Tag: Music

Jackson Street, 1977

Published on by @DwPolkLeave a comment

i actually remember 1977, not carter or kiss, but jackson street, central arlington, the old old house, long hair, skinny skateboards, sparkly banana seat bikes, good humor man, walking to see the jungle book with older kids at the buckingham theatre, before milk cartons with missing children, air bags, & tv remotes, my big wheel ruled the sidewalk, i was evel knievel, bushy blonde hair, kool aid, summer sprinklers, bee gees on the radio, deep childhood days, ocean island of memory.

(Note: This is a recent image of the house, we moved in 1978)

When I Sued Sting

Published on by @DwPolkLeave a comment

enough of the englishman in new york, ashtanga practicing, burning man partygoer, king of pain pretty boy, $300 million from universal music for his whole catalogue in 2022, as if he did it alone, ‘77-’84, i was there, on guitar, his vocals only went so far, a friend saw him in chile w/james taylor, 1994, dodgy performance, truly, taylor blew him away, not even close, ok, sure, roxanne, just a drinking game really, i will concede message in a bottle, strong song, but every breath you take was mine, not just his, he says i got paid in 2016, but the serious money came in later, ok, i probably don’t deserve a penny, but gimme.

Murmur of Pianos

Published on by @DwPolkLeave a comment

mozart touched tusks, how often did he think about trunks, thick brownish-gray skin, when alive they reached out to one another, comforted, said hello, intelligent creatures, emphasis on creatures, hunted by the hundreds of thousands, dead after gunshot, 4-bore rifles held by money, by music, status symbol, steinway, chickering, must have a baby grand, or an upright in church, pray for the dead animals, they are the keys that ring out, beethoven’s moonlight sonata, chopin’s nocturne in e-flat major, tchaikovsky’s nutcracker suite, you name it, such beauty, haunting beauty, listen closely enough & you can hear their demise.

Tiktoker Watches TikTok

Published on by @DwPolkLeave a comment

stare, keeping staring, so cute, my little wiggle smile, perfect timing with that clothing/music change, they will love me, they do love me, do they? eye roll, you know, that i know, all that rizz in sixteen seconds, i’m going viral, will i go viral? do they care? wait a couple minutes, check how many likes, keep checking, i’m gonna be famous, i’m not obsessed, i’m obsessed.

How I Found Etta James In San Francisco

Published on by @DwPolkLeave a comment

late night, july, reading poem of the day, “megan married herself” by caroline bird, english poet, younger than me, fifth line- she strode down the aisle to “at last” by etta james, what do i know about etta james? (1938-2012), looking for connection, internet, internet, doo-wop, her love, my love, when? me, family basement, arlington, virgina, listening to smooth vocals with my father, 1981, etta, between ages 12-16 in the fillmore district of san francisco, 1950-1954, her group the creolettes-connected to creole- a mixture of european, african, and sometimes native american heritage, me, lived at 1550 fillmore in 1996, not creole, but i mix, time, place, words, people, takeaway? we walked the same pavement, liked the same music, never knew etta james, knew her a little bit.

Tanning While Listening To Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam

Published on by @DwPolkLeave a comment

incongruous, fancy word, me, tanning, me, listening to “lost in emotion”-from 1987, incongruous, but isn’t that all of us? how well do we really know anyone? 24 hours in a day and what do we do with them? hopefully a ton, and some of that isn’t what you think, isn’t what i think, maybe you collect stamps? puffy stickers? or you read salinger, who knows? i guess that is the point, we don’t know much, instagram likes to tell stories, but who are we really? or maybe this is just me, a little bit of mystery, 80’s music out of puerto rican hell’s kitchen while getting ready for the almafi coast, who knew?

Gen X Listens To Chappell Roan

Published on by @DwPolkLeave a comment

good luck, babe, progeny of tori amos & kate bush, the 1980’s, their “tell” -stratified debris of an earlier generation of people- now buried under chappell roan’s civilization, and so it goes, guthrie gave way to dylan, madonna to gaga, dicaprio to chalamet, not to say tori and kate are gone, but they are, & one day roan will disappear too, obvious, the young push out the old, why does this matter? because we all hold too tightly, grip less firmly, because, in the words of sufjan stevens, all things go