Conspiracy," an expose written in 1798 at the height of the Illuminati scare in New England, and therefore, America, during the Age of Enlightenment and Revolutionary War ... Read More.
Illuminati specialist and cybercaster Meria Heller is detailed with a revealing new look with an article, currently set to be run in January's Java Magazine, by Douglas McDaniel ... Read More.
Thus Spake Thundersaid: Force-fed Fruitcake Recipes
Christmas is not my favorite time of year. It's almost blasphemous to say such a thing, isn't it? It's downright un-American. Well, I don't care. After all, there is very ... 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.
Announcing the release of "23 Roads to Mythville," by Douglas McDaniel
This new collection of essays is a true Da Vinci Code quest in real space and cyberspace as the experiential author examines the mysteries of himself and the world at-large ... Read More.
Radio Free Arizona at G21.net: Rider in the Sky Ron Previtt
The story of Americana music as told by cowboy troubadour Ron Previtt ... 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
28.11.04
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.
Radio Free Arizona at G21.net: Rider in the Sky Ron Previtt
The story of Americana music as told by cowboy troubadour Ron Previtt ... 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
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.
Radio Free Arizona at G21.net: Rider in the Sky Ron Previtt
The story of Americana music as told by cowboy troubadour Ron Previtt ... 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
24.11.04
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
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
9.11.04
BarlowFriendz: Magnanimous Defeat John Perry Barlow, the lone wolf of cyberspace, speaks out. His advice: Engage and disperse with listening, then words of peace.
During the course of this summer I have been blogging links to the situation in the Middle East, and now this link monster archive is really more than anyone needs to know in order to make a good decision on election day. Now, in recent weeks, I have determined that while Dubya may be a decent enough fellow on his ranch, as well as at the ballpark and golf course, he is a Napoleonic bull in the china shop in terms of international affairs. So this blog goes to you, George (wake up!) as well as all of the rest of the false prophets who have built this Armagedon machine based on the self-fulfilling bad code of the Book of Revelations, as well as the opportunist eschatological fucks who came before you.
... Read More.
Long-distance Frontrunner
This week`s Mythville edition of Radio Free Arizona:
Think you have issues with teens and their overloud music at home?
Imagine this: A wall of sound emanates from the suburbs and more than just escapes the bedroom, it redoubles every space upstairs as earplugs are more than merely necessary, they are a critical safety issue, and the whole neighborhood quakes as Frontrunner rehearses at home.
The five-piece band features Chandler teens whose sound is as forceful and bracing as any racket playing the local circuit ... Read More.
Springsteen Bashed at G21.net
Another edition of Radio Free Arizona:
I have always loathed Mr. Bruce Springsteen. And it is more than just having the Boss hanging around, bossing around my radio airwaves for decades and decades. Not so much the music I loathed, but his fame (especially this crap about him being the Boss). Not so much his fame but the people who made him famous, that is, his fans and his fawning critics. Not so much all fans but just the few that I have known over the past, say, 30 years. ... Read More.
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.
Social Darwinist
By Douglas McDaniel
To the sound of silent cyberpunk we go:
Spent seventy two hours as a social Darwinist
Gotta get ahead of you (Seventy two hours)
Seventy two hours as a Social Darwinist
Gotta get an edge over the loss,
vengeance is hip you know
Gotta get a handle on the guilt I miss
gotta get a multiple set a girlies to kiss
Spent seventy two hours as a social Darwinist
Gotta get over you (seventy two, seventy two, seventy two hours)
Seventy two fucking shitty hours as a Social Darwinist
As you tried to convince me of your Know Nothing bliss,
I let my eyes look away, if for just a minute (Seventy two, seventy two seventy two)
Being anti-social ain`t darlin little Darwin
You won`t like the feeling, your empty hand will be shaking (seventy two, seventy two)
Won`t like the smell as the whole world is quaking (seventy two, seventy two seventy seventy seventy two)
(Refrain)
On the third day I flew across the sky
rebuilt the temple of love, I did pray
Sure, I fell, makin` a hell of her heaven,
and man O man let the bunker busters fly.
I ran for cover, O sweet Sweet Twenty Three Skidoo (Twenty three, twenty three twenty three skidoo)
By the sixty-ninth hour as a social Darwinist
I ran for cover, looking for the way you look at me,
hoping and I`m praying to look up to you.
(Jaggedy Guitar riffs here)
Three more hours as a social Darwinist,
for just three days I forgot about you (seventy two, O, seventy two, yeah)
Seventy two hours of living from your hand to my fist
Seperate but equal, sure, gotta get a step on you.
Treated every living thing like my private little toy
Dreamin of the cosmos now, when I was just a boy (Darwinist)
Wore your love like a glove but there was no joy (Darwinist)
Gotta get around these blank walls, gotta get over you (Darwinist)
In the Beginning
There Was a Word
From Our Sponsors
Welcome, O welcome
the many winged archetypes,
supple and black,
enfolded in milky white,
milky way white,
hanging in midair,
peering through
the portal, the slinky tube
of the time traveling
Dream Catcher wheel.
Help is on the way ...
Hooray. Hooray.
Help is on the way …
Hooray. Hooray.
For whom?
I cannot say.
They exist in the imperfect
Shapeless spaces unifying
Our oppositional own imperfect
Spaces. They resonate in
The ripples of the swimming
Pool light at moonlight,
And intimate choices
Made by man and volcano
Long ago.
Help is on the way …
Hooray. Hooray.
Help is on the way ..
As they wave, pleading,
Begging for business deals,
Moving closer to our dreams,
Tumbling through timeless
Synchronistic switches
That speak our name.
They twitch in the fierce
Firestorm of the Eve-bitten
Apple, and dance,
frightened and purple
Help is on the way,
They hope and pray:
Hooray. Hooray.
Their master, like ours,
Has up and gone away.
During the course of this summer I have been blogging links to the situation in the Middle East, and now this link monster archive is really more than anyone needs to know in order to make a good decision on election day. Now, in recent weeks, I have determined that while Dubya may be a decent enough fellow on his ranch, as well as at the ballpark and golf course, he is a Napoleonic bull in the china shop in terms of international affairs. So this blog goes to you, George (wake up!) as well as all of the rest of the false prophets who have built this Armagedon machine based on the self-fulfilling bad code of the Book of Revelations, as well as the opportunist eschatological fucks who came before you.
... Read More.
Long-distance Frontrunner
This week`s Mythville edition of Radio Free Arizona:
Think you have issues with teens and their overloud music at home?
Imagine this: A wall of sound emanates from the suburbs and more than just escapes the bedroom, it redoubles every space upstairs as earplugs are more than merely necessary, they are a critical safety issue, and the whole neighborhood quakes as Frontrunner rehearses at home.
The five-piece band features Chandler teens whose sound is as forceful and bracing as any racket playing the local circuit ... Read More.
Springsteen Bashed at G21.net
Another edition of Radio Free Arizona:
I have always loathed Mr. Bruce Springsteen. And it is more than just having the Boss hanging around, bossing around my radio airwaves for decades and decades. Not so much the music I loathed, but his fame (especially this crap about him being the Boss). Not so much his fame but the people who made him famous, that is, his fans and his fawning critics. Not so much all fans but just the few that I have known over the past, say, 30 years. ... Read More.
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.
Social Darwinist
By Douglas McDaniel
To the sound of silent cyberpunk we go:
Spent seventy two hours as a social Darwinist
Gotta get ahead of you (Seventy two hours)
Seventy two hours as a Social Darwinist
Gotta get an edge over the loss,
vengeance is hip you know
Gotta get a handle on the guilt I miss
gotta get a multiple set a girlies to kiss
Spent seventy two hours as a social Darwinist
Gotta get over you (seventy two, seventy two, seventy two hours)
Seventy two fucking shitty hours as a Social Darwinist
As you tried to convince me of your Know Nothing bliss,
I let my eyes look away, if for just a minute (Seventy two, seventy two seventy two)
Being anti-social ain`t darlin little Darwin
You won`t like the feeling, your empty hand will be shaking (seventy two, seventy two)
Won`t like the smell as the whole world is quaking (seventy two, seventy two seventy seventy seventy two)
(Refrain)
On the third day I flew across the sky
rebuilt the temple of love, I did pray
Sure, I fell, makin` a hell of her heaven,
and man O man let the bunker busters fly.
I ran for cover, O sweet Sweet Twenty Three Skidoo (Twenty three, twenty three twenty three skidoo)
By the sixty-ninth hour as a social Darwinist
I ran for cover, looking for the way you look at me,
hoping and I`m praying to look up to you.
(Jaggedy Guitar riffs here)
Three more hours as a social Darwinist,
for just three days I forgot about you (seventy two, O, seventy two, yeah)
Seventy two hours of living from your hand to my fist
Seperate but equal, sure, gotta get a step on you.
Treated every living thing like my private little toy
Dreamin of the cosmos now, when I was just a boy (Darwinist)
Wore your love like a glove but there was no joy (Darwinist)
Gotta get around these blank walls, gotta get over you (Darwinist)
In the Beginning
There Was a Word
From Our Sponsors
Welcome, O welcome
the many winged archetypes,
supple and black,
enfolded in milky white,
milky way white,
hanging in midair,
peering through
the portal, the slinky tube
of the time traveling
Dream Catcher wheel.
Help is on the way ...
Hooray. Hooray.
Help is on the way …
Hooray. Hooray.
For whom?
I cannot say.
They exist in the imperfect
Shapeless spaces unifying
Our oppositional own imperfect
Spaces. They resonate in
The ripples of the swimming
Pool light at moonlight,
And intimate choices
Made by man and volcano
Long ago.
Help is on the way …
Hooray. Hooray.
Help is on the way ..
As they wave, pleading,
Begging for business deals,
Moving closer to our dreams,
Tumbling through timeless
Synchronistic switches
That speak our name.
They twitch in the fierce
Firestorm of the Eve-bitten
Apple, and dance,
frightened and purple
Help is on the way,
They hope and pray:
Hooray. Hooray.
Their master, like ours,
Has up and gone away.
8.11.04
Zhit` svobodnim ili oomyeryet!
Vince aut Morire!
Lebe frei oder stirb!
- Various translations for the phrase on the New Hampshire state flag, Live Free or Die!, except for the second one, which means Conquer or Die!, which is a completely different thing
Mythinformation Radio Free Arizona The Bard of Artville: Heather Kirk O.-Links: Psychic Weather Report Avatars R Us Submit Your Poems The Bard of Mythville
New Media Shredder
Willy B in Cyber S Mythville on the Google Stretch Come, See Jerusalem Enviro Digita
Radio Free Arizona at G21.net Automous Author Last Water
Thus Spake Thundersaid: America Has Broken
Yesterday, as soon as I was able to stop throwing rocks and screaming, I sat down and cried for a long time. Watching my last great hope exit stage left was almost more than I could bear, my hopes for a true moral leader dashed. Naw, John Kerry isn't perfect, but he represented very simple yet elmental things: integrity, heart, principle, and hope. Hope for a world that gnashes its teeth and cowers in fear of The Empire. ... Read More.
Los Huerseros
Laying down his bones
in the dispossed
back alley,
the bone man shivers
in the streetlight
Ambushing archers,
waiting in the wood,
keep a keen eye
far into the distance
for the enemies
of love
She picks up his bones
breathes flesh from her stone,
but then walks away,
stinging his flesh
with a slap to awake him
Leaving his bones, again ...
Le Heusero died again,
and he lingers here,
beneath this tree,
as the corridor waits
to hear the song
of the beautiful man
whose legend is told
from hill to hill,
mountain to mountain
& sea to misty sea.
Knight Falls in Temple, Texas
TERRY KNIGHT was murdered defending his daughter at his home in Killeen, TX on the night of Nov. 1. It is with sadness that Grand Funk Railroad issues a statement regarding the death of Terry Knight.
Read More.
Come, See Jerusalem: More Than You Need to Know
During the course of this summer I have been blogging links to the situation in the Middle East, and now this link monster archive is really more than anyone needs to know in order to make a good decision on election day. Now, in recent weeks, I have determined that while Dubya may be a decent enough fellow on his ranch, as well as at the ballpark and golf course, he is a Napoleonic bull in the china shop in terms of international affairs. So this blog goes to you, George (wake up!) as well as all of the rest of the false prophets who have built this Armagedon machine based on the self-fulfilling bad code of the Book of Revelations, as well as the opportunist eschatological fucks who came before you.
... Read More.
Long-distance Frontrunner
This week`s Mythville edition of Radio Free Arizona:
Think you have issues with teens and their overloud music at home?
Imagine this: A wall of sound emanates from the suburbs and more than just escapes the bedroom, it redoubles every space upstairs as earplugs are more than merely necessary, they are a critical safety issue, and the whole neighborhood quakes as Frontrunner rehearses at home.
The five-piece band features Chandler teens whose sound is as forceful and bracing as any racket playing the local circuit ... Read More.
Springsteen Bashed at G21.net
Another edition of Radio Free Arizona:
I have always loathed Mr. Bruce Springsteen. And it is more than just having the Boss hanging around, bossing around my radio airwaves for decades and decades. Not so much the music I loathed, but his fame (especially this crap about him being the Boss). Not so much his fame but the people who made him famous, that is, his fans and his fawning critics. Not so much all fans but just the few that I have known over the past, say, 30 years. ... Read More.
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.
Social Darwinist
By Douglas McDaniel
To the sound of silent cyberpunk we go:
Spent seventy two hours as a social Darwinist
Gotta get ahead of you (Seventy two hours)
Seventy two hours as a Social Darwinist
Gotta get an edge over the loss,
vengeance is hip you know
Gotta get a handle on the guilt I miss
gotta get a multiple set a girlies to kiss
Spent seventy two hours as a social Darwinist
Gotta get over you (seventy two, seventy two, seventy two hours)
Seventy two fucking shitty hours as a Social Darwinist
As you tried to convince me of your Know Nothing bliss,
I let my eyes look away, if for just a minute (Seventy two, seventy two seventy two)
Being anti-social ain`t darlin little Darwin
You won`t like the feeling, your empty hand will be shaking (seventy two, seventy two)
Won`t like the smell as the whole world is quaking (seventy two, seventy two seventy seventy seventy two)
(Refrain)
On the third day I flew across the sky
rebuilt the temple of love, I did pray
Sure, I fell, makin` a hell of her heaven,
and man O man let the bunker busters fly.
I ran for cover, O sweet Sweet Twenty Three Skidoo (Twenty three, twenty three twenty three skidoo)
By the sixty-ninth hour as a social Darwinist
I ran for cover, looking for the way you look at me,
hoping and I`m praying to look up to you.
(Jaggedy Guitar riffs here)
Three more hours as a social Darwinist,
for just three days I forgot about you (seventy two, O, seventy two, yeah)
Seventy two hours of living from your hand to my fist
Seperate but equal, sure, gotta get a step on you.
Treated every living thing like my private little toy
Dreamin of the cosmos now, when I was just a boy (Darwinist)
Wore your love like a glove but there was no joy (Darwinist)
Gotta get around these blank walls, gotta get over you (Darwinist)
In the Beginning
There Was a Word
From Our Sponsors
Welcome, O welcome
the many winged archetypes,
supple and black,
enfolded in milky white,
milky way white,
hanging in midair,
peering through
the portal, the slinky tube
of the time traveling
Dream Catcher wheel.
Help is on the way ...
Hooray. Hooray.
Help is on the way …
Hooray. Hooray.
For whom?
I cannot say.
They exist in the imperfect
Shapeless spaces unifying
Our oppositional own imperfect
Spaces. They resonate in
The ripples of the swimming
Pool light at moonlight,
And intimate choices
Made by man and volcano
Long ago.
Help is on the way …
Hooray. Hooray.
Help is on the way ..
As they wave, pleading,
Begging for business deals,
Moving closer to our dreams,
Tumbling through timeless
Synchronistic switches
That speak our name.
They twitch in the fierce
Firestorm of the Eve-bitten
Apple, and dance,
frightened and purple
Help is on the way,
They hope and pray:
Hooray. Hooray.
Their master, like ours,
Has up and gone away.
- Douglas McDaniel,
for an upcoming new book of poems,
Telluride Sangrael
For other published work by this author, see:
Mythville Book Store - Lulu.com
Ipswich at War
A few days after Sept. 11, 2001, poet and essayist Douglas McDaniel moved to Ipswich, on the North Shore of Massachusetts. A collection of poems from that period of fear and anxiety, as well as the polemic essay, "Media Arts and War."
Read more and purchase
Glasnost Lost
As an act of defiance after the botched election of 2000, experiential author launched himself into a journey into the underworld of American life, or, what he calls: The Science of Descent.
Read more and purchase
Experiential author Douglas McDaniel launches himself into a real-life search for the so-called Da Vinci code, driving into the networked thickets of American life, looking for signs of myth and romance in the age of automotive machines.
Read more
Note: The latest poems for a new book by Douglas McDaniel, Time Enough for Smoke ...
Sacrifice Me
Let me be your lamb tonight
Let me be your meat
Sacrifice me before a prayer
For thy fasted sacrificial meal
Let me be your hunted due
Let your claws sink into my skull
Send love into the Venus transit
Of my eviscerated soul
Let me be your sacrifice
Let me be your meat
Tonight, take my blood
Tonight, take my heat
Bardstown, Kentucky
Happy Hollow Road
is a place where grain elevators
watch over Ford trucks
in an asphalt parking lot
& steam rises from pipes
as birds fly south
& I lay stretched
and pray for Booker Noe,
master distiller emeritus
to explain why, exactly,
she is lying to me right
now, and I cannot forgive,
should never forgive
as I swallow my pain whole,
hoping for invisible Bourbon
to set my soul alight
as ash burns holes into my chest
and long soft little fingers
move away from me
Savage Pilgrim
Sparks flew off her fingertips
the first time they met, this much
we know. It was a blue flame, a red
dot of light. She had sad dreams, blue eyes.
When he saw her for the first time it was over
before it even began. So terrified was he
of the process, well not the process,
but the end game of love, well,
the Savage Pilgrim was terrified
of the threat of lost love,
what it could do, how it would feel
Terrified of what love can do to him;
but without love, there is death,
death moving in, fine and slow,
in white wings, a mercy
He told her: Keep all my passwords, please,
and my money, my keys, when you receive
this note, don`t look back, just go.
The Savage Pilgrim lies in state tonight.
He loved the girl so much it hurt,
he told her so much it was all he could
do to stunt his words as they crawled up
through his lips, into the Void, that botched
job, That Fake.
Silently, he would ask: Marry me? Bound me
to this mortal soil? She said No.
Preposterous, sayeth she, not the marrying kind,
and so love and failure became simultaneous
epitaphs in his brain. His weakened, tormented,
chemical addled mind. Of the heart?
Who knows for sure? The Savage Pilgrim,
a sprinter, a conjurer, in leather boots,
a time traveler, a breach birth, just another
botched job as it moved through space, a misfit
full of lies and sacred music, his tomb, his life,
his death ... the long distance race ended
when he met her.
Not much choice in these matters: Not for love,
who he loved, who he plundered, where he ran for cover,
like a vampire, he, stealing hearts for fuel, even
in the end (though the Savage Pilgrim knew better),
this is all a test, really, a lesson. Life is practice, see?
So they lay there, on the stones overlooking
the Red Rock valley. He told her: It`s all right
with me if you just want to lay here and die together.
She was completely free (well, not really)
but connected to him (yeah, right buddy)
in ways they would never completely understand.
In the Valley of Death, the psychoanalyst roamed,
she bobbed and weaved through a dotted juniper grove,
stamping through pinion and prickly pear below.
That was right after he saw the face of Gaia
in meditation, of Esha Na Glese, of Changing Woman,
with a broad pudgy face, broad lips, wide forehead,
bad teeth (now that was a detail he would have never
considered ...)
There would be no sexual healing, no earth healing,
for the Savage Pilgrim, who lies in state here,
stretched out, stretched, a stretching wretch,
victim of psychoanalyzing half-truths, and worse,
dopey metaphysical mush about love and lust, truth and trust,
for he knew: The other side of every wing is higher, even,
than the spiritual thing.
Gaia, moving in mysterious ways, was just a manifestation,
and so the Savage Pilgrim moved across the earth and plowed
it asunder; haunting for the sound of her thunder, her body
moving under. For her torso to worship or whip, it was obvious.
His church was her passion, his city her lips, her toes he kissed
in mythic bliss.
But she forgets like the moon bouncing back light, like a monsoon
storm in summer, barren and cold by the fall. Weary and old, with a love
that just scolds, frowning its brow, all enclosed, refusing his heat
as the Savage Pilgrim ran from his dimming soul and found it, again,
on the empty still streets before dawn. For a time, her churned,
for maybe a full moon, maybe an eclipse, maybe two, yearning for her touch.
But ashen and true, a white lunar dust, she made a bland dream
of mountain and bones. The Savage Pilgrim, in a chilly mornin`
moondance, walked into the city square, left on a razor sharp boat,
a fine edge he borrowed from some woman, some new soon-gone tommorrow.
He lifted from here, in the Tao of Ra, dreaming of her ta tas, her
black eyeliner, her jaw, eclipsing his blood within the dark
in staccato chants, morbid, then silent, his last big romance.
Vince aut Morire!
Lebe frei oder stirb!
- Various translations for the phrase on the New Hampshire state flag, Live Free or Die!, except for the second one, which means Conquer or Die!, which is a completely different thing
Mythinformation Radio Free Arizona The Bard of Artville: Heather Kirk O.-Links: Psychic Weather Report Avatars R Us Submit Your Poems The Bard of Mythville
New Media Shredder
Willy B in Cyber S Mythville on the Google Stretch Come, See Jerusalem Enviro Digita
Radio Free Arizona at G21.net Automous Author Last Water
Thus Spake Thundersaid: America Has Broken
Yesterday, as soon as I was able to stop throwing rocks and screaming, I sat down and cried for a long time. Watching my last great hope exit stage left was almost more than I could bear, my hopes for a true moral leader dashed. Naw, John Kerry isn't perfect, but he represented very simple yet elmental things: integrity, heart, principle, and hope. Hope for a world that gnashes its teeth and cowers in fear of The Empire. ... Read More.
Los Huerseros
Laying down his bones
in the dispossed
back alley,
the bone man shivers
in the streetlight
Ambushing archers,
waiting in the wood,
keep a keen eye
far into the distance
for the enemies
of love
She picks up his bones
breathes flesh from her stone,
but then walks away,
stinging his flesh
with a slap to awake him
Leaving his bones, again ...
Le Heusero died again,
and he lingers here,
beneath this tree,
as the corridor waits
to hear the song
of the beautiful man
whose legend is told
from hill to hill,
mountain to mountain
& sea to misty sea.
Knight Falls in Temple, Texas
TERRY KNIGHT was murdered defending his daughter at his home in Killeen, TX on the night of Nov. 1. It is with sadness that Grand Funk Railroad issues a statement regarding the death of Terry Knight.
Read More.
Come, See Jerusalem: More Than You Need to Know
During the course of this summer I have been blogging links to the situation in the Middle East, and now this link monster archive is really more than anyone needs to know in order to make a good decision on election day. Now, in recent weeks, I have determined that while Dubya may be a decent enough fellow on his ranch, as well as at the ballpark and golf course, he is a Napoleonic bull in the china shop in terms of international affairs. So this blog goes to you, George (wake up!) as well as all of the rest of the false prophets who have built this Armagedon machine based on the self-fulfilling bad code of the Book of Revelations, as well as the opportunist eschatological fucks who came before you.
... Read More.
Long-distance Frontrunner
This week`s Mythville edition of Radio Free Arizona:
Think you have issues with teens and their overloud music at home?
Imagine this: A wall of sound emanates from the suburbs and more than just escapes the bedroom, it redoubles every space upstairs as earplugs are more than merely necessary, they are a critical safety issue, and the whole neighborhood quakes as Frontrunner rehearses at home.
The five-piece band features Chandler teens whose sound is as forceful and bracing as any racket playing the local circuit ... Read More.
Springsteen Bashed at G21.net
Another edition of Radio Free Arizona:
I have always loathed Mr. Bruce Springsteen. And it is more than just having the Boss hanging around, bossing around my radio airwaves for decades and decades. Not so much the music I loathed, but his fame (especially this crap about him being the Boss). Not so much his fame but the people who made him famous, that is, his fans and his fawning critics. Not so much all fans but just the few that I have known over the past, say, 30 years. ... Read More.
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.
Social Darwinist
By Douglas McDaniel
To the sound of silent cyberpunk we go:
Spent seventy two hours as a social Darwinist
Gotta get ahead of you (Seventy two hours)
Seventy two hours as a Social Darwinist
Gotta get an edge over the loss,
vengeance is hip you know
Gotta get a handle on the guilt I miss
gotta get a multiple set a girlies to kiss
Spent seventy two hours as a social Darwinist
Gotta get over you (seventy two, seventy two, seventy two hours)
Seventy two fucking shitty hours as a Social Darwinist
As you tried to convince me of your Know Nothing bliss,
I let my eyes look away, if for just a minute (Seventy two, seventy two seventy two)
Being anti-social ain`t darlin little Darwin
You won`t like the feeling, your empty hand will be shaking (seventy two, seventy two)
Won`t like the smell as the whole world is quaking (seventy two, seventy two seventy seventy seventy two)
(Refrain)
On the third day I flew across the sky
rebuilt the temple of love, I did pray
Sure, I fell, makin` a hell of her heaven,
and man O man let the bunker busters fly.
I ran for cover, O sweet Sweet Twenty Three Skidoo (Twenty three, twenty three twenty three skidoo)
By the sixty-ninth hour as a social Darwinist
I ran for cover, looking for the way you look at me,
hoping and I`m praying to look up to you.
(Jaggedy Guitar riffs here)
Three more hours as a social Darwinist,
for just three days I forgot about you (seventy two, O, seventy two, yeah)
Seventy two hours of living from your hand to my fist
Seperate but equal, sure, gotta get a step on you.
Treated every living thing like my private little toy
Dreamin of the cosmos now, when I was just a boy (Darwinist)
Wore your love like a glove but there was no joy (Darwinist)
Gotta get around these blank walls, gotta get over you (Darwinist)
In the Beginning
There Was a Word
From Our Sponsors
Welcome, O welcome
the many winged archetypes,
supple and black,
enfolded in milky white,
milky way white,
hanging in midair,
peering through
the portal, the slinky tube
of the time traveling
Dream Catcher wheel.
Help is on the way ...
Hooray. Hooray.
Help is on the way …
Hooray. Hooray.
For whom?
I cannot say.
They exist in the imperfect
Shapeless spaces unifying
Our oppositional own imperfect
Spaces. They resonate in
The ripples of the swimming
Pool light at moonlight,
And intimate choices
Made by man and volcano
Long ago.
Help is on the way …
Hooray. Hooray.
Help is on the way ..
As they wave, pleading,
Begging for business deals,
Moving closer to our dreams,
Tumbling through timeless
Synchronistic switches
That speak our name.
They twitch in the fierce
Firestorm of the Eve-bitten
Apple, and dance,
frightened and purple
Help is on the way,
They hope and pray:
Hooray. Hooray.
Their master, like ours,
Has up and gone away.
- Douglas McDaniel,
for an upcoming new book of poems,
Telluride Sangrael
For other published work by this author, see:
Mythville Book Store - Lulu.com
Ipswich at War
A few days after Sept. 11, 2001, poet and essayist Douglas McDaniel moved to Ipswich, on the North Shore of Massachusetts. A collection of poems from that period of fear and anxiety, as well as the polemic essay, "Media Arts and War."
Read more and purchase
Glasnost Lost
As an act of defiance after the botched election of 2000, experiential author launched himself into a journey into the underworld of American life, or, what he calls: The Science of Descent.
Read more and purchase
Mythville: One
Godz, Cars & CannonExperiential author Douglas McDaniel launches himself into a real-life search for the so-called Da Vinci code, driving into the networked thickets of American life, looking for signs of myth and romance in the age of automotive machines.
Read more
Note: The latest poems for a new book by Douglas McDaniel, Time Enough for Smoke ...
Sacrifice Me
Let me be your lamb tonight
Let me be your meat
Sacrifice me before a prayer
For thy fasted sacrificial meal
Let me be your hunted due
Let your claws sink into my skull
Send love into the Venus transit
Of my eviscerated soul
Let me be your sacrifice
Let me be your meat
Tonight, take my blood
Tonight, take my heat
Bardstown, Kentucky
Happy Hollow Road
is a place where grain elevators
watch over Ford trucks
in an asphalt parking lot
& steam rises from pipes
as birds fly south
& I lay stretched
and pray for Booker Noe,
master distiller emeritus
to explain why, exactly,
she is lying to me right
now, and I cannot forgive,
should never forgive
as I swallow my pain whole,
hoping for invisible Bourbon
to set my soul alight
as ash burns holes into my chest
and long soft little fingers
move away from me
Savage Pilgrim
Sparks flew off her fingertips
the first time they met, this much
we know. It was a blue flame, a red
dot of light. She had sad dreams, blue eyes.
When he saw her for the first time it was over
before it even began. So terrified was he
of the process, well not the process,
but the end game of love, well,
the Savage Pilgrim was terrified
of the threat of lost love,
what it could do, how it would feel
Terrified of what love can do to him;
but without love, there is death,
death moving in, fine and slow,
in white wings, a mercy
He told her: Keep all my passwords, please,
and my money, my keys, when you receive
this note, don`t look back, just go.
The Savage Pilgrim lies in state tonight.
He loved the girl so much it hurt,
he told her so much it was all he could
do to stunt his words as they crawled up
through his lips, into the Void, that botched
job, That Fake.
Silently, he would ask: Marry me? Bound me
to this mortal soil? She said No.
Preposterous, sayeth she, not the marrying kind,
and so love and failure became simultaneous
epitaphs in his brain. His weakened, tormented,
chemical addled mind. Of the heart?
Who knows for sure? The Savage Pilgrim,
a sprinter, a conjurer, in leather boots,
a time traveler, a breach birth, just another
botched job as it moved through space, a misfit
full of lies and sacred music, his tomb, his life,
his death ... the long distance race ended
when he met her.
Not much choice in these matters: Not for love,
who he loved, who he plundered, where he ran for cover,
like a vampire, he, stealing hearts for fuel, even
in the end (though the Savage Pilgrim knew better),
this is all a test, really, a lesson. Life is practice, see?
So they lay there, on the stones overlooking
the Red Rock valley. He told her: It`s all right
with me if you just want to lay here and die together.
She was completely free (well, not really)
but connected to him (yeah, right buddy)
in ways they would never completely understand.
In the Valley of Death, the psychoanalyst roamed,
she bobbed and weaved through a dotted juniper grove,
stamping through pinion and prickly pear below.
That was right after he saw the face of Gaia
in meditation, of Esha Na Glese, of Changing Woman,
with a broad pudgy face, broad lips, wide forehead,
bad teeth (now that was a detail he would have never
considered ...)
There would be no sexual healing, no earth healing,
for the Savage Pilgrim, who lies in state here,
stretched out, stretched, a stretching wretch,
victim of psychoanalyzing half-truths, and worse,
dopey metaphysical mush about love and lust, truth and trust,
for he knew: The other side of every wing is higher, even,
than the spiritual thing.
Gaia, moving in mysterious ways, was just a manifestation,
and so the Savage Pilgrim moved across the earth and plowed
it asunder; haunting for the sound of her thunder, her body
moving under. For her torso to worship or whip, it was obvious.
His church was her passion, his city her lips, her toes he kissed
in mythic bliss.
But she forgets like the moon bouncing back light, like a monsoon
storm in summer, barren and cold by the fall. Weary and old, with a love
that just scolds, frowning its brow, all enclosed, refusing his heat
as the Savage Pilgrim ran from his dimming soul and found it, again,
on the empty still streets before dawn. For a time, her churned,
for maybe a full moon, maybe an eclipse, maybe two, yearning for her touch.
But ashen and true, a white lunar dust, she made a bland dream
of mountain and bones. The Savage Pilgrim, in a chilly mornin`
moondance, walked into the city square, left on a razor sharp boat,
a fine edge he borrowed from some woman, some new soon-gone tommorrow.
He lifted from here, in the Tao of Ra, dreaming of her ta tas, her
black eyeliner, her jaw, eclipsing his blood within the dark
in staccato chants, morbid, then silent, his last big romance.
23.10.04
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.
But he replied the smoke was bothering him at all. Sure, he used to smoke, apparently, but he had quit a long time ago. What was really annoying him was that he had been showing up at that spot for a long time to meet with his old World War II buddies during his years of service with the merchant marine, and now there was hardly anybody in his unit alive. So the implication was this: He was the last one left to show up.
He then proceeded to tell us his story, since we were the only ones left to talk to at this point in time. It began with his rendition of how, exactly, he quit smoking cigarrettes. I lit up and listened ...
~
-
OK, OK, so I watched Game 7 of the Boston vs. New York ALCS series and nothing fell out of the sky and blew up when the curse of the Bambino was erased. OK, OK, I was mildly amused to see the Sox run onto the field, happy as hell, released from all that. Glad to see the sad faces of the New Yorkers who are left now to think why their God has forsaken them. Still think it`s just a game. Hope all those folks who watched this across the country might now take the time to do a little inventory, get themselves centered and right, for a few days, before they once again let them get absorbed in the final grand bread and circus called Major League Baseball`s World Series. Maybe just think, as they enjoy and drink, what there role is in whatever is about to go down, if anything at all. And if that is you ordering your men to fire into the crowd ... O, don`t get me started.
Police Tactic, Photo Anger Students
But A Larger Number Of Students Expressed
Their Ire Toward The Police For Using
Crowd-Control Tactics That Led To The Tragedy
Boston Mayor Backs Off Booze Ban
The death of a college student who was hit in the eye
wih a pepper spray-filled projectile has sparked anger
and questions about whether Boston police used too much
force to break up revelers after the come-from-behind
World Series victory by the Red Sox.
Boston Cops Under Fire For Killing Bosox Fan
Many Wonder If Police Used Too Much Force Trying To Quell Crowd
~
-
Radio Free Arizona
Springsteen: Re-Released and Redeployed
I have been living like a tramp lately, but in the new century of exclusion (as opposed to inclusion), membership still has its privileges. For that reason, I endorse the BMG Music Club, of which I am now a member, and now I bring to you critical news of what landed on my doorstep as the first installment, "The Essential Bruce Springsteen." The triple-CD collection of basic Bruce, of course, for the most part, nobody needs, except for the 12 bonus tracks, which most true fans will find to be … um, essential.
I have always loathed Mr. Bruce Springsteen. And it is more than just having the Boss hanging around, bossing around my radio airwaves for decades and decades. Read More.
Ipswich at War
A few days after Sept. 11, 2001, poet and essayist Douglas McDaniel moved to Ipswich, on the North Shore of Massachusetts. A collection of poems from that period of fear and anxiety, as well as the polemic essay, "Media Arts and War."
Read more and purchase
Glasnost LostAs an act of defiance after the botched election of 2000, experiential author launched himself into a journey into the underworld of American life, or, what he calls: The Science of Descent. Read more and purchase
A Christian Republican Speaks to Other Christians:
BEWARE: The GOP has become a Fascist Cult
By Karl W. B. Schwarz
Many people are getting in touch with me asking about what I see, what I know, and why as a Conservative Christian Republican I am not backing Bush – Cheney and would not vote for them at gun point. Read More.
The New York Times > National > Part-Time Soldiers, Injured but Not Yet Home
News Update from Citizens for Legitimate Government
http://www.legitgov.org/
http://www.legitgov.org/index.html#breaking_news
[Proof of Coup 2000!] When five voted for millions --by Robyn E. Blumner "One of the darkest hours in the history of the U.S. Supreme Court was Dec. 12, 2000, at 10 p.m., when the five-member conservative majority handed the presidency to George W. Bush over his rival Al Gore... Reporter David Margolick headed a writing team that spoke with a number of former Supreme Court clerks who were there when the Bush case came before the court... Margolick reports that Justice Antonin Scalia was so anxious to shut the recount down that he pressured his colleagues to do so even before the Gore legal team had a chance to respond. That didn't happen, but consideration of the matter was moved up to the next morning. On the 9th, a stay was issued. According to Margolick, the court's more conservative members, Chief Justice William Rehnquist, Justices Scalia, Clarence Thomas, Sandra Day O'Connor and Anthony Kennedy, quickly started 'sending around memos to their colleagues, each of them offering a different rationale for ruling in Bush's favor.' They were 'auditioning arguments,' Margolick wrote. During the first go-round, Margolick reports, an O'Connor clerk told fellow clerks that 'O'Connor was determined to overturn the Florida decision and was merely looking for grounds.' This was a court unhinged from the law, operating in a purely political guise, bereft of legitimacy."
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Address to unsub: clg_newsletter-unsubscribe@mlm.legitgov.org
CLG Newsletter editor: Lori Price, General Manager. Copyright © 2004, Citizens For Legitimate Government ® All rights reserved.
Weekly Review (Harpers.org)
Google Search: Mythville
Yahoo! News Full Coverage - World - Top Russian Official: Plane Terror Likely
Ipswich at War by Douglas McDaniel (Book) in Books > Fiction & Literature > Poetry > American Poetry
The Resurrection :: Disinformation :: The gateway to the underground - news, politics, conspiracy and weirdness.
But he replied the smoke was bothering him at all. Sure, he used to smoke, apparently, but he had quit a long time ago. What was really annoying him was that he had been showing up at that spot for a long time to meet with his old World War II buddies during his years of service with the merchant marine, and now there was hardly anybody in his unit alive. So the implication was this: He was the last one left to show up.
He then proceeded to tell us his story, since we were the only ones left to talk to at this point in time. It began with his rendition of how, exactly, he quit smoking cigarrettes. I lit up and listened ...
~
-
OK, OK, so I watched Game 7 of the Boston vs. New York ALCS series and nothing fell out of the sky and blew up when the curse of the Bambino was erased. OK, OK, I was mildly amused to see the Sox run onto the field, happy as hell, released from all that. Glad to see the sad faces of the New Yorkers who are left now to think why their God has forsaken them. Still think it`s just a game. Hope all those folks who watched this across the country might now take the time to do a little inventory, get themselves centered and right, for a few days, before they once again let them get absorbed in the final grand bread and circus called Major League Baseball`s World Series. Maybe just think, as they enjoy and drink, what there role is in whatever is about to go down, if anything at all. And if that is you ordering your men to fire into the crowd ... O, don`t get me started.
Police Tactic, Photo Anger Students
But A Larger Number Of Students Expressed
Their Ire Toward The Police For Using
Crowd-Control Tactics That Led To The Tragedy
Boston Mayor Backs Off Booze Ban
The death of a college student who was hit in the eye
wih a pepper spray-filled projectile has sparked anger
and questions about whether Boston police used too much
force to break up revelers after the come-from-behind
World Series victory by the Red Sox.
Boston Cops Under Fire For Killing Bosox Fan
Many Wonder If Police Used Too Much Force Trying To Quell Crowd
~
-
Radio Free Arizona
Springsteen: Re-Released and Redeployed
I have been living like a tramp lately, but in the new century of exclusion (as opposed to inclusion), membership still has its privileges. For that reason, I endorse the BMG Music Club, of which I am now a member, and now I bring to you critical news of what landed on my doorstep as the first installment, "The Essential Bruce Springsteen." The triple-CD collection of basic Bruce, of course, for the most part, nobody needs, except for the 12 bonus tracks, which most true fans will find to be … um, essential.
I have always loathed Mr. Bruce Springsteen. And it is more than just having the Boss hanging around, bossing around my radio airwaves for decades and decades. Read More.
Ipswich at War
A few days after Sept. 11, 2001, poet and essayist Douglas McDaniel moved to Ipswich, on the North Shore of Massachusetts. A collection of poems from that period of fear and anxiety, as well as the polemic essay, "Media Arts and War."
Read more and purchase
Glasnost LostAs an act of defiance after the botched election of 2000, experiential author launched himself into a journey into the underworld of American life, or, what he calls: The Science of Descent. Read more and purchase
A Christian Republican Speaks to Other Christians:
BEWARE: The GOP has become a Fascist Cult
By Karl W. B. Schwarz
Many people are getting in touch with me asking about what I see, what I know, and why as a Conservative Christian Republican I am not backing Bush – Cheney and would not vote for them at gun point. Read More.
The New York Times > National > Part-Time Soldiers, Injured but Not Yet Home
News Update from Citizens for Legitimate Government
http://www.legitgov.org/
http://www.legitgov.org/index.html#breaking_news
[Proof of Coup 2000!] When five voted for millions --by Robyn E. Blumner "One of the darkest hours in the history of the U.S. Supreme Court was Dec. 12, 2000, at 10 p.m., when the five-member conservative majority handed the presidency to George W. Bush over his rival Al Gore... Reporter David Margolick headed a writing team that spoke with a number of former Supreme Court clerks who were there when the Bush case came before the court... Margolick reports that Justice Antonin Scalia was so anxious to shut the recount down that he pressured his colleagues to do so even before the Gore legal team had a chance to respond. That didn't happen, but consideration of the matter was moved up to the next morning. On the 9th, a stay was issued. According to Margolick, the court's more conservative members, Chief Justice William Rehnquist, Justices Scalia, Clarence Thomas, Sandra Day O'Connor and Anthony Kennedy, quickly started 'sending around memos to their colleagues, each of them offering a different rationale for ruling in Bush's favor.' They were 'auditioning arguments,' Margolick wrote. During the first go-round, Margolick reports, an O'Connor clerk told fellow clerks that 'O'Connor was determined to overturn the Florida decision and was merely looking for grounds.' This was a court unhinged from the law, operating in a purely political guise, bereft of legitimacy."
Receive CLG updates/newsletter, bcc'd to you: clg_newsletter-subscribe@mlm.legitgov.org
(or, write: signup@legitgov.org) lrp/mdr/CLG
Address to unsub: clg_newsletter-unsubscribe@mlm.legitgov.org
CLG Newsletter editor: Lori Price, General Manager. Copyright © 2004, Citizens For Legitimate Government ® All rights reserved.
Weekly Review (Harpers.org)
Google Search: Mythville
Yahoo! News Full Coverage - World - Top Russian Official: Plane Terror Likely
Ipswich at War by Douglas McDaniel (Book) in Books > Fiction & Literature > Poetry > American Poetry
The Resurrection :: Disinformation :: The gateway to the underground - news, politics, conspiracy and weirdness.
Previous Posts
- Part-Time Soldiers, Injured but Not Yet Home
- A Christian Republican Speaks to Other Christians:...
- News Update from Citizens for Legitimate Governmen...
- Weekly Review (Harpers.org)
- Google Search: Mythville
- Yahoo! News Full Coverage - World - Top Russian Of...
- American Poetry
- Yahoo! News - Russia Probes Cause of Two Plane Cra...
- The Resurrection :: Disinformation :: The gateway ...
- Besieging holy sites: past lessons | csmonitor.com...
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21.10.04
Ipswich at War
A few days after Sept. 11, 2001, poet and essayist Douglas McDaniel moved to Ipswich, on the North Shore of Massachusetts. A collection of poems from that period of fear and anxiety, as well as the polemic essay, "Media Arts and War."
Read more and purchase
Glasnost Lost
As an act of defiance after the botched election of 2000, experiential author launched himself into a journey into the underworld of American life, or, what he calls: The Science of Descent.
Read more and purchase
Experiential author Douglas McDaniel launches himself into a real-life search for the so-called Da Vinci code, driving into the networked thickets of American life, looking for signs of myth and romance in the age of automotive machines.
Read more
A few days after Sept. 11, 2001, poet and essayist Douglas McDaniel moved to Ipswich, on the North Shore of Massachusetts. A collection of poems from that period of fear and anxiety, as well as the polemic essay, "Media Arts and War."
Read more and purchase
Glasnost Lost
As an act of defiance after the botched election of 2000, experiential author launched himself into a journey into the underworld of American life, or, what he calls: The Science of Descent.
Read more and purchase
Mythville: One
Godz, Cars & CannonExperiential author Douglas McDaniel launches himself into a real-life search for the so-called Da Vinci code, driving into the networked thickets of American life, looking for signs of myth and romance in the age of automotive machines.
Read more
OK, OK, so I watched Game 7 of the Boston vs. New York ALCS series and nothing fell out of the sky and blew up when the curse of the Bambino was erased. OK, OK, I was mildly amused to see the Sox run onto the field, happy as hell, released from all that. Glad to see the sad faces of the New Yorkers who are left now to think why their God has forsaken them. Still think It`s just a game. Hope all those folks who watched this across the country might now take the time to do a little inventory, get themselves centered and right, for a few days, before they once again let them get absorbed in the final grand bread and circus called Major League Baseball`s World Series. Maybe just think, as they enjoy and drink, what there role is in whatever is about to go down, if anything at all. And if that is you in an SUV ... O, don`t get me started.
Police Tactic, Photo Anger Students
But A Larger Number Of Students Expressed
Their Ire Toward The Police For Using
Crowd-Control Tactics That Led To The Tragedy
Boston Mayor Backs Off Booze Ban
The death of a college student who was hit in the eye
wih a pepper spray-filled projectile has sparked anger
and questions about whether Boston police used too much
force to break up revelers after the come-from-behind
World Series victory by the Red Sox.
Boston Cops Under Fire For Killing Bosox Fan
Many Wonder If Police Used Too Much Force Trying To Quell Crowd
Police Tactic, Photo Anger Students
But A Larger Number Of Students Expressed
Their Ire Toward The Police For Using
Crowd-Control Tactics That Led To The Tragedy
Boston Mayor Backs Off Booze Ban
The death of a college student who was hit in the eye
wih a pepper spray-filled projectile has sparked anger
and questions about whether Boston police used too much
force to break up revelers after the come-from-behind
World Series victory by the Red Sox.
Boston Cops Under Fire For Killing Bosox Fan
Many Wonder If Police Used Too Much Force Trying To Quell Crowd
20.10.04
Need ideas for a sports story: How about something on fan psychosis, counseling for those who might need it, should they lose? Every time there is a change in fortunes at Fenway, they all look like they believe God has forsaken them. Like they hate their wives, wish their Cambridge mistresses would move to Phoenix so they could get rid of their personal demons.
Each game feels like time itself is grinding to a halt. Thank god I am not closer to it than I am. Man, there are more important things to worry about, like the city of New York turning into a descending riot of zoo animals should the Yanks lose on a bad call. A whole regiment on the field, jeez, there is the coming Urizen state right there. O, yes, sieg heil, Arnold and Maria Shriver (what a couple). Fascism looms. Hell, it`s here already. The marketable action figure looks like that ubermensch singing cop at the seventh inning in Fenway during the day game they had there, all duked out in his Neo-SS uniform and bull-necked, butthead haircut, singing America das Beautiful. I thought of Valhalla and the helicopters of Apocalypse Now. Of Nazi furies operatic.
Fuck. It hurts. Hard to watch. Remember when New Yorkers were playing handsies across the rockpile after 911? Now look at them, look at all of us. Descending into not even tribes, but mere creatures of personal survival.
Each game feels like time itself is grinding to a halt. Thank god I am not closer to it than I am. Man, there are more important things to worry about, like the city of New York turning into a descending riot of zoo animals should the Yanks lose on a bad call. A whole regiment on the field, jeez, there is the coming Urizen state right there. O, yes, sieg heil, Arnold and Maria Shriver (what a couple). Fascism looms. Hell, it`s here already. The marketable action figure looks like that ubermensch singing cop at the seventh inning in Fenway during the day game they had there, all duked out in his Neo-SS uniform and bull-necked, butthead haircut, singing America das Beautiful. I thought of Valhalla and the helicopters of Apocalypse Now. Of Nazi furies operatic.
Fuck. It hurts. Hard to watch. Remember when New Yorkers were playing handsies across the rockpile after 911? Now look at them, look at all of us. Descending into not even tribes, but mere creatures of personal survival.
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