Showing posts with label Geese. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Geese. Show all posts

Sunday, December 31, 2023

MANIFESTO & SUPERMANIFESTO 2024


 Manifesto & Supermanifesto 2024 begins with the most unexpected development of my career. On November 27, University Press of Mississippi released my nonfiction book Poor Gal: The Cultural History of Little Liza Jane. This capped an intensive six-year research process into the most important folk song in American history. Aside from all the stunning historical information I absorbed as well as learning so many “Liza Jane” songs that now regularly dance inside my head, I developed quite a bit as a writer. It was important to step out of my “creative writing voice” and into a realm that was far more important than “me.” For once, I did not find myself trying to write poetry or fiction by depending upon “my own legend.” Instead, I functioned as a conduit for “Liza Jane” to tell its estimable story, one that reminds us of our shared humanity.


I could not have written Poor Gal without significant mentorship by a bloke named David Evans. A two-time Grammy winner, musician, professor emeritus, author, and blues ambassador, David provided patient, old-school guidance from the darkest days of the pandemic all the way to the book’s production. I had read his legendary book Big Road Blues when I lived in Arcata, but I should like to note the appearance of Going Up the Country, a 2023 work David co-wrote with Marina Bokelman. Going Up the Country blends an adventure narrative with detailed notes about making field recordings and, at its heart, relays an edgy investigation into American folk and blues music.



I enter 2024 with an ambitious creative agenda. I am hoping to step back to the microphone once again as a lyricist-vocalist with a band. Together with my colleague Emily Cohen, I am / we are still cranking away on a documentary film about “Little Liza Jane.” Emily and I feel a renewed sense of momentum regarding this endeavour (sic). Having seen Poor Gal hit the bookshelves, I have returned (buoyantly) to my “creative writing practice” or rather my “roots” as a writer. On the one hand, this would involve dealing with some shocking experiences—such as the long-ago murder of my friend Warren—as well as rendering myself more “vulnerable” in the presence of my own foibles. 



This too, of course. Not long after my friend (and his girlfriend) were murdered, my brother David Gutstein passed away. He had just turned 27. Over the last twelve months, I have really reflected upon the gift of life. One that I have been fortunate enough to enjoy but my brother was not fully able to: he has been gone, by now, for more years than he lived. He had not really gotten started. I visited his grave earlier this year and it really f****** hurt. Yet this well of emotion cannot simply smolder. It must lead to creativity, community—and earthly love. 



“I hate spending a lot of time in graveyards / We’re all gonna spend a lot of time in graveyards.” I meant these lyrics with both acidic and ironic properties alike. (Obviously, they follow from my admission above.) This music video from Joy on Fire’s 2022 album States of America is certainly titled for the season. The song features a medium burn and a more lyrical presentation than some of the hard-charging songs we fashioned together. Too, John Paul Carillo (bass, guitar) and Anna Meadors (saxophones) visited some fabulous production values on the effort. They filmed half of it in Trenton and the other half here, with me, in the Rockville, Md. area. “Show interest / Show interest / I show interest you” is aimed at you, my friend. Reach out. Let’s talk.



Let us not end the year without some serious geese and gosling action. Have a gander at this here gaggle as they comply with local traffic signage. They do not run afoul of going the wrong way down a one-way, so you can relax, the giant yellow arrow tells said waddlers where to waddle. These fowls are headed to the creek, where they can duck back onto the water. Even as they disappear around the bend, it is not their swan song. These here gooses can be seen regularly in the air as a plump wedge. In fact, they live in the same habitat (where their habit is at) as my best animal friend forever, the mischievous scoundrel known as The Fox.



People ask me have you seen The Fox? Well, yes I have. She is quite robust. Rusty red. Full of mischief. A true scoundrel of the finest calibre (sic). This summer, I spent some time with her before I went to live downtown in a friend’s apartment. Perhaps she sensed that I might be departing for a bit, so we chilled in the shallow woods, enjoying each other’s company. For some reason, the fake Australian accent emerges—“You’re a good lookin’ fox, man”—but she’s a vixen, not a reynard (sic). When she sees me, she has this way of darting a short distance away and then abruptly sitting down. She slays me pretty good with her wily shenanigans!


I’ll never forget the day The Fox let me sit at the edge of the den, where her seven kits flounced about, clearly inheritors of the same vulpine mischief. She brought seven rascally souls into the world!


Notably, in 2023, I vanquished my first chess-bot rated 2000—even as I played the black pieces! I am usually too chicken to sacrifice my queen, but I did so because an opportunity presented itself. And lo, the chess-bot was check-mated. Heh heh heh.

Happy New Year, Everyone! My very best wishes to you and your loved ones.



It would not be a true Blood And Gutstein post without a thumping R&B shaker. You may know Booker T. and the MGs for their hit “Green Onions” but I will take “MG Party” any day. The addition of horns to the classic lineup really clinches this song as a romping dance-floor instrumental from 1964. The infectious, propulsive beat will overcome the proceedings. To wit, let us flounce like kits, let us sacrifice our queens, let us croon at the microphone, let us be mentored, let us tell the kinds of tales that exemplify our connections to one another. Above all else, let us strive for peace and love. This is aimed at you, my friend. Reach out. Let’s talk.


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discographical information for “MG Party”
Booker T. and the MG’s. “MG Party” B-side b/w “Soul Dressing” A-side. Stax S-153, Memphis, Tennessee, 1964. Likely personnel: Booker T. Jones (organ); Steve Cropper (guitar); Donald Dunn (bass guitar); Al Jackson, Jr. (drums); Wayne Jackson (trumpet); Floyd Newman (baritone saxophone); Charles “Packy” Axton (tenor saxophone). Compositional credit: Jones, Cropper, Jackson, Dunn.


Thursday, May 5, 2022

CUB LIFE: THE RED FOX KITS ENGAGE IN NUTTY MAYHEM & WE HAVE THE FOOTAGE.



My fondness for foxes knoweth no boundaries. In fact, I have befriended a wild red fox and these are her cubs. Some days, I count seven of them. Some days, eight. It’s like, one day, there’s an extra kit, somehow. They leap, do the kits. They tussle. They careen ahead. On the nuttiness scale, I give them a 10 out of 10. Their nutty mayhem exceeds the norms, by several standard deviations! My friend, the mother fox, must shake her head at all this mayhem. She has more kits than the woman who lived in that funky old shoe. Clearly, the mother fox digs all of these offsprings, because all of them look good. At the end of the clip, you can see that I’ve made a new buddy. Li’l fella. Li’l critter. Oh yeah




Yes, I know about the flamingoes. Please don’t tell me that a wild red fox (allegedly) broke into the zoo and ate two dozen flamingoes. (And one duck.) I concede this alleged mal-pheasants (sic). Some of you eat meat. Some of you, like me, are vegetarians. (Or okay, they cook me a fish once in a while, where “they” equals salmon canneries.) Did the squash ask to be harvested? Did the salmon leap willingly into the net? Did the flamingo hanker to see the wild red fox (purportedly) squeezing through some kind of preposterous hole in the fence? We all want to eat. Nobody wants to be eaten. These geese seem to be gradually reaching a state of awareness concerning such matters. As do the kits. 




The shadows of the little ears in late day sun motes. The pouncing! I mean, with seven (or eight) siblings, that means seven (or eight) pouncings, daily, hourly, momentarily. Lo, the pouncings. The game of tag around the tree. The chases. The tail-bitings. Lo, the tail-bitings. Occasionally, you’ll view the solitary kit, the introspective kit, the sensitive soul, the tortured artist! But not for long. Because they pounceth anew. They tail-biteth anew. Lo, the little ears in late day shadows. I think it is a perfectly defensible position in life to want, to be, one of these kits. I know I want, to be, one of these nutty cubs.


Further Reading: 

For more information on the chapbook that chronicles my relationship with the mother of these kits, please see this here post, and thanks again to Phyllis Rosenzweig at Primary Writing Books, for publishing said chapbook.

Moreover, this is the post that started it all. 

The videos are titled: (1) Red Fox Kits Nuttiness! (2) Fox Kits Organize a Delegation to Meet the Geese. (3) Cub Life -- The Red Fox Kits. Oi.