open the doors on the season

The last of the camellias Sunday: J. Roddy Walston and the Business, J. Roddy Walston and the Business Monday: Al Stewart, Modern Times Barclay James Harvest, Barclay James Harvest Cynthia Dall, Untitled (RIP) Spiritualized, Sweet Heart Sweet Light  (streaming at NPR)

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Photo of Cynthia Dall by Victor Gozion, via Drag City 

Poor Cynthia Dall. Her '96 album Untitled remains nothing short of dark revelation, like a storm brewing in your ear without the dull theatrical payoff of a thunderclap. Just brewing and brewing until you look up and the sky's gone black and you are left wondering what to do.


Her.


Not her.

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I took some New Orleans folks out to Teddy's Juke Joint this Sunday to show them what's what for Louisiana Saturday Night and what its about, and they dug it. Alison mentioned that you have special places like this where the only time you go is to show it to someone else.

The flowers are instigating their spring riot out in the yard, too early, too confused. Global warming's oncoming rear 'round pollen count will kill us all, I'm convinced, that or the crazy mushrooms that can eat plastic.  Humanity will be but a flower fading in the distance, just like this one last cold snap camellia
holding out against all this gorgeous Spring.

 Until our species' eminent demise, things are all aces. The current book is selling well, the next one is seeing reasonable progress. Some new writing gigs. A new job actually, but more about that as the details materialize. Guitar class is going great; its almost like we are playing music. Some people are becoming teenagers in my house, which offers its own interesting seismic shifts but we all seem to be in bloom and the season.

April is poetry month and I always trot this one out because I love it so, and can't think of a less cliched number with which to open the doors on the season, so e.e. cummings, everybody.

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in Just-

spring          when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles          far          and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far          and             wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's

spring

and

         the

                  goat-footed

balloonMan          whistles

far

and

wee