Writing with Cubital or Carpal Tunnels Syndrome

Archived; click post to view.
Excerpt: I am attempting to post writing and notes, live recordings from the tour with Stephen Steinbrink, Hell Kite, and Glochids. On the tour, my condition worsened dramatically. I can barely type or write on paper. I’ve been struggling for days to try and finish at least the Detroit leg of our trip. I’m at loss, for the larger body of work. I will soon switch to recording and posting mp3s of my writing. My posts might come much slower simply because my writing will be, what I say. If people can volunteer to help transcribe the mp3s I’d be grateful, and…

July 3rd, 2009 Posted in Prose |
 

Tour with Stephen Steinbrink, Hell Kite, Glochids: Route to Detroit

Archived; click post to view.
Excerpt: We head to Detriot in an undersized Scion filled with parlor tricks, noisemakers, cereal and dirty socks. Stephen Steinbrink, Ann as Hell Kite, and Glochids as James, are on the Midwest half of their tour. They picked me up from my parent’s home in Kentucky, trying to work up some money for food and rent back in Arizona. I was on my third ear infection, turns out I’m allergic to my birthplace. To justify my tall frame squeezed in this car, I’ve designated myself as an archivist to record their shows at various DIY or all age venues across this…

July 3rd, 2009 Posted in Prose |
 

Live Street Recordings: Bardstown Road Louisville, Ky

Pasta jazz Street Recordings in Louisville Recorded at Ray’s Monkey House, rotating jazz band. First clip is a random duo on the street where motorcycle mama’s were exchanging gas from the intestines of their harley’s. Random sex offers and telephone numbers, while kids push their acoustic guitars in the faces of meandering families. Read the rest of this entry »

May 23rd, 2009 Posted in Filthy Grin, Prose, Street Recordings |
Tags: gypsy, louisville music, midwest, Street Recordings
 

Vain Collapse, tell everyone to tell no one.

Archived; click post to view.
Excerpt: Perfumed issues on Mill grease their way across the intersection, junkies look past them with fossilized erections. ‘Know a place for clean needles?” I told em to rub with a diabetic, they laughed until their ribs played against each other like windchimes. Mother was carrying her daughter, the son was looking a me wide eyed. I wondered how much of his life he’d remember me and the guy walking up and down the sidewalk talking about his jail rep and the dealer, “I just got one in between my knuckles so I snort the fucking shit man.” Girl in small bus…

March 3rd, 2009 Posted in Prose |
Tags: phoenix