May 31, 2007

Jokes about Churches & Elephants at the End of May

Khizr: Did you hear about the Church Without Walls?
Musa: No, what about it?
Khizr: The ceiling crushed the congregation.


Khizr: Why are elephants large, gray, and wrinkly with tiny hairs?
Musa: Why?
Khizr: Because if they were small, white, smooth & hairless, they would be aspirin tablets.
Musa: What?
Khizr: I told you that you would not be able to understand me.




Khizr: Why do ducks have webbed feet?
Musa: I don't know. Why?
Khizr: To stamp out fires.
Musa: I will be patient in all things. I will be patient in all things.

Khizr: Why do elephants have large flat feet?
Musa: Why do elephants have large flat feet?
Khizr: To stamp out flaming ducks.

Musa: To stamp out flaming ducks.
Khizr: You have come down with a case of echolalia, & so, this will be the parting between you & me.

May 29, 2007

Second Song written this May: Secret Space

Welcome & come on in,
This cabaret's back from holiday,
Your lips are near your favorite beer,
The wine's divine & old Denis is dead.

The administration appreciates your fiscal support,
We've named a sweet seat after you!
We're no longer dreading the annual report,
Carrie's mother urn can be sent to Senhor Coelho.

The secret space of my arriving lover,
The admission price is one requited idea,
A minivan full with two hippie Shih Tzus,
And ten years wait and freedom from the lies of every unbalanced encyclopedia.

Welcome & bumpers high!
The band is thrilled & the mimosas are chilled.
Elle's doin' the Charleston on a profaned altar,
I'm here all night, dear, the line forms on the right, dear.

The arts council acknowledges these urban revitalizations,
There's brand new oaks on the avenue!
We're in it for the music & the money & we've lost our patience,
My nargileh is packed with pomegranate flavored tobac-oo!

The secret space of my arriving lover,
The admission price is one requited idea,
A minivan full with two hippie Shih Tzus,
And ten years wait and freedom from the lies of every unbalanced encyclopedia.

Correspondences: Spontaneous Rideshare to Upstate New York

Date:Tue, 29 May 2007 13:51:38 -0700 (PDT)
From:"James Welsch" <_@itwaslost.org>
Subject:Re: Re: Re: Re : Re: Ride!?
To:"Keith ____"

Keith,

Thanks again for the rideshare, I made it to Middlesex last night fine, & then fine to Ithaca this morning. I trust you'll have fun in Syracuse & find your way safely to Jay. Here's what we were listening to from my iPod between Chicago & Canandaigua:

The Terra Nova Consort - Renaissance en Provence
Djelimousso, Mali - The Voice of the Mande
Strength in Numbers - The Telluride Sessions
Trio Irakitan
Ali Farka Touré - Red
Funky Lagos - 70s Nigerian Funk
Ethiopiques 4
Mark Knopfler & Emmylou Harris - All the Roadrunning
Chuck E. Weiss - Extremely Cool

Thanks for letting me DJ. I'll check in on your blog. Go Sky Chiefs! Go American Junior Luge team! Go well!

James
____________________________________________________________

May 28, 2007

Hip-hop Doggerel about Darren Southworth (ala Dr. Octagonecologyst)

Soufworf People!
New York & California!
Soufworf People!
I was born in Maine!

Soufworf People!
New Yotk & California!
Soufworf People!
I was born in Maine!

May 22, 2007

First Song written this May: Song of Choices

Boundless stories of achieving
Shouted in the desert
Tryin' to bring the gospel to the gentiles -
Small glories in the evening,
But the dogs of morning
Never know exactly who to

Choose me if I'm hungry for unification,
Use me if I'm ever bored,
Abuse me if I've squandered my medification,
But don't lose me O Lord.

College-headed preachers lousy with hierarchies
Talkin' at the pilgrims,
But they've lost their walkin' pair of sandals -
Life's T-Shirts sold by oligarchies,
Printed with death's slogans,
Leaves consumers little left to

Choose me if I'm hungry for unification,
Use me if I'm ever bored,
Abuse me if I've squandered my medification,
But don't lose me O Lord.

Finally communion, finally some passion,
No one will miss those blue laws,
But the fool was stuck on diet cola -
She was soon done with her hippie fashion,
Rotton but connected,
Cherishing her natural right to

Choose me if I'm hungry for unification,
Use me if I'm ever bored,
Abuse me if I've squandered my medification,
But don't lose me O Lord.

Fish eat fish, but dugongs ask nobody favors,
I drink my creator,
Cause fasting's not respectful to decline -
Choirs of cow tongues & artificial flavors,
Tied in silent fire, and
No one cares & no one chooses to

Choose me if I'm hungry for unification,
Use me if I'm ever bored,
Abuse me if I've squandered my medification,
But don't lose me O Lord.

May 09, 2007

Biographical Resolutions

I've been trying to be better at knowing where my phone is, having the ringer on, answering it when it rings - three things which are sometimes difficult to me. I tried to cut down on beer & coffee these past few months before I go traveling, but ended up drinking more in total, just less regularly. Isn't that often how resolutions go? Who cares anyway, with this moderation of these earthly crutches, it's not like I'm trying to moderate a crack habit. I was just trying to clear my head of the apathy & lethargy which has kept me hitherto from becoming a famous billionaire artist, but I doubt it's the caffeine or alcohol, neither of which I intake at the levels of the Ancient Sumarians or Elizabethans. Did I mention that the remainder bookstore I've been working at sells a kids sticker/coloring book called God Created the Dinosaurs of the World, which has stickers of Adam & Eve feeding dinosaurs, & (my favorite) a viking ship with a prehistoric dino-fish swimming beside it. Another sticker has a quaint group of semi-naked humans planting crops, & one with a hoe is trying to scare away a foraging dinosaur. "Shoo, you rascally dinosaur!"

This could be the dilemma many people in my age or position face in America today - an immense & devastating drop in creativity & energy. Now, I'm not going to play fickle with lady inspiration - I agree with John Adams that if you work hard at anything, inspiration comes when it needs to. The issue is the motivation - I believe writer's block is more of a chemical imbalance than a mystical ennui. But why, for example, do I get so bored when I'm writing music? The last few weeks, I was sketching out a piece for piano, bass & percussion, & it was the physical process of putting notes on a staff that I just couldn't focus on. There was nothing great nor mediocre about the quality of music I was creating, but the fairly meditative & tedious process of scribing it, which I used to fly thru, enjoy, or hardly notice, now, after about fifteen minutes, I find myself surfing the internet or pacing the room. Several obvious problems: a) no commission or deadline, b) no community of artists to discuss with or try to impress, c) no specific stylistic argument I'm trying to make, to necessitate an example piece, d) no long stretches of time where I'm by myself, not working, where I can really get into some creative process. But even in combination, I should be able to transcend above all of these problems & write for writing's sake, build up a portfolio or repertoire for an audition or for whatever future needs, with the youthful motivation I used to have - (I'm only fucking twenty-five!) - unhinderable.

There is one huge reason I have squandered my hours at this boring job for so long (five months) - I am never asked to do anything. They pay me next to nothing to do next to nothing - wait hold on...

Bookstore Conversation #1,493

Costumer: Excuse me, do you have any fabric paints?
Your Hero: No, there's no more art supplies - only books here now. The art store went out of business.
Costumer: Wouldn't you know. Is there another art store around here?
Your Hero: Yeah, four blocks down, at University & Sixth, called Blick.
Costumer: Okay, thank you.

Where was I? O yes - being payed just to sit here started out as a fantastic boon. I read a ton. But the last month, I haven't been able to focus on anything, frustration of frustrations. So that's it, time to move on. When I knew I was truly bored, six weeks ago, I bought a plane ticket to Alabama & Atlanta, the first time I've been on a airplane since college, the first time I've ever been to Alabama - I've been to forty-nine states of our huge union, this will be my fiftieth. I'm freewheeling it for the first week in Alabama, I intend on attending two annual sacred harp sings in churches in small towns in Alabama - the second Saturday of every May at the Oak Grove Primitive Baptist Church in Sylacuaga, then the second Sunday of every May at the Old Flatwoods Primitive Baptist Church near Nauvoo. I'll probably be staying in Tuscaloosa, so I've been e-mailing & calling Sacred Harp singers looking for rides to & back from these singings. Yesterday, I spent forty-five minutes on the phone with a ninety year old woman who won't be attending this year. Here's an e-mail from the pastor at Sylacuaga:


From:"Bufrey D___" <______@bellsouth.net>
To:"James Welsch" <_____@itwaslost.org>
Subject: Re: Singing in May
Date: Mon, 2 Apr 2007 21:41:50 -0500

Hello Brother James Welsch,
Thank you for your e-mail. Since you will be staying in Tuscaloosa for a week with a friend around May 12th, I especially want you to come to our singing. When you arrive in Tuscaloosa, please contact the following:
T___ & L___ Smith at 205-___-____ and
H___ & M___ E___ Jones at 205-___-____
Both of these couples are very good singers and hope to come to our singing in Sylacauga, Alabama at Oak Grove Primitive Baptist Church on Saturday, May 12, 2007. I called them both and they want you to call them when you arrive. I look forward to seeing you. May God richly bless.



Then, I'll be watching my friends put on a puppetry festival in Atlanta. When I come back I will only be working part time while I look for more inspiring & fiscally remunerative employment. I'll try & report about my travels a bit on this blog, so stay tuned! I'm bringing Joyce's Ulysses to try & finish before Bloomsday in San Francisco next month. I'm sorry to be so "biographical", one thing I have promised to do infrequently on this page, but I thought it would be better writing than a review of Grindhouse or something. (It was really gorey.) P.O.E.!

It's as uncertain as a child's bottom

-Simon Dedalus


May 08, 2007

From the Archive: Gospel of the Shisha (2005)

I.

The perfect ring of smoke is a perfect circle. Thru the smoky rings thru smoke, a great round wonder rolling thru space can be perceived. You cannot blow a dragon or a sailboat, but a perfect circle can be blown & can hang in space until it dissolves. The perfect circle hates a honeycomb, but a hungry circle finds all bitter things to be sweet.


In one sense the smoke ring is a creation

of the room, so consider.

In another sense the smoke ring is a

creation of our eyes, so

reflect.

How much control does our mouth have?

Awaken in the fumes of the smoke.


Let there be smoke in the middle airs, & let it divide the airs from the airs. The rings of smoke are subject to the whims of the tides of airs. The perfect ring of smoke is as much a whim of the tides of the airs as the hungry ring of smoke. If you do not try to blow the perfect circle, the tides of the airs will dash the smoke into nonsense. When you blow the perfect circle, it will hang in the air & then disappear into nothing. The tides of the airs helped as much to create the perfect circle as they conspired to blow it into nonsense. An imperfect circle in the air is better than a perfect circle inside your mouth.


Jesus said, A perfect circle has been blown outside of the Father, but being unsound, it was dashed into nonsense.


The smoke & the air are one, so consider.

The smoke cuts into the air & disappears

into the air, so reflect & awaken.

The smoke & the air are different colors

at first & invisible at last.

Does the smoke blow the air or does the

air blow the smoke? Discuss & fade

away, child of the smoke.


You see plenteous airs & you are short of breath. You can breathe deeply, but your excretions are lopsided & unsound. You exhale divine perfumes but the middle airs dash them into nothingness. Breathe slower, make your breathing perfect, & your breathing will beget more breathing.




II.

Once the shisha made me rise up & gave me the strength of ten thousand men. Tonight it has deprived me of my life force. My arms stretch from the eastern sea to the western sea. My roots soar with the eagle & my brain is in Mexico. The bards of the plains are corroborating with my flesh.


When the wicked rules,

my rings are hungry.

When the righteous are in authority,

I arise from the shisha with strength.


Who will save me from this prison? Who will lower a ladder for me into this pit? For the shisha has deprived me of my life force, & I am lain upon the ground. The shisha has taken away my deepest breaths, & the voices of the people are shallow. O child of the smoke, perceive the corpse borne slowly from the house. The air is completely changed to smog & the streets are the color of bitumen! Where once I did rejoice, now I cannot detect my rings of smoke in this hoary chaos. I sit upon the ground & weep until the floor is wet.


Redemption does not occur at the end of time, unless the end of time is understood to mean every moment. Redemption is eternal & the end is eternal. Because of this, every bar & chain, every fetter & gray wall of the prison is shaken & falters. The stars are falling. There is a great quaking of the earth, & either the sky is brought nearer to my eyes or my eyes are brought nearer to the sky. The veins of my body are all the rivers of the earth, & alas! they flow no more. My feet are not connected to my ankles, my hands are not connected to my wrists. Each particle of my flesh disseminates, & I from here consider the immortality of the universe. The months & days of years have undergone a great many pains. Tuesday returns, Wednesday returns. My soul is loosened, the seal is broken. I am cold. For the wicked is in authority, & the shisha has deprived me of my life force.



III.

When I inhale, I gather together my elect from the four winds. There is no logic to the shisha. It is like the mustard seed, & the mustard seed is like the kingdom of God.

May 04, 2007

Four-o de Mali-o Party! To-night!

To-Night! Party! Berkeley! Party!

It's our annual Cinco de Mayo rumcrawl, this friday, the fourth, so it's more like a Cinco de Four-o; & it will Mali-themed (as in Timbuktu & Ali Farka Touré), so it will actually be Quatro de Mali party. Anyway, here's your advanced notice, this friday night, my beautiful Berkeley apartment (1985 Ashby). Come any time after 7 or 8, come early if you want delicious homemade vegetarian chilie. Only nine BART stops away for those of you in the Mission.

Mimosas to-morrow.

Sincerely,
JAMES WELSCH
JAMES WELSCH
JAMES WELSCH