Tag oran
Sometime in January a singer Joe came outof the frozen night saying he wanted to forma band to play big arenas. He looked the part,even sanglike Lou Gramm of Foreigner … Besides,he had a monster rack of PA equipment, 24-channelsoundboard, … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Cut loose now of the only face I felt wortha damn in the marketplace of love’s means— no longer that blonde wastrel boy-manweaving power chords of big night sass ona crass river roar guitar — my world unwitchedinto an ebbing, … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Christ spent three days with the dead before ascendingto heaven. The Creed of the Apostles says only thatHe went down and came back; but Gnostic sourcessay Jesus preached to the dead to redeem them and Adambut forbid them to speak. … Continue reading &#... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Easter 2025: 6 AM, the dark still boundto the Savior in the underworld of dream,wounded terribly by His refusal to letits dead speak. He will rise at dawn andtake the faithful with Him, in the year 33 ADas now though … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
And then — as soon as we had surely begun to make a namefor Slick Richard onstage, the only place that mattered at all – the band broke up. Several weeks after the Fuck the Seventiesgig, we had a lurching … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
The crowd for our third and last gigthat cold Saturday at the endof rustbelt time was so smallit unmitt the grand slam of our rage: Three girlfriends with theirfriends, early gawkers — mostlysnarf-faced preteen boys inKiss t-shirts, one or two … Continue reading... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
A privileged position, then, thislivid singing with and for the deadin a Gaelic too obscure for medievalistsand long forgotten, like last year’sautumn dyings, recalled faintly assummer blazes now to its end. Glorious, yes, the vantages oftransformation, cliffed and cleffedin primaries … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
A shit gig for sure, three sets of ourbiggest baddest nightmost noiseremitted for crassmoon lucre,“exposure” as our asshole agentput it. Selling our warfare at acelibate’s cut rate — our ballsbawled for less than a penny’srazor fate. It was in the … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
The dream was brief — a singleloop of trying to figure outthe fingering of a chord progressionon a guitar somehow also a piano,the tactile representation ofa ghost sheet music and thehidden theory it belies. It was a riff I already … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Rudy’s ghost, then, an unstable blueafter thirty years’ harrow in that mad,bad & terminally sad drummer’s grave,evicted from its barrow permafrostlike the second liver his body rejectedwhich no physic could any longer accostnor warming Earth cared to play host. Hover … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
It’s a simple 12-bar blues,bar to night to nothing’s rightback to bar for one last tryat lowdown yearning blight,too dope for the silken swayof ropes hung after midnight: The sound of it’s your homelessart, squandered by all the gambitsof a bullshit … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Of course we played rock n roll. Suchhammers were cast in the factoriesour fathers toiled, mighty maces vastand terrible as the maker’s modern mark.It was up to us get drunk on its last spark,a fearsomeness fading to whiskeyed snark.The grey … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Foolish talk for a band hardly semenedand cemented for the big night revels,eh? Arrival my ass — my life playing guitarin bands at sass amplitude was nevermore than a garage band’s self-inflictedand -infected dream-shatter, aiming forstages and ending up drinking … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
On Thanksgiving Day 1979 I felt the welcomeof just enough arrival in rock’s suburbanValhalla. Our third gig just one more emptyweek away, the Wednesday work day endingwith Fuck Yeah vengeance — day off tomorrow!Our practice that night skelter-hot and tightto … Contin... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Those dreams I fear suggest the Broodof Night sometimes have other plansthan mine when calling me to housesof old, like the one last night whichI grew up in behind and down from here. That charnel bone was brightly litas I … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
All this was pre-digital in ways you might notunderstand growing up umbilicaled to a mouseor trackbarring Valhalla’s retro dream house.I wrote my lyrics longhand or typed them onan electric typewriter; made my booty callsfrom someone’s landline or a phone booth.We … Continue r... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
A feral, sick, brilliant hot afternoon as I drovethe short blocks to the gym, the radio droning onabout another major bank loss & everythingwithering in the heat, desperate now for rain.Oh well. I can still afford a gym even thoughthis … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I’ve been married 30 years this second andhopefully last time living in the shoreboundheart — never quite there enough, I know,though its ‘til death that the attempt unpart.Some days I wonder though if there’s eversail enough to fare both gale … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Slick Richard was my first band —two others would follow in Floridayears later — three bands to bathan alchemy out of which wet poetrywould emerge. There are three cupson my father’s bardic crest, for laugher,weeping and sleep; It takes three … Continue readin... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I should have died therein that supplicative poise,stretched thin as prayeron the coldest night.How easy it would have beento fail into starlight,its eternal drift and fade … Survival meant walking intohistory, Jimmy Carter, ThreeMile Island and The Knack,the brutal oracle … Cont... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
A cooler sunny afternoon,autumn 1979: Leaves blustering,the soul hunkering nostalgicfor the passing summer’s might.Relishing with a mind-long eyeafternoons in summer 1973by a glittering pool with“Melissa” on the radio, ateenage lifeguard up in her chair,royal in a red and white … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
1. For years now I’ve kept my relapse into booze and the things I did in wanton need of its assay — the lies, the lust, the insatiable greed and insane cost to all — bottled and kept high … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space I was born in ‘57, the burble-foamy crest of the baby boom, a pinnacle of whiteness which has spent my life crashing whitely down with its bright surge, cream tide, latex sheen. Spreading the privilege of white birth like a cloud of … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
If we go wrong in the beginning,we shall err still more in the middle,and most of all in the end. — Paracelsus All the while of these whalingrock-the-old-boat poems a madtheatric has taken over the land,equal parts hit reality show … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Down by the lake there’s a two-acre wood lot where trees have grown for decades, surrounded by blocks of houses older and new. Who knows, maybe it was part of the old pine logging camp or a later resort … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Sitting at an AA meeting where we talked about practicing these principles in all our affairs I chewed on a dream from the other night like some raw dog flesh, pith or marrow of dead truths told flush, harrowed … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
… Nearing death, one doesn’t see death; but stares beyond, perhaps with an animal’s vast gaze. Lovers, if the beloved were not there blocking the view, are close to it, and marvel… As if by some mistake, it … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Summer’s height and might, throb-tide, the sky like a sea entranced by its own drowned thrash, beyond potent and expectant in each souse and throb. This hour, late dark, full-mooned, never sated enough, balling the humidity in its black … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Als der Schwarze Tod übers Land zieht, bleibt den Menschen nichts als beten. Wer von der Pest befallen und wer von ihr verschont wird, bleibt den Menschen ein Rätsel. 1348 ist das schicksalhafte Jahr, in dem die Pest – nicht … ... mehr auf literaturundfeuilleton.wordpress.com
Summer of ’45: A cold June in Paris, leaden and heavy, the rain too stringent with the dead, their bulleted stead. A ghostly citadel. Not much food left in the markets and street cafes, no gardens growing in bombed … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I see us walking down the quay with our remaining burdens— a bundle of clothes, a trunk perhaps, scant-filled with dowried dreams—: The ship wallowing at high tide like a matron crying for midwife, distending her welcome to us … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
A cutting too long in water, its cup overfilled, a lusciousness lavishly stilled: The kiss after midnight fatally swilled. Who knows why such fragrance dies here, drowning so late in enchantment, rapture become weight, drift become sea. Seals are … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I haven’t a dream to lift this lid but still the hinges creak in water. I sing it from the vale of time green as lawns on latest afternoons, in light that angled, sickle-prime to moons arising to haul … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
As usual I write this to you standing near your memorial — faded, your time in this world and as my brother etching into stone, living memory lost, joined now in the vast receipt of the dead — stones … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
They’re with us always in the rainy season, piling in magnificence and malevolence up and across astonishing strokes of sky. They are neither of a measure or deity our level human thought could ascribe. Even when it doesn’t rain … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Long ago, in the early years of journaling & patching verse together it came to me that when the real leaves you homeless, there’s always the surreal. It’s the American Way though I didn’t know it then. I was just … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
It’s too late for apprehension, the change is now behind the times. It’s taken root and wickers minds in heat and storm and surge. It shadows what we quicken like the haunted pair dancing outside the bar approaching dawn. … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I have more volumes by Charles Wright than by any other poet except maybe Rilke: Never my favorite but always up there, I’ve read his poems for thirty years. Time now has that solid thunk to it, the apparition … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Here’s a skull now; This skull hath lien you i’ th’ earth three-and-twenty years. —Clown gravedigger in Hamlet, Act V, scene 1 He is a ghost, a shadow now, the wind by Elsinore’s rocks or what you will, the … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I’m trying now to live downside the fall. That part of the miracle play that continued after, no rubes to enthrall or sins confessed, no organ note’s gold cross. I sing the charring heft of breezy afternoons after blazing contrails … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
glaube ich...
da hab ich seit Jahres Anfang gut 30€ gelaufen. 
