Confessions of a Human Nerve Ending

Saw a posting today about the 20 greatest Dystopian books, and thought we needed a treatment for Conspiracy Lit. as well. You ask, "What is Conspiracy Lit?" Conspiracy Lit. is any fictional book that poses that their is some sort of all knowing, super secret society pulling the strings. Here's my list: 1.  Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49 .  Wow! I love this book.   I've loaned this book out so many times, I can't even keep a copy on my shelf.   Opened the door to Pynchon for me--which is a pretty strange world as well. 2.  Robert Anton Wilson and Robert Shea's The Illuminatus Trilogy:  The Eye in the Pyramid, the Golden Apple, and the Pyramid.  Technically, 3 books but when I was turned on to this one it was in the trilogy format so I read it as 3 books. 3.  Robert Anton Wilson's Masks of the Illuminati.  Yes, I'm skipping the Schroedinger's Cat Trilogy.   It is a good book, but not really...

So, Mindy and I have been on a Jazz kick for the better part of 3 months now.  At first, it was just listening to what we knew and then it moved into just kinda cherry picking, but finally, it was just too overwhelming, so I broke down and bought The Penguin Guide to Jazz Recordings  .   So, after using the book and listening, I assigned a homework assignment.   What are your Top 10 Jazz Albums of all time (so far)?  As much as possible try and pick albums and avoid picking compilations or "best of" albums because they are more often than not just compilations of singles and not complete works of art on their own like a good album tries to be. So here's my list: 1.  In a Special Way -Miles Davis.  There really is no words to describe how awesome this album is.   Though the critics define it as "Fusion," it really was "Fusion" before people knew what that was.  And while it was recorded ensemble (unlike a lot recording whe...

So, I'm not particularly superstitious, but this day has been kind of weird, and I'm not sure which way its gonna go.                  Lunch...some random dude drops a coupon off for a restaurant that's nearby that I've never heard of.  Close by...a restaurant, so I break for lunch and head there.   Not terribly big and in a location I would've never thought to look for a restaurant so I sit down and order a sandwich:  Hawaiian Ham on sour dough.   It comes out and I eat my cole slaw (not too sweet) and then start eating my sandwich:  lettuce, tomato, mayo, pineapple, but no ham.  Seriously, no ham.  I ordered a Hawaiian Ham sandwich and they forgot the ham.   So I call my waiter over, show him the sandwich and watch as he whisks my hamless ham sandwich off.   A few minutes later, he sets down another sandwich, with ham and a new side of co...

Blond hair pulled back in a pony tail, black sports bra short, tight black shorts with red trim, you ran by me on the other side of the road. One guy working on a roof nearby stepped towards his buddy, tapped his shoulder and pointed towards you then gave me the thumbs up. A young man on a bike made the Sign of the Cross watching you and riding. Three men, on your side, dutifully parted then craned their necks towards you. A dog let out a lonesome howl; a cat froze in place in the middle of the street; a screech of brakes erupted; a finch fluttered overhead, and I smelled Honeysuckle. Did you know you were a wave and would leave so many men gesturing and staring in your wake? Did you think your wake would cause this on your lunchtime jog?

1. The wind picks up.   Encased in a tent, I'm attached to a kite about to take flight, and tonight I'm thankful for plastic. The rain fly strains at the sown straps, tent stakes, and plastic snaps, and I, tucked inside, watch the walls bend and  buckle, then snap back in place. Dry, I peek out the transparent screen knowing the low clouds reflecting the city lights of Santa Fe, make the plateau a dull gray as a smattering of raindrops fall. In the morning, green grass, white cactus flower, Indian Paintbrush, brown volcanic rock, and two unknown peaks, bathed in morning light, frame us as we pack up. The wind picks up.  On my bike, I'm attached to my bike pedals by shoes, and my legs push at the pedals and today I'm thankful for muscle. 2. All the guidebooks suggested I might see horses, but we don't and find our way back to the road and set out towards our car.   How much personal space must a cow...

Backstage, I stepped between Jive Poetic and a woman. Jive, a very tall, svelte black man, was upset and letting her know. She , being Texan, didn't take to kindly to a black man stepping up on her. But this is not a poem about race relations. No, this is a poem ducks issues about race, weaves around gender relations, even blocks issues of regional pride and jabs at my body in constant flow. This body seems a little different every day, and as I watch the slow addition of gray hair crawl across my chest, I know I'm not the same person, mentally, emotionally, or physically as I was at eighteen. So, it was with a huge degree of skepticism that when my doctor suggested I try and get back to the weight I was when I graduated from high school, I queried, "Really?" He cited some statistic about how most people are fully developed at eighteen and their weight then is ideal. My body has never been a statistic, and I wasn't one a...

I don't question where the muse goes, the unbridled, quick reflex that leads me to pick out books on a bookshelf, the random internet post that leads me to an article, a list of tracks I should be listening to, so when I stumbled upon your name on a list, I thought I'd give it a go. The "Jezebel" of Jazz, you bucked trends by not singing in an evening dress, preferring skirt and band jacket to place you squarely in the band instead of in front of it. The wikipedia entry says through a botched tonsillectomy it left you without a uvula Thus you created a percussive, short note style because you couldn't hold long phrases or use vibrato. So surprised that I'm not hearing "I'm going mad for a pad," filtering out through some weird internet commercial for Apple, but, hey, maybe they're not as hep as I think I am. Jump jiving Jezebel, you join Kenton, Goodman, Krupman, Herman, you loved pot, and mov...