A lovely piece by young poet Alex Sparks.

Click the link below, dawg


This is a piece of video poetry by experimental and multimedia poet, Jovial Jellyfish. Personally, I appreciate the fast and awkwardly forward editing style, but this piece also brings up such a fascinating and hilarious point about the egalitarian nature of expression in the information age. I find the concept of fitting every conceivable reaction to this song within the frame of the song’s own time length to be cleverly comedic. But it also touches on the fact that each of these statements come in such immediate and rapid succession after one another. Every thought is subsequently pushed to the side by the other, with little (and sometime negative) chronological space in between them. Superficially speaking, it seems that we are watching a jokey spoof on the people that find music through such banal channels as top 40 radio, but after a while it becomes apparent that this video is a broader statement than a tongue-in-cheek sentiment. The selection of Pumped Up Kicks for this concept also speaks to the massive shift in the way music has changed over the past decade - just a few months ago, Foster the People were nobodies. Vendors promoting FTP have used this as a means of representing them as some sort of ‘indie’ act, when the reality is that they’re just one more victim of the one-hit-wonder machine. Pumped Up Kicks is weird in that it became an overnight sensation, marketed to the awkward ‘dad rock’ crowd instead of the general tween masses, which never would have happened ten years ago. The extremely malleable dynamics of what is ‘cool’ have evolved in progressively stranger ways, and now our grandparents can tweet about it. Thousands of struggling artists vie for the attention of commercial representation every year, and after that consumers struggle for the attention of each other when expressing our feelings about what we’ve just been sold. Where does the competing end and the spectating begin? Do we understand our relationship to each other as producers and consumers?

Also the DIY quality to it is really great.

Poem 189

Thunder rolls in the deep,
woodsmoke blowing in our faces
my father and grandfather barbecuing.

The great pit, six feet long,
cast iron and painted
black for the body, silver for the hatches,
my father turning boudain links,
woodsmoke blowing in our faces,
time passes.

My grandfather sits in a chair off to the side,
he lets my dad do all the work,
and he nurses a beer and steals sausages
from the pan on the table,
woodsmoke blowing in our faces
time passes.

Water beads on the hatch door,
then, springs off down
landing on the foil-covered pans
woodsmoke blowing in our faces,
time passes.

My grandfather draws his old .22,
it goes pop as he pulls the trigger,
he hands it to me. I take aim,
pointing high,
cocking the hammer to make the noise
that’ll scare the guinea hens off,
gunsmoke blowing in our faces
time passes.

I want to go home,
I’m so tired, my shoulders ache,
my father is soaked to the skin
woodsmoke blows into our faces
time passes.  

This is our turf

There was once a rumble so deep
that it shook entire towns;
it sent women and the frail indoors
to cower as it passed underfoot.
In times of war the skies swirl,
sending feral men to the road
in search of resolution
to their anger.
Did it make sense in the sixties:
when everyone raged?
When culture was tipping,
pointing toward the new.
Or does it make sense now:
as gangs of grown men
kill each other
in the parking lot
of a manicured strip mall.

The Texas Biker-Gang Massacre – May 18, 2015

Photo credit: Waco Police Department/Reuters

Liner Notes included with my album Early Man

What manner of genetics do you come from? Smell the poison of love. We all need love. Yes… we all need it.

Bear logic is not always the right logic. Sometimes I swear I am not human. I like to believe I was raised by super intelligent wolves.

I allow time to ameliorate me. Cram your self into geological myths.
Is there sunshine on the moon? Just thought I’d ask.

It’s not every day the human condition evades you. Defy everything!

I refuse to believe in brutally blind violence! Human lives must come first and foremost.

Yet, we esconce familiarity.


Take it all

In the light of morning
there’s a line on the wall
where the water stopped.
But why not take it all?
It ruined feet and legs,
all the soft places to rest,
it’s hardly worth the effort
to salvage above the crest.
Entropy sets in fast,
the smell gets worse in sun,
we could burn the house down
but we’re too tired to run.
I used to love the rain,
took naps in its gentle roar,
but it has taken away my home.
I can’t love it anymore.

Houston declared disaster area as death toll rises, city swamped – May 25, 2015

This is where I live. Two weeks ago my mom’s apartment flooded and was forced to move in three days. Last night, thousands more homes were flooded. We’re all very tired.

Photo: Thomas Orellana holds his dog, Cochi, outside the Rockport apartments, 8500 Nairn, where residents who just dealt with tornado damage are now faced with area flooding Tuesday, May 26,2015. Melissa Phillip / Houston Chronicle

This is truly a small world.

My attacker associates with 18 people from these 3 categories which I am apart of:

- Black/African-American-Goths FB Group (my friends are in Philly and NY)

- Poets from Texas (Austin, Houston, SA)

- The college I attended (Even had a class with him)

I didn’t even noticed until today.