August 2004 Archives

Three new political posts over on Edgewise and DailyKos:

• Witness the birth of an exciting new meme ("So-Called 'Bush Twins'") here (and take the poll!)
  
• Then read all about the true state of the horse race (hint: it's tied) here
  
• And finally, a quick look at the newest new low in smear tactics ("And Ye Shall Judge Them by What They Say About John McCain"), including a brief foray into things theological, here
  

Waiting outside the theater
  --dink.
his mother's umbrella opened
accidentally
into the backside 
of his buzz-cut head.
  --dink. 
  --dink.

He blinked.
He tightened.

  --dink.

Something tells me it's all happening at Monkey Vortex Radio Theater. That's right. A brand new segment of genuine Monkey Vortex Creep-edy™.

We call this one Not Cool. Written by yers truly, it clocks in at less than 2 megs / 2 minutes, and features the estimable voice talents of Christian Crumlish, Eileen Dahl, Bee Nisbet, and M. "Butterfly" Smith. Enjoy! -CV

For this week's tune, I sent bass and a pair of keyboard tracks to Yaniv Soha -- my frequent co-conspirator and the recently ousted former CFO of yanivsoha.com. Yaniv added vocals and atmospheric guitar and, hey presto -- here are the results. (If the music sounds a little familiar, those bass and keyboard tracks also show up as the back up band behind Dan Mummert's excellent The Lotus Eaters, over on Monkey Vortex Radio Theater .)

Press Play to play.

I liked Yaniv's lyrics so much I thought I'd include them here for your reading pleasure:

Downed Them All

   come down like the rain again
   rain down like the fall
   come down from those asian drugs
   you downed them all

   catacomb stalls
   soft decay
   soft-spoken calls
   shades of grey

   you drown them all

And that's the name of that tune.

This weekend I dropped by to see Mr. Davis (not his real name), the ninety-four-year-old man who lives around the corner. He can't see much, or hear much, or get around much. But he still has a bright smile. And his mind is sharp.

I was interested in hearing from him firsthand what it was like growing up in the Oklahoma and Missouri Ozark Mountains during in the 1910s and 20s. And we talked about that for a little over an hour.

When I got up to leave he started to tell me one more story – something from more recent times. As he spoke, he was sitting across from me in a room filled with things he'd made or repaired himself, useful things, most of them made out of steel. His fifty-five-year-old son rested in a nearby corner chair, listening with an "I know how how this story goes" smile while Mr. Davis described a lady he'd met a few years back, some time after Mrs. Davis had passed away.

"Well this woman, she got to coming up by here a foot. She's older woman, kinda slim. And she stop a little bit, finally got to stoppin' out there and go in and set with me in the garden.

"She said she lived in the back part of The Getaway."

(The Getaway is about five blocks from where Mr. Davis and I live. It used to be a bar, but somewhere along the line it was turned into a house. The old sign's still out front but now there are curtains in the windows.)

"That's the only thing she told me and I couldn't find her name or nothin' in the phone book. No -- no phone number. But I think she -- she had a phone or something some way.

"I haven't seen her in quite a while. Maybe she died, I don't know. I can't get down there to find out, if she's still living. Or died. Or what.

"I went down there once. Went down there. With my other boy, Larry. Drove in the side way. I didn't see no way you could go to the back of The Getaway from in there. Seemed like she said you went in this side of The Getaway. That street and in the back. In the back of The Getaway she said.

"So I went looking for a way into the back part of The Getaway building. I don't know if that's what she meant or not.

"I still don't know if that's where she lived."

Mr. Davis laughed for a moment, with his bright smile and then he went a little quiet. Not sad, really. Just reflective. It was a mystery, what had happened. And he was sorting through the facts.

"She may have died by now, she was in the hospital a time or two, something wrong with her. She was about...eighty years old.

"I don't know."

He paused.

"Can't live forever, I'll tell you."

summer midnight 
in the city

and
the bridesmaid
just walked past
without her shoes on.

Been yearning for a rant about how much air time those darn Swift Boat Vets for Truth have been getting? Well yearn no more. You'll find one: here.

It's a
young man's
          game.

Here's a wee thing (voice talents: eb and xian) -- 26 seconds of sound, a 415K mp3. It's a scrap. A found object. A thin slice of terror. And, as an added bonus, it's also an almost entirely misleading trailer for an upcoming Monkey Vortex Radio Theater feature entitled: "I, Baby Robot." Enjoy. And watch the skies, -CV

Press Play to play.

I'll be gone for a couple of days, so I thought we'd try something a little differemt this morning -- an open thread. The idear is that you folks keep the site crackling in my absence -- overflowing with woosh! -- by adding your own snippets of dialog, slices of lyric, poems, demi-poems, stories, or rants as comments to this very entry. Whaddya think? Itto? Heroic Imp? Captain Marsupial? other Dan? Folks unknown? Shall we give it a shot?

More than one entry welcome, nay encouraged! No need to be shy, it's just us chickens. Click comment below and...let 'er rip.

Enjoy! And watch the skies, -Cecil

Waiting around for
election day
doesn't count

as an activity.

She has a hard, twisted smile
like she's just taken poison

and if you say
one more word
well, she'll let some of it leak.

Her jaw, it will slack
and the venom will bubble
oh there'll be lots of trouble
when she opens up that beak.

Never chew
gum in an
airplane bathroom.

Because if you do
your gum will taste
like an airplane bathroom.

Are you like me? Love spoken word poetry? But maybe not so crazy about hanging out with, you know, poets? Well fear not -- help is on the way! Monkey Vortex Radio Theater had folks just like you and me in mind when they created Poet Makes a House Call -- in which real live poets record their actual poetry and then transmit those poems into your brains. Using electricity.

Today's sampling: The Lotus Eaters, written and performed by Dan Mummert, and backed by a trio of faux hep cats. Enjoy! -CV

As we ramp up production here at the house of Vortex, I'll be aiming to post a tune every week or two. Today's is a collaborative effort recorded a few months back and written in the key of Leon Russell. As ever, it's on the fairly small side (1.3 mb), download-wise.

TV's Yaniv Soha contributes all manner of haunting notes and noises. Be sure to drop by his site for more of that distinctive Yaniv-Soha-style rock 'n roll goodness.

they're chatting 
  in front of the register
         lit softly   by streetlight

and if you only saw
       the look on his face

her back   to you

   her hands 
   on   her hips

     straight black hair
     sliding over

     casual
              tilt

   you'd never guess 

she was an 
            eighty-year-old widow.

espresso, green tea.

I mean, seriously.

How much 
more 
married

can you be?