One Day

My Name is Abasia

One Thing

Garbage Can

Hope Dream

Last night, total kleptomania, I tucked 
the universe down in my shorts then I ran
–scattering rogue, fleeing the scene, flat out quick. 
No one was looking. 

Soon I found a back street fog to slip into.
Home-free, I caught clawing cimmerian sounds
–that bopping cats do scratching doors wanting in. 
Got me to thinking, 

were those dream kittens? That’s when I checked my pants. 
The universe was not there. I had dropped it. 
And that’s when I began to wonder, what’s now 
keeping me running? 

Physics? I thought I knew gravity, how to 
suspend whims; we can’t be spontaneous till 
we get our shit done. Our scale, mass, magnitude,
like poems, had meaning. 

And love, its buoyancy, its stretchiness, its 
cool hell; thought I knew clouds, like Joni Mitchell,
but now with life’s illusions lost, what were clouds? 
Everything? Nothing? 

The universe–all of space, time, planets, stars, 
galaxies, all the matter and energy,
known and unknown spacial events–gone,
no longer happening.  

All, I’m sorry for losing the universe 
in a dream. I will try to snooze better in 
the future–-if there is a tomorrow in 
this dream. Here’s hoping. 

New Music of the Day – CLXXIV: Fill Me Up – Amilia K Spicer

Dancing About Architecture

If the term “Americana” conjures clichéd images of long, dusty highways, clapboard churches and hoedowns in truck stop bars, then you need Amilia K Spicer in your ears…and indeed your life! Whilst blending the heartland sounds of America – lilting country grooves, folky acoustica and a gentle but persistently driving rock beat – there is another, less tangible quality at work, one that breezes through the spaces between, one that is built from more elemental and primal qualities.

Yes, you can boogie the night away to the song’s jaunty goodness but as the video visualises, this is music that communes with nature that wallows in the fact that America may be a young country in respect of its society but its land is ancient.

They say that every place, every wood, every hill, every stream has a song in it if only you are silent and respectful enough to be…

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