heart worms

the jealous wife does set me up for deceit

she eats my goals and funds my smile

keeps me hallowed but in chains

no no more

no more

no more

no, no more

by the cunts and the caskets and the cains

by the chains and the chariots and the chiseled smiles

somebody wants you somewhere

in the their arms

in the their sight

in the grave

and if you ask me

there's nothing like the service

winchester firecracker traveling band

Stuart Sparling

you bend whistles to speak no love no love in your voice

you haven't the gift to forgive me you haven't the spirit

there's nothing to do so you take out your ribs

and you play me your song

no kind of rhythm

no kind of blues

your feet are rubber your feet our glue

whatever i say doesn't seem to stick to you

fight fight fight and you want me again

I don't know how to pretend

any more

Stuart Sparling

let the sunshine in

Nighthawks on the radio

Digital sound imprints of Tom Waits peddling the flint of his voice on the Bob Dylan magic hour. (Who knew he hosted a radio show? I guess anybody who uses last.fm but that's definitely not me.)

concrete jungle

Rockbois Documentary from ryan Dooley on Vimeo.

showcasing: Bera White, Kane Logos,

Ufo 5, Orticanoodles, Ema Jo, Blackwan,

Jet 4, El Tilf, Danilo Mendez, Marvin and more

All Tomorrow's Parties

Exorcism

I can’t believe that you are going

there, oh House of Birds,

I warned you of my sisters

and you met my father

we don’t have the time

for cabin games or carbon experiments

if you are no longer a little boy

then leave me with my sons

my love for you

was the scab that grew

over the open wound of your rejection

it was the scaffolding on my basilica

it’s the moat around my fortress

and the cavernous darkness tunneling underneath

where the waters turn rankid meeting up against stone

that is also you

and what use have these walls

besides as my prison?

and when will I hear the music of my name

spoken without the sneer of yours?

I know the future to be naught but a rumour
scarcely less dead than the past
I know finders keep, the universal law
and I know the dark memories
wherein I lost you

yet
I turn black inside and red outside

quickly
Hamlet grabs one hand, Holden the other
and Michelangelo’s God anoints my tongue
how long have they been ready for this?

* how right it's me the camera follows

now leave
your nasty design
has failed
and we are only bickering fools

* and rightly so my music plays

is there any triumph as sweet
as that gentlemanly parade of pillow sermons
I won’t miss you, oh I won’t, I won’t

P. McGreer

Diamond Dust