Jay-Z: The Logic that was Skipped

H to the Izzo
Izzo to the Tom
Tom to the Jerry
Jerry to the rig
Rig to the Fix
Fix to the E
E to the IOU
IOU to the bank
Bank to the west
West to the brook
Brook to the shields
Shields to the sword
Sword to the heaven
Heaven to the place
Place to the earth
Earth to the day
Day to the week
Week to the mighty
Mighty to the mouse
Mouse to the cheese
Cheese to the Marlo
Marlo to the Jacob
Jacob to the ladder
Ladder to the hook
Hook to the hit
Hit to the search
Search to the bass
Bass to the free
Free to the land
Land to the Plymouth
Plymouth to the voyager
Voyager to the Milky Way
Milky Way to the Reese's
Reese's to the cup
Cup to the saucer
Saucer to the alien
Alien to the V
V to the Izay.

Names of People I Know, Anagramed

Frat pod

Less than sly. Eff!

Shark jam chore, hun

A start hut

Ran sunken messy

Gamy old man

O no, is steak haut?

Ferguson

Of course, we were all filled with outrage. Devastation. Of course we were saddened by the news, by the obvious lack of injustice. But at times like these, there's turkey to talk about. Whether to brine or dry rub. The secret to crispy skin and moist meat. The succulence, dripping down our faces as we devour plate after plate (Here's a tip: Get a little of everything the first time, then load up on the good stuff the second. Great Aunt Sue will be so happy you tried her green bean casserole!). These are trying times. How do you save room for dessert when you only really get to eat stuffing once a year? How do you save room for dessert when that skin is dark and crispy but below the juices run down your chin, when the gravy collects in the corners of your lips, when the butter rolls are buttered and the yams glazed with puddling marshmallow, when you bite and stuff and chew and swallow, pack it in, pass out, pants unbuttoned, when the 100 foot balloon is hoisted down the street, the ball is hoisted over the helmet? But of course, yes, this is a travesty, of course, and of course something must be done, yes, so sad, ugh.

Pistol grip

This cloak scene, this arrow hole, this fear of death, this rally speech, this plea for help, this French ennui, this boy here, this cloak scene.

This boy here.

His call for justice, his innocence, his stupidity.
This arrow hole. This boy here.

This cloak scene.
This Pistol grip.
This arrow hole.

i'm sure it all means something haiku

The universe is
human shaped: With teeth and nails
and malignancies.

Hollow Lows

hollow lows
(reflector feet
in headlights)
a hovering
the orange glow

the ticking of the turn
signal
the pendulum
of
the

clock in my first grandma's first living room where we ran at each other with the fluffed couch pillows that were only sat on once a year when we opened presents beneath the Christmas tree that was put away completely in tact.

the ticking of the turn
signal
on
a

moonless night
the hollow
lows of
an acoustic
guitar in
the dark

Tahoe Mountain Road

shackled to a promise of flying
It is there at the top

as smoke rolls over
indifferent walls of granite
A forest of dead trees

aimlessly tumbles
Iron drips

in every breath
fights momentum
Bound to moulded metal

to wires and chain

to a promise
Push down

to ascend
to the last turn
a wall

    When its over, I hope that some thing carries through, even if the details a lost.

w e r n e r h e r z o g

WERNER
HERZOG
RENREW
GOZREH
WREHRO
ENREZG

today clouds formed in the dusking sky. It seemed so at least, but no rain fell. Instead, as I walked the dog in the waning sunlight, I

COME ON BEARS!

in this wilderness of bears, this wilderness of sea,
the      headlights        
diffuse                 through
nylon  wall,                        the fire
crackles               to
low                                        
voices                            singing secret sadnesses.

I am
tight in red stuffing,   my feet fighting the flannel
lining for air.

The bears are
grunting now, coming closer with            breath,
scratching the nylon,

and

we are asleep with murders in malevolent winds
white-capping the wide waters,               waking
sleeping seas to come crashing        over the tent
the bears are just there on the other               side
smelling the flesh  within roaring      now     and
licking their lips                    indifferently

they laugh before they enter

and Yet

I saw myself in 30 years on a road to winters. Spandex shorts, cankered beard, neon sleeves against the cold, heading in the same direction, a headwind, cadence slightly slower.

"Keep your head down," I said and looked at me with stern eyes.

"Keep moving. Forward." I replied and looked back at the road.

I misheard the lyric haiku

This big blue zero,
a hallowed and hollow ground,
floating in the dark.

YOU WON"T BELIVE WHAT THIS COMMENTER SAID ON INSTRAGAM!

let's take pictures of nothings
until death. of shadows and vhs
tapes. of tree tops and chrry
pits. let deaths
forget the nothings
of this. the tubes and and beds and babies. the mom and dad. let's take until there's nothing left.

A bike ride.

we're a
living for
a
moments  between
the
counting minutes motioned motions walking through
when
moments come we're a
living when movements come we're alive in

the
olive     grove the
almond grove an
almond        tree the
olive            trees on
|||:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::------------------------|
the
sticky road the
sun bricky road on
the windy winding winters road.

 ___________________
|zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzzzzz/\zzzzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzzzz/    \zzzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzzz/        \zzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzz/            \zzzzzzz|
|zzzzzz/                \zzzzzz|
|zzzzz/                    \zzzzz|
|zzzz/                        \zzzz|
|zzz/                            \zzz|
|zz/                                \zz|
|z/                                    \z|
|/                                       \|
|zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz|
 ___________________
|zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzzzzz/\zzzzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzzzz/    \zzzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzzz/        \zzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzz/            \zzzzzzz|
|zzzzzz/                \zzzzzz|
|zzzzz/                    \zzzzz|
|zzzz/                        \zzzz|
|zzz/                            \zzz|
|zz/                                \zz|
|z/                                    \z|
|/                                       \|
|zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz|  ___________________
|zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzzzzz/\zzzzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzzzz/    \zzzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzzz/        \zzzzzzzz|
|zzzzzzz/            \zzzzzzz|
|zzzzzz/                \zzzzzz|
|zzzzz/                    \zzzzz|
|zzzz/                        \zzzz|
|zzz/                            \zzz|
|zz/                                \zz|
|z/                                    \z|
|/                                       \|
|zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz|

                   ^                                           \ | /
                /|X|\                                      _ . _
             /|X|\/|X|\
         /|X|\/|X|\/|X|\                         / | \
      /|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\
   /|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\
/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\
/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\
/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\
/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\
/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\/|X|\

powerlines

    ^      ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^   
  / _ \ / ^ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \

    ^      ^     ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^   
  / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \

    ^      ^     ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^   
  / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \

    ^      ^     ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^   
  / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / ^ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \

    ^      ^     ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^   
  / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \

    ^      ^     ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^   
  / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \

    ^      ^     ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^   
  / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \

    ^      ^     ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^   
  / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \

    ^      ^     ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^      ^     ^     ^     ^      ^     ^   
  / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \ / _ \

Every door is a graveyard

Soft lips.
20 seconds.
The mountain in relief.


The evolving shape
\\\
of the/\\\
/\/\\
power tower's/\/\/\
two //\/\ dimensions
///\
in motion
///
-//
--//
---

Every door is a graveyarddddddd

. At Tilden, the fights would start in the halls, in the cafeteria, until, inevitably, someone would pull a fire alarm, and we'd be out in it, in the street. Us teachers, the ones that mattered to me at least, wouldd gather near the ROTC building and laugh darkly at the violence around us, at the police with sticks, at the lesson we had planned for the day.

Assssss they filed back in, through metal detectors and back to my class, I, at first, asked students to write, to decompress the events that had occurred, that which were trraumatic and disturbing. Until I realized that normal means something diifferent to everyone.

Annnd whatif this war is not a war at all?????
ARe OUrr   weapons virtuous?

Pre-emptive Strike Haiku

What if this war we
fight is not a war? Are our
weapons virtuous?

This time change is really getting to me, am I right?

We are waiting for something like a big balloon to fly over our house and rain gadgets down, little screens to touch that glow and illuminate our dull faces, make us smile back when it is the appropriate emotion. Yes! The machines will tell us when the fear is over and when returns to the vanished state, the disappeared streets and memories and ball games, the multi-yard night games, the invisible cities now inconceivable, the red gym shoes in the dryer thumping, the snow boats overturned on the open radiator, the canisters of juice mix, the long forgotten bedroom whispers about ghosts on Sunday night.

In other news, the band is getting back together, while The Band cannot; cheese fries can be easily made in the comfort of your own home, and Frank didn't deserve it. He really didn't.

The Internet is a

The Internet is a global system of interconnected computer networks that use the standard Internet protocol suite (TCP/IP) to serve several billion users.

The Internet is a Series of Tubes!

The Internet Is a Safer Place for Your Teen Than You Think

The Internet is a Playground.

The Internet is a massive public spiderweb of computer connections.

Pope Francis says the internet is a 'gift from God.'

The Internet is a global network connecting millions of computers.

The Internet is a global public resource that must remain open and accessible.

The Internet is a James Joyce Novel

 The internet is a copy machine

The Internet is a surveillance state.

 

    

The Jimi Hendrix Of

Carlos Nuñez is far more than “the Jimi Hendrix of the bagpipes,”

He's been called the “Jimi Hendrix of the ukulele” for taking the traditional Hawaiian instrument into a new, likely unmatchable dimension.

The Jimi Hendrix of Niger.

Neil Young, who once described Jansch as the Jimi Hendrix of acoustic guitar, was not present in body but appeared on a large screen in a ...

Wong Kar-Wai is a really great inspiration. He's always referred to asthe Jimi Hendrix of filmmaking.

Where are the the JImi hendrix's of this generations?

The Jimi Hendrix of rap, I got an afro and / Bandana

“Jimi Hendrix of the violin”

You don't have to go out and be the Jimi Hendrix of photography.

Bombino: The Jimi Hendrix of the Sahara.

Remembering Larry Levan, 'The Jimi Hendrix Of Dance Music

The idea is that this is the [Jimi] Hendrix of now.

Joe Deninzon: The Jimi Hendrix of the Electric Violin

The "Jimi Hendrix of Spoons" is a young ambassador in the art of spoons playing! 

t h e i n t e r n e t i s a g r a v e y a r d

dead links and what's worse,
the dreams that remain,
the hopes and visions
unrealized,
captured in html and

Preschool Dreams Haiku

the grass is on fire:
the grass around the playground.
dead grass ablaze, child.

For the record.

When a Beatle beats
his wife, it's a journey.

collapse

on every highway, an accident
on every plane, a crash
on every boat, a capsize
on every bridge, collapse

in every promise, reneging
in every mood, a swing
in every chat, a silence
in every love, a fling

in every class, an asshole
in every meeting, the same
in every parent, their child
in every child, the same

on every street, a killer
in every ocean, a shark
on every beach, tsunami
in every night, the dark

Daily Routines

I am a person who owns aluminum foil, plastic wrap, Tupperware. I have a blender, a whisk, napkins, plate sets. I butter toast in the morning.

I am someone with a newspaper subscription. I own a TV. I have a number of desks.

I am a man with a mirror in every room, and a sliding glass door to the patio area where the barbeque sits, where the lawn furniture resides next to the potted plants on plant stands, next to the orange wire temporary fence that keeps my dog off my lawn.

I go grocery shopping.

I pick up the mail.

I have two telephones.

I drink water from a metal bottle. I wear shorts to bed. I take showers an wipe the mist from the mirror before I comb my hair.

I am a guy with Internet access.

I chew on pens.

I take out the garbage.

I commute to work, and I pass, each morning, the white cross with hung flowers, next to the traffic light, the exact spot where the man died one morning, in the fog, next to his utility truck, in the field that waits for tract housing, across from the parking lot in front of the strip mall.

And I am a person who owns aluminum foil.

Guest Blogger Eleanor's Top Music of 2013

Hello, my name is Eleanor, and I am almost three months old. I enjoy steady beats, tinny guitars, subaudible bass, and repetition. What follows is a list of my favorite music from 2013. Please forgive me if the albums included in this list were not new in 2013. As I was recently born, all music is new music to me. Also, I do not yet understand the concept of time.

The Ramones, It's Alive
Over the 28 songs in the 53 minutes of this album, Tommy Ramone's relentless beat is only interrupted for a few seconds of soothing white noise from the crowd. Endlessly bounce-able and catchy, with a guitar buzz that can drown out any sudden sense of terror. One star. (I cannot count past one.)

Shabazz Palaces, Black Up
Like heartbeat pulses under the ocean, the arrhythmetic beats of (ex) Butterfly and friend are better than any pacifier. I swear one of the tracks features a baby. I try to talk to it.

Kanye West, "Blood On The Leaves"
The only thing that could make this song even more perfect is if the lyric went, "I came out of your bodies."

My Bloody Valentine, mbv
About every two hours, I get ridiculously tired. One of the best things to sleep to is white noise. My parents would try to soothe me with disc after disc of hipster lullabies (Black Sabbath songs played on music box-like instruments? Give me a break.), and I would scream and scream. Then the 5 disc changer would rotate to the last CD, and mbv's other-worldly, reverb-drenched chords would wash over the living room and transport me to night-night land.

Wire, Pink Flag
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everyone's like, "The first three Wire albums are untouchable." And don't get me wrong, 154 and Chairs Missing are good albums. I mean, they're fine. But I'll take the tension of a hook-heavy, uptempo, sub-one minute rock song over the tension of a meandering, chorus-pedal-drenched "art" piece any day. But that's just me. I've hardly even existed.

My father's acoustic rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star"
My dad does not play the guitar well. After about 5 minutes of him trying to figure out the chords to some god-awful Neil Young song, I start bawling. (I would say, "Tim, this is pretty bad. You should practice before you perform in front of an audience," but I cannot say words.) Then, he clumsily plucks out the melody to "Twinkle" and it is at least tolerable to listen to. By lowering the bar for himself, he was able to leap on to this list.

Parquet Courts, Light Up Gold
I mean, come ON. This album was MADE for babies. Steady, unchanging beat throughout? Check. Single string guitar melodies? Got those. A singer who sounds like a rambling lunatic a la Shel Silverstein reading his own poetry ? Yup. I listen every day.

Well, that's pretty much every album and/or song I have ever heard. Ga-ga goo-goo.

You're going to make me brown?

Those at the highest levels surround themselves with murderers, all with a languid swagger, a drawling patois.

At the table they lean back in chairs, sleeves rolled, smirking at the death on the screen.

Xerox Your Zeal

A
broken
camera
drained
everything
from
Gram's
head--

I
just
know
Lucy
must've...

No.

Quit
rehashing
such
thoughtless,
underhanded,
venomous
whispers.

Xerox
your
zeal.