Why Isn’t My Typewriter Autocorrecting or Why I Love Superb Owl Sunday

Some Apple programmer somewhere got a chuckle last night. Did you get autocorrected like I did? I do love a good Owl on Sunday.

Last night I ventured down to SpeakEZ Lounge in Grand Rapids MI, where Sundays is always jazz night. I lugged my typewriter along and set up for a little live poetry. I got a glass of Absinthe and a table for one and here’s what happened:

 

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My first poem was uncommissioned. There was football in the air, football on the TVs, football in the national subconscious so naturally instead of fighting upstream I let the spirit carry me deep into football territory.

Next a gentleman named JR requested a poem about “Truth and Love, and also the Universal Language of Music.” I always think these poems are the hardest, and it is inevitable that in a session SOMEONE will ask me for a poem about some generalized concepts. As the band slid and jived through various standards like the football players on TV, this is what I hacked out:

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Not my best work but I give myself an A for effort anyway because why not.

Lastly Caitlin, a manager at the bar and old friend of mine, humored me by asking for a poem about “dance, dancing, the art of movement.” I won’t say I wasn’t a little inspired by the halftime show.

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Thanks for reading. Leave your thoughts below, and feel free to send a donation to support my poetic efforts if you enjoyed reading the post.

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The Triumphant Fuckaround

Yeah baby, I’m back, well hiatused and soaking in the depths of my own blog-planning juices.

Its Spring, new everything is trumpeting and I’ve saved the trump card, best for last (or now).

NOW, AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT FROM DR: IMPORTANSLOSKY:

“This Blog will now display spontaneous street poetry punched out on typewriter while strangers waggling dollar bills hover like friendly helicopters.” -The Doc

Today my first poem was for a random passerby who asked if poetry was my forte. I told her I’ve got lots of fortes, and some pianos too.


Next I wrote for a friend of a friend. She wanted a poem about cigarette butts.


Then Jesse asked for a poem about a man who turns into a wall.

And finally, Patrick (and lady friend) got a poem about relaxation.


All for today loves. Look for me on the streets of Ann Arbor on warm sunny days!

Ten Hours In A Can

Ten hours in a can. The bleak white hand of winter grasping for us. We drove through snow two inches an hour, white-out blindness. Vince steady at the wheel. Our last month of winter all at once and then over.

Bobaba and I played dice for hours. He ended up 8 cents ahead. We played would you rather. Would you rather have your best friend be a wizard, or your mom be a dragon? Would you rather have soft rubber teeth or razor blade teeth? Would you rather be a ghost 6 days of the week or have permanent rollerblades?

Would you rather have robot arms or be able to eat ice cream?

Would you rather update your blog everyday or be at Folk Alliance?

Folk Alliance. Woah. Here’s how it works. Every moment there are at least 11 things you want to be doing- stellar shows, crazy jam sessions, classes with last years pioneers, sleep, etc. Everyone is a little frantic. A few folks give off the vibe of a demonic networking doll with head on the constant swivel, but most are really warm and open hearted.

Its a funny thing to be at one of these conferences. You have to pay a fair chunk of change just to be there, so it’s hard not to feel like you’ve got to get something out of it. But folk musicians are probably the type of musician least likely to promote themselves. It’s a folking paradox.

We hosted a Michigan music room, through Barn Swallow Concerts. It was awesome to showcase some of our favorite Michigan acts.

Laith Al-Saadi is musical Santa Claus. Mad bag o tricks.


Mark Lavengood and Billy Strings tearing it up.

I have so many new favorite musicians. Steve Poltz made me cry I was laughing so hard. The T Sisters charmed the socks off me (but just the socks). The Railsplitters virtuosically shredded.

All that music knocked me out of my blog a day orbit. So now we’re at the front of 8 hours from surprisingly hospitable Wichita Kansas to Colorado Springs, Colorado. Zoom baby. To swing dance heaven tonight. Love to you all out there.

Yours in a cherry westward chariot,

Brandon

Not Fracking

So today in news in the world, a 40-foot sinkhole sucked up a few million dollars worth of Corvettes in Kentucky. The ground just opened up and sucked ’em in. Naturally some hilarious people who have nothing to do with those cars are devastated, going as far as suggesting that flags be lowered to half-mast to “honor the fallen vettes.”

AWESOME.

There has been a lot of buzz around sinkholes lately, what with their vastly growing popularity amongst various segments of the Earth’s crust. In 2010, a really trendy sinkhole opened up in Guatemala, about 30 stories deep. That’s deep. Harrisburg PA has been really going all out for sinkholes, clocking in at over 40 sinkholes in just the one city. I looked into it and that means there almost SIX sinkholes for every ONE Starbucks. And in Assumption Parish, Louisiana lives a sinkhole 800 feet in diameter and growing

So if sinkholes are becoming more common, and it seems they are, what’s the cause?

What surprised me is that no one has yet realized that this is clearly another side-effect of the disintegration of our country’s moral fiber. There is an insidious force, hell-bent on profits, digging away at the very foundation under our feet in an attempt to make money. I’m talking, of course, about Moleman.

 

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This is the face of evil. (original by Kenneth Catania, Vanderbilt University, modified)

Even now he is probably racing his priceless vintage booty through the Mammoth Caves towards his secret lair. Of course he’s probably wrecked a few of them on account of he’s mostly blind… how is it that regular moles drive?

Anyways, I’m not worried. I know that when evil strikes, we must bury our heads in the sand and have faith! Yes, it’s only a matter of time before Super Ostrich shows up and pokes his bald head of justice into that shabby hole of misconduct.

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Lemme see that justice! (original by Jonolan, modified)

When he does show up, I’m sure there’ll be some epic battle with lots of special effects and explosions, and justice will take its course. And Corvette enthusiasts will rejoice at the end of all this mindless destruction caused by Moleman.

Not fracking.

Are those.. mutant snow worms?

lapland2“There comes a time in every man’s life when he just straight up wastes time on the internet.” -Our generation to our future kids, if we can ever get off Facebook long enough to procreate.

I had an idea for a blog series today which I thought would be fun. I thought I would ask my friends to comment on my facebook status with a random picture, and that I’d pick a picture and use it as a prompt to write a short story. Could be fun, interactive, etc.

Just to see if my creative mind was up to the task, I poked my nose into google and searched for a random image generator. This is a thing, oh man is this a thing. It’s really pretty magic. I was using Mangle, which offers among others, the horrifying service of opening any random web page on the internet. What are the odds of getting porn? Probably 1. 1 in 1. If you don’t get porn on your first click, Christmas Miracle.

However the random web page generator wasn’t working for me, and what I was really after was some random images. This is a strange and alienating journey. Mangle takes the latest 25 images uploaded to Livejournal (really, Livejournal?) and throws them on a page one after another, no context. Apparently the only people who still use Livejournal are Russians, so you have to translate if you want to know whats going on. Which is a blessing, because most of the time it’s just hilarious when you don’t know what is going on. For example, one of the first images that popped up was this:

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Go eat a dick seagull. No, not really!

Whats going on there? Mystery, intrigue… a rat that is censored in the first image but the next 3 images show the seagull eating the rat whole!? (!!)

I have never given more stock to Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds then right now. Yikes.

After that image I stumbled across this mystifying mind fuck. (excuse my french)

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Alright.. where’s Muad’Dib hiding?

Here were my guesses as to what that/those is/are:

  • new set of Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Snowpocalypse
  • radioactive Rock Candy off the coast of Fukushima
  • an extreme close-up of Lindsay Lohan’s cocaine crusted nose hairs

Turns out I was wrong though. It’s actually slightly more majestic. What you’re looking at is the frozen forests of Finnish Lapland. It is cold there. And there is a lot of snow. It freezes on the trees in really odd ways. I went and tracked down the photographer- Niccolo Banfadini. He was kind enough to let me use his photos in this post. There are more of these really strange and lovely images on his website. You can buy a print from him, hang it on your wall, and tell people its a snow geyser.

As for the seagull/rat guy, I couldn’t really pin down a definitive source. Try: Russia.

Blahg

“In former days the artist remained unknown and his work was to the glory of God. He lived and died without being more or less important than other artisans; ‘eternal values,’ ‘immortality’ and ‘masterpiece’ were terms not applicable in his case. The ability to create was a gift. In such a world flourished invulnerable assurance and natural humility. Today the individual has become the highest form and the greatest bane of artistic creation.” – Ingmar Bergman, Four Screenplays of Ingmar Bergman (1960)

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These days before tour are days of spongey preparing. I have some tasks to complete but am otherwise free to absorb and transmute, stay up late and wallow in dreams, write secret private nothings and complete works that I hope to some day share. Or I’ll toss them out, but either way they are more fodder, more word cud i have chewed the nutrients out of.

So when I stumbled onto this article  on Ingmar Bergman and his views of solitude, I enjoyed it a great deal, probably reeking of confirmation bias the whole time. If you didn’t read the article, here is a summary:

SoulPaste WordPorridge. HeartTaste MindForage. TruthSpeak ThoughtCourage.

Reading up on him has also made me wonder if starting a blog was a good choice. I really hate that word- blog. It lacks dignity, feels like a fat ball of greasy narcissism rolling across my tongue. But I suppose its all in how you use the item. The blog. According to Bergman (if I am receiving him correctly) I should probably lock myself in a spider hole with a legal pad for a week if I want to make anything real. I bet Saddam Hussein had some great poetry when they found him.

Tonight I’m going to attempt to watch The Seventh Seal. Have you watched any Bergman? Any recommendations? Heres another quote by the man himself to send you off.

“The demons are innumerable, arrive at the most inappropriate times and create panic and terror… but I have learned that if I can master the negative forces and harness them to my chariot, then they can work to my advantage…. Lilies often grow out of carcasses’ arseholes.” -As quoted in “Bergman talks of his dreams and demons in rare interview” by Xan Brooks The Guardian (12 December 2001)