Archive: September, 2007

raindog aka rd armstrong | zoot

Wednesday, September 19th, 2007

Zoot

I thought I saw the ghost of him
floating over the boulevard
at half past ten last night.
His tenor called to me
down the long corridor of
the Harbor freeway,
distant and haunting
like the final notes from
Micheline’s Hohner
lost in the screech of
brakes at ride’s end.

I’ve got it bad.

I thought I felt a strand of
moonbeams or was it
a string of notes, gently
wrapping themselves
around my legs, sending
me tripping across
Hawthorne nights.
Sending me into
a velvet fog so
cool and wet that neither
A Train nor Strayhorn
could guide me
swinging low
back home
to your
lush
life.

And that ain’t good.

RD Armstrong

poetry | Comments (0) | 473 Views

norbert blei | chi town

Wednesday, September 19th, 2007

Dear Norbert Blei, what a surprise this early morning. My letter box was filled up with 384 pages. What else can I say……I’m eating it right now ! Thanks !

Well it’s blues in my house, from the roof to the ground,
Well it’s blus in my house, from the roof to the ground,
And it’s blues everywhere since my good women left town.

Blues in my mail-box, ’cause I cain’t get no mail,
Blues in my mail-box, ’cause I cain’t get no mail,
Says blues in my bread-box, ’cause my bread got stale.

Blues in my meal-barrel and there’s blues upon my shelf,
And there’s blues in my bed, ’cause I’m sleepin’ by myself.

Page 2 and 3 of Prologue: Chi Town Blues | Norbert Blei

visit Norbert Blei here…

poetry | Comments (1) | 588 Views

rd armstrong | eyes like mingus

Wednesday, September 19th, 2007

Painting by Rigsby Smith

Eyes Like Mingus (For Steve Fowler)

Eyes like flint
like flecks of coal
like shiny bits of starless sky
trapped in the ruins of a slag heap

Eyes like molten steel
sullen and angry
piercing — a bullet finding its mark
like a jaguar
passionate and alive
yet hating the trap
pacing behind the bars
bars like a skeleton
trapped inside the mind
behind

Eyes like Mingus
like notes caught in the net
like the grid of notation
like Mingus
in shamanic Mexico
trapped in a chair
no strength to grip
no fingers to coax notes with
no feet to stand up and count with
no time — no signature

Eyes like concrete — shattering
like glass — splintering
like the wrecking ball’s slap
like voltage — unregulated
like a passion laid bare
to the gallery’s scrutiny
like the madman’s frothing nightmare
like the inexplicable accuracy of random fate
like a shot to the belly
like Coltrane’s “Favorite Things”
like your fingers — stilled

Eyes like an empty glass
staring bug-eyed into space
upturned and dispassionate
like a dream — lost in the stars

Eyes like Mingus
silent but never
silenced.

RD Armstrong

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poetry | Comments (3) | 712 Views

paul hubweber | home is where the heart is !

Sunday, September 16th, 2007

Paul Hubweber started with playing the drums at the age of 12. After a period of playing guitar and bass he began to blow the trombone in the age of 17. Around 1974 -75 he toured through Europe jamming with several musicians all over Italy, France, the Netherlands… Coming back he settled down in Moers and began working within the organization of the Moers Festival 1973 - 77 and the Globe (Paul Hubweber Photo: Christian Wolfarth) Unity Orchestra Workshop in 76. Also he mastered the Braxton Solo and the Christmann-Schoenenberg records on Ring music.

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artist portrait | Comments (0) | 549 Views

day & taxi | japan tour 2007

Thursday, September 13th, 2007

Day & Taxi | Japan Tour, October 2007

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general | Comments (0) | 584 Views

norbert blei | notes from the underground

Thursday, September 13th, 2007

CONNECTIONS A LÁ CYBER

Welcome to Monsieur K’s World - and Ours or Writing on Thin Air

One good reason today’s writer might hope to be heard in our world of constant distraction, diminishing readership, a culture gone kaput, rests in what you are now reading on the screen : the community of cyber communication which as writers we’re going to have to live with, study, understand, and utilize if we expect any audience at all. The time when editors, publishers, and agents rang you up for work, courted you with lunch, drinks, promises and blank checks is long gone– if you were fortunate to experience any of this at all. “You’re just going to have to do it yourself” is as true today as ever. Yes, there are still, and will always be publications out there to sell (basically give) your work to, and a handful of quality publishers large and small that might conceivably even invest in your work at their expense in the hope that it might make a little money for them - and maybe you. However, it’s increasingly unlikely these days you will find a publisher who truly believes in your vision as a writer.

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poetry | Comments (0) | 623 Views