User login |
ladybird oneSubmitted by Mo on December 19, 2005 - 19:10.
login to post comments
Like an OceanSubmitted by Mo on December 13, 2005 - 17:14.
The link below leads to an imperfect remix I made of a song by Isola, a band I performed in a while back. We played all of two shows and then split up ... I'm thinking about starting a reunion tour! Middle America, here we come! The lovely vocals is none other than the lovely and talented Michelle Amador. Lord only know's how she put up with me an' my musical shananigans, but happily she did. At any rate, she's a damn fine musician.
Odd BirdSubmitted by Mo on November 21, 2005 - 20:57.
The link below will take you to a song I worked on for a project with a friend. He makes the photo's (www.robprideaux.com) ... and I make the music: login to post comments
Rebel HouseSubmitted by Mo on November 17, 2005 - 01:08.
Why would I come to New Orleans? Most others will say it’s a beautiful and eerie town. They’ll mention how a full moon shines from high and pushes shadows through quaint Creole townhouses onto openings of double gallery chateaux’s, draping grey against shutters and white upon beams and porches. Perhaps he or she will reminisce of romantic evenings floating down Chartres street with a beautiful woman or man where they kissed and made love next to the statue at St. Louis Cathedral. Or maybe they went to City Hall to watch the vampires dance to the bump and howl of old jazz. I find all this enticing, but it’s not why I came. The Great San Francisco Exhale: Part 1Submitted by Rob on November 17, 2005 - 00:39.
Probably the statisticians noticed it first. The hard core number crunchers that supply The Economist with it's information if not it's perspective. The ones that love numbers, see the world as numbers, see the world in numbers. And see it before the photographers and the writers and the commentators, your eyes and ears.
The men and women whose five senses are coordinately attuned to counting, who even though fundamentally there is only addition, build whirring worlds of numbers, full of continents of information, traversed by formulas complex enough to appear to you and I as magic, arcane, unintelligibly, and vaguely threatening. There is no fear there, there are no consequences. ( categories: Essays | Rob Prideaux )
The Great San Francisco Exhale: Part 2Submitted by Rob on November 17, 2005 - 00:36.
Sometimes, in the things that got made, we saw spontaneity, synergy. We saw a different way for humans to interact. We saw possibilities of collaboration and cooperation. We heard that you can't make money by allowing people to build worlds for themselves, and we let ourselves be yanked beyond the reach of these possibilities; we left them to cranks and curmudgeons, those who have given up on money and progress.
Within, who among us did not feel the lure of it in some fashion? Who did not want to be a part of it? All local humans felt the pull; some resisted quietly knowing, others attacked. Some undermined, and some succumbed. Some went willingly blindly, others fled. Some kept their heads dead and pretended neither the thing nor it's pull on them existed. alt: We bought into a dream and hoped for the best; or we refused the dream and pissed on it; or we didn't notice the dream and didn't understand how it affected us. ( categories: Essays | Rob Prideaux )
Crown OneSubmitted by Dali on November 10, 2005 - 21:22.
I.
Children's books on dinosaur dictionaries. A winner and a looser always walk the hallway with you and I not too far behind. Save your kindness - we are fine. We've put on our gloves, wiped our brow somehow, ready for the fight tonight and tomorrow, and the next. He sees champion and lover, always wanting to wear a crown. I beat up beauty queen and fashion model - the big throw down. (Past lovers too - I don't exclude) You see, this boy's weapon is oil stick and canvas And mine are sick - words. ( categories: Dali Colorado | Poetry )
Crown TwoSubmitted by Dali on November 10, 2005 - 21:15.
A whore I feel - for real.
I am searching for acceptance after all. Repentance. Smells of incense from passerby's who hear my moans of pain from inside body strain, and sheet stain. I confide in you, my deceased boo. You ghost, you. And right now I get up somehow and walk out into the street with you. We're always in mind and hand in hand to the corner store. I need more alcohol and poison to subside these feelings of true and utter loneliness. I confess our intensity. ( categories: Dali Colorado | Poetry )
Gary Coleman ChristmasSubmitted by Dali on November 10, 2005 - 21:13.
My hair is falling out and down like snow that's colored black like you. I pull it out every time I think about this mess we're in. An affair, and a corazon I can't possibly win. ( categories: Dali Colorado | Poetry )
Birthday Boxed InSubmitted by Dali on November 10, 2005 - 20:56.
The day before my birthday,
still, I lie here moving. Legs crossed, hand clutching pen, stomach pressed on purple sheets.* I've started drinking and it aint even 7. *purple sheets - Prince convinced me, you see. I want to tell you how disappointed I am, how mad I am, how I just wanna yell, but for some reason I can't. I'm nauseous and I have cramps. So, let's forget about me tellin', and me yellin', cause it's only 7. Instead, let's look around at all the music I've collected, ( categories: Dali Colorado | Poetry )
|