AN INCIDENT IN WORCHESTER

Politics and music make strange bedfellows, mainly because politics and musicians make even stranger ones. My beliefs on the idea can be encapsulated by a line in Mort Garson's "Wozard Of Iz", a takeoff on the "Wizard Of Oz" where The Lyin' Coward (guess who?) tells Dorothy-"though I'm listened to and trusted, those who listen all get busted". I was further reminded of this while we were opening for The Only Band That Thinks It Matters, The Clash. I was backstage when Joe Strummer came over and commemnted on a White Panther button I was wearing. I remarked that it had been given to me when music mattered. Strummer said American music hadn't counted for a while.
Angered, I asked why the Clash only sang about American politics and not their own. Further, I asked how they had the balls to sing "Jail Guitar Doors" when the MC5's Wayne Kramer went on right before them. He had more political honesty in his little finger, I further said, than the Clash had among the whole band.
As Strummer turned away I went on to ask that didn't they realize if they were regular English kids instead of stars, as in "Guns On The Roof", they'd still be in jail instead of on the road? The inspiration for the song was the band shooting live ammo off their recording studio roof.
The next day we were off the tour. Gee, was it something I said?

I LOVE YOU

I love you
I-love-you
And that scares the crap outta me
'coz when you love somebody
really love them
Stomach wrenching-heart aching love
Your soul is theirs to do with as they will
and every action brings a reaction
Loving you is a perpetual state of upset stomach
I don't think Pepto Bismal could cure

FIE ON SHAKESPEAR

Shall I compare thee to a summer day?
as somebody or other said?
Never!
Far more are you the heart beating in my chest
The blood coursing through my veins
Far more to say
You are my soul
For a summer day ends
With blissful night
While heart
blood
and soul
wax eternal

A part of "Mr. Manners' Guide To Electronic Etiquette"
If somebody had informed me of this chances are I would not believe at. As I observed this myself I still have some trouble with it. A couple were hand in handing it up Broadway and stopped in at an outdoor cafe. They sat down and ordered. While they were waiting the femme received a phone call. Some fifteen minutes later she was still speaking, while ignoring her companion. It was hot enough so those could have been heat waves radiating from his head rather than signs of anger. Another ten minutes passed and she was still on the phone. Without saying a word her companion emptied his water glass on her head and stormed off. She blissfully continued talking, albeit somewhat cooler.

JEWELED SCIMITAR
Jeweled scimitar in sweltering heat
Without a wielder incomplete
What child left you after pleasure
Pint size pirate imagining treasure

What seas did imagination sail
Boundless horizons, skua wail
Hydrant spray is endless sea
Jeweled scimitar, speak to me

What child's hand once held this toy
Unfettered imagination gives off joy

WHERE IS HIP?
Hip is not an address in Brooklyn
Complete w/ porkpie hats, porkpie pies and emaciated whities
Hip is not an oh-so-trendy restaurant you can't get in
(And if you do you wish you hadn't)
Do you have reservations?
Yeah, but it's de rigeur to be here, dig
Nor is it a 3AM club with trendy music you can't stand, but do
Let me hip you bro
Hip is where I stand

The author's chapbook "Blonde, Blue-Eyed And Handsome", can be ordered from
Encylone@Yahoo.com

First Postings

Somebody once said "the rich are different because they're rich". Having worked at New York's Bergdorff Goodman's for a couple of years, I humbly beg to differ. The rich are different because they're-uh-different.
Models have exciting life styles, and those at Bergdorff's are no different. Way before it was hip to be Asian, there were several Asians who were promoting an expensive Japanese designer's line. I was trying to find out something about the clothes, and in halting English attempted to question one of the models, who promptly turned to me and, in an accent Fran Drechsler would have thought was too Brooklyn, proceeded to answer my question. On the other side of the coin, there was the model who told most men that they "couldn't afford to go out with her". When she got injured in a car crash, people were sending her drop dead letters.
You didn't have to be a model to have the belief you were better than most. Just to work there was enough. I had gotten invited to a party at one girl's Gramercy address, and when I asked her what apartment it was was loftily informed that "we own the building". As Fleetwood Mac would say-Oh well".