February 4th, 2006


shit from an old notebook concerning

...an accessory of John Thomas A., the Hiberno-Cuban under the "hype" hat / Bell Jar paperback in pocket / and a Bad Company cassette he's just burning to pop in your player. born in Fairfax, son of a Company man (said he was "retired," tho' you and i know they only retire at death...). the only musical evidence i knew of this future Figment of the Scene came by way of audio tape: Pence performed a not unreasonable cover of a Nick Cave number (Laferkopf sat paralyzed in amazement - tears, dropt jaw, and clearly tumescent [i.e., "pitching a tent"]). The American Northeast, sometime in the 90's: on yet another driving tour (i suspect the White Pontiac), Pence appeared on the motelstoop of L. and Wife ("Miss Tire Sale 1994"). briefly, L. volunteered the room's floor for the accommodation of the roving minstrel / leaving th'Wife fit to tear her Spouse with a great iron hook (note: there were no such hooks available in this .. Comfort Inn, i believe it was). accustomed to sleeping skyclad and insistent upon reserving her privateness for the one to whom whe was pledged, she left the room disgruntled to secure a sleeping costume from a local retailer.

Swiftboat Veterans for Henry Orient?
I ended the chapter about keeping one's plate full by stating that it is OK to keep one's plate full as long as it has the right content for the right reason. The natural flow of life will allow us to keep our plates as full as we wish if we are doing so for all the right reasons. Because the energy expended on positive and productive endeavors allows us to prosper and grow, our plates grow. By letting go of our criticisms about the people, places and things that we cannot change, ineffective uses of time and energy, and throwing away the garbage in our heads, our plates will have increased capacity. I have seen this happen repeatedly. This is the natural and logical reward for not swimming upstream, but going instead with the flow of life.

Chandra Levy Book Club
It was these souls I thought of, Canadian as I am by birth, but half-Gypsy by blood, as I listened to Liszt's three final Hungarian Rhapsodies, all in minor keys, and all speaking the melancholy defiance of a medieval people, living in a modern world, in which their inveterate criminality expresses itself in robbing clothes-lines and face-to-face cheating of gadje who want their fortunes told by a people who seem to have the old wisdom they themselves have lost in their complex world of gadjo ingenuity, where the cheats and rogueries are institutionalized.

Half a million Gypsies dead, at the command of this gadjo world; who weeps for them? I do, sometimes.
  • Current Music
    Ashford & Simpson - "don't cost you nothing"