Jonathan Twingley's Blog, page 19

Radio King

RADIO KING

Red head, blue head

Radio King free

Camp fire, stove wire

Mongolian winter tree.

Stove pipe, lamp light

Dump truck Blues

Radio King, knee slapper

Animals in two's.

Curb side, local tribe

Burger stand peddler

Monkey paper cup chump

Country music fiddler.

European radio

Telephone rings

Radio told him, whispered warm:

"You're a European King."

Food fight, late night

Panty raid affair

Radio King, side kick

Political scare.

Radio King,  Radio King

Radio King stand

span

New Blues #4

New Blues #3

New Blues #2

New Blues #1

Hall of Fame: Horst Janssen

Nobody I talk to ever knows who Horst Janssen was, but his hometown does – they built a museum for him in Oldenburg, Germany.  He was sort of a Tom Waits of the Graphic Arts.  He wasn't an easel painter.  His sanity seems questionable, but maybe that's what I love so much in his work:  Draftsmanship on a high level with a consistent impulse to mess the machinery up.  Drawing and printmaking were matters of life and death to Horst Janssen.  Heaven was the process.

Hall of Fame: Edgar Allan Poe

Hall of Fame: R.B. Kitaj

Fireflies (A Short Story)

Insomnia has a sound.  Usually it's something like a hollow wooden tick-tick-tick – the sound of a clock – or sometimes it's a faint metallic noise, mercury dripping into a rusty bucket of lukewarm water.  It's a frustrating sound because you can't really put your finger on exactly what it is, but when the angels of sleep won't come, that sound is there.

In New York City, where I am tonight, an alley cat outside my studio window is howling holy hell for a mate.  It's summertime in the...

Fireflies

Insomnia has a sound.  Usually it's something like a hollow wooden tick-tick-tick – the sound of a clock – or sometimes it's a faint metallic noise, mercury dripping into a rusty bucket of lukewarm water.  It's a frustrating sound because you can't really put your finger on exactly what it is, but when the angels of sleep won't come, that sound is there.

In New York City, where I am tonight, an alley cat outside my studio window is howling holy hell for a mate.  It's summertime in the...