HOW IT IS BETWEEN MAN AND WOMAN

the moon was full, he felt the pull and wandered from the hunt

his father called and brothers all, yes we will find my son 

oh brother lost oh brother oh a vale of trees he found

oh brother lost oh brother climbed in high above the ground

tightly squeezed through thorny trees, he saw a pool there

in it a maiden bathing and the moonlight draped her hair

oh brother lost oh brother oh she hadn't on a stitch

oh brother lost oh brother let a whistle from his lips

stillness breached she could not reach up to her folded dress

oh his eyes burned she quickly turned and soaked him with a splash

oh brother lost oh brother oh all wet and in a daze

oh brother lost oh brother oh it did not break his gaze

if luck befell, you're free to tell you saw me in the nude

now afright, the moon alight, his feet grew into hooves

oh brother lost oh brother antlers sprouting from his crown

oh brother lost oh brother now he's scared and off he bounds

o'er hills and logs, the bark of dogs lends him to a breath

he turns to shout, come get me out, but his mouth the message kept 

oh brother lost oh brother oh they're gaining on you now

oh brother lost oh brother chased down by the hounds

father yelled, my boys be well, our hounds have found a stag

although one less, our god has blessed and filled our hunting bag

oh brother lost oh brother oh we search unto the dawn

oh brother lost oh brother oh yes we will find my son

quoncunque jeceris stabit

WORD OF THE DAY: LASSITUDE

[las-i-tood, -tyood]

–noun 1.weariness of body or mind from strain, oppressive climate etc.; lack of energy; listlessness; languor.
-noun 2.a condition of indolent indifference
Origin:
1525–35; < L lassitūdō weariness, equiv. to lass(us) weary + -i- -i- + -tūdō -tude

Our story begins in the mind of a writer. Inside this writer's mind lay a vast depository of letters, numbers and symbols commonly strung together to form words and the words strung together to form sentences. This writer strings together sentences to form paragraphs and the resulting paragraphs are then sold on a piecework basis to the Economist.

The second paragraph starts with me biting my nails and waiting on an elevator. I am in the Federal Reserve, where I replaced a machine, and I am taking the mail to Janet Yellen. I am drinking your coffee and I am reading the Economist. The word lassitude catches my eye and my brain will not come up with a matching definition. I try to continue flipping through the magazine, perusing, gorging myself on events over which I have no control. Alas, I cannot. I must know.

Our third paragraph has me continuing through the building, floor by floor, catching peoples' eye and asking them if they know the definition of "lassitude." Classic icebreaker. I give the example in context. Only one, of maybe thirty, hazards a guess. Very few even reckon. The blank eyes of the chronically indifferent. Almost all silent and stone faced.

I find myself alone in the elevator thinking is there a name for this state of languor? This lack of energy or these weary eyes? With spring just around the corner; will I come back to life? What do you make of these lines that keep appearing on my face? Is this environment not suitable for neurons to fritter and synapses to fire? What is this state of indifference; this stasis; this?

Some questions just never get answered.

OPEN!NG UP TEH MAILS

dear toby,

i had a dream last night:

i was playing bass for guns and roses on this enormous stage in front of thousands of people. before we went on, axel gave me a piece of paper with all the changes for all the songs. when we got on stage, i had lost the paper, didn't have the changes. the stage was so big that the other band members were literally a hundred yards or more away, so i could barely see them. i couldn't hear my bass at all in the monitors but the soundman behind me kept yelling that it was fine on the house speakers. so the throngs could hear what i was playing but i couldn't. therefore i had no idea if what i was playing was right. i kept playing in A and hoping for the best, thinking someone would surely tell me if i was out of key. no one did. the soundman in my dreams probably just turned me down in the mix. fucker.

yr friend,
chris m

Well Chris M.,

You did the right thing.

Toby

VOICEMAIL EXPERIMENT #46: THE FAN THAT DISPELS THE SMOKE AROUND ACTION

Left for me Friday January 16th 3:16 pm EST


"I could just see you sitting at some workbench, like, meticulously and manically, you know, fashioning this lure, you know, like, up for days, refusing sleep and food and everything all in the quest of fashioning the perfect lure to catch this perfect fucking fish. That it's probably no longer even about the fish, really. It's probably about something in you now. And, uh, probably something that you gotta prove, or something left undone...On some level, probably something as simple as can you catch it –still? Can you have it if you want it –still? Can you you gain some kind of unseen upper hand that doesn't really exist, you know? You gotta ask yourself, man, whats it all really about? What are you really trying to do, man? Clarify your intent in one sentence. If you can come with one sentence thats not bullshit that is, you know, no, you know, bullshit about it. One sentence on your true intent, with this situation, I think that'd be very, very useful to you and I would love to hear that sentence when you get it. And don't make it a fucking compound sentence or a runon sentence or any kind of bullshit. I'm talking about one sentence. I may allow one comma, depending on the use of the comma, but nothing more. So. And then you know, further, I think, if we could, you know, in any situation whittle our intent down to one non-bullshit laden sentence; I think thats a good thing. Find the sentence. I wanna hear the sentence. Maybe help me find my sentence. Fuck. This. Bullshit. Take care, brother."

SO I NEVER LEARNT MY AA BB CC'S

Adam's Apple
Baby Bottle
Carbon Copy
Drug Drawer
Electric Eel
Fatal Flaw
Good Graces
Half-Hearted

NASHVILLE KNIVES DOWNLOAD

The Nashville Knives feature "Picker" Dan Bilger on guitar, Ryan Deasy on bass, Barry Elkins on mandolin, and Toby Oler on banjo.
01. Heartbreak
02. Barefoot Nellie
03. When I Swam Across the World (Becky Levi featuring the Nashville Knives)
04. Southern Flavor>Columbus Stockade Blues
05. Slewfoot
06. Foggy Mountain Special>White Freightliner Blues
07. Stealin' Hearts
08. Hard Times
Click for Download

LAST POST OF 2008 VOICEMAIL EXPERIMENT #45

left for me on
nov 30 12:37 pm Eastern Time


"The man looks at me and he says, 'life is like making sausage.' He says, 'you take some good shit, some real good shit, but you also take some real bad shit, like teeth and bone, but also good shit like meat. See, you take the whole range of shit from the really nasty fucked up shit to all the way to the really good shit and you grind it. Ok. And its work. The grinding is work. Its a process to take all the shit and you combine it into one thing, ok, into one thing that's not fucking fantastic, but its decent. It's good to have, you know what I'm saying. It's not steak. It's not fucking prime rib. But it's better than nothing and it's ok on crackers with some mustard, you know what I'm saying?'

“So often we ponder life. What is it? Is it good? Is it bad? What is it? Well, you know what? It's some really good shit. It's some bad shit. Its some fantastic shit and some bullshit. But once we grind, and if we grind, and the grinding's not easy, mind you, but if we continue to grind; the finished whole that we will get is something that is better than nothing. It's decent.

"So I had to listen this dumbass for, like, two hours to get this sausage making metaphor, but I got it and I think thats why I was there is to get this. So...today, thats what we're working with; life is like making fucking sausage. Ok, and ultimately, that metaphor gives you somewhat an optimistic look on life, cause like I said, what you get what you get when your done is ok, it's not great but it's ok. Such is life.

"So we've got performing above the median. We've got life is like making sausage and I'll tell you, that's really, you know, all I'm working with so far this morning. Uhh, its pretty early here. I've only been out of bed for about forty five minutes. Uhh, my hair does look pretty fantastic, so I got that going for me. Also, got some new sunglasses on. I'm feeling pretty good about that. It's super overcast here, but you know me and sunglasses, plus I got new ones, so I'm totally fucking wearing 'em."

THE RETURN OF CHRILISSA: THE TWO HEADED MONSTER

The Stereofidelics are a multi-instrumental martial arts indie jazzrock duo that fights in the style of the octopus.  North Carolina's own Chris Padgett and Melissa Mcginley are two of my favorite buddies to pick with and could tell a lot of stories on but won't.  They recorded their debut album, Only Sleeping, at their mountainside chateau and music compound, complete with bidet at 2200 feet above sea level, Nowhere Studios. They are probably coming to your town soon, so check out their tour dates at www.thestereofidelics.com or at www.myspace.com/thestereofidelics.

THE NEVER DONE NARCOTIC

It's the never done narcotic.

This gift to man from science

lasts a lifetime, plus or minus.

Now we all have steady focus

and I'll tell you where we got it;

It's the never done narcotic.

It eliminates redundancy

so start with scrubbing one for me

get down on your hands and knees

that that's a moving sponge I see

must scrub until all space is free

scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub

until time is occupied by none

and if I spy a dusty speck,

a spotted pook, a paltry fleck

I'll tell you, if there is a single one

that our work here is never done.

It's the never done narcotic.

BARRIO TENEMENTS

Hello November.