the killing grove--dungen--collateral murder--lovelife

lovelife

lovelife

is the band.
it's old school, underground nashville sound, with its roots in northwest grunge as it squeaked through car radios in parking lots.
it was made on the floor with peter pan books at the scary library, by the masonic lounge, where the masons smoked marlboro reds.
it had a van.   it went across by half.

friends of lovelife died or moved away.
lovelife stopped reading the news, after 9/11.
everything became a comic book, creative possibilty was the new hope.
lovelife has a song for everyone, and everyone is the one and only, my one and only friend.
my one and only friend is scratching at the door like a cat, but i have to write this about love.
the cat heard all the alarms and clawed the screen.
it would not tolerate the screech.

lovelife sat up nights at jitters, dyed its hair, shaved it.
lovelife tried.

lovelife went to the zoo, and the apes said "who you looking at?" crying into your snow cone, recognizing breathren.
the new luddites merged with the old luddites, and confirmed, CIA aside, it was best to try the internet, for listeners.
but lovelife isn't as profound as nothing you ever felt as mean as last thoughts on wood guthrie or the defrauding of the worms.
there was a family, and there were children.
they born in the ash of Hiroshima, delivered by a cold war hearse.  they had not money for the trees, they cut them down.
and all left was concrete, to lay their veterans on.
it won't be long.
the mafia sang "death to america and those who love her" and somebody kept typing "wikileaks" into a keyboard like a digital peace crane.
there were so many, united, hanging from the ceiling.
they lived in the occupiedzone by the empire of the sun, the sunshine press spit news at them through the may window and doop.
the abu ghraib salon.
lovelife holds court by springwater, where far goes the grove yonder, with oga nasa mun, twas sung to a cat or for children, verses in threes.
lovelife has friends on every corner, in interscope's cocaine.
lovelife telephoned tel aviv. no more, brotherless might we be, when all was psychedelic, nothing would hit me, when his lung collapsed.  then truly you were my brother, where i prayed, upon the snow waiting for your orb.
and when the humans walked on earth, forward not side to side
it was dancing to collateral murder
that moved her
the woman by the sea.
they drank human blood out of skulls and said so by wikileaks, and bradley was in prison forever, and gaga screamed.
lovelife hung out by the river, but the river wasnt what it was, before the pollution. but most of it was sent to africa, while europe breathed, a sigh of dignity escapes my face, who leaves?
there lovelife told me, by northest force of truth, the lateral compression of universe, by aisle, where youth without youth, topsy turvy, in the sunrise, and the police they beat her down, at any given moment she was dying, by the sound, of this minute, or ten bits, or a piece of strand, family was all, festival.
lovelife held hands.
father was strong and chanting, and said into the sixties "lets go to the movies" to forget Vietnam.



in sweden, the human sacrifices, upon which the uppsalla university system were built, included human massacres, upon the sacred grove, the killing fields, where too also outside, the nobel prize museum, went under massacres of nobles, it was so cold.
and starvation on gamla stan was immanent, for the drinkers of blood in the snow, and the donner party was near, and there.

oga nasa mun
i sang this to a black cat sitting on a high wall
i had left poetry for the poet and read poems of my father to my father
and it was only natural to sing oga nasa mun with "meow" for the swedish and reine fiske's guitar part the funnest part to sing.

whe we tied the strings together it looked like this: my best friend played guitar for perry farrell who jazzed it up at splendour with christine assange.
my best friend is nick maybury, who has work and friends too numerous to count from australia to japan.
"even i myself am not nick maybury" said the cartoon circa 2009.
lovelife called for press.
lovelife goes to the movies.
what's playing at the movies?
collateral murder.

it was then gustav, with his fast offhand way, like mirror image of myself, who said to me, i saw the film, of wikileaks, the helicopter, killing.
not much happening in america, where-ever that is, state of mind.
and a year has past since my keeping, and i'm not down.
apache, keep shooting, and then
they put him in a collar to go down, to the very wire, to do the work, to unwrite all men's wars, dungen was the grove, where harold knelt.
and there, in stupor, lovelife, looked into the face of a child, where all is kept.  all secrets of every age, are not written in lines of law or crime, but in tears of mothers history is told, and rhymes.
the agony of melody the nameless stood, between gamla stan and sodermalm looking for whats good.
in this whole world, where nothingness, clung on humans like fat on bone, and the nothing look of the hollow men, held purse.
so lovelife goes the movies, all the time.  all the movies of your mind of lovers gone and past, and futures not yet had.
the movies tell me soft a tale, of england where in hand, a scap of paper was given me, and evidence by man, forthcoming genocides will now unfold, and all the bards be damned, lock up your children and your minds, at last.
whence this way and that at witching hour, the courts may soft begin, issue imprecation, gainst the cold, and others who let in, the pirates took and plundered all till we arrived at war.
what use has music to us in this hall?
music suits not the dreadful meaning, of lying day to day, to hide the sinking feeling, of civilizations swept away. as people then go under, to the cannibals pursuit, and massacre upon massacre holds your worth, when living you are standing, and so there on the dead, the dead upon whom you tread, yee undead, as all else is but conjecture, and the tenderness i feel, for the harshness of a meeting, and your cut.
as severed me from he in time, a glance to set me free, my chains were illusions after all, and so too might you be. then best and first of present time, the love last in my heart, our heroes and our elders will take heart, when scribe we here, beneath this tree of the temperament of coins.
you are all that you suppose and more. dear
for lovelife
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lovelife-Goes-To-The-Movies/dp/B005O4T0Z8

prairie orchids
for
the millenium
pressed for dead girls
like andrea