Dear Fellow Strugglers,
It has been a minute and I have a minute so here goes! Since my last post there have been a number of things contributing to my lack of input. However, I'm starting to feel good again and I hope with that comes ideas and progress. For all of you trying to expand you iTunes or hear a fresh new tune I'm going to try and compile a list of what I've been listening to and y'all can do as you please after that.
Deerhunter- Microcastle
Camera Obscura- My Maudlin Career
Cymbals Eat Guitars- Why There Are Mountains
Dan Deacon- Bromst
Phoenix- Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix
Bon Iver- Blood Bank
Mercury Rev- Deserter's Songs
Black Moth Super Rainbow- Drippers; and Lost,Picking Flowers In The Woods
M83- Before The Dawn Heals Us; and Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts
Passion Pit- Chunk of Change
Wavves- Wavvves
The Appleseed Cast- The End of The Ring Wars
Beach House- Beach House
The Field- From Here We Go Sublime; and Yesterday And Today
Nickel Eye- The Time of The Assassins
Grizzly Bear- Veckatimest
The Walkmen- You & Me
Those are just a few. The library has been growing each day due to hearing from friends in other places sending e-mails about up and comers around and country. Hope everyone else has a minute or two to post something, anything up. Also, check out dan's blog...it's pretty boss. Lots of cool stuff that get the brain and eyes feeling good. Don't let the rain get you down strugglers. The sun will shine a new light soon.
Best Wishes from Mt. Struggle,
Jon Paul Rebello
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Valse
someone drop the curtain on these cats
all the way down to the ocean floor
drown out the dark
and flood the whole world with an iridescent flow
that the mechanical masses might awake
to a new dawn
and say in (almost) unison
today we are free
not in any sense of the word
raped time and again
bent and twisted like hands on a clock
reaching backward to reclaim minutes old and stale
or forward to those not yet past
but in a sense of senses
keen to the surrounding currents of air
to the feeling of the earth,
soft and bare beneath shattered layers of
concrete crust
cust
cussed
cursed
the worst
the worth
the want
the scales and measures and
the very weight itself
but memories
blurred to the point of obscurity
figures in fog
dancing
all the way down to the ocean floor
drown out the dark
and flood the whole world with an iridescent flow
that the mechanical masses might awake
to a new dawn
and say in (almost) unison
today we are free
not in any sense of the word
raped time and again
bent and twisted like hands on a clock
reaching backward to reclaim minutes old and stale
or forward to those not yet past
but in a sense of senses
keen to the surrounding currents of air
to the feeling of the earth,
soft and bare beneath shattered layers of
concrete crust
cust
cussed
cursed
the worst
the worth
the want
the scales and measures and
the very weight itself
but memories
blurred to the point of obscurity
figures in fog
dancing
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Check Check it
It kinda looks like shit, but looks past the lines and stuff it had to be converted so that it could play online
Friday, May 8, 2009
Rubbernecking
I pull cover over, cull eclipse of dead skin I collect
Hand scratching at neck nervous tic
I forget touch of nail to skin
Could my self be caught?
Ratchet eyes twist to see the next moon floating across the sky curved
Oblige words disconnect and connect swoop pitch and crush
Tulips from nostrils, obstacle of forgetting, fragrance drift open
Vacant slits again you find your way in me.
Sick Bitch you gnaw at me bone and raw
I lean on you, pale, the cause
Myself in need
You turning me.
kt
sometimes I want to create things that are ugly ana uncomfortable and sometimes I want beauty. its balance. sometimes uglier things are beneficial, more beauty there actually, more beauty in becoming something its not.
Hand scratching at neck nervous tic
I forget touch of nail to skin
Could my self be caught?
Ratchet eyes twist to see the next moon floating across the sky curved
Oblige words disconnect and connect swoop pitch and crush
Tulips from nostrils, obstacle of forgetting, fragrance drift open
Vacant slits again you find your way in me.
Sick Bitch you gnaw at me bone and raw
I lean on you, pale, the cause
Myself in need
You turning me.
kt
sometimes I want to create things that are ugly ana uncomfortable and sometimes I want beauty. its balance. sometimes uglier things are beneficial, more beauty there actually, more beauty in becoming something its not.
Eyes on the Ground
Eyes On The Ground
My only spurt of energy spent by noon,
I sloth about in the dirt of what hopes to be a
Vegetable garden by late July,
In May it’s a barren womb,
(Though we call it the garden nevertheless)
The patch is studded with soft gray stones,
Their edges’ curve, slight and sloping
Their ends poke out of the ground like thumbs
Of hitchhiker corpses looking for a ride from
Here to There, I lounge among the appendages
Of dead tramps and dream of the growth to come
From a careful cultivation, elevation of culture
Raised on grain, God and a strong work ethic
In this garden, I only think about the way others think
I can be an expert on experts and know
Nothing of how to raise a seed or myself
I can reprimand hands of farmers who
Hold arms and pitchforks above their heads as they
Slip faded brown points of their shoes beneath
The dirt of plowed land to make you believe they’ve
Grown from the ground themselves,
I could write my own Thinker’s Almanac to predict
How reliance on the same old soil will leave a plot unfertile
As if salt pillars had crumbled and coated the earth
I would tell them not to plant seeds and waste water
On irrigating old ways of survival
I would do all of this but I really have no sense of anything at all.
It’s only within this allotted patch that I pluck leaves of certainty.
kt
(I like seeing these mini-Dillinger Escape Plans of creation from everyone's thought vaults....md,jp,pm....where the rest of ya'll at, still lockdown on msnbc?)
My only spurt of energy spent by noon,
I sloth about in the dirt of what hopes to be a
Vegetable garden by late July,
In May it’s a barren womb,
(Though we call it the garden nevertheless)
The patch is studded with soft gray stones,
Their edges’ curve, slight and sloping
Their ends poke out of the ground like thumbs
Of hitchhiker corpses looking for a ride from
Here to There, I lounge among the appendages
Of dead tramps and dream of the growth to come
From a careful cultivation, elevation of culture
Raised on grain, God and a strong work ethic
In this garden, I only think about the way others think
I can be an expert on experts and know
Nothing of how to raise a seed or myself
I can reprimand hands of farmers who
Hold arms and pitchforks above their heads as they
Slip faded brown points of their shoes beneath
The dirt of plowed land to make you believe they’ve
Grown from the ground themselves,
I could write my own Thinker’s Almanac to predict
How reliance on the same old soil will leave a plot unfertile
As if salt pillars had crumbled and coated the earth
I would tell them not to plant seeds and waste water
On irrigating old ways of survival
I would do all of this but I really have no sense of anything at all.
It’s only within this allotted patch that I pluck leaves of certainty.
kt
(I like seeing these mini-Dillinger Escape Plans of creation from everyone's thought vaults....md,jp,pm....where the rest of ya'll at, still lockdown on msnbc?)
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Soon, Blood
This materialized itself as some sort of foreboding prophetic plea to my supposedly Brooklyn-bound brother last night, while approaching my 41st sleepless hour. Maybe some of you will understand it more than I think he has yet to.
I usually don't like to pre-define meaning in any of my expressions, but feel it may be necessary in this case. To clarify the last stanza to most of you who did not grow up in Pawtucket; the word itself translates roughly to "place of rushing water". The city is regarded as the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution (to which we can all attribute our current state of existence as a number, where our only measure of value is that which is placed on our efficiency in production and consumption). The very first manifestation of this revolution was the construction of a dam across the Blackstone river at the place of rushing water; the dam which would provide the power to turn the gears of Samuel Slater's mill, and in effect, those of industry itself. Gears which today have finally begun to grind...
...........
Soon, Blood, it will be all too clear
where the True and Meaning
have chosen to lie their tired heads
and have their hand in fate and future,
while the throngs of feux-bots trip over eachother,
spinning round in awe and envy
at (once again) having missed the starting gun.
I sense the hammer,
cocked and leaning,
for I am the trigger
Flee the cutting edge of the blade for the trailing,
and slice not through the flesh and bone of stagnancy,
but merely hold on in desperation as the sword is swung.
In dust, real Revolution has begun again
and I am again at its very heart,
The Place of Rushing (thicker than) Water,
and this time will see the dam broken
MD
............
I feel very strongly, that there is something beginning to happen here (where we are). Greener pastures are neither existent, nor relevant. The time is now. The place is here. We all must become the trigger, and pull ourselves together.
As a sidenote, I posted the first completed piece of my solo efforts, featuring the talents of miss Raskin on Rhodes Piano.
CHECK IT OUT
............................
I usually don't like to pre-define meaning in any of my expressions, but feel it may be necessary in this case. To clarify the last stanza to most of you who did not grow up in Pawtucket; the word itself translates roughly to "place of rushing water". The city is regarded as the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution (to which we can all attribute our current state of existence as a number, where our only measure of value is that which is placed on our efficiency in production and consumption). The very first manifestation of this revolution was the construction of a dam across the Blackstone river at the place of rushing water; the dam which would provide the power to turn the gears of Samuel Slater's mill, and in effect, those of industry itself. Gears which today have finally begun to grind...
...........
Soon, Blood, it will be all too clear
where the True and Meaning
have chosen to lie their tired heads
and have their hand in fate and future,
while the throngs of feux-bots trip over eachother,
spinning round in awe and envy
at (once again) having missed the starting gun.
I sense the hammer,
cocked and leaning,
for I am the trigger
Flee the cutting edge of the blade for the trailing,
and slice not through the flesh and bone of stagnancy,
but merely hold on in desperation as the sword is swung.
In dust, real Revolution has begun again
and I am again at its very heart,
The Place of Rushing (thicker than) Water,
and this time will see the dam broken
MD
............
I feel very strongly, that there is something beginning to happen here (where we are). Greener pastures are neither existent, nor relevant. The time is now. The place is here. We all must become the trigger, and pull ourselves together.
As a sidenote, I posted the first completed piece of my solo efforts, featuring the talents of miss Raskin on Rhodes Piano.
CHECK IT OUT
............................
Rant #11874
(This rant was written the day after I fell on ice walking to meet all who went to seaweeds that cold night for I think it was andrew's birthday.)
My luck is shit. It's cold as hell out and I've been going mad quite some time now. My brain feels like mush and I can't remember anything and my memory is that of nursing home. I hate myself. Anyways, three days after the arrival of my new phone came a snow storm that left ice on the ground for weeks and weeks.
"Hey man, are you coming to Captain Seaweeds?"
"Yeah, I'm seconds away."
Lights of cars cast my shadow in front of me. Because of this wretched snow I was forced to walk on the main street and because of that I'm forced to fight for my life every time I hear a hole in a muffler or smell some burning oil. Just like that, a block from the bar where my lips could taste every ounce of liquid ready for consumption, I ate shit. (For those who are confused and think I'm some creep who gets off at the very thought of fecal matter, let me defend myself by giving a brief history on eating shit because, after all, everyone's creepy):
Example 1. Who:Grandma What:Eating shit on icy stairs
When:Around christmas time Where:First Floor, Union Street
How: Lack of salt + on/off rain sprinkles = Oblivious old person eating shit. (Sorry grandma)
Example 2. Who: Me What/How: Karma biting me in the ass when imitating how funny it would be if someone slipped backwards and fell on ice
When: Sometime Where: Some street
I have no history with anyone. I only have a history fighting myself, no one else gets credit. I'm trapped in this god damn house again.
My luck is shit. It's cold as hell out and I've been going mad quite some time now. My brain feels like mush and I can't remember anything and my memory is that of nursing home. I hate myself. Anyways, three days after the arrival of my new phone came a snow storm that left ice on the ground for weeks and weeks.
"Hey man, are you coming to Captain Seaweeds?"
"Yeah, I'm seconds away."
Lights of cars cast my shadow in front of me. Because of this wretched snow I was forced to walk on the main street and because of that I'm forced to fight for my life every time I hear a hole in a muffler or smell some burning oil. Just like that, a block from the bar where my lips could taste every ounce of liquid ready for consumption, I ate shit. (For those who are confused and think I'm some creep who gets off at the very thought of fecal matter, let me defend myself by giving a brief history on eating shit because, after all, everyone's creepy):
Example 1. Who:Grandma What:Eating shit on icy stairs
When:Around christmas time Where:First Floor, Union Street
How: Lack of salt + on/off rain sprinkles = Oblivious old person eating shit. (Sorry grandma)
Example 2. Who: Me What/How: Karma biting me in the ass when imitating how funny it would be if someone slipped backwards and fell on ice
When: Sometime Where: Some street
I have no history with anyone. I only have a history fighting myself, no one else gets credit. I'm trapped in this god damn house again.
Uknown Soldier
because I took a chance
the good news for everyone is
one pure thought:
a heavy ghost made in the dark.
strugglers,
I am laying flat on my back,
the concrete's cold,
my brain is falling back into place.
Night gets nasty and depressing,
like people. And the only thing left to shine
is the black under my eyes.
*This is just a topic/idea I've been toying with. Desperation, disconcert, things falling into/out of place, vulnerability, blind faith, lost wisdom. I'm trying to re-discover a tangible world, with tangible people, and pure thoughts. People risking reputations and not caring about the results. How it feels to go through a whirlwind to get where you are and have tons of ideas but still feeling aimless. How you come out of that fight with a black eye and sore ribs but a new outlook on how simple everything can be. Addressing the obvious but running with mysterious intentions, however good or bad they may really be.
thanks to all
jp rebello
the good news for everyone is
one pure thought:
a heavy ghost made in the dark.
strugglers,
I am laying flat on my back,
the concrete's cold,
my brain is falling back into place.
Night gets nasty and depressing,
like people. And the only thing left to shine
is the black under my eyes.
*This is just a topic/idea I've been toying with. Desperation, disconcert, things falling into/out of place, vulnerability, blind faith, lost wisdom. I'm trying to re-discover a tangible world, with tangible people, and pure thoughts. People risking reputations and not caring about the results. How it feels to go through a whirlwind to get where you are and have tons of ideas but still feeling aimless. How you come out of that fight with a black eye and sore ribs but a new outlook on how simple everything can be. Addressing the obvious but running with mysterious intentions, however good or bad they may really be.
thanks to all
jp rebello
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