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"NUMBer One"
{new pIGEONhOLE song 12.11.10 :: demo}

New music tonight!

As you probably know, pIGEONhOLE is a 2-person sonic project composed of me on lyrics & vocals and Chase Littleton on everything else.

This is a song we've been working on awhile, finally came together tonite. Just a demo, but I really like it.

Slower & more introspective than a lot of our stuff - give it a listen & lemme know what you think! (yes, I mean YOU!)

the lyrics....

looming clouds
don't always rain
booming louds
increase the pain

explosive errors
scorch our smiles
extensive terrors
wreck our styles

looking out
for number one
you win the race
but have no fun

grooming shrouds
ignoring strife
dooming crowds
to after-life

expensive eager
hard to please
depressive beavers
chewing trees

i am fine
with number two
i get to finish
then i'm through



я ℮ ♭ ø ◎ ṫ

: if.not (happy)
: -decide.to (reboot);
: time.good? [YES]


s a w w t o o t h e d

s a w w t o o t h e d 

a cooln ight
 made of wet scarwiwit

largely willbe the creation
 of  Ppsych0-pthss

all sd a second set
 w/mad robot gumption ality

charged words
: saww-toothed, jamfaced areas ofcrime

-they didn’t commit
the bradissolve radioactive waste

inw-aterrin lit up in the no-Ppsych0-pthsic control group

in the psychions and a second set
 w/emotionally charged words
: saww-toothed
, jamfaced areas
of the brain lit up

 in the non-path0=Ppsychik contrricy 
 tame the mac

they ’re just beingthem selves
Tment geeKs and thxeylated mass
 loopstupid clip bastards — was
,canspangled certainly a and
, ofcertain lee Ppsych0-pths
,certainlee Ppsych0-pths

since that momentou
hear ra
re rain like
 narrows to rush
, to gently falll

i lwill betten
be that glassstruption
, as we kno w

absorbedby itsibilant sizzle
absorbed by itss taccato static

hwelli be panoply
of governThee
wiledMonk keys are known for
some naughty habits

you can’t blonate role in was
 certainly a aced
 amn areas of the brain

lit up in the non-Ppsych0and
, ofcertain lee anol the group
  in the psychikfluence

 amn areas
of the brain

[c] K@T in the H@T :: 10.23.10 lyrix version >


sibilant sizzle & staccato static

Sitting here
with my window

I hear
rare rain
begin to

I listen,
absorbed by its
sibilant sizzle
staccato static.

A cool night
made of wet scarecrows
creaking boards
under a moon
of lavender levity.

Why am I inside
with this wonder
at my door?

I get up & take my umbrella
for an ambling ramble down by
the drop-dappled pond.


"Us" vs. "Them"
(or: "How Words Seduce Us To Forget About The Excluded Middle")

Life is not black, not white; nor non-black, nor non-white. Being able to only think in absolute & opposing dualisms is a crippling flaw that has infected the very core of our national discourse.

What happened to yes-to-some-parts/no-to-other-parts? Or the clarifying power of defining our terms & not just sloppily damning whole swaths of thought w/out good reason?

What happened to realizing we're all trying to solve the same problems & having at least basic respect for all of us truly trying to find ways to improve where we can?

Why do we have to cut w/these exact & over-sharp idea-knives that always end up making someone bleed? Do we really love blood more than progress?

...even this post with its purpose of trying to expose the rainbow of possibilities truly open is guilty of painting absolutism as always-bad, when its really just usually-bad.

A pox on the thought-tyranny of words & Aristotle's naive A=A simplicities.

No wonder we're so lost & fucked up in this postmodern haze of linguistic fog....


not what's wrong

not what's wrong
what do i need to change
what am i doing right
what do i need to just do more of

(of course)
how do i stay on course
where the map's working
ditch the anchor of wishing
doing what i do
felt different
in any way

i'm just me
i always will be

maybe i should
make friends
pay attention
to what i have
before crying
what i thought
i needed


Thou Shalt Not Infringe (In DMCA We Trust)

Copyright infringement is the new heresy of The Corporate Church of Intellectual Property & Trademark tm.

Just ask any


mash-up remixer,

graffiti artist

or other culture-jammer

about how hard the Lawyerly Inquisition can come down on you if you transgress that taboo!




"how to extract a fishlamp from your hideous relics"

ingredients needed

* 23 jester magnets
* 9 oz of sarcataclysm
* a jigger of formaldehyde
* 7 large eggs (biped)
* an invisible banana

(ask your parents to help if you're not sure
if you should be running w/scissors or not!)

at noon you will feel
a vague swelling,
ready all the catnip then

roast it
on irregular-low till
it stops whinnying

blot the remaining
syntax with cheesecloth
a frisbee

if both tails have cracked
down the middle, rotate your
jaundice & pray
for rain

make sure to save
the sweat of your
it can be used
to douse the fires
of your passion

mix well using
your grandmother's thigh

& a
under a

if your name turns
yellow, pop it
open & remove the crust
(otherwise, thursday)

garnish with kudzu
extravagance & serve


it's not the things

it's     not 
  the things  you 
   broke      me, 
your   I's}
      it was 
      more    things 
      didn't  stay.
willing         or 
 amble   & 
gamble   oh 
  paper  nap
 trivial  dreck.
      we  stop 
 writing  these 
   are   we  
giving away    wires
too    much  & causing 
         by  it?
    hive  mechanics
  harmony halos 
   a meek    
module    consciousness.
      science   of 
ruin  trumping  the 
cakes of           dawn
 with simile     damage & 
diuretic         deconstruction.

alley    thin
         shadow   simian
  blends doorways


I lost my hipster handbook & can't quite remember....

How many levels of ironic distance are we supposed to be maintaining today?

Are we making fun of kitsch or is it just retro-kewl again?

(Things just aren't the same since the day we ran out of fresh pasts to plunder.)

who-what-when-where-why ...and tipsy widows

Dear Theoretical Readers (or spambots):

My name is Brian Dale & I live in Athens, TN -
which is better than living nowhere,
but only just barely.

I have been recently published
in the whirling eddies of 3 streams,
the whispers of your mother's gynecologist
on the back of the last pack of gum
you left to melt in the car's back window.

Otherwise, I am saving himself for
some nifty tornado
a biped with more words than legs.

I'm not really sorry,
but I'll make you a sandwich if you're hungry.

Be glad you're not him, because I am (usually).


out by your quiet [poem, 09.01.10]

out by
your quiet

 pool,   a darkly
   shine told

 me to


its watch
1:23 & laughed,
but through

     swagger i
i detected a
glint &

asked    again

- ignore that

splash     it's
           just the

 preaching insect

  hymnals with
broad mantis

      glee &


it reminded




On Starting to Start

It's not that we don't know what to write, it's that we don't know where to start.  

It's as if the bewilderment of choice overwhelms the decision-making circuits somehow.  The raucous din of 1001 ideas and desires and fears, all clamoring for expression now Now NOW!  A man with 2 watches never knows what time it is and frequently misses the train.

But all that racket and hooplah just won't do.  To write effectively, we have to drill down into the very word and phrase of it, take the idea's wings and polish them to shine, then fly it seductively into the gaze of their mind's eye to grab their attention.  

The dance of meaning must be precise and properly dramatic, or one of the other thousand nearby explosions of sensory input will drown our words in the numb disregard of distraction.

The glint and glare of unwritten ideas can wreak havoc with our ability to begin, continue and finish with any semblence of sanity afterwards.

We're like sugar-high children at a carnival of possibilities.  All the noise and magic and sawdust frenzy of the whole thing makes it hard to slow down enough to do anything except marvel, and want to do everything at once because it's all so amazingly alluring. 

If only doing everything didn't mean nothing would really get done.

The other side of the same can't-decide is the slothful difficulty of actually FINISHING something and giving it final public birth.  It's so easy and alluring to let it loll around unformed and unedited, always just about to be The Perfect Idea, The Perfect Piece.  Just about....almost.  Almost never happens.

Unfortunately, creation demands we slay The Possible to birth The Actual. 

We have to make explicit, defining choices over and over again till we've soaked it in our intent and our vision.  And no one can tell us how to do that but ourselves, because the answer is scribed inside places we can't even see without the creation acting as a bridge into them.

But so much of life is the direct opposite of that, a near-constant stream of discouragement and jockeying for position with little regard for what your say is.  A tide of No's and demands that you must adjust to.

Writing is hard because it requires courage enough to simply have an opinion or story.  But to take the time to nail that lofty butterfly down and tag it with words so others can enjoy it is even more difficult.  

The butterfly would rather flit free afield, far from the semantic eyes of the reader.  And it's easy to get entranced simply watching it fly around. 

However, the net won this battle.  Next time it may go to the butterfly. 

Remember: you can't catch if you don't chase.