The furthering of the snow
The snowing of the snow
As it covers the earth
With a white wind and nothing gentle
It flies berserk and vociferous
Plummets left to right
Unholy and obdurate
Like Genghis Khan in the spring
And I count down the numbers
The ten numbers of my own legend
As I wait for the white to rise
From the Earth and fall
From the pregnant grey
I can no longer see
Covered in that white
Hidden from that view
From the farms and churches and mountains
Topped with my deliverance
It is the night of the day
Our circle cracked
Our band of merciless friends once linked
By knowledge and risk and alchemical
Delirium like mages on intellectual parade
The break came with the revelation
That one of us wanted happiness
Wanted calm and love and warmth
Not perpetual self-destruction
Or destruction of other selves
Cast out that other self
In … Click to continue . . .
There are days when I curse being a musician. I work long hours for a ridiculously small wage and often under crummy conditions. Think about the loudest, dirtiest, smokiest bar you have visited with your pals in the last 12 months. I have probably performed there, or at least some place exactly like it. In fact the word performed probably needs the qualifier of “tried to” before it, because like the fabled tree falling in the forest, if you are playing for an audience where no one is listening, are you really performing? I have performed during bar fights and public break ups straight out of a Hollywood movie. I have been knocked off stage by drunkards who then snatch up my microphone and start singing themselves. I have performed while patrons surf Internet porn with their computer screens facing all of us on stage. I have sung behind chicken wire and in front of turned on TVs bigger than … Click to continue . . .
Welcome to our little corner of the virtual world. This is a very brief introductory post, just letting readers know that spinozablue.com should be filled with content in a week or so. Feel free to check out the links in the meantime, and please come back to read our original essays, reviews, fiction and poetry.
So far, we have a short piece by folksinger Abbey Linfert, and some poetry by yours truly. Abbey has had a rich career so far, for one so young. Much traveled, her music much admired, she offers an interesting take on the difference between certain kinds of audiences and venues.
Folksingers. Hmmm. Reminds me of how much I loved the movie ‘Once‘, the music, the story, the deceptive simplicity of it all and the stirring power contained within. A brilliant, beautiful, emotionally powerful film. If you haven’t seen it yet, please do yourself a favor and rent it. Pronto. It’s one … Click to continue . . .
Of internal diameters of the heart
Beyond the breaking point
Augmented by music
Not like the sea but like the space
Between the inside of your eyes
And what’s outside
Not like the sky but the line
Between extremes of grief
As if you know the music will never end
Never roil back on the other side
And it is death that does this and death
And near death and pain suffered
From watching that death unfold
The music goes blue blue like
The stretch of notes rising
Higher toward a believer’s heaven
Higher above a skeptic’s hometown
By Douglas Pinson
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