It sounds beautiful

A beautiful piece from Dinosaur Bees.

The Sound Effects Bible
Larry O. Dean

In the beginning God created the hammering and the electric shaver.

And the cavern was without footsteps, and vacuuming; and darkness was upon the dripping faucet of the sink. And the Spirit of God moved upon the sizzling of the frying pan.

And God said, Let there be light switches: and there was light switches.

And God saw the light switches, that it was good: and God divided the light switches from the doorbells.

And God called the light switches Click, and the dishwasher he called Swoosh.

And the distant plane and the match scratches were the first incoming fax.

And God said, Let there be a floor creak in the midst of the whistling, and let it divide the whipping cream from the washing hands.

And God made the busy signals, and divided the dial tones which were under the hang ups from the ringtones which were above the dogs barking: and it was so.

And God called the coffee grinder Growl. And the garage door and the gas stove were the spigot.

And God said, Let the snoring under the ricochet be gathered together unto one place, and let the alarm clock appear: and it was so.

And God called the toilet flush Gush; and the gathering together of the cheering called he Hooray: and God saw that it was good.

And God said, Let the cell phone bring forth vibrating, the chainsaw yielding buzz, and the modem yielding dial-up after his kind, whose sink draining is in itself, upon the suck: and it was so.

And the explosions brought forth glass, squeaking and breaking after his kind, and the cream yielding shaving, whose scraping was in itself, after his kind: and God saw that it was good.

And the chattering and the heckling were the studio audience.

And God said, Let there be bravos in the brushing of the carpet to divide the scissors from the sharpening; and let them be for screeches, and for splashes, and for dings, and yells:

and let them be for moos in the clearing of the throats to give ouch upon the eek: and it was so.

And God made two great kisses; the greater kiss to rule the mouth, and the lesser kiss to rule the cheek: he made the smooches also.

And God set them in the oven of the microwaves to give boiling upon the water,

and to rule over the slam and over the deadbolt, and to divide the zip from the zipper: and God saw that it was good.

And the splashing and the sploshing were the motocross.

And God said, Let the bathtub bring forth abundantly the frothing faucet that hath splatter, and keys that may drop onto the bazooka in the open jingle and jangle.

And God created great farts, and every spaceship takeoff that zoometh, which the hair dryer brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every camera click after his kind: and God saw that it was good.

And God blessed them, saying, Be boiling eggs, and bubble, and fill the gusting winds in the hurricanes, and let horses whinny on the slot machines.

And the beep and the burp were the heartbeat.

And God said, Let the ambulance bring forth the siren after his kind, shredder and aerosol can, and bang of the firecracker after his kind: and it was so.

And God made the dentist drill after his kind, and crackling campfire after their kind, and every thing that twangeth upon the train after his kind: and God saw that it was good.

And God said, Let us crash hot rods on our speedways, after our horn honks: and let them have flat tires over the gravel of the roads, and over the screeching of the steel-belted radials, and over the noisy mufflers, and over all the rattling, and over every braking thing that braketh upon the pavement.

So God created ticker-tapes in his own image, in the image of God created he him; effervescence and gurgling created he them.

And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be beep, and buzz, and bowl the ball, and smack it: and have dominion over the disposal of the garbage, and over the register of the cash, and over every flapping wing that flappeth upon the fire extinguisher.

And God said, Behold, I have given you every wine glass clinking, which is upon the tinkling of all the stemware, and every toaster, in the which is the propellor of everything Cessna; to you it shall be for throttling.

And to every jackhammer of the pneumatic, and to every blender of the liquefying, and to every thing that pureeth upon the velcro, wherein there is chopping, I have given every sputter for splat: and it was so.

And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.

And the helicopter and the laser beam were the can-opener.

Death of a Naturalist

All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampotfuls of the jellied
Specks to range on window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.
Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.

--- Seamus Heaney

iPhone Fail: Frank Prevails!

I tried mercilessly to use my iPhone to post this poem the other day. Copy and pasting on this beast still alludes me, as does talking on the phone WITHOUT accidentally hanging up.


SLEEPING ON THE WING


Perhaps it is to avoid some great sadness,
as in a Restoration tragedy the hero cries "Sleep!
O for a long sound sleep and so forget it!"
that one flies, soaring above the shoreless city,
veering upward from the pavement as a pigeon
does when a car honks or a door slams, the door
of dreams, life perpetuated in parti-colored loves
and beautiful lies all in different languages.

Fear drops away too, like the cement, and you
are over the Atlantic. Where is Spain? where is
who? The Civil War was fought to free the slaves,
was it? A sudden down-draught reminds you of gravity
and your position in respect to human love. But
here is where the gods are, speculating, bemused.
Once you are helpless, you are free, can you believe
that? Never to waken to the sad struggle of a face?
to travel always over some impersonal vastness,
to be out of, forever, neither in nor for!

The eyes roll asleep as if turned by the wind
and the lids flutter open slightly like a wing.
The world is an iceberg, so much is invisible!
and was and is, and yet the form, it may be sleeping
too. Those features etched in the ice of someone
loved who died, you are a sculptor dreaming of space
and speed, your hand alone could have done this.
Curiosity, the passionate hand of desire. Dead,
or sleeping? Is there speed enough? And, swooping,
you relinquish all that you have made your own,
the kingdom of your self sailing, for you must awake
and breathe your warmth in this beloved image
whether it's dead or merely disappearing,
as space is disappearing and your singularity.

Frank O'Hara
[1957]

Jump

Poetry Corner

You cut me open

Who's gonna run this town tonight?


I'm not ever going to shut you out.


Keep it cool.



There sound will sleep the traveller, And dream his journey's end

Choux Pastry Heart

You said I was gamine/ But we didn't mean the same thing I think


Our only theories were inside of our hands

He's the Man

Poem

Some days I feel that I exude a fine dust
like that attributed to Pylades in the famous
Chronica nera areopagitica when it was found

and it’s because an excavationist has
reached the inner chamber of my heart
and rustled the paper bearing your name

I don’t like that stranger sneezing over our love

-Frank O’Hara

It Was Never About TLC

Some guy once made this joke that a kid couldn't get a date in high school if he didn't know who TLC was . . . funny. Those ladies were great, but it was never about TLC.

But I'm dead serious about this don't even bother with me if you haven't listened to The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (or if you don't know how to properly pronounce Sade). Go watch some cartoons or something, but forget my name.

Dream hard and play fair,
Cindy Mayweather

You won't find me at some store/I have no time for manicures/With you it's never either or/Cuz nothing even matters . . .