Tuesday, March 30, 2021

It ain't me, or you, or Cat Power.


Dear Radio Dodo Listeners,

My DJ played this song a few weeks ago; and as so often happens, I thought how can I have lived without this version?!  If that ain't you, and you have been happily listening to this song for the last ten years or so, then good on you!

Friday, March 26, 2021

double loop


Dear Darling,

We cantaloupe tonight;  Father's got the ladder!  Your songs for today are a beautiful pair of loops!

Loupe one.

Loop two. 

I could listen to these two songs until my cells divided to their rhythm!

Tuesday, March 23, 2021


Dear One Who Seeks Blossoms,

Here is your song for today, A Flower is Not a Flower, by Ryuichi Sakamoto; whose name, I am told, means 'one who lives at the bottom of the slope.'

Saturday, March 20, 2021



Dear Attentive, Careful, Sympathetic Listener,

Several years ago I heard this wonderful piece of music performed live; it is your song for this first day of Spring!  I have been saving it to give to you, but I was little reluctant to expose my ignorance.  You see, if I am giving you Birds in Warped Time II, shouldn't I also offer you Birds in Warped Time I?  Well, I cannot seem to solve the mystery of where, or even if, it exists.  

One thing I did find is a review of this particular rendering of the music that I totally disagreed with- in fact, I think it was total rubbish, and I won't even validate it by putting it here!  It had some swell music terms in it though:  portamenti, cantilena.

I also found, in looking for the possibly missing birds part one, this awesome radio station internet treat!  NTS Live.

Thursday, March 18, 2021

Plastic fantastic.


Dear Ones,

Meet a man who will make you love plastic, and that ain't no small feat!  I hope you are also inspired to make or invent something; I am!  

Wednesday, March 17, 2021

Saturday, March 13, 2021

out of the blue & tumbling from the clouds

Dear Wordy Rappinghood,

I have been dying to give you a little suite of words- phrases, actually.  I tell you, you could build an entire exhibition of large scale paintings around these charming phrases and their poetic connotations.  You could write a symphony on them, or a novel.  One hundred poems.  A pop song, that would begin with the line "A little bit left of you, I walked out into the night, with 200 bucks, waiting for a blow that would tumble from the clouds."   

Thursday, March 11, 2021

More posts about poems and phones.


Dear Telephoned,

I have been thinking of you, and station wagons, Mr. Pibb soda, drive through hamburger joints, and the radio.  I wonder what these images and memories mean?  They might mean I am old, and they might mean I am nostalgic.  They might also mean that time telescopes in and out every minute of every day.

Here is a poem:

[Sonnet] You jerk you didn't call me up

You jerk you didn't call me up
I haven't seen you in so long
You probably have a fucking tan
& besides that instead of making love tonight
You're drinking your parents to the airport
I'm through with you bourgeois boys
All you ever do is go back to ancestral comforts
Only money can get—even Catullus was rich but

Nowadays you guys settle for a couch
By a soporific color cable t.v. set
Instead of any arc of love, no wonder
The G.I. Joe team blows it every other time

Wake up! It's the middle of the night
You can either make love or die at the hands of the Cobra Commander


To make love, turn to page 121.
To die, turn to page 172.

"[Sonnet] You jerk you didn't call me up" by Bernadette Mayer, from A Bernadette Mayer Reader. Copyright © 1968 by Bernadette Mayer. Used by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.

And here is a song that goes with it.

And here is another.

That's all!

Monday, March 8, 2021



Dear All,

Can you miss what you never even had?  I think you can.  The thing might be that we can only miss what we never had.  Or, maybe we can only miss what we can imagine we never had.  

I just discovered that my piano and French teacher died.  They called her Little Deer; I never met her, because these lessons were only a plan of mine.  A plan to take piano lessons and French lessons.  I have taken some of them, of both of them, before, but I always planned to get back to them; like a book I left a marker in, with a promise to return.  She died.  Several years ago, in fact.  And now I don't know what to do with the little advertisement I had cut out, with her smiling face, from the local magazine.  This seems like nothing, I know; and it isn't much, is it?  Especially, in a year marked by so many losses. The death of a plan, the death of a relationship you imagined, a studying you were going to undertake, it seems like nothing, almost.  

Almost like nothing.

Miss Fisher; Feminist.


Dear Gals and Allies,

(Gallies, perhaps?)  Yes, beginning a sentence with parentheses is something you can do here!  Isn't it marvelous?  There is so much we can do, if we go ahead and do it.  You feel, I bet, like there isn't much to do right now, but I saw something the other day that really crystalized this spacious opportunity for me- But, that's not what I wanted to write to you about just yet.

I am writing you today to talk turkey about Miss Fisher and her Murder Mysteries.  You may think that you don't want to watch any more screens, and I hear you, that's valid, that's good.  That's noble and pure and dignified of you, too.  And if you find yourself with some time that you don't want to be noble and pure and dignified, maybe you will remember to check these stories out.  

Miss Fisher is every girl-child feminist's dream of a female character: she has power, money, prestige, and compassion and empathy.  She holds to principles that go beyond the law and religion, and she is sympathetic to everyone's plight.  She also gets to try everything (racing cars! adopting young ladies in need! piloting a plane! joining the circus!) and she garners the esteem of everyone she encounters.  She also maintains enough humility and vulnerability to prevent her from slip sliding into some awful kind of super hero archetype.  She is a flawed character; like you, like me.  

I love her; she is the answer to James Bond, for me, and I hope you will take a look at her and her adventures sometime!

Oh, but wait!  I intended to talk to you about the place we are in, the times we are having; about the opportunities for you to tell us all what you think and what you want and what you believe.  

In the old days, there were things called galleries, I know, they are like covered wagons; no one uses them anymore, so don't worry about what they were; quaint little rooms and buildings where people sold art to pay the rent.  It sounds nice, doesn't it?  To show your artwork in a place that would sell it for you?  Thinking on it now, it sounds absurdly romantic, and totally impossible- like winning the lottery: too good to have actually been true!   Well, now you don't need that gatekeeping system- you can put your work in front of anyone using the internet.  You are saying, "well, sort of..., what about selling things?" To that I say to hell with selling things- nothing good ever came of putting a price on creativity anyway.  "And what about all these viewers?  What about getting my work in front of millions?"  To that I say, don't be greedy- if two people see it, that is plenty!

What I have here is glorious and irrefutable proof of just how broad and big the available exhibition space is on the internet:

Well now!  Is it art?  Is it good?  It surely is spectacle, and I don't think I care much about the other two 
appellations.  I care more about the impulse to decorate, to make, and the invitation to all of us to view it, and to perhaps be impelled to respond in some way.

Thursday, March 4, 2021



Arlos Cookies

Dear Cookie Jar,

I made some for you today, and they are pretty nifty: Neapolitan Sugar Cookies; but, look at this amazingness!  These mushrooms are so delightful!  Check out also the cacti cookies on the Arlos Cookies website.  

Tuesday, March 2, 2021



Dear Irene,

Again, I say, sit down by the fireside bright, and listen to these great versions of a great song:














Bonus Irene