Saturday, January 3, 2009


what a worrisome, strange & excellent day the very last day of '08 was. i played music with paul meatsquat and we took our cat to the vet.

our cat's name is Wheat. thats him with the tennis ball.
he's getting very on in years. he was born on 5th and girard in philadelphia in the late autumn of 1991, when that particular stretch of girard and NoLibs in general was cooler and full of soul.. he's the sweet and funny and sometimes vicious little cat that beth and i have shared and have looked after for as long as we've lived together. now he needs help with his kidneys.

and beth was coming down with a cold and could hardly speak. or when she did she whispered from deep down in her lungs.

the Sun was slanting sharper and sharper by the time i got to the quarry bluffs overlooking the little old town of Egypt, PA. what a cool looking little town, straight out of the "Pennsylvania Protectorate" of John O'Hara. then back up a hill and down again over the mighty Lehigh river and into the town of Northampton, home of THE RUSSIAN MEATSQUATS of yore. i've known paul meatsquat forever, since we were both little hardcore children, but i'd never played music with him. i was seriously chuffed to play with him today. he's an amazing and jazzy drummer still. and i suspect he will be right up to the day he finally dies. that's him seriously killing his drums at a show at west catty in 1984 or 85.
what did our improvised jams sound like? like the LVHC brand 20+ years after its conception in the first few years of Punk Rock Senior High; i mean they sounded 20+ years older and 20+ years less spaztic.... just paul and his drums and me & a guitar and an akai headrush. my last act of 2008. please download and try to enjoy.

download or listen this bit of a spazzed but mellow jam by us 2 ex-punkers

in a few hours i rang in the new year surrounded by friends at dave and kristy's cool haus behind all the pine trees in stony run again. just like 365 days and nights prior. but unlike last new year's eve, beth stayed home in virginville chilling out with throat soothing tea. kara and james were there, on a stopover in the middle of their endless travels. kara wanted a cigarette and i obliged. we blew spiralling smoke signals up into the perfectly clear and frozen night out on the porch. then she immediately fell ill, the poisonous nicotine and tobacco smoke shocking and awing her system. time for another purification fast, the perfect way to start a brand new year... later kristy got everyone together and called our home number so we could yell new year's greeting at beth through the magic of telephony. she was already crashed out. we yelled into the answering machine.

i snuck home in the first few beats of 2009 by way of the twisty little farm roads that squirrel over and around the soft PA Dutch hills that lay between stony run and virginville. i avoided the drunks and the cops on rte 143. ice kept crystalizing in rad freeform patterns right across my windshield. it was so quiet and cold and holy. and i avoided the deer.

and btw, 3 days into '09 and Wheat seems to be doing a lot better, beth's gotten her voice back and i've finally finished my library edition of the Gibbsville, PA Stories, John O'Hara's 864 page epic collection that no other writer will ever come close to equalling as fiction and history in a million fucking years.