Home.

Talking down a road,
I trip over vowls,
stumble over consonants,
step on words,
get stuck in phrases
- weak and volatile,
short and strong,
long and languid,
until I finally find a

poem.

Telecommunication.

Caught in the last shadow of the year
between tea cups and coffee pots,
empty wrappers and broken bottles,
that one melody in your ear,
you redial.

August.

Standing on sweating blacktop
quenching your thirst with memories
of running along shorelines,
of building castles
and drinking sandy 7 Up,
like you never tasted
anything so sweet.

Drop.

Between a drop
and a coffee pot
Between a drop
and a coffee pot
Between a drop
and a coffee pot
Between a drop
and a coffee pot
- lies good luck.

On a Balcony

When our feet rested on concrete balconies,
beer in hand, music in back,
sunset in front,
it wasn't easier.
It only felt that way.

Flatter!

I recently joined Flattr, the new social micropayment service. I think it's a great idea - it is more or less like buying someone you like a (very small) beer. I also added flattr buttons to this blog - not because I'm in it for the money, but because I want to spread the flattr, even in this teeny tiny blog of mine. So if you like what I'm doing and you dig the flattr idea - Cheers!
Oh, here is a little video on what flattr is:

Kids

Kids' chatter,
Kids' laughter,
Kids' life filling
every pore of the car,
then,
          they leave behind,
a vacuum of silence
for our thoughts.

"Anything that's funny indicates an emotion that's died"

Richard Hell: Basically I have one feeling ... the desire to get out of here. And any other feelings I have come from trying to analyze, you know, why I want to go away ... See, I always feel uncomfortable and I just want to .. walk out of the room. It's not going to any other place or any other sensation, or anything like that, it's just to get out of 'here.'  (read more)

Rush Hour Apparition

In a sea of gray
your effortless skirt
is only topped 
by the Divine Comedy
on your knees.

AURORA

She came dressed

as a lonely girl. 

Not easy; at ease

with herself

by herself

for herself, 

on her own feet, firmly

planted in the clouds.

She stripped, lonely

layer after lonely layer.

Bit by bit, piece by piece,

shell by shell.

Standing there, 

beaming, glowing,

radiating, silent, 

naked.

She moved, 

breathed, touched.

Starch sheets, cotton shirts,

warm wood;

shoulders, legs, hair

moist skin.

She stepped away, took

away her skin, 

gathered up her layers

and returned.

Jamie.

Another spoon of sugar,

another spoon of rice.

One more cup of this, 

one more glass of that.

Ounce for ounce 

and pound for 

pound -

Eat.  It helps.

Spring cleaning.

So this blog of mine, Clarity & Chaos, is my baby. Only few people read it, even fewer comment on it, but still - I like it. The only think I don't like at all by now is the randomness of it.  The combination of 'original material' - my  poetry, Coy Copyboy, the few (but soon to be more) reading journals  besides the cool stuff I like to share and the bits on (American) politics is starting to bother me. So, after cleaning out my closet this morning I decided to give Aunt Clarity & Chaos a little niece: clarityandchaos.tumblr.com That's the new place for all the quick links, music videos and politic rants from now on, this blog will be the site for all that original material: Poetry, Coy Copyboy, reading journals. Plus you can still follow me on twitter for the shortest sweet stuff. 

Simone.

Red lips, matching shoes;

A gust of blonde hair,

a cigarette.

She pulls her jacket 

tight,

exhaling,

waiting.

Mondays are the

worst - school.

Tuesdays she gets

off work early.

Wednesdays, Thursdays, 

fill in the blanks. 

Falls in love with Fridays.

Saturdays are an affair, 

Sundays are the breakup.

A light drizzle, 

rainy fog, 

her bus pulls up.

Today she'd be 

punctual.

A City Has Many Skins

"It was in that room that I started to read again. A leaflet says a little, a whole book is full of thoughts, ideas and makes you fall prey to complicated feelings; there is no anaesthesia in the pages of a novel. Often you find discomfort, as if you were sleeping like the princess on the mattresses on top of the pea." (Grant 226)

It's been weeks, months, possibly even a year since I last read a book 'just for fun'. Yesterday I sat down with The Clothes On Their Backs by Linda Grant. I sat down on my comfy bed, in my old room at my parent's place, the bed on which I used to spend hours and hours just reading. Without a pen in hand. Without any music on, once the album I put on stopped. Without anything to drink, once the tea I made myself got cold and I finished it in one big gulp between pages. I did nothing but read. And it felt amazing. (read more)

5 O'Clock

Cars, cars, cars,
an endless line of postwork pearls. 


Buzz, buzz, buzz, 
rows of gleaming headlights. 


Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, 
smooth downhill streams. 


Home, home, home, 
and then back up again. 

Just a Quick Thought Regarding Texts, Books, and Textbooks.

Does anyone have the funds to freely distribute A People's History of the United States around Texas high schools? I do believe that history writing - and textbook writing - is a 'selective editing' process, yet what is going on in Texas these days is just ridiculous. Or it would be ridiculous if it wasn't so sad. 

Little Things.

You wake up as a little thing.
You go to school as a little thing. 
You go to work as a little thing. 
You go to sleep as a little thing.


You work on little things.
You keep little things. 
You hold on to little things. 
'Cause it's the little things that count. 

A Moment.

A shared cigarette
    on the balcony.
Words falling between
    them like ashes
whisked away with 
   a sigh and a simple gesture.

Feminism is for Freiburg.

Someone brought Feminism Is For Lovers to Freiburg.

Glenn Beck Tells Us To Run Away - from Jesus?

Every time I think the crazy surrounding certain U.S. media figures like Glenn Beck reached its climax, they manage to lower (or raise, depends on how you look at it) the bar once more. I almost missed this: 

When Glenn Beck told listeners of his radio show on March 2 that they should "run as fast as you can" from any church that preached "social or economic justice" because those were code words for Communism and Nazism, he probably thought he was tweaking a few crunchy religious liberals who didn't listen to the show anyway.

Not that people who actually listen to Beck read this blog, but: 

Christians, turn Glenn Beck off as fast as you can.

Supposed to.

Spring  is supposed to be a fresh start 
after a long, bleak winter.
Supposed to.
Nature is supposed to start anew;
snow melts, blossoms bloom.
Supposed to.
Creatures are supposed to return, 
to shed their winter coats. 
Supposed to.
Sunshine is to supposed to warm, 
our limbs, our hearts.
Supposed to.
As when the leaves turned, 
as when the year turned, 
we're supposed 
to start 
anew. 
Supposed to.

Erase and Start It Again.

Slaughterhouse 90210

 Slaughterhouse 90210 is one of my favorite blogs these days. Celebrity/pop culture photos captioned with quotes from (high) literature. Awesome!

When Morning Comes.

Craig B and Iain Cook, formerly know as the geniuses behind Aereogramme, released a new, wonderful, quite non-Aereogramme record as The Unwinding Hours. And Solstice played its way right into my Top 10 love songs. Too bad the (animated...) video can't keep up with the song. A 'Hallam Foe'-esque melancholic Glasgow aesthetic might have been too obvious, but still...  

You can just switch to a blank tab to enjoy the song.

Maximize Your Investment.

In the newsletter for the release of I'm New Here, the new record of Gil Scott-Heron ("The Revolution Will Not Be Televised") he described the 'proper procedure' get the maximum out of you CD investment:

Music, for example. Buying a CD is an investment.
To get the maximum you must

LISTEN TO IT FOR THE FIRST TIME UNDER OPTIMUM CONDITIONS.

Not in your car or on a portable player through a headset.
Take it home.
Get rid of all distractions, (even him or her).
Turn off your cell phone.
Turn off everything that rings or beeps or rattles or whistles.
Make yourself comfortable.
Play your CD.
LISTEN all the way through.
Think about what you got.
Think about who would appreciate this investment.
Decide if there is someone to share this with.
Turn it on again.
Enjoy Yourself.

I should go hit the record stores. 

Marching Bands and Camouflage Shrubs Make Your Day.

OK Go - This Too Shall Pass from OK Go on Vimeo.

Time to Read.

In a recent Q&A with Prospect, Martin Amis first claimed to agree with Dryden that "literature is instruction and delight" and is ought to be enjoyed. So far so traditional, so good. In his next answer he dismisses young, contemporary authors: 

 I don’t read them. I read my friends: Will Self and Zadie Smith. But it’s a fantastically uneconomical way of reading, to read your youngers. No-one knows if they are any good. Only time knows that.

Ian Leslie more or less agrees. Norman Geras in my opinion correctly calls it a " cramped approach from someone who's talking up the tienjoyment of reading". Sure, time is a scare commodity (if you want to introduce economical terms into a discussion about reading, which I fear you have to). So I can't entirely agree with Norman Geras either: You probably can't read it all. Most people just don't have the time or energy for that. But to dismiss young authors because they haven't  passed the test of time, or, like all the authors he mentiones before, are part of the canon. In times of loads and loads of user-generated reviews etc. I can easily and quickly determine how big the chances are that I will enjoy any given book. There just is no more need for a strict canon anymore, for literature passing the test of time.

When talking about reading as joy and delight, such normative statements are problematic, anyway.

(photo by moriza http://www.flickr.com/photos/moriza/ / CC BY 2.0)

Humdrum Town.

Theophilus London gave  Hum Drum, one of the shortest, sweetest tracks off his This Charming Mixtape, the full pop single treatment. Extra verse, chorus repeat, video. 

I like the vibe. Get the track at Green Label Sound.

"I Hate Fashion."

Twitter, the blogosphere and all the other places where fashion, culture and boredom intersect are fashionably ablaze in times like these, the week of the Berlin Fashion Week. I must admit, these days bring along a few interesting styles and interviews that are brilliant in text yet a bit ambiguous in picture (German link to an interview with Stefan Eckert ) I have, like so many others, a guilty pleasure in casually subscribing to The Satorialist. And while I do think that personal fashion and style can (but must not) be a tool of self-expression (and fun), I also agree with this article by Tanya Gold in the Guardian. When she describes the experience of having the extensive, expensive siren cry of fashion (or rather: the pressure of the Fashion Industry) as grueling soundtrack of growing up: 

Can't you ignore it, you may ask? Can't you squeeze yourself into a ­library and have an inner life instead? Ha! Anyone who thinks that has never been a young woman staring into the window of Topshop. Sophisticated weapons are employed to make us need the rubbish. And so we do.

Or relates the story of meeting a 16 year old model: 

She was a sweet, utterly ordinary girl with an astonishing face. She ­exuded gloom. She showed me a photograph of herself. It had ­appeared on the cover of Vogue. "I don't think it looks like me at all," she said. She was right. It didn't. It was a non-existent woman.

Or even mentions the fashionable shoe related death of a 16 year old who fell under a train: 

This was different from the usual Fashion Death, where a model has a heart attack on the catwalk, because she lives on grapes. This was an ordinary girl – a bystander. And why was she wearing high-heeled shoes on an icy night? Because fashion, the whispering monster, told her to.

 I can't stop nodding my head - and shaking it at the same time. Nodding in agreement. Shaking at the stories - and being surprised at how little I am surprised by these stories. So even though I did not suffer as badly under the cry of fashion as a dude, there is a lot not to like about Fashion.  Don't agree? Go read articles like this one. 

And This! Machine! Is Dying!

Few instruments excite me as much as a cello or a hard strumming acoustic guitar. And few things make my heart jump as indie/folk/americana with a raw yet complex sing-a-long vibe. 

So, of course, This Machine Is Dying by Kittens Ablaze had me at metaphorical 'Hello'. 

via Indiestreber

Keep This Town Alive!

Wake (Keep This Town Alive)  by Finn Riggins is a nice, clever, breezy ray of light - from Iowa, of all places! Perfect for this week - you can almost hear the spring coming (that is: the snow melted) yet you know that it's still a long home stretch through winterland.

American Ghetto

To conclude Portugal. the Man day: Apart from releasing the video for the Sun, Portugal. the Man also announced that they're releasing new material soon:

We will shortly make an official announcement for the release of American Ghetto. This one is for you, we are not sending it to press and we are not sending it to radio. When all the finishing touches are complete we will make it available to everyone on the same day. OK, we will answer 2 questions right now…
1. Yes, it is an entire album, 11 songs
2. Yes, it is a slightly more electronic, beats, samplers, etc. album than The Satanic Satanist. Maybe not something for the casual listener but for those who have a most of our records we think you will love it.

If it's anything like a It's Complicated Being A Wizard for Satanic Satanist (it sure does sond like it), I'll be jumping circles. 

Big, Bad, Sunny Sheep.

Portgal. the Man released a video for The Sun, prominently featuring their bass player Zach in a sheep costume.


The awesomeness just never stops flowing from this band.

Distorted Pop.

Is your heating on?
Are you feeling warm?
About the future, 
about the future.

Tonight.

Weather Warning

Cain | MySpace Video

The Xcerts: Weather Warning.

yeah.

This Must Be It.

Music television is dead. But that's alright. Music videos can finally go back/become (of course unprofitable) art and genius shot movies that enrich the song. Instead of being promotional tools and, by chance, artworks.
Today's example of what music videos can be: Röyksopp - This Must Be It
 
Röyksopp 'This Must Be It' from Röyksopp on Vimeo.

Candy or Poetry?

What a brilliant idea - a 1964 candy vending machiene turned into a Poetry Machine by the editors of Molossus:

The machine sold nine different poems by category—from Love Poem to Food Poem to Poem to Help You Get Laid*—including work by Amatoritsero Ede, Armando Celayo, Ryan Van Winkle, Elizabeth Aamot, David Shook, and Víctor Terán.

This machine debuted in Sept. '09 in LA for for the 13th annual Silver Lake Art Crawl.More machienes are to be distributed, for example in El Paso. I'd love to read the actual poems inside - or better, have a couple of these machines closer by. That'd be one healthy diet.

*Of course, one of the categories has to be 'Poem to Help You Get Laid. Sigh.

Giuliani: No Domestic Attacks

Being in the opposition apparently does weird things to you and your memory. For example, you claim that there was no domestic terrorist attack in the US during George W. Bush's rule, despite the fact that your international claim to fame is that you were the mayor of a city that experienced the largest domestic terrorist attack - on September 11, 2001.