Artist: Muebles Pasados de Moda
Album: Silence: More Profound Than Pure Silence
The first few notes of Silence: More Profound Than Pure Silence feel like a blurry soundtrack of 1974, like some holiday couple on a walk near a river in Buenos Aires or La Paz or Lima. A down tempo warble bass line and slither-saturated wheeze drift color the (more…)
PART I: THE ORIGINS OF FEMININE BEAUTY
A long time ago, in God’s celestial kingdom, the big man Himself summoned His angels together and commanded them to pay Him obeisance. All but one obeyed. The angel who refused to bow to God was cast out of heaven and exiled to the underworld. This angel, (more…)
F I D D L E M U S I C
We come to hear him play, eventually, this fiddle madman, his dervish tunes
drive us to frenzy with the images of long forgotten friends and car crashes.
Swimming out of the ligatures, they dance to us and leer at our fortune,
privately winking to each other over our indiscretions. They take (more…)
About Face! : A Confederacy of Clichés
Got bones to pick?
Something yanking your chain?
Coast to coast, the clock is ticking
and what goes up, must come down – (more…)
“This is Radio Free Kosovo – Your voice of democracy throughout the Balkans. We come to all of thee, from our soul to your soul, for the soul of Kosovo.”
Lieutenant Krisman stared at the small transistor radio sputtering out the fast, high-pitched voice. It sat on a rock in the bright winter sun just beyond the shade of the pine trees. He took one last drag from the cigarette that hung limply from his mouth, (more…)
Around her neck is a two-leveled
cage, and in each she keeps a spare
face. They bounce like popcorn when
she walks or bends down. This doesn’t bother
her in the least. To cage oneself in (more…)
Approaching the theme park, between sun-sizzled asphalt and heat-warped sky, the first thing Hemadri noticed were the strippers. They stood out, burlesque and painted, twelve or so of them. Parts of their skin were exposed to the streaming summer light–between the hems of their blouses and the waistbands of their shorts, and miles of leg which stretched beneath these, and little patches inside strappy wedge sandals. They lounged in (more…)
This bouquet of
broken twigs leaves
your hands and mine
splintered in our (more…)
Beakers and burners and
she was a squirrel in a
past life, she is rumored
to have thought… (more…)
It makes you sad when your own child doesn’t like Rye bread.
What kind of person doesn’t even like white bread?
It’s whole wheat for him; it’s always been
whole wheat because enriched flour is bad for his stomach. (more…)