Wednesday, July 31, 2013

COLLaborative drawings with Jenny Moon TUcker JULy 2013--Part ONE


CoLLaborative drawings cum paintings with Jenny Moon Tucker from July 2013 Last month living at Buckingham place, WEst Philadelphia.  Bounds and leaps occurred with these works.  The collaborations were initially created under the attempts of violent spontaneity.  This gave way to some compositions taking a curved path of slow motions and slower deliberations.  A few are solo and these are noted as such when is the case.  THese are works from the last batch of creations whilst living in Filthidelphia.

                                                          From the lost book (Matthew PonY BoNes LOne)

                                    Reverse of From the Lost BooK (Matthew PonY bones LOne)

           Blackness twitching after evening (from the Lost book of  Lostness)--Matthew Pony Bones LOne

                                Reverse of Blackness twitching after evening

                                  EroTic Creature (Matthew Pony and JennY mooN Tucker)

                                            Reverse of Erotic Creature

                                Fortune of WHeeLs of FOrtune (Matthew PonY BOnes and JennY Moon TUcker)

                              EroTiC CreatURe II (Matthew PonY Bones and JennY Moon TUckeR)


                                     VILE EROTIC BLOODNESs (MPONY JENNY MOON)

                                         REVERSE OF VILE EROTIC BLOODNEss

                                      OWL EYES WITH NO OWLS (JENNY MOON WITH M PONY)

                   Reverse of OWL EyEs wiTH NO OWLS (JENNY MOON WITH MATTHEW PONY

                                   BEAST RUSHES CROSS FIELD (M PONY J MOON)

                                    REverse of Beast rushes cross Field

                                                      (JENNY MOON MATTHEW PONY)

                                          FUTURE ANTELOPE BLUES (M PONY JENNY MOON)



cavernous (M PONY JENNY MOON)


Friday, July 12, 2013

Two yonder oLd albums and a unreleased ONe

I am finally posting about music.  HEre Below are descriptions of three PonY PayRoLL aLbums with their original artwork.  One was never released. Archiving is always a priority, yet archiving takes up alot of time.  I know it is late in the game to become a business man yet, one can find these three albums at  I will never put these out as hard copies again.  None of any of those over forty cdr albums from the early days.  Here they are:

BLack BuLL is one of the latter day PonY cdr albums.  Some of this was recorded at Jacoby's former mansion somewhere in Gwinnett County, Georgia on broken tapes.  Alot of this was recorded in the dirt basement at the Jailhouse.  Most of this album is instrumental and unbalanced.  Alot of ghosts here.  Important Eagle Milton (Them Natives) collaborates on the ole slave song "Go Down, Ole Hannah"

BLacK BULL is around 2009ish with lots of troubled folk on it including Jacoby, Jake KooVa, ImportanT EagLe and ANdrew CocaiNe.  Alias's will remain such.  Songs and crediTs aRe as BeLow

ROanOke (beLow is the fifth PonY PayroLL Bones album.  Just Maximum Minimalism Guitar and Violin and amps at the black house way back in Stone Mountain, Georgia.

ONe COmposition is shattered into three fractures.  They explore the historical mystery of the lost colony Roanoke.

Over thirty something maybe more PonY Payroll Bones CdR aLbums were self released.  I hope to put them all up.  I hate cdr's and occasionally feel ashamed for making so much good music on such a horrific format as cdr.  The aesthetic grew as I scrawled the covers ALL INDIVIDUALLY WITH CRAYONS AND BLACK INK SCRAWLINGS....

I tacked on as a bonus an unreleased album from the same time period as Roanoke.  THe album is called Cow jumped over tha moon.  I was getting deep into Mother GOose at the time.  The dark mother goose.  dark meat of death.  Matt Goethe is also on these recordings.

I utilized three destroyed paintings to represent the unreleased Cow JumPed OveR tha MOON


Thursday, July 11, 2013

ThaR was a Twang Mong thA LonesOme WinD (working draft intro to POny PayRoLL BonEs talKin CountrY musiCs)

BeloW is a workin Introduction(?) draft to PonY PaYroLL bOnEs tALkIn cOuNtrY mUsiCSSSs.  THe book compiles all of my country music "articles" in one place plus extras...thar shall be manY editions of this cuz tha articLes will keeP on happenin.  maybe try to make//print some hard copies in next 4-6 months...send some commenTs this weeK. this is a rough ruff drafTiN----

At the bottom of the draft I have included some photos I took down in Tennessee above Chattanooga in Appalachia.  The cemetery was in the beautiful shade of mountain shadows and sun beamed infusion hills.  The photos seem to speak a certain aspect of country music.

                                                    pHoTo bY MattheW ponY paYroLL BoNes--(((empty third                  room at buckingham been recordin alot here ---Ole brYan Keith MartIn's OlE rooM)))

ThaR was a Twang MonG thA LonesOMe WinD

Yes, thar was a twang mong tha lonesome wind. SurE have sure heard that lonesome twang many a times.

 Heard thaT lonesome train whistle chill shatter the very bone.  Heard thaT demon whipperwill amongst tha suicides of hard workin men and women and childrens.  Saw some old dogs die.  Saw tha world was mean and full of confederate love.  Saw some good folks die.

I hear some bodies hammerin a body up on Calvary day and night night and day.  Two thieves and a king.  The whole earth soaked with deaths.  Cold Lonesome nights, yer blood and even yoR marrow geT downright mean with lonesomes.

In tha X-raY negatives of memory.  The family dog was barking at reconstruction horse thieves.  I am starting over.  Facts feelings--Fools fevers--Feverous no good tramPs…

Fair requests. The stars were pools of water. The stars are pools of water. 

Two barn owls go hollering hoot screeching inside the geographic geometry of Autumn.  Inside the country of blue tinted glass blue autumn.  This is a memory.

“ I felt my hands shaking I felt my heart breaking.  He meant every word he said.  I saw him whisper something. I saw you look so happy”—Ricky Van Shelton.

White flowers line the steep slopes upon the ridge and hills above Panther Creek, North East Georgia---Alabaster flowers blaze with white flames.  Dark oaks dark maples. Dark because the sun is not shining above the countryside, the wilderness anymore.  I am one of many who have come through here.  Who are passing through here.  You are not here with me.  This I knew---- you would not be with me here.

Those places some with names. Some with no names yet you can feel the names talking rambling broken dialogues, proclamations—Listless chatter was butchered many many years upon years upon years ago.  Like a river that swallows large stones

Shiny hands over tha Georgia red dirt.  Stains your soul----do you like “In The Ghetto?”  Do you like “Stranger In My Own Home Town”?

No one can leap over yor shadow.  No one can Leap/over your shadow---

Dark light provokes sobriety’s devastations—hand me down my walking cane and hand me bacK down that whiskeY bottle.  That Ole Crowe and Ancient Age for suRe.

For God’s sake our eyes as apparition sails or canoes rocking against each other a terrible cold winter day upon one them lakes the Tennessee ValleY AuthoritY made with apocalyptic ease.

Tha sonG below be onE PonY PayRoLL boNes is crafTin.  It goes roughly like these words wretchin below.  They go.  Here theY go:

Some dumb ass kids were yellin upon me when I walked out thaT fronT dooR/I thrown some bourbon in my coffee so I could jus keep movin/I was walkin past tha graveYar/I was walkin past tha cemetery graveyard/I was waltzin by tha graveyard cemetarY/when thangs got funny/ya thangs got funny/I breathed in a ghosT/I breathed in a ghost/that’s righT!/I breathed in a ghost/got possesion got ghost possession upon me/got ghost possession upon this meat/them ghosts whisperin thangs in my heart/them ghosts swimming in tha rivers of my cavern heart//ain’t no liquor makem drown/ain’t no liquor make them ghost drown/whiskey bourbon tequilla gin/yea I got some ghosts twangin tha troubles of tha heart/I breathed in a ghost one day/It was called Country Music//gotta get my lonesome ass outta this dirtY Ole ciTy//

Part II

I been diggin up boNes!  I’m weeping tears of blood.  I’ve been threatin tha neighbor’s dog.  I’ve been cheatin on your cheatin wife.  Show you right!  Buncha fooLs in this blackberrY briaR worlD.  Buncha fooLs make this fooLish worLd.

Broom can’t sweep up the wet blood and dust on Sundays.  Behind the left eye the stone that recognizes you. Darkening road veiled darker through dolorous creaking of pine trees. Georgia pine treess.  In memory --you are a corpse time stranded in the Victorian era.  “they” forgot to bury you with a compass….that’s how we got a lot of that old country music.  Ole Jimmie Rodgers getting Tuberculosis blood all over the Victorian guitar songs.  Ole Jimmie Rodgers gittin blood cough all over Sarah Carter’s apron as A.P jus kept lookin tha other way. 

A.P. saw some things up in them mountains and growling hollows.  He saw for himself that some hollers go down in a hollow and git stuuckkk.  The whole thang is very lonesome very.  So such that Lonesome got lonely and shivers ---shivering a bunch of lonesomeness.

When A.P. Carter was born-- a paint or what they also called a Mountain Lion or more commonly a Cougar--- tried at done stealth into that open window (all windows were open then to tha weathering elementals of God’s mightY wraith and writhing) one room log cabin and eat ole A.P’s babY head right off!

Now adays not many fools and folk play dulcimers or zithers or autoharps.  Now  adays not many lap steel country players round either.  Usta be a dime a dozen, those lonely lonely electrical lap steel playas.  Not many Pete Drakes or fantastic REAL LIFE musics like Inspirational Instrumentals by Camp Family and Davis Brothers.

Not many Johnny Mauldins either and like he is very much so like his long playing LP titled with proclamation subtlety , An American Original.  Gregarious in his holy honesty the man sang spitefully about those “Shyster Lawer “(s) whilst also understanding the awe inspiring supernatural of experiencing “Thunderstorm Over Amarillo.”  Today, at least you get Johnny Corndawg, a man who does the best he can with the sadly states of country musics today.

I wanna meeT the Gentle Shepherd Getar player Ralph Trotto up in heaven or down in lickin hell some these days.  I wanna shake hands with these mysteries.

According to Appalachia lore, it sure is bad luck to throw yor shoes at a funeral coming by your way!

Come along and done giT killed with me down in the deep hollers and hollows neath smokey blue ridge haze and valleYs chortle darkly.  Here the heart is wet rawness pulsing wildlY.  True emotions writhe in feverous throe.  Let us giT drenched soaked to the sinful bone in the holy ghost blood twang.

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Day of writing/Day of sifting: Two New Poems Two Old POems

A day of writing.  A day to write of the beast of systems of the North EasT.  Below are two new poems from the past week.  Evidence of Living will end up in some form in Mason Dixon Line Blues (in the works).  What One Has Seen pulls from some old material from 2007 and is part of another new manuscript OLd Spirits COmmoTion.  Vanishing and Circumference Circumvent are from the year 2007.  Capitalization and punctuation are kept haphazard to keep true the spirit of their moments.

 Writing is not just about writing.  One is confronted with the evidence of the past whilst feeling the intuitions of the future indeterminate, which means hazy uncertain collides violently with the notions of fate (including the ballistic beastly gray fur doubt.)  I am also piecing together slowly the book version of my continuing country music articles PonY BoNes Talking CountrY MusiCs.  All the various works seem to dialogue with each other.  Maybe none of these will every be finished.  Nothing can truly be finished.  

For comedic relief, I have included the photo below taken by Mr. Martin on the July 4th, 2013.  RIght between my legs is a sinkhole.  I am drinking tequilla.

                                                      photo by Bryan Keith Martin on July 4th

What One Has SeeN (from Old Spirits Commotion)


rolling upon bodies
tied and mumbling perpetual
tide passage

childhood fragment sky

my body is not even real.

Evidences of lives (from Mason Dixon LInes Blues ((draft 2)) )

Bees are swarming a nest inside
    The cadaverous porch column

Carpenter bees

    He goes out shirt less

The bees carpenter a tunnel into his
    belly button

        This is okay
When he is living he dreams the living of nostalgia
    When he dies a death he serves the after lifes of nostalgias

Cliffs Sharpening
like the belly of a shark
Bells Clashing like a pendulum
striking hot steel
BeLLs slashing like knives
within the circus
that performs within hazy gambling den

Night delving away
Moon delving
Day ready funeral

chimney in the lone field
holds up ravenous bright bloody

road vanishing
to wilderness
and the call of birds

gate keepers
to silence

Circumference circumvent  (2007)

When Morning was perpetual
A fixed circumference

No slow moving
Turgid wagon wheel

Rolling upon bodies
tied and mumbling
on a dirt road

Storm marched in and out
A vast Armada

Storm perpetual
tide rolling sackcloth
Storm a tollbridge
obscuring passage

Thursday, July 4, 2013

SUmmeR Drawings/LOsT BooK of Lostness excerpTs

Drawings/paintings from the MOnth of JunE (on paper).  ONE LosEs perspectiVe wheN seeKIng perspecTiVe.  PLeaSe peruSe tha renderinGs beLow wroughT froM visions somewhere between black magic and white magic.

FeeL free to contacT tO obtaiN any worK (s)

                                                                  RiveR is tha fish is thA river
                                                                               (with mooN tuckeR)

                                                Reverse of RIver is the FisH is thE riVeR

                                                           poeT decaPitaTed

                                                          ReVeRsE of PoeT DecaPitaTeD

                                                           UnknowN (with JennY MooN TuckeR)

                                                     HILLs aRe FoR NoW On PaLaCes foR SkULLs (foR Tisquantum)
                                                                              ((with JennY MooN TucKeR))

                                                            NaKed FiguRe in DarK ChaLk asH RooM

                                       UNknoWn PagE (FroM the LosT booK of LOsTneSS)

                                                  ReverSe oF UnKnoWn Page (From the LosT booK of LosTneSS)

                                              UnkNoWn PagE (from the LosT booK of LosTneSs)

                                                      ReVerSe of UnknoWn PaGE (froM thE LosT booK of LosTneSs)


UnknoWn PagE (froM the LosT booK of LosTneSs)

ReverSe of UnknoWn PagE (froM the LosT booK of LosTness)

                                                HauLing SpiNe to thE tomoRroW of ObliviaTioNs

                                                    ReverSe of HauLing SpiNe to thE tomoRrow of ObLiviaTionS

UnKnowN paGe (From LosT BooK of LosTneSs)

                                                ReveRsE of UnknoWn PagE (FroM the LosT booK of LOsTNess)

                                                                  InKa (with JennY MooN tucKeR)

                                                 SPIrIT of ThA beaST

                                          ReVerSe of SpiRiT of thA beaST