Been a while, I know. But I've decided to kick the wheels on this blog and be consistent with posting. There's a lot going on that I need to report on, new novels and all that or perhaps old, uncollected stories to post, poetry, thoughts, desires, madness--whatever.
And, yes, I expect there will be a Substack at some point, other means of communication, but for this moment, right now, I have this.
Anyway, shall we?
I saw the band Swans at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco (in a really dodgy neighborhood, let me tell you), May 2 of this year, and the day after scribbled this "poem." Tweaked it a bit here and there, but it's good to go. Perfection? My writing is always a work in progress, much as myself. Growing, changing, mutating...
The performance was astonishing, mind-blowing. The poem captures some of what I witnessed.
Enjoy!
Gira: Swans May 2, 2024, Great American
Music Hall, San Francisco, California
The shaman stands in the desert of
burgeoning sound
The first primordial morning or final
night falling
Scatological jazz harvested from Hell’s
fiery lips
Speaking in tongues disentangled from ages
long dead
The creature called Gira finds its way
To the first discernable lyric after
thirty minutes
That also includes abrupt hollers, hoots,
and howls
Only the creatures of the moon can
decipher
While his followers scramble as newborn
turtles seeking sea
The ebb and flow of noise as conducted
By a madman as sonic psychotherapy
--He’ll weep like a baby, crest as if
orgasmic
Laugh as a lunatic, self-flagellate as the
guilty--
Or the survivor of whatever humble
beginning
Brought him to this sacred place tonight
Confessional murmurs in front of mesmeric
minions
For almost three hours that lay waste
To whatever ragged soul he has left
As well as the disciples willing to go
along
For a ride both ecstatic and harrowing
Swans swim through murky waters
While the creature called Gira
A whirling dervish adorned in the guise of
human
Leads them to the oceans of magic and
despair
A mystical, mythical, mysterious place
Where we gather as one
The pulsing rhythm of the strummed guitar
Eagerly lapped as we drown, we float
We hover, then soar
To the heavens of our own imagination
Trance-like and fully immersed
In the wonder of true unity
I would expect nothing less from the
amalgamation
As clouds scud in front of stars
Dimensions unfold releasing lizard brain
orgies
Only such miraculous experiences can
unleash.
There ya go! A taste of my experience.
Here's Micheal Gira in his natural state, on stage, conducting the sonic maelstrom.
