We Carry On

At this very moment I am listening to the Portishead album Third and it's so amazing and I highly suggest everyone who's reading this to listen to it as well.

Good day sir!

Good god, I'm drunk again and yelling
My tonight has extended into the early hours of tomorrow
In four hours I'll wake up for work
And wonder, good god why did I drink that last glass?
Rum, coke, rum, coke, gin, tonic, rum, coke, gin, tonic
The rest of rum in my glass, the lime left over from the gin
My good god, I'd be an alcoholic if i weren't so self conscious

Today is now Friday.

Good night, good love, live long, and dream prospects of tomorrow


- kt

written in a drunken stupor with the noises of drunken stupidity as my soundtrack.

Dig Dis Digital Hash in a Digital Burn

some ones and zeroes i recently whipped up
for a new myspace layout

She Was Born Parched and She Will Die Thirsty

(this one is also raw, fresh off the bedsheet press this morning)

Nothing, not even diamonds,
will make her mouth water.

(It was all a dream:
The smell of cookouts and summer on Long Island, New York;
Daddy bringing his little princess on a chauffeured ride for a day of
business in "The City"; everyone was still so small
and seemingly innocent.)

It was so sad to see it all crumble.
The calendar days took their toll on her poor heart.
It was always pumped full of unnecessary things like love and hate.
She was born parched and she will die thirsty.

Untitled 18

(this is really raw, wrote it in bed this morning after not being able to fall back asleep)

The son never sleeps
and the pain drops start to
fall from the sky. And as the gray
creeps through the blinds,
keeping the two bodies of
the bedside lovers flush with cold air,
thoughts stir up about the next house
they'll live in.

A clouded mind creates the illusion of
if a hot air balloon and a human skull
were to have a bastard child.

Hot air rises
Hot air rises
Hot air rises but
there is no place for it here.
The son never weeps.

Election Day

I get way too drunk
and I stick my
finger down my
throat;

Then I look in the
mirror with
tears streaming
down my face.

Ideas, Rants, Raves, Shorts: Finally Something New From Jon Paul Rebello.

Looky looky, your favorite mother-fucker is back! It has been entirely too long but with that comes all sorts of news. I would like to begin this pseudo-essay by expressing how grateful I am for those who did what they did to prevent the extinction of this terrific blog. Without getting into too much detail, everyone pretty much has been hit by some wave of misery, exhaustion, frustration, etc. The great United States of America has been the biggest contributor to my existential angst but what else is new? This guy knows what I'm talking about! This guy definitely knows what I'm talking about! (Sorry, I've been on a Raaaaaaaandy binge). Back to business: As everyone assured me there would be, a light did come at the end of the tunnel in the hilariously ironic form of my first employment in months thanks to....drum rolllllll....Whole Foods! Yes, yes, it is true. Big ups to all the whole fooders who put in the good word for me.


Next up I wanted to see how anyone/everyone felt about me making an AOC account on twitter. I'm not even sure if many of you here use it but it's actually a pretty righteous social networking tool. I even won tickets to the Dew Tour in Boston just by tweeting fueltv an answer to a question about a Boston Local gone Pro Skateboarder. I was thinking it could serve as even more a reminder to check out new posts and perhaps it could be followed by fellow tweetie birds all over the world. It's just a thought so be sure to leave your thoughts, comments, concerns.


As most of you know, I was in Chicago about a month ago(holy shit, didn't even realize that until I typed it) for Pitchfork Music Festival. Firstly, if you haven't been to Chicago you've gotta go. I'm a fool for not taking advantage of my digital camera although I did get some good pictures out of two disposable cameras and a polaroid camera. Here are just a few of the many reasons one should visit Chicago, Illinois: The architecture is absolutely incredible all over the city. There's this almost surreal mirror in Downtown called "The Bean" that reflects the city and skyline and everything in between, depending on where you're standing. Next, our fine guide(Andrew Parece) escorted us back to his neighborhood where we came to notice his apartment was a mere 4 blocks from Wrigley Field. The day we flew in there was an Elton John/Billy Joel Show there!!

Pitchfork Day 1:
I'd write a descriptive account but I basically only made it in time to see the end of The Jesus Lizard's set and Built to Spill. We walked in the gates after a solid two blocks of the inevitable "Whoooo needsumm? Ticketzz, ticketzz here whoo needsum?" crews camped out trying to make a quick buck. After making a quick trip to the beer tent we made a nice spot in the grass and got our drink on while the old crust punks of TJL finished up their set. I say with an air of reluctance in my voice that they were decent. Next up: Built to Spill...which sounds awesome right?! You'd think so but in all of my years listening to BTS this had to be the most lackluster performance I have ever seen. There was the whole "Write the Night" thing going on and they played some gems. But as a whole, the set was very low energy with Doug Martsch only saying softly "Thanks" at the end of every single song. That was the most conversation they made, if any. Oh well, I'm over it.

(I realized I could write forever about this trip so I'm going to just post the highlights, blunders, etc.)

P4K Day Two:
Cymbals Eat Guitars sounded cd-quality live and I definitely suggest checking them out if you haven't already. They started the day with a killer set and it got me amped for the entire day so thanks guys! Next we checked out Plants And Animals(trippy), Fucked Up(Pink Eye is a funny dude and they ripped), The Pains of Being Pure At Heart(HORRIBLE LIVE, LOLZ), Bowerbirds(My first time, they were amazing), Final Fantasy(Dude is talented, he did like 4 violin loops then a piano loop then sang and played live violin), ahhh the highlight of my day: PONYTAIL. Check this band out if you were into Animal Collective's "Feels". I had to get it on vinyl(there was a humongous record fair! like 40+vendors) and came to find out it was limited all green! SCORE! Ate some vegan bbq wingz and drank some delicious 312 brews then went to check out WAVVES, which disappointed me twice but on seperate offenses. Offense 1: Nathan Williams is legitimately 5'4, no taller. No wonder his ego is so big! BURN! Offense 2: In true lo-fi punk fashion, Williams stepped on 3 different pedals whenever he wanted so most songs we so reverberated that you couldnt hear his voice. I guess they played some new songs but I wasn't into it much. We wrapped up the day with Doom(I think it was really him), Lindstrom(Dude got me amped with his jams), and Beirut. Fuck what you heard, Beirut is nice live. They killed it.

(Jealous yet? jkjkjk)

Day Three:
Got there around 3, got mad beers right away, listened and tripped out to the wonderful sounds of Women, snuck in a little puff, then made our way back the beer tent and the A Stage. The Thermals killed it playing old tracks the majority of their set and they even covered "Basket Case"!! We quickly made our way to the stage where The Walkmen were due up next and ran into Robin and his brother Daniel. Puffed another and there they were...I've been waiting my whole life....The Walkmen. They played not too many old ones so the majority of their set was pretty new. They did, however, play "The New Year" and "The Rat." Singalongs were done and good times were had. M83 was next and in typical fashion they had me gazing at madddd shoes. I was gazing my ass off and then BA BLAM! They bust out really old material that's very disco-tech and fast paced and great stuff to hear live. A run to the beer tent and got back just in time for Grizzly Bear. They played a cool rendition of "Knife" and I loved hearing "Two Weeks" live. Their new record rips. As my enery began to dwindle and my buzz began to buzz harder, I tried to remain as alert as possible for The Flaming Lips. Boy do I wish I ate some acid because their actual stage setup is trippy as fuck and they do all sorts of whacky lights and costumes and yeah they fucking killed it.

All in all it was an incredibly fun and worthwhile trip and it was really nice to say I was going to take and trip and put the plans into motion. Who's down to go next year?

It's been a lengthy post so I hope my words will be captivating enough to keep all of your attention. It feels good to be back around. Strange times are still among us but at least some of them have passed. What's more strange is how true the "When one door closes, another opens" proverb is. Life is straight up whack sometimes y'all...don't go taking it too serious.


barely legal and yours truly,
Jon Paul Rebello

Hello everyone,

I got some new music up thats worth checking out, so click the link below

http://www.myspace.com/cmacproductionzyall

-cmac

KEROUAC......

Lowell Celebrates Kerouac—2009
The 70th Anniversary of
Kerouac’s Graduation from
Lowell High School
The 50th Anniversary of
The Publication of
Doctor Sax


Thursday, October 1

5:30 p.m.: “Historic Kerouac Pubs Tour”
Led by Mike Wurm.
An interpretation of some of Kerouac’s favorite “watering holes” in Lowell. Begins at Lowell’s oldest pub, the Old Worthen Tavern on Worthen Street near City Hall and proceeds cross-town to Ricardo’s Café Trattoria (formerly Jack’s brother-in-law Nicky’s Bar) on Gorham Street; then to Major’s Bar on Jackson Street, finishing at Cappy’s Copper Kettle on Central St. Total estimated time: Two hours. Opportunities for volunteer readings at the pubs and en route.
Call Mike at 978-501-1021 for further information.

NOTE: A $5.00 tour donation is requested to help defray costs of the 2009 LCK Festival, and to help keep LCK alive for future years.
THIS IS OUR SUGGESTED DONATION FOR EACH OF THE LCK TOURS DURING THE WEEKEND.

7:30 p.m.: Music and Open Mike
Cappy’s Copper Kettle
Alan Crane, David Amram, and others. Emceed by John McDermott.
245 Center Street.
Friday, October 2

9:30 a.m.: Poetry Competition
Lowell High School.
The Little Theatre

1:30 p.m.: Jack Kerouac: Lowell High School Class of 1939
EssayContest winners will be announced
and awarded, and will read their essays.
Lowell High School.
The Little Theatre

4:30 p.m. Tour: The Merrimack:
Mighty Napo of New England
Meet at the top of Moody Street Feeder at the “Watermelon Man Bridge.” [AKA The University Avenue/Moody Street Bridge]
Led by Roger Brunelle.

7:00 p.m.: Remembering Jack
Some of Kerouac’s Classmates and Friends Offer Recollections of Jack Kerouac
[TENTATIVE: TO BE CONFIRMED]

Presentation and Tour
Cutting Classes: An Account of Jack Kerouac’s Connection to the Pollard Memorial Library During His High School Years.
Led by Roger Brunelle and Bill Walsh.

The two above events will be held in the Community Room of the
Pollard Memorial Library.
401 Merrimack Street.

9:30 p.m. After Hours Event
The Village Smokehouse with Tex MacNamara and His Bucking Broncos. [Suggested donation of $5.00 at the door.]
98 Middle Street.
Saturday, October 3

9:00 a.m. Tour
Mystic Jack: A Tour of the Sites in
“Visions of Gerard.” St. Louis de France Church, Corner of Boisvert and 6th Avenue.
Led by Roger Brunelle.

11:30 a.m. Commemorative
at the Commemorative
Readings from Doctor Sax, and an observance of the 40th Anniversary of the death of Jack Kerouac on October 21, 1969.
Kerouac Park, at the intersection of
French and Bridge Streets.

2:00 p.m. “The Revelation to Ti Jean”
A presentation by Dr. Benedict Giamo, Professor of American Studies at
Notre Dame University and author of Kerouac: The Word and the Way. In observance of the 50th anniversary of the publication of Doctor Sax. Presented in cooperation with the Parker Lecture Series.
Lowell National Historical Park Visitors Center, 246 Market Street.

4:00 p.m. Tour: The Kerouac Places of Downtown Lowell
Begin at the Lowell National
Historical Park Visitors Center.
Led by Roger Brunelle.

5:30 p.m.: Open Mike
Village Smokehouse.
Bring your favorite Kerouac reading or a Kerouac-inspired writing of your own.
98 Middle Street.


7:30—Concert: Jack and Sebastian: A Multi-Media Concert
David Amram
and the New England Orchestra
Eliot Presbyterian Church
273 Summer Street. Lowell, MA

9:30 p.m. Tour
Ghosts of the Pawtucketville Night
Meet in front of Cumnock Hall
North Campus, UML
One University Avenue
Led by Roger Brunelle.
Sunday, October 4

11:30 a.m. Screening of Brent Mason’s documentary
Grave Concerns—A Deadly Road Trip.
Filmed in Lowell during the
On the Road Scroll Exhibit.
Produced by Hemmings House Pictures
Café Paradiso
Palmer and Middle Streets.

1:00 p.m. Amram Jam
Café Paradiso
Open Mike readings with accompaniment
by David Amram
Palmer and Middle Streets

NOISE, SILENCE, AND SURVEILLANCE IN THE TELL TALE HEART!!!! WOOWWWY!

THIS IS A PAPER I WROTE FOR A CLASS ON LITERARY ACOUSTICS. MATT'S LAST POEM REMINDED ME OF IT SO I FIGURED I'D JUST TOSS IT ON HERE AND IF ANYONE IS DOWN FOR A SOMEWHAT LENGTHY READ THEN PLEASE DO.

Kyle Thacker
Eng 347
Professor Cappello
12/9/08

Poe’s “The Tell Tale Heart”: Symphony of Silence and Noise

“True!” This exclamation by the narrator of “The Tell Tale Heart” starts the story (as well as the reader) and immediately draws one into conversation with the text. It seems as though the reader is stepping into a conversation that has already begun, arriving late to the exchange and being meet with a discussion in progress. It is like a musical piece that starts out on an offbeat, unsettling at first but it soon falls into the measured rhythm of the song. There is a strong presence of musicality in ”The Tell Tale Heart.” Most often, it is found in the construction of the text itself, as opposed to the presence of songs or the playing of instruments. The presentation of altering silence and noise creates a space for music to be embedded within the story. In Jacques Attali’s book Noise: The Political Economy of Music, he claims that “music is inscribed between noise and silence, in the space of the social codification it reveals” However, it is more likely that music is situated on a scale next to silence and noise, not simply existing in the space between. But rather, as an entity unto itself. Though, it is not separate from the two, as noted by Attali, there is a strong relationship between the three. That relationship stems from noise, silence, and music having elements of all three within each single unit. Most evident is the presence of silence and noise within music. I would like to explore this topic through out this paper, focusing on the musicality of the text and how silence and noise relate to music, and in turn how these relations affect surveillance.
The aforementioned start of the story, on an offbeat, in mid-conversation, creates a feeling of intrusiveness that isolates and identifies the reader as a witness to the tale, and when the narrator addresses the reader, asking, “Why will you say that I am mad?” (384), it further puts the reader into the position of a viewer. The narrator constructs this relation of roles (observer and observed) by asking to be surveyed by the reader. It is this surveillance imposed by the narrator that situates the story. “The Tell-Tale Heart” is a story about surveillance, the careful watching and observing of a subject, and its relation to the interruption of this surveillance by the unexpected event, often times represented by an unexpected noise.
At the start of the story, the narrator asks the reader to “Hearken! and observe how healthily – how calmly I can tell you the whole story.” (384) This request is made in an effort to remove any questions one may have about the sanity of the narrator. The first paragraph brings to my mind the feeling of being part of a medical team asked to address the sanity of a potential patient for a mental health hospital. In just the first paragraph the narrator talks of a disease that has sharpened his senses, noting that “[a]bove all was the sense of hearing acute.” The request by the narrator to be observed by the witness creates a dual-surveillance that operates within the story. There is the surveillance by the reader of the narrator, and the surveillance by the narrator of the “old man” in the story, who is his master. There is, however, a distinct difference between the two roles of surveilling. First, the reader is at a disadvantage and is only privy to the information given by the narrator. Also, and perhaps more importantly, the reader cannot have communicate with those in the story. It is a passive observation that cannot be broken. There is a gap between the reader and the story that cannot be crossed through communication; in a sense, there is silence that exists between reader and story and the reader becomes a sort of dumb witness, where one cannot speak and has no voice of their own. The reader can only be attentive and watchful to draw significant insights from the text. The reader must be able to draw answers from the text without the ability to ask questions to it. This gives significant weight to what is presented in the text, and how the text itself is presented. The text itself is where the musicality of the story lies
Bernard P. Dauenhauer writes about the polyvalence of silence in his book Silence: The Phenomenon and Its Ontological Significance. Dauenhauer approaches the subject of silence in a deconstructive manner, breaking down silence to show that it is not a singular occurrence but one that has various states that can function and perform different actions. One of the distinct functions of a silence that Dauenhaur describes is called “intervening silence.” Intervening silence is described as “that occurrence or sequence of occurrences of silence which punctuates both the words and phrases of a spoken sentence and the string of sentences which fit together in discourse” (6).
Dauenhauer further delineates intervening silence by proposing that it is made up of two components, both of which can perform two different operations, Dauenhauer says, “the punctuatuing effected by intervening silence functions both ‘melodically’ and ‘rhythmically’” (6). The numerous dashes in Poe’s story seem to be functioning in this rhythmic fashion, initiating a pause and enforcing a silence between two words, or what Dauenhauer refers to as “sound phrases.” The dashes control the rhythm of the story, giving more weight to the words they highlight. Dauenhauer writes on the effect of this type of rhythmic intervening silence in literature and music, saying:

Attention to the rhythmic function of intervening silence, however, refines the view of this way in which silence appears. When a story or a musical composition or a painting is taken as a totality, one finds that the occurrences of silence do not merely punctuate the sound phrases. These occurrences of silence are just as essential to the rhythm of the totality as are any of the sound phrases which make up the utterance.

There are no references to music or instruments in “The Tell-Tale Heart” as there are in “The Fall of the House of Usher,” yet the text itself is musical. The presentation of a musical piece requires a certain type of performance and evident in this story is a performance put on by the narrator. He is in control of the telling of this story much as the conductor is in control of an orchestra playing a specific piece of music. The narrator’s frequent use of dashes to construct the pace of the story is similar to the function of measures in sheet music to signify the right amount of beats to play in order to stay in tune with the correct tempo of the song. The dashes also function as a way to isolate the phrases within them, to identify each phrase within a dash as something distinct and important that should be noted separately from the phrase that precedes it. Daunhauer notes that these dashes create silences and pauses that function rhythmically.
Although it is important to note that these distinctions usually work in tandem with one another in order to create an emphasized sense of the point the narrator is trying to make. “I proceeded –with what caution –with what foresight –with what dissimulation I went to work.” (384) This passage is a good example of the pacing set by the dashes as well as the isolating affect the dashes create. These separate statements, caution, foresight, dissimulation, are separately noted and shown importance by the dashes, yet they work together to relate the extreme vigilance that went into the performance of his actions. This is like the singular instruments of an orchestra that on their own play specific and separate notes, melodies, rhythms, yet they all work together to create a single song.
Another aspect of the musicality of the text is the presence of a repetition of the same word within a sentence, which is frequently used in the story and at first glance seems to have a similar function as the dash. The repetition of a word paces and controls the story as well as draws attention to the word. There is also a musical device that seems to be at play at these points of the story: refrain. The OED defines refrain as “a phrase or verse reoccurring at intervals.”
The narrator uses the term refrain to describe his own actions on two occasions within the story. The narrator says “But even yet I refrained and kept still,” then further down the page he reiterates, “I refrained and stood still” (387). These two quotes bookend the moments before the narrator murders the old man. In a sense these two phrases encapsulate those moments as a singular thing that stands out amongst the rest of the story.
The narrator does not take an active role during this passage but rather examines the situation and relates the tension, the feelings, and the emotion present in this moment. This passive role adopted by the narrator gives light to another definition for refraining, which seems to be the sense in which the narrator himself uses it. To refrain is to show restraint and to hold oneself back. In this passage the narrator refrains and “ke[eps] still.” He is motionless and takes no action and because of this he situates himself within the moment and stays there for a length of time. It can be said that the narrator is held by the moment. This ability to hold, and, to be held in and by a certain instance is the function found within the repetition of words in a sentence. The narrator illustrates this, “I moved it slowly –very, very slowly so that I might not disturb the old mans sleep” (385). These repetitions draw out the sentence so it literally takes longer to read through then it would without the repetition of words and the reader is forced to stay in the sentence for a longer duration, as well as examine the moment and the information relayed in the sentence more carefully. The sentence has the ability to hold and restrain the reader from moving on in the story. In this sense it is like the refrain of a song that extends the length of the song as well as creates a specific portion of the song, the refrain, also called a chorus, which deserves particular attention from the listener and is given significance as its own distinct part of the song.
Another point of the story reminiscent of a musical performance is towards the end of the story, when the pounding of the dead man’s heart grows increasingly louder, the narrator begins to panic slightly, “I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased” (389). The image presented here reminds me of an erratic orchestral conductor who has lost control of his symphony. The “violent gesticulations” like a graceful conductor suddenly crazed, flailing his arms and conducting baton above his head in order a regain control over a rogue orchestra playing there own selections.
The language of this sentence indicates music, identifying his voice as registering in a “high key.” The pitch of his voice here lends evidence to his nervous and increasingly agitated state. Even the word “trifle” has musical connotations as a “literary work, piece of music etc. light or trivial in style; a slight or facetious composition” (OED).
The world trifle also resembles the world trill when written out on the page. One could view the narrator as trilling in this instance, as trill is defined by the OED as “A tremulous high-pitched sound or succession of notes” the narrator is certainly putting on a performance of this sort in front of the police officers who came to question him.
This moment is also reminiscent of the scene in Annie Lanzillotto’s “How to Cook a Heart” where the trained singer is trilling to drown out the voice of the old woman singing in the market place to signify that she should leave. The narrator in this instance isn’t trying to drown out the sound of a worn voice but rather what he hears as the beating of the old mans heart. He is not attempting to usher out an old woman but rather the officers who have stayed longer then his dissimulation could endure.
These readings of music in the text of “The Tell-Tale Heart” would seem to indicate that music is not necessarily situated between silence and noise, but situated amongst it, as something that has elements of both occurrences within it. The silence of the dashes controls the rhythm and pace of the story, while the repetition of select words function like noise, unexpected and slightly obtrusive, the noise created by these repetitions arrests and holds the reader within the sentence, much like a loud noise would hold the hearer in the moment, making them suddenly hyper-conscious of their surroundings. How does this music function with surveillance? And how does silence and noise function with surveillance? In terms of the surveillance by the reader of the narrator it factors significantly. These musical elements are the factors that control and have the ability to manipulate or alter the actual telling of the tale by the narrator. They do not seem to necessarily distract the observer (reader) but the musical elements do have an ability to filter or corrupt the information being relayed to the reader. The surveillance here has been tampered with. But how do noise, silence and music effect the second surveillance being performed in the story, that by narrator of the old man?
As was mentioned before there are differences between the two performances of surveillance in this story. Another significant difference is the manner of surveillance. The reader was asked and encouraged to observe the narrator, however, the narrator is secretly performing his surveillance of the old man. This is a separate connotation for surveillance then the first. It is a connotation that performs the act of surveilling in order to silence. It is within this notion of surveillance that the presence of the word veil in surveillance and the pronunciation of veil (syllabically) when the word is spoken becomes a striking and important distinction. The narrator must perform this action stealthily, silently, and with out being detected. For the narrator it is just as important to not be heard as it is not to be seen. The narrator must stay concealed, to be veiled by his dissimilitude and patience.
In this sort of surveillance, silence is a necessity. Silence is a tool to be used, to be ever enveloped in silence, to be draped by it; the narrator is protected by silence. In Dauenhauer’s book he says that, “silence is itself an active performance. That is, silence is neither muteness nor mere absence of audible sound” (4). The narrator repeatedly conveys this notion, the active silence, as he chronicles how “stealthily” he would watch his master at night.

The narrator says
And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it –oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly –very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep (385).
Through out the story there is a strong relationship between darkness and silence and noise and light. These relations underline the ability that silence has to conceal and noise has to reveal. The saying, “to keep something in the dark” is a way to say to keep something secret. To “shed some light” on a subject is to explain and explore it further. Silence in this story functions with surveillance as a way to keep the narrator hidden, so that the old man of the story does not know the deed that is desired to be done by the narrator. It is always the unexpected noise that corrupts and sheds this veil of silence. When the old man is startled from sleep it is the noise of the narrator’s thumb slipping on the tin fastener of the lantern (the source of light) that causes the old man to jump and call out “Who’s there?” (386). It is this moment of the story that emphasizes another ability of noise during surveillance, other then the ability noise has to reveal. The unexpected noise causes the roles of surveillance to be reversed. Once the old man notes a foreign presence, he becomes the one who is surveilling. The narrator now has to be even more cautious, as he is being watched and listened for. The reader can see how the roles of surveillance are switched in the time after the noise is made “I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; -just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the dead watches in the wall” (386). This moment also exhibits an almost uncanny action of listening for silence. The narrator is not so much listening for sounds to tell him the position or state of the old man, but rather he is listening for the lack of sounds to tell him it is safe and he has gone back to sleep.
The whole performance by the narrator of this story has the sense of a song to it. There is the slow build up of the music, introducing you to theme and all the facts of the song (key, tempo, mood), as the narrator gets closer and closer to his master the tension tightens until the narrator is almost revealed by the sound of his lantern. After this, there is a lull in the song of the tell-tale heart, the narrator sits quiet, its is the breakdown that proceeds the crescendo of action as the narrator jumps into the room, smothering his master. As I was reading it I could almost here a sound track of orchestral music running right along with the story, like the accompaniment to the tale of Peter Rabbit, only much more sinister and dark.
The pacing and telling of this tale creates an atmosphere of music that greatly affects the reader. The performance put on by the narrator as conductor controls this story. The noise and silence found in “The Tell Tale Heart” certainly argues for the importance of each and the roles that they can play within the surveillance of a subject. The cautiousness exhibited by the narrator during his surveillance of his master is crafted so delicately, that anything he gained could be lost in an instance. The sound of the heartbeat itself is musical, referred to as a “tattoo,” which is a military tune that is played, calling a soldier to bed. The pounding heart of the old man is also described as a military drumbeat that calls the narrator into action. It would be interesting to find out what type of musical beat the narrator finds his own pulse gives off, what does his own heart beat call him to do?
The use of silence and noise by Poe creates a musicality to the text, a rhythm and pace that is often off-beat, a syncopated telling of a story. The way the story leaves off it is like a song that ends with a dissonant chord, leaving the piece unresolved. The silence that is the final punctuation of the story leaves the reader wondering. What happened to the narrator? From where is he telling this story? Jail? An insane asylum? Poe does not give in and tell us, he lets his song end on the bang of drum and fall quickly into silence.

gone, street-sweeping

rushing water runs around
rustling leaves on city trees
in a deep velveteen symphony

a clanging pipe rarely tolls,
the soft struck bell of a lifeboat
searching for survivors
where none exist,
only the ever-present hum
of peach fluorescence;

60 whole hertz of pseudo silence
to send me running
through magnetic fields
leaping and bounding
like The Sound of Music 2k9

silence exists only in the mind,
and scarcely there

here,
there
is none

here,
we live like windmills;
our hearts at the center
bodies spinning round and round,
arms and legs out
at the wind's will

here,
we live like rusted segments
of a serpentine machine;
oft oiled but always thirsty
screeching arthritic
and billowing black clouds
to drown out the sunshine

"At least we are safe
from the damaging rays."

hideous snake
grind your bare belly
across the jagged stasis
and slither straight into the furnace
you are disposable.

We See It Now

Limp figure, disfigured, head resting in my palm like serving thoughts
On a platter, I watch popular opinion scroll across the bottom of my television screen
In neat font and the syllables are just sounds,
Sentences we can wrap ourselves in;
Fortune Cookie Patriotism, slogans and bringing back the dead
Old fears of socialism, communism, McCarthy is whistling in the grave

We see it now, Murrow, We see it now, Murrow, We see it now.

Run your tongue across the silver side of a blade and hold the blood in your mouth
Till it bubbles out, taste what it is to be alive
Now let that blood drip out, and fall from you in that hourglass logic
It passes and soon you will.

A scandal today is little more then a blowjob, a finger fuck, missionary, reverse cowgirl, and vacations to Argentina
Senators suck each other off on the senate floor while Bankers toss bills down on them,
Then recline on top of plush bailout euphoria

Escapism is that blade against your throat.
Revolting is that blade against their throat.

Hope was picked up by many hands but the weight must have been too much to bear
It dropped, shattered, and the shards of those speeches are now simply jagged talking points

And when you choke on those talking points
You’ll have no doctor to see, no insurance to cover, no lifeline to hold.

kt

upon tasting the horizon

post traumatic mess in order

cancel that call
destruction is imminent
the view is fantastic!

dirt bombs and pillows
piled high

spilt milk
split lip
cleft eye

crooked fingers
cold cooked dirt

worm soup
worn clothes

tribute to
the ever faithful

pray homage

collapse is construction

in death,
cleanliness

all in all
beginning and end
one in the same

Cool article

The Enigma of the of the 23 year-old baby