Monday October 31st, 2005 - 12:41AM

So this is the poem i did for this ubercool event (the Generation Ecstatsy thing) this past Tuesday).

other than that, there is much to report but nothing that i've yet recovered form after the allergy medicine and rum fiasco last night. yes. i went to a party at my old apartment (my old roommate Sam is moving out and they're turning the space into a commercial property - to be exact; a meat market). i now can say that i once lived in a location that is now a meat market - hold all the dumb jokes.

i'm working now. gonna go try to get a proposal for a training program for teachers donw now. i've just got back from the Pour House where Lorna my personal bartender hooked me up lovely. it'll be just fine... tell me about the poem if you feel like it...

Home Free

Moderation is a fatal thing…
Oscar Wilde

no radio in the old Datsun
as it crashed into the railing
90 miles an hour and all i could
do put my arm up to shield
my eyes and wonder what
the hell my mother was going to say

i had gone out that night
1986 Sergio Valente smooth
white fat-laced adidas
I had made out with Gail Savary
and i was 18 and cool high-top faded
had the wheels that night
so i drove Rudy and Dave home

On the way back i know
i will fall asleep if i don't sing
so i start with 'Daniel fit the battle of jericho'
segue through Air Supply, Journey
and Steel Pulse, before i get
about a mile from my house
I'm home free so i stop
singing wake up when
the car hit the fence

Everyone is searching for the song
he lost the song somehow we knew
how to sing and sometimes that melody
is money and we don't see how
crazy fucked up that 8/7 rhythm is
how discordant the harmony

but mostly if we're lucky we find it
but some days the song
drives us back to the drip
in the backs of our throats
the seratonin levels leached out
of our paint brushes and pens and guitars and
sometimes your woman just gets
a little bit more exciting after the third drink

we are generation ecstasy
the fools who fell for "go out and shop"
after the towers toppled that sound
in your ear is some fucked up
Judas-kiss static shit and we're trying to dig
the music under the noise and we're all
making things paintings and poems and drama
and drums and sometimes the music
is in the edge we dance to live on to make
the world beautiful so we come back to it
in Humboldt County home grown gold
even if we're tip-toeing on razor blades

The Hendrix riff the Joplin rasp
Billie Holiday’s high C like a box cutter
cleaving the Jim Crow air
everyone wants these moments
the ones that cannot be achieved in moderation
Lorca’s duende
without the consequences

to sing the blues
without the lash-marks
at our backs

but live moderately or with your head down
and when you lift it
it will be to the barrell of a gun

so we are generation Vegas
looking for a new song
living outrageously and loving it
with an it’s all good ubercool
we shall overcome-ness

drink till dawn
and march on Washington by noon
nouveau acid iPod flower children
rockin’ 401Ks and tattoos
that high you’re feeling
is a revolution coming

So i can't tell you
the song you're jonesing for
is a bad ditty but everybody needs
to check his own melody
Catch a tune
sing it till the end
don't stop chasing the beat
behind the ideas that keep you high

this is a struggle to stay awake
and we're not yet home free