Another New Poem...

Ok,

so,

In the new spirit of creative experimentation here I will now compose another poem with The Phoe.

He will give me the first word in each stanza with no idea what has been written in the previous stanza aside from, of course his earlier contibution.

Ok,

so,

Let's go!


Bottle of poison or bottle of
green laments on a black
night beneath yellow
stars in the heart of a heartattack
gnawing it's teeth into the neck of the moon -

Remote and unknown in loneliness
and poverty.

Nasal spray and gasoline and the cure for the common
man.

Matchbox 23 skidoo to you too in your
voodoo rapture -
wrapped in rags and oblivion -
living in a state of grace with
your
face in a mirror and your gun
in the air and
the white light gleaming in the corner
of your lover's
eye.

Penicillin injections inoculate the elect on
their way to a heavensent
heaven-bent faith of the hopeless
in this broken world.

Jesus in a bottle
The Devil and the throttle and
The Pilgrims Progress
progresses to the tune of
The Ferryman's wage.

Speaker and tube and cone of language rising to meet the ears
of the hearers
(clearer than night between the stars).

The cars roll onward to their violent abode.



Only the humble recognize their family among the strange.

Be humble in your sleepy hands on this world.

Be a Killer in Heaven.


Love,

Joe Nolan and The Phoe

Panic and Lycanthropy

Ok,

so,

When i first started blogging, I had the idea that I could use this as a forum to develop new work in the bare-bulb glare of public transparency.

So far I have done none of that.

However-

I am now sitting at a cafe in Nashville, TN - somewhere between procrastination, procreation and prostitution (three points make a plane) and - steeled with the black adrenaline of 2 double espressos- I wrote the following poem.

Noticing the empty computer I logged on and now submit this scrawl to the cruel light of the eyes of others.

Werewolves of the North

between sniper
sights and
finger
sighs -
split hairs
and hairy
splits -
panic and
lycanthropy -
intoxication and
inllumination -
you'll find my
Christmas
wrapped in green
ribbons.

All power to the people.

Love,

Joe Nolan

Limbs and Virginity

Ok,

so,

Let's begin with a brand new poem.

M16 Eagle Nebula

My lover my
Killer-
dragging dryads to the sea-
down the stumble
of Sisyphusian shore.
Neanderthal knives
jut
from the gut
of the black belly
of the Earth.

My Lover my
Loser-
lost
among hearts and silverwatches-
carkeys and kidnappings-
automobiles and phonenumbers-
virtue and honor-
face and friends-
minds, maps, jobs, wars,
lotteries, liscenses,
limbs and virginity.

My lover my
Liar-
lying in a bed of
your own making.
Breaking your own heart:
an egg filled
with sugar
and blinking
glass.

My lover my
Stranger-
stranger still than the known,
unkown
quantities of darkness-
bending the Universe with
the wanton
weight
of wayward
Suns.

My Lover my
Monster-
borne on fury from
fists of fourteen-
year-old-boys

groaning

midsummer

Armageddon.





Wow that was sweet and by sweet I mean Cherry...


Now an announcement-
18 of my songs are available for stream and download here.

Check 'em out and send me an email to tell me how awesome they are.
Check 'em out and send me an email to tell me how crappy and stupid they are.

So I've been watching "Last Tango in Paris" for about 10 hours straight now. Wow, I forgot how awesome this flick is- and by awesome I mean bitchin'. This is my favorite Brando film by far and also my favorite Bertoluccci film.

So I am off to Kung Fu later and last night I was confronted by a glass of drink on the edge of a table precariously balanced in the exact moment before it spilled into my lap. I shifted my entire body out of harms way without leaving my chair and then nailed the edge of the glass in mid-fall with some kind of improvised Crane Style double hand strike (much like the one Joni used to make my cornea bleed) (all of this in about 1 second)and the glass and it's contents flew into a railing and exploded sweet liquid far from the path of my black cashmere sweater.

By "black cashmere sweater" I mean the same one I have sworn to wear 'til Spring. I am wearing it right now. Tomorrow I will be the guy in the black cashmere sweater.

I will see Guinevere this weekend. Guinevere is named after a queen and she has written 2 novels. I hope she will sing and play cello on my next CD (currently entitled "Night-Light").





Guinevere will kill you. And by that, I mean Guinevere will give you puppies and rainbows.

Jerry Hager is alive and well and just finished up with Paul Zografi's new CD. It is very different from his previous albums, but I think it is his best. I never found his music to be challenging before; groovy and cool, but never difficult to listen to. This album is. The songs defy definition, sometimes even comprehension and I am left with the kind of feeling I have regarding the films of John Cassavetes:





"I hate that guy! I'm gonna buy the boxed set!"

Well done, fellas.

Jerry has engineered all the important recordings I have done and will also engineer and co-produce my new CD (currently entitled "M16 Eagle Nebula")having survived a barrage of Job-like curses and hexes and snares...oh my....



Ok,

so,





I saw "The Brown Bunny" and it was great. Another fantastic film from Vincent Gallo. He has really made a haunting movie and I recommend it highly. This is a good example of what I mean when I say that "All Art is Martial Art".

All successful Art (visual, music, literary, what have you..) meets three imperatives that are also the three goals (according to myself) of the successful Martial Moment.

They are:

1st - Confrontation
2nd - Impact
3rd - Movement

Vincent Gallo has created a powerful film that confronts us with the panic of loss and the desolation of suicide (in the broader sense). The grainy, blurry images and murky sounds dominate the space and the viewer must adjust his own emotions, memories and ideas to accomodate the context on Gallo's terms.

We feel the impact of the tale whispering on the winds of this wasteland. The repetitive scenes serve to mesmerize by superimposing an artificial sense of deja vu between the story and the experience of the audience. The distorted imagery floats into the distant edge of the camera's focus and blows to pieces, literally paining the eyes of the viewer fighting for clarity. The music is long and slow and dark and we are awash in the sticky residue of stillborn dreams and breached emotions.

These attacks on our sensibilities move us to personal solitude, horror and, finally, sympathy, empathy and the promise of, if not redemption, then, at least, companionship within the wreckage of the architecture of the human heart and beside the long black promise of the open road.

I hope to achieve something similar on my new CD (currently entitled "Just Like Vietnam").

Also see "The Motorcycle Diaries" and "Criminal".

"Criminal" co-stars Maggie Gyllenhaal who is the so....





Grrrrrrrrrr..........

By the way, Kerry will be the new president.

By the way, nothing will change.

Welcome to the brand new Revolution.
Welcome to tomorrow on the run.

Only the humble will give away everything for Nothing.

Be humble in your sleepy hands on this world.

Be a Killer in Heaven.

All power to the people.

Love,

Joe Nolan