10tonfunk

Loyal reader: since you check this space daily, you’ve probably already noticed that I haven’t been blogging up a storm lately. In fact you can keep that umbrella for drizzle, because, since I usually get home and pass out before any profundity can be recorded and posted on the interwebs, the window of blogportunity (TM) is narrower than Snoop’s eyes. I’m tired because I spend 13 or so hours a day on the set of a kungfu TV show. It’s a long story but I’m documenting it, when not busy trying to steal swords from the prop guys, in mercifully brief pomes. Like Danny DeVito, the poems are short, pop up at weird times, and are lacking polish. They’re called Songs of Song because the show is set in that dynasty, and because Jesus, or one of his crew, said so.

I’m doing a lot of reading and posting a lot of the links on Tumblr. I am managing to post Tracks o the Day on Beats Royale fairly frequently. If ...read more

Standing in the freezing courtyard of a Daoist temple
listening to Jay Z
mean muggin young peasant extras and feeling bad
drinking Italian coffee out of a tupperware cup covered in stickers
breath hanging in the air like the bags under actresses eyes
Can no longer tell what’s a set and what’s history

Dark sides of meat hanging off the ribs of a panel truck
A corner electronics store offering a shiny display of rice cookers
to a dead street and a bend in the highway
Jackie Chan ad smiling down upon the folly
One child slogans painted on brick walls and houses
mixed with ads for car repair, cell phone stores
Life with one baby is so much better

Those that can afford to have built their own houses
studded with bizarre tile patterns, motley assortments of columns and balconies
a decorator’s catalog thrown into the air
scraped off the floor and shuffled into a floor plan
ample meterage for an Evita-style serenade

The countryside still wriggling in Deng’s embrace
a short man with a long reach ...read more

A funeral procession trundles through the chilled gray streets
unfocused
staring at the RV as it rolls past
Fireworks popping ineffectively at the hazy morning chill

I just came from the place in
my memory palace where
the black girls go missing,
your mausoleum
floor spattered with gleaming charcoal splotches of hair dye

it’s getting so I can’t afford the mortgage on these memories
black clad assassins keep putting holes in the roof ...read more