Friday, May 09, 2003

Blue Ukulele. Koo Kowlick and his Blue Ukulele. The Twentieth Century was a new time for Sound. A Gold Rush for Sound. 'Sold for a song' was once the designation of not much, but didn't we see some songs rake in the bucks in the Twentieth Century and when we consider the wrecked hulk of Socialist Dreams (Russia) doesn't "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" figure as often in the critical analysis as the ruinous missile budgets and thuggish corruption? The Beatles are all over the Texas of me. Swinging London and Nacogdoches all tied up so that I hear Petula Clark singing Downtown and my head flashes red dirt roads. It's weird I suppose. I saw the Sex Pistols before they ever went to Dallas, but somehow Dallas and the Sex Pistols just right for each other... Blue Ukulele. Texas is the screaming soul of Modernity, the very Heart of the Frontier of the Future, and it is in the World's interest that Texas' emmanations be studied and catalogued with an eye to preserving something of hope and freedom because there ain't gonna be no revolution anywhere cept there's revolution in Texas and the West Houston Boys, the carpet bagging cult of anything for Oil, seem to know this, which is why they keep the lid on Texas tight. Keep it pumped up with drugs and criss-crossed with informers and wired to paranoia. Once upon a time Texas she broke out of the hole where the West Houston Boys had been keeping her and she went walkabout and let her hair grow out tangled and she built herself a house next to a tank that had a nice hard bottom, not one of them squishy ones, and in the mornings she liked to take a swim while the coffee was making. The cows who lived around were wild cows without tags in their ears. The people who lived around mostly played golf. An aimless, courseless golf. "You see that cottonwood over there?" one would suggest to another, and they'd knock their balls that way hoping for bad, challenging lies. Winning was for silly children. Eek. You must, dear reader, know that this is not a creative environment I'm much happy with and these pages, so chaotic and mis-spelt are more troubling to me than comfort, and yet there is some comfort to be derived from simply carrying on because I have found if you just can keep layering it up eventually you can paint out the bits you don't like and then you can cut it all up and rearrange it and then you can nail it to a board and leave it somewhere. I have nothing to sell but my geek show. I have nothing to sell but my geek show and my blue ukulele and my tulip seeds. I'm gonna stand out here in cyberspace and let you see my preening ego and my tounge tied attention deficit disorder and my silly dick and my continual failure to wrestle English into sense and all the alcohol derived scars and the unattractive screaming anger. I'm gonna let you see all that. I'm gonna invite you behind the curtain, see how wizards work. We gonna prepare a hoax. Hoaxes gonna be the Tulips of the Future. We gonna prepare a Blue Ukulele hoax. It's a healing hoax. In the Empire of Dr. Bienke "blue ukulele" is the Travelling Salesmen term for a sexually transmitted disease. 9:50:34 PM    comment []