Friday, January 3, 2014


Please check out my new music playlist blog to groove the way through your year. We are entering exciting times this year, because we hope to have the podcast station up and running later in the year, but stay tuned for all that and more crunchy goodies...
In the meantime, enjoy the random findings and factoids of Stylus - A Playlist for the Third Ear.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Family Tree

I stand there, the winter leaves falling slowly as they do, as that first drop of blood let go of my fingertip, and drifted toward the earth. I am confound by lightning in my eyes, as he holds the knife to her quivering neck.

This gun has never weighed this much, and yet if I miss…

The arabesque trails of ink along my daughters arm. That fucking tree of life, marking her forever. When had my judgement slipped like this? This trigger of sheer concrete, cold against my pulsing fingers. The fingers that drew that dire amulet in the first place.

            In this existence, the only real Life is in Death.

Why do I say this? Why should you care? You who read this will never know of the sheer terror behind my eyes as my mind played tricks on me. I swear I could see those fucking branches move along her arm, as if his serpent tongue had poisoned her with demons when he’d kissed her forehead, looking at me all wild-eyed, foam in the corners of his insane grin. He had snapped her spirit right under my nose.
            But why would this world care?

There we stand, dim lights in the sky rolling over us slowly, ever watchful. It seems to think like we do, as it drifts aimlessly. Like those who are lost in the necropolis of Love. Forlorn, yet driven to wander. This gun wasn’t going to shoot itself.
He held her there, however, that blade gleaming in the one silver strip of moonlight that dappled through the branches of the tree above them. He had broken her arm, and she had decided, under her glazed fear, that she would not even whimper about it. Lifeless tears welled up in her eyes. The same eyes she had once turned toward Marie, when the police dragged my wife away from the dinner table that night.

Killing Gypsies for a ragged Rosseau

Black forrest tigers
Amble in amber reeds
Stalking the whores
In their juxtaposes
Parting parts
Like budding roses
-their hearts
They sniff their noses
As their medullas collide
And the entire world
Inside a rainbow-hide,
And claps,
To front and lo

Killing Gypsies for a ragged Rosseau

Hibiscus diamonds sparkle
Under emerald eyelashes
In the jade of this life
The jaded man and his faded wife

Killing Gypsies for a ragged Rosseau

This whisker, it twitches
As the tiger, it scrams
Waterpots lay nay on their heads
As the breathly brevity of this earth,
But instead the blood
Of men who killed their own families in mirth

Killing Gypsies for a ragged Rosseau.