Usual Rubbish

All’s well that ends.

That’s no good. They will certainly have lifted the phonograph needle by that point. The phonograph needle… you know… the thing that scratches along the record and makes the music come out. Don’t you know anything about technology?

Oh, hello. Didn’t see you there, peering in from the void of cyberspace. Just working my way through some technical issues relating to our upcoming album, Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick. Getting into the minutiae with our mad science advisor, Mitch Macaphee, who will actually be making the records this time out. Yes, we do have a corporate label – Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc., a.k.a. Hegephonic Records – but they are kind of a “hands off” outfit (unless you owe them money; then it’s another story … one involving off duty military personnel, typically …. I’ll stop there).

What all that means is simply this: under our “contract”, we make the product from start to finish. We write the songs, record them, cut the discs, package them, carry them to all of the stores, etc.  Hegephonic does the rest. (That is to say, they rest up until there’s some looting to do. It’s complicated.) So, we’re just trying to work out a few of the details with Mitch, who apparently has never heard of the gramophone record. Have you been to the talkies yet, Mitch? They’re like a freaking conjurer’s trick!

The fact is, Matt and I prefer to concentrate on more artistic matters… like what’s going to happen at the end of every song. Sure, most pop songs just fade away, but the story doesn’t end there, my friends. Indeed, a lot of meaning is lost in that fade-out groove. Big Green, for its part (which part I decline to say), is dedicating itself to recovering some of that lost value for the benefit of listeners everywhere. And we’re going to do that by putting them out on the interwebs – a collection of last gasps, as it were. Some funky, so sullen, some so bizarre even I can’t fathom the implications of their existence. It cannot be so! I find myself shouting when I hear them. And yet it is so.

So…. something to look forward to. That’s what we like to hear. Now … about those photographic plates…. Don’t drop them! They’re glass, you know.

Political Rants

Crock tears.

Attention, politicians of every stripe. I don’t want to hear your expressions of regret over the Aurora massacre. You have no intention of doing anything to stop this bloodletting, so spare me your pious speeches and your pretentious, made-for-television tears. There is no excuse for what happened in Aurora, Colorado last weekend. You can blame that madman for losing his head and killing people, but there is a collective responsibility for the magnitude of the crime. This atrocity goes way beyond what a single armed person should be able to perpetrate through the use of legally obtained weaponry.

Perhaps some do not see a difference between 70 people shot and five. There is a difference. Five is bad, unacceptable, and something to be outraged about. Seventy shot – twelve fatally – is beyond outrage, and was only possible through the use of military grade weaponry. If Holmes had been armed only with the type of gun my dad used to carry (loaded) to coin shows on Sundays, perhaps only two or three families would be mourning lost loved ones, only a handful fighting their way back to a tolerable state of health, only one or two paralyzed for life. Instead, he had an assault rifle with an ammunition clip that holds 100 rounds, as well as two Glock handguns and a shotgun. Overkill would be putting it mildly. That’s more like the arms dad lugged about in Germany during WWII, when he carried a Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR). Here’s the difference: HE WAS FIGHTING NAZI GERMANY.

Invoking the second amendment, are we? Two things. First, I seem to recall, back in the early days of Dubya Bush’s Glorious War on Everyone that in the face of an all-out assault on civil liberties (made manifest in the USA Patriot Act) that conservatives were fond of saying something to the effect of, “The Constitution is not a suicide pact.” Since they were so eager to toss out the first, fourth, and fifth amendments under that banner, why the hell should we, in the face of atrocities like Aurora, hesitate to consider limiting application of the second?

Secondly, if our representatives in government would take the ten seconds it requires to actually read the second amendment, they might notice that the word “gun” does not appear anywhere in that brief and cryptic complex clause. It’s referring to “arms”. What the hell does “arms” mean? Guns, sure. But bombs are arms, too. So are bazookas. Landmines, anti-aircraft missiles, nerve gas – they all fit within that rubric, as do nuclear missiles, tanks, and battleships, for that matter. My point is, we are already interpreting the second amendment and limiting its application. We are not merely relying on its text for guidance in this matter. I have to think even conservatives are against letting anyone buy and plant land mines in their yard. But if you think about it, a landmine is probably going to kill fewer people than that AK-47 knock-off Holmes got his hands on.

So … why do we allow one and not the other? Both are horrific weapons of war. Both should be banned from use in civilian life. We have to draw the line somewhere – we’ve already done so. Let’s just draw it on the safe side of AK-47s and 40 – 100 round ammo clips.

luv u,

jp

Reflections

Karen Morse: A thank-you note to Aurora

Because in the midst of dark, shocking disregard and cruelty, we were privileged to see such inspiring generosity and caring.

It is impossible to imagine those first disorienting moments. Impossible to comprehend how the night had turned upside down and inside out. The smoke clawing. The audible terror of gunfire and screams of pain. The ripping flash of gunfire. The barely seen figure hell-bent on destruction.

Yet, in this sensory assault, this mayhem, this perversity, decisions were instantly made based on the utmost kindness. While the gunman was cloaked in all manner of protective gear, people chose to use their bodies to protect others. These people had no Kevlar vests to shield them, but they would fling themselves, their futures, their possibilities, their tomorrows over others to offer them a chance. “Here,” they said, “let me use all that I am to protect all that you are. You deserve a chance.”

Friends stayed at each other’s side, offering life-giving assistance. Refusing to leave and try to save themselves. It may have taken months of planning to marry the desire to hurt them with the mans and tools of doing so, but it only took minutes to decide I love my friend, my child, my dear one too much to ever, ever abandon them. True brotherhood made manifest in a theatre, in that frightful, dark theatre in Aurora.

So the strident cacophony of cruelty continues to be silenced by the soft melody of kindness. The pictures of the candles lit, flowers laid by crosses, hugs of comfort shared, all sing this song. The sweet, sweet remembrances of those mortal lives lost. “They were the best of us,” we say, “the best of us.”

To which I add … thank you, Aurora, for reminding us of what is best in all of us.

Weird ass music since 1986