Thursday, April 23, 2009

There you are!

Can we admire for a minute?

Before SaveFile Killed the Mood (by Daniel Harris Levine)

AND THE COFFEE pours from the porous sores sing soliloquizing up the competition. Though past products have manifested in the ways of "coherent" contextualized captions, the time has come to put aside silly things for matters more pressing.

This hanger takes time to twist tangle tootle type. Just kidding.

Caesar barks into microphones attached to umbilically to my hand boxes, saved and distorted, recanted and embellished with ever progressing doo-wop sensations. "24, 24, 24," three times a Lennon less three giant leaps of an unexpected u-hauling ass.

Astronauts from Florida combined, we have created--uh, looking, looking, cocoa-staring, start-stop-fairing-very-well-thank-you-old-lady-with-the-goat-ie--time to peacock.

The distraction caused my shaking legs shaking legs caused by the distraction of 'have you?''s and yous guys can find it in the back pages of the free press. These devices are neither convoluted excrements nor WHY can't I pluralize "excrement"? Am I wrong, or M.I. might be wrong.


Wednesday, April 22, 2009

(by Daniel Harris Levine) There

Are people coming in and out of my office. Waiting. For a meeting they hope to speak with the Person in chArge but. They come in. Saccharin smiles, greasy ponytail, bald. Lots of glasses between two people. My feet are sweating above the Lounge where it is freezing and he shut slammed my door. Again. Twice. I am not exactly hungry.

I will continue this elsewhere...


The pre-faced multigram hoodwinked children out of the soccer team stickers, mini-van speakers blowing different makers marking territory on cloudy Sunday afternoons. 'Fuck Sundays' they're called.

Fuck Sundays, indeed. I mean, c'mon, AM I WRITE!?

I love this part.

Free cake takers queasing out on the sidewalk. If you can replicate what my nose just heard, I swear to fucking god I'll hike the grass.

The dolphin-baby-sitter-fucker sat on the Filthy Throne and produced an ooze bubble with baby maggot inside. Not exactly a rip, more of a reference. He was quick to rid himself of soul music and eager for an abundance of pasty shit torrents of woodwind book burnings. Twelve and thirteen year-olds like it because they don't know any better. That's plural, non-possessive.

Gotta have standards. Cue the music! An ornithological mess of note-sharing puts the bartender on the table, takes off top, toots tiny tenor imitation, and Bird tears through the rest. IT. He's got IT.

2. 4. 2. 4. 2. 4. 2. 4. 2. 4. 2. 4. 2. 4. 2. 4. 2. 4.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

(by Daniel Harris Levine)

I once chipped my tooth while eating a salad.

I once chipped my tooth while eating a shower.

I once chipped my tooth while eating in the shower.

I once ate my hair while chipping a clowner.

Eat the downer. Hone the cower.

The blouse-maker's daughter-in-law was close than she appeared. Combing the brain waves and whipping the curl, ants proceeded gracefully up her climb. Bark bite knuckle sandwich heads out the window down the freeway. Seven dominants, diminishing fifths, and sexaphone soli. Blow-job in the kid's film. Let me think; did I do that? Somebody stole the missing stone from the ring!

Bucket-dropping, fish-fighting, porcupine-race-track-wearing, orphanage banishing gold.

Hide behind Palms Frans boulevard, cough cough, chicken dance. Isn't he the cat that encourages hawking work for colour TVs?

Lighter fluid lighter fluid

Sniff smell satisfied. Satisfied loser.

Relax shoulders put this thing down. Coming out of the bread box, two-tone marsupials catch a ride on the 500 lbs mammal. Now Dawn, she done didn't moon bowls of elite sucking candy, for a long, long time.

Leave the activists alone. Fuck the activists.
Morgan lost her cuddles and hired a panty detectionive.

That fucking bird.

They always call it "31 Flavors."

Friday, April 17, 2009

Goodnight Granny (by Daniel Harris Levine)

Seven years ago I went to 'Hemp Fest' down on the Boston Commons.

Afterward, waiting for the commuter train back to Worcester, I was pleasantly privy to drunk douchie mush-heads yelling "Hey Granny! Hey Granny! Goodnight Granny!" to an elderly woman quietly passing-out on a bench. This is what she looked like and what I suspect her dreams were...


I'm listening to Frank Zappa & The Mothers of Invention album "Weasels Ripped My Flesh." I think this is my favourite album of theirs. I'm fairly certain of this. I haven't yet eaten today and the ravishing hunger ebbs in waves of pain and soothing melody. The feeling of feet patrolling the real estate below my chair cracks open the much needed Argonaut fort. And then. Summer written by hand while others typed. The following flesh flood sticks forks in circular fashions and standard diatribe. If you haven't heard if you don't know, get the video. Please, answer the video.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Upcoming Shows!!! (updated)

4/17/09 @ Savant Project in Mission Hill, MA (w/The Doctors Fox)

4/18/09 @ Sparhawk House in Brighton, MA (w/Alan Cohen Experience and Streight Angular)

5/13/09 @ Church in The Fens (w/Gypsy Cab, Hayburner, The Bynars, Gyby and the Buzzkills)

5/14/09 @ Webster Bank in New Bedford, MA (Performing two melodic sets for the UMASS Dartmouth senior art show, featuring the illustrations of Joe "Joebot" Bastardo)