M is for Myg

Live your god damned dream

Posted by Esteban

I know I’ll get better — I planned it that way — but right now it hurts like hell.

The nurse said the wound had gotten infected. He cleaned it and filled it with gauze, like a dentist fills your mouth with cotton balls. If the wound were a mouth. What language would it speak?

In Dante’s wood of suicides, when the branches break, words and blood come out together:

…we made our way into a forest
where there was no sign of any path.

No green leaves, no spreading branches,
No apples growing there — instead, ashen leaves;
knotted, twisted boughs; and poisoned thorns.

…and then I extened my hand
and snapped a little sprig from a great branch –
and the tree cried out: “Why do you wound me?”

…so from that broken branch, out came inseparably
the blood and the words together. I let the twig
fall — and I stood like a man in fear.*

And if my wound could talk?

I will hurry away, shrink into memory where the quiet suffering lies. Think of me as a ripple on a lake, vanishing after the wind dapples the shore with the rustle of lilies. I am nothing to fear.

The nurse made me tea from nettles. He said a wound is a memory. I remember when I was a kid. My friend and I were riding our bicycles over a stone bridge. His knuckles skinned against the wall, and a hole opened up in his hand; you could see the bones.

We’ve all been there. We’re thousands of years old. We still need love most of all.

——————————–

funk for the masses | 10 December 2007: play or right-click here to download.

Set list:

The Fabulous Counts: Jan Jan
The Fabulous Counts: Girl From Kenya
Brass Construction: Movin
Dyke and the Blazers: Funky Broadway (Part I)
Dyke and the Blazers: Funky Broadway (Part II)
JD and The Evil’s Dynamite Band: Haaa-Sheesh
Sir Joe Quarterman And FreeSoul: (I Got) So Much Trouble in My Mind
Shuggie Otis: Ice Cold Daydream
Commodores: Brick House
Daft Punk: Da Funk
Connie Price and The Keystones: Sucker Punch
The Whitefield Brothers: The Bastard
Lefties Soul Connection: Move What You Got
Fatback Band: Njia (NIJA) Walk
Funkadelic: Biological Speculation
Bettye LaVette: Your Turn to Cry

* Inferno XIII:

…noi ci mettemmo per un bosco
che da neun sentiero era segnato.

Non fronda verde, ma di color fosco;
non rami schietti, ma nodosi e ‘nvolti;
non pomi v’eran, ma stecchi con tòsco.

….allor porsi la mano un poco avante,
e colsi un ramicel da un gran pruno;
e ‘l tronco suo gridò: «Perché mi schiante?».

….sì de la scheggia rotta usciva insieme
parole e sangue; ond’io lasciai la cima
cadere, e stetti come l’uom che teme.

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7 Comments so far

  1. myg December 16th, 2007 1:44 pm

    the funck will heal us all

  2. Burgess December 17th, 2007 12:50 pm

    tonight the funck returns! Make a donation, place the afflicted parts of your body against the monitor screen during Esteban’s set, BE HEALED!

  3. Seraphine December 17th, 2007 1:18 pm

    You write the BEST posts, Estaban. Awesome.

    If my wounds could speak, they
    would say stop hurting yourself.

  4. cranach forder December 18th, 2007 4:02 am

    O Rose, thou art sick!
    The sick rose

    The invisible worm,
    That flies in the night,
    In the howling storm,

    Has found out thy bed
    Of crimson joy;
    And his dark secret love
    Does thy life destroy.

    ……by William Blake

  5. lulubett fairey December 18th, 2007 4:09 am

    A poison tree

    I was angry with my friend:
    I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
    I was angry with my foe:
    I told it not, my wrath did grow.

    And I watered it in fears
    Night and morning with my tears,
    And I sunned it with smiles
    And with soft deceitful wiles.

    And it grew both day and night,
    Till it bore an apple bright,
    And my foe beheld it shine,
    And he knew that it was mine -

    And into my garden stole
    When the night had veiled the pole;
    In the morning, glad, I see
    My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
    ****William Blake****

  6. Garret Larkham December 18th, 2007 12:50 pm

    Oh help me,
    please Doctor.
    I’m damaged.

    There’s a pain
    where there once
    was a heart.

    It’s sleepin’, it’s a beatin’.
    Could you please tear it out?
    And preserve rite there in that jar.
    —Jagger/Richards—

  7. Esteban December 19th, 2007 1:03 am

    Poems! They’re like flowers in my room. Thanks, friends!

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