Spondees are the best words to whisper in the dark.
I want this man to translate the tongues I cannot read, and bend the mute leaves into song. But I suspect he cannot. He can only, like me, mourn the loss of shade and take refuge from the whine and hydraulic screams of the bulldozers.
In 1976, we took a summer camping trip to Ouray/Silverton Colorado area. As he drove our family station wagon, I sat in the back seat piling wads of gum into my jaw like it was chewing tobacco. The sound of his harmonica floated back…
Radio can pierce. Voice stabs me in a way very few things do. Someone’s voice on the radio is intimate, like you’re either being held by them or holding them. Close.
Given that the swastika is often read as a kind of perverted cross, and the marking of the forehead has a particular religious resonance, we can read that Raine’s forehead carvings invert the Ash Wednesday observance. The Ash Wednesday marking is a highly ritualized display of absolution. Raine’s marking scenes are highly stylized rituals of condemnation intended to foreclose such absolution. Aldo’s knife is a pen (however worn the analogy) with which he carves/writes/creates a space where evil cannot repent, a person cannot be forgiven, cannot switch sides, cannot become new, cannot shed a uniform for new clothes and be cleansed.
Now, finding my daughter hula-hooping or wearing wigs (even a man-wig) isn’t surprising. She scours thrift and costume stores for groovy wigs and is building a nice collection. She’s got a Liz Taylor wig, two Amelia Earhart wigs, a Paula Dean wig. Her Roger Daltrey wig is her only man-wig. It’s the combination of the wig and The Who and what those things meant to me in my own identity-formation that took me back a bit, equally as much as hearing my guileless pre-teen daughter belt out “we’re all wasted.”
Back in November, Bruce Worden and Clare Cross offered up this updated, and creepier, version of the 1947 classic children’s picture book by Margaret Wise Brown, Goodnight Moon. This parody features Keith Moon (1946-1978) [Annie Leibovitz portrait], the impish drummer for The Who.
Click the picture to wish all your little rockstars goodnight.
What might the Super Bowl look like if directed by Quentin Tarantino, David Lynch, Wes Anderson, Jean-Luc Godard, or Werner Herzog?
Recently deposed Sun Microsystems front man Jonathan Schwartz resigns with a haiku on Twitter, giving the world two things it needs: more poetry and fewer CEOs.
It’s fitting on a day in which a largish varmint shivs the meteorological time-space continuum that the popular U.S. show Lost returns to explode what’s left of our collective brains. When we last left the hapless survivors of Oceanic 815 they too had cut loose from the time-space continuum (ok, I’ll stop using that phrase cause I don’t really know what it means because it involves math and I have all the mathematical prowess of a weather-predicting whistle-pig).