My Inner-life’s centered   
Like a good conspiracy 
My back was turned overlong  
Toward some memory  
Where I was who they wanted to be

Faded photograph 
Wrapped in a robe outside 
The church 
I wrote these words 
Corporate daddy
Told me their worth 
It was dignified work 

Contaminated future bats  
Taking selfies in a cave   
But drink up your idealism  
And think positive thoughts 
Today  
Cause someone will 
Pay  

Riding out the rain 
In my mind 
Underground
Guess I could’ve been someone else
If I weren’t so proud 
To make this sound 

I need an intruder 
Nothing is not wrong
I’ve serenaded this brick wall 
Through seven cycles of dawn   

Internally rage at betrayal 
While grinding up the seaside fortress 
It’s a strange trip for a Catholic kid 
Uncovering what the secular worship 
The downtown world, the better future 
The hijacked producing an exception 
Couldn’t understand their lesson  
How home should be a weapon 



Well this guy from Queens 
Don’t self-destruct 
Because fate disobeyed  
I walked my dog, I rollerbladed 
Watched the Yankees play
On a blank summer day 

The swan shrieked 
On the trashy surf 
Protecting her cygnet  
We were on the trail above
Each backed up a step
Knew exactly what she meant 

Synchronized 
With the wind 
Rolling by sunset silhouettes 
A perfectly good day dies 
We pay our respects 
To the millisecond vignette 
  
Objectivity 
In the creature’s evening 
Clingers crawling up my hair 
An editor offers per-diem hours
Am I supposed to care?
Whether the city’s still there? 

Carpe diem, the humidity strengthens 
The illusion of actual 
Time today 
Edit some pages, scoop up her crap 
I’m really making my way 
Beside the Long Island Expressway 

I need an intruder 
Nothing is not wrong 
Pushing away the truth 
Has not made me strong 

Control the sun-slant on the road
Regulate patterns of behavior
I am the undercover man 
Their invisible next-door neighbor
Human contact can be too much 
I dulled the arrow of my love   
I couldn’t conceive a soul like you
Setting it once more, airborne, above

Intruder

The live debut of a more recently written track, 'Intruder.'

Intruder (live at Bowery Electric)

under control

Never lied to you
Never told the truth 
Only ever suggested
 
Never made it a job 
I was far too enthralled
To make the connection 
 
With one wrinkled face 
Staring at my lonely place onstage 
As I hit the right inflection 
 
Between desperate and alone 
Delusional and in the zone 
Untaught living your lesson
 
Dualistic identity 
Off-key and heavenly  
Like a frail body undressing 
 
Will you remember my name? 
Will your mind be the same? 
After our 45-minute session 
 
Chorus:
 
Loyal to the final hour 
Offering a burning flower 
From my charred human hand 
 
Summoning my mystic power 
Dressed in black like a priestly prowler 
Willing myself from obscurity 
To take this stand 
 
Clenched jaw 
Fearing the claw 
Nullifying finger dexterity 
 
The chord must be changed 
Another naked melody named
Attempted profitability 
 
Take a seat after the set 
Response about what I expect 
For an expression of honesty 
 
The next singer comes up 
Crystalline scraping dust 
From the face of recycled homily 
 
Kid’s the real deal 
Half-punk half-doomed romantic zeal 
Doesn’t waste time on profundity 
 
I stare closer at the untapped talent 
Anonymous and utterly gallant 
Become convinced I’m looking at me    

Chorus

Summoner (album track)

You lost your mind in the rain
You kicked the taxi 
You said we’re absolutely over 
And you’d never forgive me 
We never carried umbrellas 
Your angel wings clapped my head 
I walked alone to Washington Square 
Where pigeons pecked crumbs of bread 

We started when folk was hot 
Everyone with a beard had a deal
We met at Treehouse 
You did the robot to Electric Feel
You could hit the high notes 
I wrote a novel about your hair 
Our songs could have won it all
If the game was fair 

Lost our minds 
Trying to describe 
The world as it is 

Optimism was a fashion victim 
In the booze-soaked delirium 
Girls wore shades and bright shorts 
They asked what you thought of them 
It was honest, unpretentious 
An attempted communication
We posted pictures, shared oblivions 
Got on with our aging 

Jealousies they come in three 
Why was it them instead of me? 
Why did I nail myself to purity? 
And pretend I was free? 
Our love was a welcome distraction 
Like a stray dog at the door 
Sometimes we were quiet at night 
In the spaces we could have asked for more 

Nearly went blind on our quest to find 
The world as it is 

I’m New York and neutral 
You came from San Diego
I sing like an open sewer 
You sound like a descending angel 
Never would admit I should have 
Stuck to cycling progressions 
You were gold, Owed the world 
Harmonizing my obsessions 

The rush and thud of life 
I could have been someone else 
I could have been a broadcaster
Dreaming in a five star hotel 
Tonight’s game defines a legacy 
Will you watch the careening colors? 
As these strong men vie for a prize 
At the expense of knowing each other 

Got in a bind inside 
The world as it is 

But that was not fate 
Instead it was you in front of me 
And when it was good
Baby, it was like living in a reverie 
The smoke rising ‘tween Broome and Allen 
After knocking down a set in the Map Room 
Before our parents and two strangers 
But we celebrated like a bride and groom

Maybe the big break 
Was making peace with failure 
Maybe success is a fleeting mercy 
At the whim of a cruel jailer 
I never wanted to yell at you 
I never thought it was your fault 
When I said that terrible thing 
It was the one lie of mine you bought 

Lost track of time 
Looking for a place to hide 
From the world as it is

The World As It Is

You say 
Your heart wants things 
But its really your brain 
And you say 
This lyric don’t mean nothing 
It only rhymes with rain

And I long 
For this song to heal 
To be a beacon upon 
Your sea of distress
Its too late for the truth to be beautiful 
In a story about neglect

Chorus:
If you feel homesick 
Even when you’re home 
That means in a crowded room
You are totally alone
Can you find a way out of your head? 
Will you ever finish your manifesto in red? 

You say
Down in Queens
Parking lots are united nations 
And you say
Policemen blow stop signs 
As an expression of a collective frustration 

But you’re wrong 
To accept such a crooked deal 
Even though you’re too proud 
To confess
If you allow yourself to quit 
Will the silence somehow hurt less?

Down In Queens

Summoner

Paralyzed
At the crosswalk sign
And it’s telling me to move
 
In this Balkanized
Corporate paradise
Consciousness is a fool
 
On my way
To a date
With the anxious apparatus
To plead my case
And amend my mistake
Of writing that ending 
Tragic
 
Do you have an empty feeling?
Can you play the part of hope?
Was their dream worth believing?
When you already had a coat?
 
Satisfied
By a momentary high
After signing their contract
 
Unrecognized
Walking the Highline
Alias intact
 
We were running late
To a play
That was about our lives
We did not know ourselves
Everybody is somebody else
And I still love the way you 
Survive
 
Do you have an empty feeling?
Can you play the part of hope?
Was their dream worth believing?
When you already had a coat?

The Part of Hope

Got a word of advice? 
I’m having the same problem twice 
Holy places in my mind protect against time
But they don’t make my answers right 

Always the same town 
At dawn, lamp-lit puddles on the ground
An old library on the corner 
Where the mayor’s daughter 
Ensures all lost souls are found 

A fantasy of possibility 
An antidote to urbanity 
With enough room to maneuver 
I would be so much truer 
To process 
And intuitive certainty 

At the center of things
The bells of freedom ring 
At the center of things
There’s no need for a savior 

At the center of things 
The echoes of history sing 
At the center of things 
Emptiness is a perfectly fine neighbor 

Do you also have a place you go? 
When the static stars no longer glow? 
And nature’s critique 
Renders you unwilling to speak
In defense of culture’s 
Vaudeville show 

In Honesty, you don’t need a job 
They give you a room above the saloon 
Where you can converse with God 
An old typewriter and wooden bench 
One tough but understanding friend 
Who takes you where the 
White Horses trod 

I happen to go there all the time
When every rhyme feels contrived 
Reality simply can’t compare 
To the Summer Solstice fair 
Where paper soldiers kiss their velvet wives

At the Center of Things

Life in the empire /The sentries sing at sunrise/ Their Gods are deader / Than the look in their eyes / And I am tethered / To the awaited surprise / The turn in the narrative / The truth in the lies / Where all will make sense / Be at last contextualized / We’re alone in our own reality / Where no one may hide 
 
Life in the empire / Culture is a transparent bag / Accusing you of having / Things you never had / And some tin-eared pawn / Celebrates the new hit / While another gatekeeper / Decides if your copper slipper fits / They danced in the street / Because they thought they won / But nothing is stopping / The next flood 
 
The songs inside me must be born / Like the clothes outside you / Must be worn / And the seawall constructed / On the cusp of Babylon / When there still were matinees / In days halcyon / Such a feat of engineering / A true union job / But praying in high-water / Bought me closer to god / May the old become new / And life continue on / We are but the remnants / Of a world that is gone 
 
Life in the empire / Requires many saints / The selfless among us / Submitting to their fates / To tourniquet with grace / Though the wound is terminal / Who offer their shoes / With many miles to go / Their passenger faces alight / In siren red / They offer their hand in crises / Instead of retreating instead 
 
Life in the empire / At least I have your love / In the brain-damaged polarization / None of us are above / And the sanity of our negotiation / Keeps my hope intact / I am special, I am someone / With you, as a matter of fact / And the wishes of a child / Are honored by the birds in flight / Though all the glory offered / Is a paycheck and fluorescent light 
 
The gift I offer strangers / With a trembling hand / Is all the fury inside / We never understand / The song cycles forever / Until nature runs out of chords / Someone becomes the subject / Another impersonates the lord / And the personality imperiled /  By all this hell breaking loose / With violent solutions / That cannot be refused / May the old become new / And life continue on / We are but the remnants / Of a world already gone

life in the empire

Well, it isn’t much to boast about
Jump the fare 
Get choked out
Our fine metropolis 
Can be… inelegant 
 
Harder to say 
Without being paid 
What they take out of me 
Monday through Friday 
The bureaucratic arm 
Can be negligent 
 
But one bat of your eyes 
And baby, I’m sold 
Out of the lie 
The teleprompter told 
Anyone can shout from a rooftop 
And pretend they are omniscient 
 
You keep me singing 
You keep me sane 
You spare me from the logic 
Of my obsessive brain 
Without your presence 
Darling, I’d barely be sentient 
 
Chorus:
 
This world can go down in flames 
And I’ll buy an ashy bouquet 
The arsonists 
Are spraying propane 
But we’ll keep waltzing 
Anyway, anyway…. 
 
Another text, but it’s never from 
God 
So I keep watching highlights 
From 2001 
I may be numb 
But damn, Jeter could swing it 
 
With my death mask on 
I drive my car 
Laughing at my fantasies 
Being so far gone 
If it weren’t so fast, I’d have hit it 
 
Kiss me in the morning 
And put my fears to bed 
When I cry flower petals 
Jam them back in my head 
Where visions are  
Understood only after being forfeited 
 
When they sell a compromise 
As your idealism falls 
Like the sun behind the horizon 
As the commute home crawls 
It’s only one planet 
This is how our masters spin it
 
Chorus.

Bouquet

A life in a mirror
Of someone’s design
With a fleeting interest
In my own mind
New, improved rules
Assimilated inside
Genuflect and pray
Before your mobile device
There’s a new boss in town
Polarized from the other guy
Queens is quiet tonight
 
I hate when bands make me wait
For something I’ve already seen
With survival less guaranteed
It matters less what it all means
Falling through the seasons
Of my dreams
Observing the fire hydrant ejaculating blood
On my $100 jeans
It’s hardly apathetic
Noticing where we no longer align
Queens is quiet tonight
 
The urgency of yesterday
Becomes an uneasy today
In a broken contract with safety
Which used to account for the price paid
And the poets always miss
The sunset’s indifference
And the politicians equate a vote
With a kind of spiritual deliverance
The Internet has fallen
And now there’s nowhere to hide
Queens is quiet tonight
 
My notebook’s privilege
Might be something you forgive
In the mad dream of culture
Where we both live
Somewhere a phenomena  
Uncommented upon
The High School cafeteria
Is our everlasting god
But there’s little hope in it
Those trapped in the monitor’s light
Queens is quiet tonight

Queens is Quiet Tonight

My Inner-life’s centered   
Like a good conspiracy
My back was turned overlong  
Toward some memory 
Where I was who they wanted to be
 
Faded photograph
Wrapped in a robe outside
The church
I wrote these words
Corporate daddy
Told me their worth
It was dignified work
 
Contaminated future bats  
Hanging in a cave   
But drink up your idealism  
And think positive thoughts
Today 
Cause someone will
Pay  
 
Riding out the rain
In my mind
Underground
Guess I could’ve been someone else
If I weren’t so proud
To make this sound
 
I need an intruder
Nothing is not wrong
I’ve serenaded this brick wall
Through seven cycles of dawn  
 
Internally rage at betrayal
While grinding up the seaside fortress
It’s a strange trip for a lapsed Catholic kid
Uncovering what the secular worship
The downtown world, the better future
The hijacked producing an exception
I took notes on their lesson
How home should be a weapon 
 
Well this guy from Queens
Don’t self-destruct
Because fate disobeyed 
I walked my dog, I rollerbladed
Watched the Yankees play
On a blank summer day
 
The swan shrieked
On the trashy surf
Protecting her cygnet 
We were on the trail above
Each backed up a step
Knew exactly what she meant
 
Synchronized
With the wind
Rolling by sunset silhouettes
A perfectly good day dies
We pay our respects
To the millisecond vignette
 
Objectivity
In the creature’s evening
Clingers crawling up my hair
An editor offers per-diem hours
Am I supposed to care?
Whether the city’s still there?
 
Carpe diem, the humidity strengthens
The illusion of actual
Time today
Edit some pages, secure the evidence 
While the Flushing Bay turns gray 
Beside the Long Island Expressway
 
I need an intruder
Nothing is not wrong
Pushing away the truth
Has not made me strong
 
Control the sun-slant on the road
Regulate patterns of behavior
I am the undercover man
Your invisible next-door neighbor
Human contact can be too much
I dulled the arrow of my love  
I couldn’t conceive a soul like you
Setting it once more, airborne, above

a good conspiracy

What to say 
Another day 
Not crashing 
On the highway 

To surmise 
The compromise 
They’re idea 
Is somehow mine 

Salaried saint 
Ambition quaint 
Lift the mask 
Before we faint

AM alarm 
The Knicks held on 
Against future Kings 
The worker trods 

I saw such lovely 
Colors 
In your 
Pictures 
Wondering 
If you escaped 
This shade of gray 
We earn 
money 
For the teenager’s 
Forgiveness 
Wondering 
If you drank the rain
Without having to pay 

Ice-cut air 
Frost in your hair 
Kiss in the cold 
Beside the State Fair

Where we visit
But never miss it
When home sweet home
Discussing better business 

Then you’re out with friends
And before it ends 
You’ve posed for photos 
And pressed send 

Our bedsheet seal 
Exclusive feel 
An electric pulsing   
Capacity to heal

colors in your pictures

A touch of the tragic
May be conducive to magic
But it’s a rock in the shoe
Of ordinary life
 
Never wanted it to happen
Our branch bent before snapping
Saw reality as an anomaly
As our little tree struggled in the strife
 
Upon the polished bar-slab
Rests an old head who can’t pay his tab
While his pocket chimes, a music box
The last gift from his wife
 
Well, life may be short
I may be numb
My country is
Governed by a gun
 
Hey, maybe it’s simple
Maybe its not
I could not work
The way that you want
 
If there’s a god
If you’re a friend
If there’s a story
With an end
 
I won’t forget
When things were good
I’ll someday figure out
What I never understood
 
Plinking my night symphonies
The Detective wants his car keys
Originals and standards
No spotlight
 
Couldn’t learn how to quit
Months before you split
Should’ve held you harder
After that last flight
Your father offered a good job
And my pursuit’s run by the mob
Why not grow-up, own property
And bow out from a rigged fight?
 
The sound of the keys
Sends me, sends me
The sound of the keys
Sends me, sends me
It was a lot like your touch
Leaves me, leaves me
A lot like your touch
Leaves me, leaves me
A sanctuary from the snow
Where I know, I know
A sanctuary from the snow
Where I’m one with the melting
The sound of the keys
Was the only thing, the only thing
That noticed me
Noticed me
The sound of the keys
Noticed me
Before you
Before you
Before you

I May Be Numb

Somewhere In Time (Electric )

Of a Strange Nation

That's The Way My Love Is _Cover of a song by The Smashing Pumpkins_

Recorded in 2014... a tribute to one of my favorite poems, which, in another iteration, is also one of my favorite songs. A testament to his gift!

The poem, as transcribed from a live performance: 

You came to me this morning
And you handled me like meat.
You´d have to be a man to know
How good that feels, how sweet.
My mirror twin, my next of kin,
I´d know you in my sleep.
And who but you would take me in
A thousand kisses deep?

I loved you when you opened
Like a lily to the heat.
You see, I´m just another snowman
Standing in the rain and sleet,
Who loved you with his frozen love
His second-hand physique -
With all he is, and all he was
A thousand kisses deep.

I know you had to lie to me,
I know you had to cheat.
To pause all hot and high behind
the veils of sheer deceit
Our perfect porn aristocrat
So elegant and cheap
I'm old, but I'm still into that
A thousand kisses deep



I'm good at love, I'm good at hate
It's in between I freeze
I'd work it out but it's too late
It's been too late for years
But you look good, you really do
They love you on the street
If you were here I'd kneel for you
A thousand kisses deep

The Autumn moved across your skin
Got something in my eye
A light that doesn't need to live
Doesn't need to die
A riddle in the book of love
obscure and obsolete
To witness tear and time and blood
A thousand kisses deep

And I'm still working with the wine
Still dancing cheek to cheek
The band is playing Auld Lang Syne
But the heart will not retreat
I ran with Diz I sang with Ray -
I did not have their sweep -
But once or twice, they let me play
A thousand kisses deep

I loved you when you opened
Like a lily to the heat
You see, I´m just another snowman
Standing in the rain and sleet,
Who loved you with his frozen love
His second-hand physique -
With all he is and all he was
A thousand kisses deep

But you don't need to hear me now
And every word I speak
It counts against me anyhow
A thousand kisses deep

songs 

A Thousand Kisses Deep _an arrangement of a poem by Leonard Cohen_

Brittany Anjou is an accomplished jazz composer who has taught music all over the world. But when I interviewed her for Strange Currencies, we primarily discussed the debut album for her punk rock project 'Bi-Tyrant.' The discussion took place at Two Boots Pizzeria in downtown Manhattan. We talked about the appeal of making punk rock, and the realities of being a professional female musician in the city.

An Interview with Brittany Anjou

John Dillinger

Northern Boulevard

Sandrevan Lullaby (Lifestyles) _cover of a song by Rodriguez

Shooting Star _ cover of a song by Bob Dylan _

'Oh Mercy' was praised as a return to form for Bob Dylan at the end of the 80s. He wrote about the process of recording the album in his beguiling memoir 'Chronicles.' 

I discuss the album using passages from 'Chronicles' as a conduit toward my own fascination with the material. I wonder whether Dylan was articulating his sense of internal and external morality in the same way he captured chaos in his earlier work. Why would that have been important to him in 1989, considering where he'd been, and where he wanted to go? 

With detailed considerations of classic songs like 'Man in the Long Black Coat,' this episode is a must-listen for fellow Dylan obsessives!

Reflecting on Bob Dylan's Oh Mercy

A gray afternoon 
On Fifth Avenue 
Where dreams and reality 
Rendezvous 
The homeless man 
Wants to dance 
With you 
While you walk through 
Filament truths 
You thought you  knew 

The folkies negotiate  
Their record contracts 
While slugging pills
For panic attacks 
God forbid their truth is a lie 
Like those secrets kept  
Between you and I 
 
Ten pretty lyricists 
Atop Carnegie Hall 
Tangled in parachutes 
Thrashing for their fall 
Meaning means nothing 
At all  

And on the stem 
Of Time 
You and I
Compose a 21st Century 
Lullaby  
Though the roots are strong
The stem does bend 
We climb and we don’t know why 
For the rose
That must be our end  
  
Another twilight 
Over Riverside Drive 
The fortress shines 
Like it could be alive
An accident ahead  
A stranger might’ve died 
You are impatient
Because you need 
To drive 


Back to the neighborhood 
You want to escape 
Where they haven’t calculated love 
Without their hate 
And your meat is waiting
Don’t be late 
For all the ways you call
Emptiness fate 

And what you deem ambition 
Annihilates the self 
Because your happiness  
Is owned by someone else 
In you, I loved me 
Naturally 
In the age of media 
Connection’s an anomaly


Now you are gone 
And I drive alone 
Passenger seat empty 
I could call you on the phone 
I want to but I can’t 
And I know I won’t 
And you will and you might 
But you don’t 

I never wanted you to be a ghost to me 
We were young and we were flesh 
And for a second we were free
Now I am once again 
Someone like me  
Rubbing static crumbs of light 
Within America’s dream  

And on the stem 
Of Time 
You and I
Compose a 21st Century 
Lullaby  
Though the roots are strong
The stem does bend 
We climb and we don’t know why 
For the rose
That must be our end

stem of time - 8:3:17, 2.41 PM

Analyzing the use of music in the novels: American Psycho, Another Country, Jazz Moon, The Dead Do Not Improve, and A Visit from the Goon Squad. 

I finally recorded a new episode of my podcast 'Strange Currencies!' It has been almost a year. And the Podcasting side of my brain just hasn't been the same since I concussed myself head-banging at a Father John Misty concert. Har har. But seriously! This new episode is about the use of music in a few of my favorite novels. I start with an overly long preamble about the Yankees and a strange interaction I had with "The Thing" while rollerblading. Because I'm also doing this podcast to entertain myself. (my most loyal listener!) Then I get into the real shit shit (as Mobb Deep would singggg) The books and scenes I cover are

American Psycho: Bateman and company go to see U2 at "somewhere called the Meadowlands." The scene is fascinating for its mixture of humorous satire with an impressionistic passage of Bateman actually experiencing human emotion. Ellis alters his tone and writing style as easily as someone turning a dial on the radio: and has the book been seen enough as an ultra modern experiment in craft?

Another Country: Ida has her first gig in Greenwich Village. James Baldwin describes the transient intimacy between performer and audience through Ida's limitations as a singer: how in a paradoxical way a sincere failure is better than a thoughtless success on stage.

Jazz Moon: Trumpet player Baby Back Johnston came to Paris to be a star. And like 'Another Country,' we are the audience for his first gig, through the eyes of his boyfriend, Harlem expatriate Ben Charles. There's a lot to absorb in this moment: the frenetic scene at the Chez Le Roi, Ben's conversation with hip Parisians romantic about Harlem and actually wanting a performance from him, and his commentary on the debut as it happens: animated by the collaboration between Baby Back and the club's star singer Glo. A total trip into a moment in another time.

The Dead Do Not Improve: Jay Caspian Kang's determination to make violence his primary thematic concern with his debut novel results in a stylistic brew attempting to articulate confusion: a confusion which is entirely our own in modern life. The confusion is about our inability to even begin understanding what violence is : along with the mystery of where the deepest rage in people actually arises. There are possible explanations almost taboo to discuss: is it ethnic? Are we crazy because of our blood? Or is it alienation engendering an emptiness inside that popular culture could never fill? This book has stuck with me since I first read it when I was starting to get invested in novels & prose writing seven years ago. The scene discussed, toward the end of the book and utilizing Bone Thugs N Harmony's song "Tha Crossroads," hits me as a description of our communal angst in a time of broadcast violence.

A Visit from the Goon Squad: This episode is concluded by analyzing a scene which doesn't include music: but involves a conversation between two musicians. They were in the same punk band growing up. Now one is the President of a record label. And the other is walking into his office with a fish rolled up in paper: caught from the East River. A lucky fish. This scene is about power: the power of tangibility versus the power of contentment. How one is never actually winning over the other: there's a dance happening in this scene as one person needs validation from the other -- and then the reverse. Ultimately it explains how we even hear music to begin with: an artist making the decision to sign a contract and become part of the corporate world. Something we take for granted as a given: but in this scene we understand why: there's no personal philosophy like a skyscraper window with a perfect view of Manhattan. There's nothing like owning that view. And there's no escape from this collaboration. How someone's soul becomes a part of our playlists.

The Use of Music in Literature

The first edition of the Show Do Tell Reading Series at Otto's Shrunken Head in Alphabet City! The format is designed for writers to not only share their work -- but also their personal insight and philosophies into their fiction, poetry, or essays. Our first readers were Bard Hovenga, Jason Pfister, and Christiana Connett Gonzalez.

The intermission programming for volume 1 is William Butler Yeats reading his poem “The Lake Isle of Innisfree,’ along with James Joyce reading from ‘Anna Livia Plurabelle’ in ‘Finnegans Wake,' one of the only surving pristine recordings of him reading his work. More about this recording from the Public Domain:

"The recording was made in 1929 by C.K. Odgen in the studio of the Orthological Society in Cambridge. From account by Sylvia Beach: "How beautiful the "Anna Livia" recording is, and how amusing Joyce's rendering of an Irish washerwoman's brogue! This is a treasure we owe to C. K. Ogden and Basic English. Joyce, with his famous memory, must have known "Anna Livia" by heart. Nevertheless, he faltered at one place and, as in the Ulysses recording, they had to begin again. Ogden gave me both the first and second versions. Joyce gave me the immense sheets on which Ogden had had "Anna Livia" printed in huge type so that the author-his sight was growing dimmer-could read it without effort. I wondered where Mr. Ogden had got hold of such big type, until my friend Maurice Saillet, examining it, told me that the corresponding pages in the book had been photographed and much enlarged."

Show Do Tell Reading Series: Christina Connett Gonzalez, Jason Pfister, Bard Hovenga

The August edition of the Show Do Tell Reading Series! Featuring: 
 
Kay Gram is a writer and editor based in NYC. Her work has been named a 2017 Best of the Net finalist and as a semifinalist for both the Fourth Annual TAR Chapbook Series and the Gazing Grain Press 2018 All-Genre Chapbook Contest. She is currently at work on a memoir about mental and physical illness, family, and the balance between holding on and letting go. For fun, she also writes fiction. Find her online at http://kaygram.com. 

Stephanie Laterza is a writer and attorney from Brooklyn, NY. Stephanie is the author of poetry chapbook, The Psyche Trials, (Finishing Line Press, 2019) and a 2018 SU-CASA award recipient from the Brooklyn Arts Council. She holds a B.A. in English from Fordham College at Lincoln Center and a J.D. from New England Law School in Boston. Stephanie’s work has appeared in L'Éphémère Review, First Literary Review-East, Ovunque Siamo, Literary Mama, Akashic Books, A Gathering of the Tribes, Newtown Literary, The Nottingham Review, Obra/Artifact, Latina Outsiders: Remaking Latina Identity (Routledge, 2019), Pratik: A Magazine of Contemporary Writing, Raising Mothers, and elsewhere. Follow Stephanie on Instagram @stef3rd.

Christine Kandic Torres is a writer from Queens, New York. Her Pushcart Prize-nominated fiction has appeared in Kweli, Cosmonauts Avenue, and Newtown Literary. Her non-fiction can be found online at Ravishly, On She Goes, Fierce by mitú, and in the print anthology States of the Union, for which her piece, “The Devil We Know,” won the Editor’s Choice Award. Her work has received support from the Jerome Foundation and Hedgebrook. She is online at ChristineKTorres.com and Twitter @christinemk.

Show Do Tell: Christine Kandic Torres, Stephanie Laterza & Kay Gram

David Puretz is the Editorial Director at Global City, an independent press that publishes the literary and cultural journal Global City Review, and a growing list of other books and anthologies, including his own. As Editorial Director, he oversaw the relaunch of the journal and the publication of the newest online and print journal issue, Legacies. He is also the creator and founder of burly bird zine. Puretz teaches writing at Yeshiva University in New York City, where he currently resides. His debut novel, The Escapist, releases in January.

Taylor Hibma grew up in the Midwest and works as a digital media copywriter. His past creative pursuits include writing/directing two short films, including one that premiered at the Anthology Film Archives in New York City. He graduated with an MFA in Creative Writing and is working on a novel series based on his graduate thesis.

Amy Veach received her M.F.A. from the City College of New York where she won the Doris Lippman Prize in Creative Writing. When not writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband and two-year old son.

Show Do Tell: David Puretz, Taylor Hibma & Amy Veach

Sam Fischer was born in Bala Cynwyd and spent four incredible
years out west at Whitman College before moving back to
Philadelphia to live and work. He has a forthcoming poetry
chapbook and wants to start a band. Please email him at
samuel.t.fischer@gmail.com to connect.

Shea Lowery is a professional counselor who believes writing
is necessary to understand and explore the human
experience. Check out her projects at shealowerylpc.com
and ar-tic.org
She edits fiction for the Toho Journal.

Nick Gross was born and raised in West Philly. He has been writing poetry and creating short stories since the age of 10. He is currently working on a novel with original poetry.

Show Do Tell Reading Series: Sam Fischer, Shea Lowery & Nick Gross

Matt Waters: Vocals
Takeshi Ohtani: Keys  

Early one mornin' the sun was shinin'
I was layin' in bed
Wondrin' if she'd changed at all
If her hair was still red
Her folks they said our lives together
Sure was gonna be rough
They never did like 
Mama's homemade dress
Papa's bank book wasn't big enough
And I was standin' on the side of the road
Rain fallin' on my shoes 
Heading out for the east coast
Lord knows I've paid some dues
Gettin' through
Tangled up in blue

She was married when we first met
Soon to be divorced
I helped her out of a jam I guess
But I used a little too much force
We drove that car as far as we could
Abandoned it out west
Split up on a dark sad night
Both agreeing it was best

She turned around to look at me
One more time as I was walkin' away
Saying over her shoulder
Boy, we're bound meet again some day
On the avenue
Tangled up in blue

I remember staying in the great north woods
Living in a vagabond hotel
One day during the pouring rain
I can feel how the axe just fell
So I drifted down to New Orleans
Where I was lucky not to be destroyed
I almost died in the boiling flat
Two miles outside of Delacroix

But all the while I was alone
The past was close behind
I seen a lot of women
But she never escaped my mind
And I just grew
Tangled up in blue

She was dancing in the flamingo club 
And I stopped in for a beer
I just kept lookin' at the side of her face
In the spotlight so clear
And later on when the crowd thinned out
I was just about to do the same
She was standing there, right behind my chair
Touching me, said, “it ain’t no accident you came,” 
I muttered something under my breath
She studied the lines on my face
I must admit I felt a little uneasy
When she bent down to tie the laces
Of my shoe
Tangled up in blue

She lit a burner on the stove
Wearing a dress made out of stars and stripes 
I thought you'd never say hello, she said
You look like the silent type
Then she opened up a book of poems  
And started quoting them to me 
Written by a French child  
From the eighteenth century
And everyone of them words rang true
And glowed like burnin' coal
Pourin' off of every page
Like it was written in my soul
From me to you
Tangled up in blue

I lived with them on Montague Street
In a basement down the stairs
There was music in the cafes at night
There was revolution in the air
Then he started into dealing with slaves
And something inside of her froze
She had to sell everything she owned
Even her jewelry and her clothes 
And when it all came crashing down 
I became withdrawn
The only thing I knew how to do
Was to keep on keepin' on
Like a bird that flew
Tangled up in blue

So now I'm goin' on back again
I got to get to her and be brave 
All the people we used to know
At least the ones that ain’t in the grave 
Some are bricklayers, some are bank robbers 
Some are burglars, some are truck driver’s wives 
I don't know how it all got started
I got no idea what they're doin' with their lives
But me, I'm still on the road
Headin' for another joint
We always did feel the same
We just saw it from a different point
A different point of view
Tangled up in blue

All Rights reserved to Special Rider

Tangled Up In Blue _ cover of a song by Bob Dylan_

The second album from Queens, New York songwriter Matt Waters. Originally released November 27th, 2019.

camila

The Show Do Tell Reading Series and Art review returns with an in-depth review of Bob Dylan's latest album 'Rough and Rowdy Ways.' Matt also sifts through his feelings about his nonexistent personal essay about life during the pandemic, the subliminal appeal of film noir and gangster movies, and the state of the New York Yankees, who resigned venerable outfielder Brett Gardner during this episode's recording.

Rough and Rowdy Ways is Bob Dylan's masterpiece

Matt Waters is a singer-songwriter from New York City. His songs range from character studies of the contemporary American to intimate explorations of love. A writer of fiction, he attempts to meld the musical and literary realms through detailed lyricism. He has been particularly inspired by the likes of Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Billy Corgan, Mike Scott, Isaac Brock, David Bowie, Tupac Shakur, Elliott Smith, Patti Smith, Nicole Atkins, Damien Rice and Bruce Springsteen. As a guitar player he’s influenced by the progressions of John Lennon and George Harrison. The lyrics to his song Aurora were published in the March 2017 issue of American Songwriter Magazine. An essay about being a performance artist called A Moment of Honesty was published in Guernica in May 2016.

Matt Waters.

Pinned to spotlight

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