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Breakers on the Shoals of Silence

February 17, 2014
Bad Brains

Bad Brains

Bantams In Pine-woods

Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan
Of tan with henna hackles, halt!

Damned universal cock, as if the sun
Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail.

Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal.
Your world is you. I am my world.

You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat!
Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines,

Bristles, and points their Appalachian tangs,
And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.

— by Wallace Stevens

“faulty guillotine, tails out, bent rims “

–from “Restivo Watch Day 13: Crisis!” (2/17/11)

Three years I could not get out a real proper email, because things came up, there were problems, like the three listed above. I compensated with another Stevens poem. And now I am very tempted to follow that example and toss this post out real quick, despite what I wrote yesterday. Though I did want to write about the Grand Banks show Saturday night, maybe to look at it in a Murdochian light. But I am feeling ill and a little more stupid than usual. I would certainly not want to see Grand Banks perform right now, so muzzy-headed, so it might not be time to write about them either. It was a excellent little show, Grand Banks and then Chris Forsyth & The Solar Motel Band, an instrumental quartet from Philadelphia who fly their guitars in a high cloudless western sky, fast clean and calm. Just two bands, which I think is best. When you get to three it can be hard not to neglect one, even if they are worthy. Two is perfect. Lang Lang played the same night just down the mall at The Paramount and he was completely solo, no opener, no special guest for a duet, not even a warm-up man. Maybe that is a mistake, forsaking company. Two is the best way to go.

No, I am not going to write about the Grand Banks performance Saturday night. I am running out of time. But you can look at the picture above and understand that it was kind of like that. It is always kind of like that, if it is good, every show. It is what you are looking for, when you go out, to be that kid.

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