The chord progressions (I think they’re called) in the New Pornographers’ ‘Letter from an Occupant’ and Eric Clapton’s ‘Bell Bottom Blues’ are the same. I did not discover this on my own but someone showed me.
It’s just like a tempo thing and now I can’t even remember the chords to tell you but I think it’s wonderful. And how humans really aren’t that bright and how a certain combination of sounds makes us happy or very sad. Like rhyming too. Eric Clapton was so cool at being sad. Cool enough to steal George Harrison’s wife.
I’ve been drinking a lot of lime Gatorade (Elvis’s favorite) and waking up without my car. The sunlight is shorter and more thoughtful. I stole a dog and walked it and felt cooler outside. I am possessed by three songs right now and soon I am going to throw a party in Spanish town. I wrote a much smarter thing for this blog and then I hated it so I decided to write a dumber one. Also, I’m having problems with boundaries, like I’m in love with Neko Case and would like to runaway with her but how can I find her if she’s so famous and Canadian? (actually, I looked it up and she was born here)
This post was about theft and sincerity and conversation. It was meant to be about Billy Collins too, but I’m glad it’s not anymore because I am crashing with three girls who walk around in their underwear and open the fridge, and sometimes it is interesting and mysterious and sometimes it is not but it > Billy Collins right now. Now I think it is about place and adventure. Music. Girls…
What is more useful (also, see necessary): feeling or thinking? What will make our poetry very bad?
Since half of you don’t even live in Baton Rouge anymore I can write about secret places. If you still live in BR I will take you to secret places. It’s what I have to write about before anything else. I thought I was leaving a city but now I have a second chance to be here and it seems important to me in ways I do not understand.
This place that I went to outside BR, in Sunshine, LA, is called Roberto’s on River Road. First, me and Kevin went with Neil Young’s ‘Harvest’ and blew his speakers listening to ‘A Man Needs a Maid.’ (omg, do you know this song?) My speakers are already blown. I do not remember what I was listening to. And you can drive on the levee. Did you know you can drive on the levee?? I would like to drive the levee all the way to New Orleans. I heard this is possible but not straight forward so you have to ask someone who knows.
The second time I went to Roberto’s I went by myself because it made sense and not only do they have amazing po’boys and remoulade, you have to take River Road to get there. I mean, it’s a total shack with old yellow paint and the tables have paper on them which is so fun if you bring a pen and draw pictures for the waitresses who are all ethereals. There is also a string of white lights. There are two strings of white lights.
I took seabird, my station wagon, and I felt free and sad in my car that holds mostly everything I own and you don’t have to drive very far at all to see a cow with three tiny white birds balancing on its head.
2 comments:
Reading this posting makes me feel sad.
Reading this posting makes me think sad. The whole thing is one big sad-think. Particularly, the usage of animals. You mention dogs, and cows, and birds. I want to know what poets do with animals and why we, writers, are so in love with them. Is it because they'll let us do anything to them?
But this is the thinking part.
I'm not sure what will make our poetry bad. Both thinking and feeling contribute to bad poetry. I know it first hand. On both hands.
i wonder about this animal thing too. there are always animals crawling into my poetry. cats and wolves and wolves and now a dead fish, too. they seem to hold all kinds of things. things i don't even know about.
and they don't always let me do what i want.
maybe it's something sort of archetypal. we can use them as vessels but they are vessels with definite shape. they have inherent obstructions.
also zombies.
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