Sunday, December 9, 2012

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Decoder Magazine ©2K†2: The LA Fort

Decoder Magazine ©2K†2: The LA Fort: One of the most frustrating aspects of the underground music scene is often the lack of a real venue space that lesser known bands can easily access...

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Dinner and a Show

Tuesday night January 3, 2012
So the theory is that because of texting in short comments that poetry becomes more appreciated. A broken form of communication. Less like storytelling but rather, moments between moments, one 2nd split between 2 hours and write all the way back to Birmingham.

“Hey JT, the Packers are the best team in the NFL… kittens and football, the Zen of a life experience.”
Spaceships… crashing into planets. If you were my child, God, I already have enough problems.
When all the months, relax and listen to swamp dragons, in Gainesville, Florida.

I attached a piece of magazine to a index card with candle wax. It said upon it the schizophrenia experience, rather than debate.

The fellow index: I was left only with a blank card that states I quote, “it's a debate I know nothing about, although I think sometimes I AM.”
 
1
review myself
slowly dying
breathing becomes heavy 
my skin it tingles
but unless they always
farewell with a kind lick
on the nose of love
2
so I shovel rice
down my throat
to ease the sorrow
ambient Truman
fucking kill me
it's all yours so
the PA explodes
3
blindness to reality
kick my kidneys
for your wife
there is a new
life today
I smell like a dog
4
my pussy is in heat
locked in a dungeon, 3 more pussys
and it's an infestation.
Butt holes don't get much
attention it all depends
on the sauce of the town
when my pussy bleeds
it is about to die
5
Shannon looking fine as always
into Cameron bleeding from an open sore
Alex paints rectangles of color
a scholarly rabbitt drops by
simply to say hello
“when am I here?” Says a hound dog
in a fluid stream
"Have some dinner
and a beer… so traffic goes."
6
footsteps on the wooden deck
a sitar… sit down
shift around… pardon me
I want to throw up curry
on the kitchen floor
Cameras still
and and and and
reverb reality
in 2 separate grumbling
universes of nothing
7
silence falls upon the spectators
as the twang of the sitar wales
is the band set up yet?
And toast topped a silent beat hollow
steel cords and thank you class
releases the trans-… yet no one
leaves. His name is Doug
because it's easier.



-TONY RUE