Incident at the Hatfields - 2006

https://soundcloud.com/urlp/sets/incident-at-the-hatfields-2006

Home recording gear, musty old basements with sweating bricks, mastering with Nick Ryan over at his Dostoevskyean basement on Capitol Hill, title added to give the whole thing a kind of Hitchcockean family story 'In Cold Blood' Capote sort of thing/feel, and all that for absolutely no good reason at all. This album or 'groupings' or what have you are an attempt at making a real album out of home recordings. I have nothing against studio manifestations, but the grime and sweat and basic American rot-stench was too powerful in these songs for it not to be an album.

Preparations

All eyes drear in midtown evening and

perhaps the world over.  Baby son Jesse

abruptly coils thick beef stroganoff

noodles into his mouth.  Sleep at one time

crept over the cities of ancient Egypt and networks

of tiny alleyways and yellow lit

windows were fed by soups of skies

                      and stars

no different than our current midtown

ramshackle existence ‘cept the public

transit snarls and roars outside

where once the buffalo crowded the

plains and the ancient hunt was

on for the season as the summer makes

preparations to bake the world.

- - - - - - - -

(March 29th, 2014)

Alien Invasion (from The Doneofits upcoming album Whore Bomb)

https://soundcloud.com/thedoneofits/alien-invasion

Lyrics:
I, I was born
Close to the floor
Close to the floor in the mid-west

Up above my head
Were silver space ships
With the darkest lining

Then for no rhyme and
For no reason
They landed with their space guns

Aimed right at the eye
Of every
Bureaucratic station

So sail right into the clouds
It has been this way forever
The earth crust tells a tale
Things have been this way
forever
AND THEY'VE BEEN HERE ONCE BEFORE!

Landing on the White House
Back yard
Like it was a golf course

'Take me to your leader'
Was what they said
But there was no one standing

So they brought out
All their plagues and
Dropped their bombs
We're fleshy tombs within their cook book

So sail right into the clouds
It was been this way forever
The earth crust tells a tale
They have been this way forever
AND THEY'VE BEEN HERE ONCE BEFORE!!!!!!!

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The Lost Agency

The ramshackle kitchen, coffee is

on and hot, not quite as bone-chilled

as it has been for some

time now, February moving over

to its middle ever slowing days

yet fly by blink of eye and

where did all the time go.

No rules to govern the lost agency.

Sundown will-of-its-own rules.  Wind

gust by window frames ever waiting for

the self same chill to leave my bones.

Saturday into Sunday, slog bogged

convenience store coffee after a short

stint of a drive over newly snowed

streets, thin sheen of angel flaked

snow yet potentially treacherous.  Other

drivers cautiously follow and lead

ruby-red brake lights and wet wind

shields, slaver of drooling windshield

wipers, ice and mud slush.

- - - - - - - - - - -

(February 8th, 2014)

The Great Lasagna Feast

The great lasagna feast about ready to be

cooked up in the cold chill kitchen of a

February Sunday.  I ran to the store and

pulled what seemed like a thousand

different items off of various shelf/freezer

fridge locations at Bakers on Saddle

Creek and Leavenworth, intersection

complete with giant Catholic cemetery

and Quick Stop not to mention Jiffy Lube.

The quiet traffic hum of Sabbathy Sunday.   

Kitchen now full of food-scent, savory

sweet cooking smells as outside is

white cold-chill, chalky grit-white

skies and temperatures low enough to

ping the tips of your fingers raw.

And all those summer foxes long since

scampered off to warmer climes with their

narrow snouts and piles of hunters on

horse back and 100 yelping barking

hunting dogs chasing at the fox heels.

Escaping wealthy goblins

and bridge trolls, the careening death

stench across and through opulent creep

                     rooms.

Straight out of Union hall sweats and

election year madcap set ups, these

guests will arrive this evening for the

great Sunday Sabbathy lasagna feast

currently boiling sizzling spitting on the

stove top.  Guest are old friends of

my mother’s.  ‘Were it not for charity /

I’d lay me down’ and during my great

last marital toss-up-divorce

at the end of 2010, these soon to be

guests sheltered my son and I, helped

keep us off nightmare streets and out of

soiled bathroom stalls, crummy cold wink

bum corners and sticky midnight

blood lettings.  We owe them the

savory warmth of this evening’s

Sunday lasagna cook up and

all the warm laughter to be had as

midtown cables hum and children

scream around at our feet.

- - - - - - - - -   

(February 9th, 2014)