This was a dedication show for Waylon Jennings I put together back in March of 2002. I call it "Goodbye". All about that big goodbye. We are here and not, all at once. The dance around the black void of uncertainty which fuels us, pulls us into her. Having to say goodbye and go it alone into the unknown rules everything. It's the root of all our doings. So hello my friend, and my friend goodbye.

Anything that punches holes in the ordinary has the potential of value.

Set List as follows in which each piece is integrated and interchanged sporadically throughout the show. Not at all in the order of the list.

1. Performance w/ James Fox/Mick Jagger- filmed in 1968 by Nicolas Roeg & Donald Cammell. Written by Cammell with music by Jack Nitzsche.

2. Mozart - Requiem
3. Samuel Beckett - How It Is - read by Sarah Berthume
4. Gertrude Stein - How To Write - read by Jason Berthume
5. Tom Waits - Wait till Yesterday
6. ESP - East Side Percussion
7. KECAK - Balinese Music Drama
8. Jefferson Airplane - Wooden Ships
9. Frank Black - Bartholomew
10.Tom Waits - Regret #1 #2
11.The Band - When You Awake
12.Tom Waits - Cold Cold Ground
13.Jefferson Airplane - Plastic Fantastic Lover
14.Frank Black - Headed My Way
15.Tom Waits - You'll Have To Wait till Yesterdays Here

The true trend of the poet in my mind is the symbolic use of a more personal jargon which I referred to earlier as the old sign language no longer served. Although, I say it with a mad, hallucinated grin. Once I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have , but now I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity, I belong to my madness, my excrement, my ecstasy, to the great circuit which flows through the subterranean vaults of the flesh. A man who belongs to this race must stand up on a high place with gibberish in his mouth and rip out his entrails. One has to earn death with all one’s appetites, refuse no poison, reject no experience however degrading or sordid. One has to come to the end of one’s forces, learn that one is a slave - in whatever realm - in order to desire emancipation. And anything that falls short of this frightening spectacle, anything less shuddering, less terrifying, less mad, less intoxicated, less contaminating, is not art. You put on a bishop’s robe and miter, he pondered, and walk around in that, and people bow, genuflect and like that, try to kiss your ring, if not your ass, and pretty soon you’re a bishop. So to speak. What is identity? He asked himself. Where does the act end. The identity of the purveyors of the poisons concocted of brain-destructive filth shot daily, taken orally daily, smoked daily by several million men and women-or rather, that were once men and women- is gradually being unraveled.
The rest is counterfeit. The rest is human. The rest belongs to life and lifelessness. The benevolent pride of the genius lies in his will which must be broken. The secret to deliverance lies in the practice of charity.

the
Impostor

He must be an outsider's outsider.

This divinity of her's is a liquid blue reflection of a man in a study in front of a window peeping out of and back at a glass globe held in her hand holy n sacred, devoted to supreme greatness, enjoying a soft creamy kind a candy. A sort of crystallization of our image, our imagination, boiling n evaporating, weak, hesitant or ineffectual, even, flat n smooth (used in emphasizing a comparison) an even more of an unexpected oddity, even as she spoke, we entered level n steady, almost upright as if in a rough sea in a ship for sailing, with a bowspirit and at least three square rigged masts, each composed of lower,top, and topgallant members. Our fellow members have gathered greedily into the ceremonious hall outside the window behind the peeping man reflecting out of and back at a glass globe held in her hand beckoning the faithful in a foregoing story closed within the symbol of the people we were and the words composed by a queen whom longed for pleasure in repeating destiny.

Put up with nothing
Give everything

"Never before, when it is life itself that is in question, has there been so much talk of civilization and culture. And there is a curious parallel between this generalized collapse of life at the root of our present demoralization and our concern for a culture which has never been coincident with life, which in fact has been devised to tyrannize over life."

---- Antonin Artaud

10/10/2006

Non-breeder and breeder separation. In the far future, millions of years from now, the earth becomes flat due to a shift in gravitational pull and a giant black hole turning our galaxy lenticular. The ones in the beginning who were wrong were made correct millions of years later. Long after humans (due to their breeding and non-breeding ways and discriminations) evolved into an ecto goo plasma sliding or dripping over the edges of our flat earth into the blank void of the universe. Like spooge sliding over the edge of a toilet bowl into the great flush of life/death.

Bennett Theissen of The Chill Room reading my first blog post on The Digital Fallout.

the next step with jason berthume 091606
killradio
Banksy: Painted Elephants in 3 parts

Penny Serenade-film-Cary Grant
Depressurizing at high altitudes: a primer in terror from tim
Live recordings of Banksy art exhibit on Saturday 91606
Banksy's Paris Hilton remix
St. Germains Tourist
Kathy Acker
Kid Rock-Hard Night for Sarah
Frank Zappa-Mother People
William Burroughs and Kathy Acker interview
Frank Zappa-Comin Staight from the Heart to You
Harry Nilsson-Everybody's Talkin
Hank Williams- You're gonna change(or I'm gonna leave)
The Chillroom-Lennon Remembers
The Fugs-Wide, Wide River of Shame
John Lee Hooker-Hobo Blues
The Monk
Bob Dylan-Modern TImes-Working Man Blues #2
Scott Williams
Buddy Holly-Not Fade Away

I find myself on a patio of his design looking in at a patriarch lying dead. Circling mourners shatter the air with anguished wails. His body is laid on a leafy litter, his head is pillowed on a bananas stalk, and his arms are folded across his chest. His shell ornaments and plumed headdress are placed at his side. As relatives gather, women in an inner circle, men in the background, they make known the grief with shrieking sobs. All day and far into this night they howl. She was in the corner, eyes glazed over black. She had killed him with a sharp stiletto. I’m seeing this through the window in the wall. He had concentrated all his hopes and desires into this one adventure, into this wide world, expanding outward to the unseen edges of the universe. There was no returning to base camp. I turned a cold and unprofitable face to the wards of the convalescent city.

--me

"Become good at cheating and you never need to become good at anything else."

— Banksy (Wall and Piece)

Life is the reflection from flashing memories of the dying.

Maybe I can tell you how I struggle for the words to tell you and in contemplation do so.

Retrieve memory traces restoring space and time fabric---failed experiment------existence faded away into darkness----------subjective time pauses while objective time marches forward..........

Only the words break the silence.
All other sounds have ceased.

Art as a weapon, as inoculations to fight off the digital disease and decay of present day ---------- as the digital veil blankets us like an airborne virus ------------- we are all becoming pixilated ---------- broken down into pixels and sound files/ virtual relationships -------------- Digital Madness! Art used as a vaccine against this digital virus / imagination for the sake of our souls ------------------- last strands of humanity clinging ----------------------- humanity snuffed out -------------------------- Progress? For what? For whom?
Maybe all we were all along was a digital signal, a transmission, a flash of light in the darkness ------------------- maybe, we’re just going home to our reception. Burroughs sees it as the enemy plan to reduce all human life to “simple binary coding,” to condense and assimilate the entire planet: “The cyclotron processes image ---------- It’s the microfilm principle------smaller and smaller, more and more images in less space pounded down under the cyclotron to crystal image meal.” Language is both the poison and the cure.

........ jb

Tolstoy's Toothache

By the time you have finished this story, I will have gone. For good. Never should have been here. Didn’t belong. Never did. I’ll become a distant memory like the toothache radiating along the left side of my jaw, just as the earthquake radiated along southern California that day. A 4.5 if my memory serves me right. The pain was unbearable. The rotten tooth had to go and quick. It had to come out, much like this. It had to leave with the summer and disappear as we did that fall. We had to go, and fast. The quake that day shook everything clear. Or was it the pain? Shit, maybe it was the pain killers. Clarity rattled us on up to the great northwest. We came for the weather is what we told em. By us, I mean my wife and me. This all coming from seemingly untoward situations. This being a life destined to evaporate with the rest. Ah, but the only real light to have ever blasted my soul, my heart, is my wife, Anna. She has a walk with a light firm step like no one else. I could watch her stroll for the eternal everlasting. The so called failures, hardships, gripes, discomforts, betrayals, mistakes, earthquakes and toothaches led to this moment right here right now. Another kind of vision all together. The torture has been worth it and will continue to be. All essential steps, to our personal Zen.

"Everything is permitted because nothing is true. It is all make-believe.......illusion.....dream.....art. When art leaves the frame and the written word leaves the page, not merely the physical frame and page, but the frames and pages that assign the categories. A basic disruption of reality itself occurs. The literal realization of art."

- William Burroughs

"Steel is strong because it knew the hammer and white heat."
- Johnny Cash

I listened and not a moment too late. Still, no definitive answer. We get lost groping the shadows of the past. It is disturbing how many folks and situations there are in a person’s past that have become motionless. The living folks we’ve lost in the depths of time rest soundly with the dead as a similar darkness blankets them all. We forget to remember. We have no idea anymore whom to awaken, the living or the dead. Or even which team we happen to be on. Nothing like a near death experience to wake ya right up to remembering. Yes, that’s the team I’m on at the moment. I slid into my cubicle that day like a hot comforting bath. By evening, I had forgotten again.

Beautiful and chilling all at once. In one second you saw me as spine tingling as an accident and as appealing as a rainbow. I was the shriek of a man falling out a window and the silence of the stars that capture him.

The heat pulled from the room and a cold distance took its place between us. We try our best to ignore it. The talking begins. You had forgotten someone’s there, talking to you. About you. Here we are. Back again. The film of night pours all around us.

Whatchya done did?

if this ain't country, we'll kiss yer ass

Beginning again....................

Life is wasted on the living.

"Gentle breeze, that wanderest unseen,
And bendest the thistles round Loira of storms,
Traveller of the windy glens,
Why has thou left my ear so soon?"

Let me ask you one question: is your money that good?
Will it buy you forgiveness? Do you think that it could?
I think you will find when your death takes its toll
All the money you made won't ever buy back your soul

- Bob Dylan

i think its great how you used to be great
i can't hate on how you choose to relate
but i know that you had the potential
i understand why you had to let go
a lot of pressure in the middle of those shoulders
and we ain't getting nothin' but older
ain't nothin changed but the day we run from
but nobody knows that better than you huh?

it goes

one for the bar tab two for the shine
let's go to your car do another line
barely trust 'em they're all puppets
love is nothin' scared of success
one for the bass two for the drums
last call gonna take whatever comes
barely trust 'em they're all puppets
love is nothin' scared of success

-atmosphere

As a guest DJ on The Next Step, I was able to channel my negative vibes from my physical space out into cyberspace in a creative and positive way. With Jason at the board — engineering the show to my specifications — I was able to honestly and completely express my frustrations with "life" through songs, audio clips, idle chat (with myself), and other curiousities. This show contains some of my favorite songs and clips from movies that ring true at every step of my life, but maybe in a different way each time. I hope you enjoy my revelations and maybe even learn a thing or two

Thanks for listening!
Sarah

Learn, Live and Die curious!

“I would become quick with life, would become myself, and would blaze toward strange images. Moreover, the flame thus created would remain in my mind as an abstract feeling, divorced from the reality of the image that had caused it, and I would distort my interpretation of the feeling until I believed it to be evidence of passion inspired by the girl herself………………………..thus once again I deceived myself.”

--------Yukio Mishima

This is the second part to an old Next Step (show I did on killradio.org) from around November of 2006. Fun, noisy, self-indulgent audio circus. Fly low and avoid the radar my friends.