In The Blink of An Eye . . . .

That's all it took for poor Constance Buzza's perception of her mother and father to change dramatically. Constance was deep in those painful and awkward years of her life that we all think terribly upon. This week had already been difficult enough, what with the rumors, the stress breakout on her forehead, and the fact it was that time of the year when the boys would be separated from the girls and sexual intercourse would be discussed in a frank and ridiculous manner including films that involved changing bodies.

Constance and her mother were driving down Franklin Ave to catch Highland then on to the Hollywood Freeway. Constance had spent her entire life living in Los Angeles, as have her parents and grandparents. Her mother Helen grew up in Compton, California, her father was raised amongst the bohemians and freaks in Venice. In the early 1980's, Helen was working at Charmane's Wig Store in Compton, and her father had just gotten off the road, from touring California and the Pacific Northwest with two other magicians. Her father had grown up a traditionalist in the magical arts, but he and his fellow magicians, Luke Wallace and Danny Ray, had developed a three man show that combined prop comedy, traditional magic, illusions, and rock theatrics. There were costume changes, lighting effects, and a three man juggling bit that involved comically over sized dildos. The shows had been successful and now Randy was back in Los Angeles to do a few nights headlining at The Magic Castle, enabling him to return to his roots, while he developed his act for the next tour.

Helen and Randy had only been married a few months before he had left on tour. They both looked forward to his return in that special way that two people who wish to spend some quality naked time with each other do.

As Constance and her mother made their way down Franklin Ave, Helen broke the silence in the car. “Oh sweetie, look, it's the Magic Castle. You were conceived there. Your father was working there then, back when he was still employable. One night after his show, we had sex in the dressing room, and that's when I became pregnant with you. It was a surprise to both of us . . . See you are a magical girl.”

Constance had been staring out the window thinking about how much she hated Lyndsey Duncan because she had kissed Dave Kennedy at Shelly's house. Constance was in love with Dave Kennedy. Deeply and tragically. She had been thinking about kissing Dave Kennedy and if sex would be as horrible as it seemed in Sex Ed class. This is what thoughts Constance had been drawn out of by her mother's admission to not only having intercourse with her father, but where it had taken place and that it had directly lead to her existence . . .

vodka dream in a florida room

Memories are smoking guns

in the hands of girls

with black painted nails

and curse words on their lips.

The music is dark

She and I are in this room to be desired.

Gas to the flames of our self-destruction

The trust fund gypsy dances in jeans

precariously slipping off her hip

toward the floor.

She has a tattoo for every obsession

likes the taste of blood on the blade.

She offers a glance, steps toward,

gets close enough that we

almost graze lips.

The sharp pain of electricity coursing

assaulting, violating, all sensation.

Her desire. Lust and punishment.

Salvation in every orgasm.

She wants the lash,

my lips upon her wounds.

I am raw nerves,

slipping in and out of identities.

Bones twisted to form erotic fixations.

Missionary times are long past

Awkwardness, a flash of light

Tonight, only I and the moon rage

Darkness, driving me toward sanity’s edge.

These four walls are anywhere, always.

Paintings of expressionist abortion stories

and portraits of a crooner,

who once upon a time,

set loins and Atlantic City on fire.

Carnal skull is full of lover’s memories

Lust, demands spring must come before dawn

Tongue seeks out lips as

the butterflies of July flutter and twist.

Her body is my sole narcotic.

Toes to thighs. Hips to eyes.

I linger.

She unbuttons the boundaries.

Rejoices in the scattered explosions,

tricks of lights.

Switchblade tongue. Welcoming chest.

Midnight is without dimensions.

The center is breath. We are without shape.

I've been baptized twice

Neither time did I close my eyes or shout.

We're composed of white noise

Heaven is stars and impetuous voices.

Lies are innocent when laced with moonlight.

Her body is love torn, a canvas of scars and tattoos,

places and lovers.

She wasn’t always an open wound.

She was once worshiped.

Then gave into wanton words of sun and moon.

She is a fire that burns, still singing the songs of the elements,

dancing until the heathens believe.

Detached from future and past.

Ours is a bed of riddles.

Eroticism breaks apart in the sunlight.

I am hers when the moon is encircled by flames.

Miles Davis "Song of Our Country"

under the big top blues

for an imagined body

I've built a shrine for an imagined body.

A string of photo-images

twenty-four frames per second.

Sensual, revealing.

I want to sink my teeth into her left hip

I want to know where the stars reside

Whole constellations swirling inside.

A rebel star shooting, rioting, appears in her eye

then fades to the edge -- out of sight.

There is a partition of black lace she hides behind.

I am eager witness to her silhouette and shadow show.

Hands and arms. Wild.

Smashing molecules.

Eyes slow to move. Pupils dilating.

Voice calling to the spirits

Incantations to silence

the noise of the city

She's the witness bared --

shattering diamonds between her teeth.

I am the hallucination

that walks on ghost feet

Pure things are what move through

grasping fingers.

Undress, swim in butterflies,

dance on the edge of the invisible.

Those nights with her, now like ash in the mouth.

Sleights of hand, mystical tricks.

Seduction.

Honey the flesh, fate the enemy.

We'll continue being who we'll be

in this city of postcard misconceptions.

I'll hang photos of her

from the branches of trees

once they're bare.

John Lee Hooker: Crawlin' King Snake (Live)

Bob Dylan: Infidels: A Review

With Infidels, Bob Dylan returned to a more comfortable, for him and his audience, songwriting style. After releasing three Christian gospel albums some critics see Infidels as a departure, a return to secular, introspective, songwriting.

Infidels is a companion to Dylan's 1967 release John Wesley Harding, in the sense that they are both the testaments, or end results of periods of vision. Both albums are also rife with religious imagery and question the ethics of the modern world. “capitalsim is above the law” Dylan states in "Union Sundown".

The album was produced by Dylan and Mark Knopfler and was released by Columbia Records in October of 1983. Infidels would be Dylan's most critically-acclaimed in years and was universally hailed from the strong songwriting, though many of the best tracks recorded during these sessions didn't make it onto the LP, the most notable being the classic “Blind Willie McTell”.

Upon listening to Infidels the first thing one notices in the slickness of its sound and overall production. Which at the time I'm sure sounded contemporary but definitely gives the album an '80's feel. As he had been doing since getting together his first group sessions for Bringing It All Back Home, Dylan had a great group of musicians to provide the music that would, as Knopfler later put it, “provide the vehicle for the poetry.” Along with Mark Knopfler, Dylan recruited guitarist Mick Taylor, keyboardist Alan Clark, as well as famed reggae musicians and producers, Robbie Shakespeare and Sly Dunbar for the rhythm section.

The opening track, "Jokerman", is littered with Biblical and religious references, but is really more of a political song that attacks the people who Dylan sees as being doomed by their obsession with the superficial.

“Sweetheart Like You” is the second track on the album and possibly the weakest track as well. The song comes off as a sexist love song that not only feels out of touch but makes Dylan sound a bit tired, whiny, and given to self pity.

Many critics have cited the track “Neighborhood Bully” as Dylan's defense of Israel as many moments in the history of the State of Israel are referenced. It's also interesting to listen to this song while taking into account Israel's deplorable treatment of Palestinians.

“License To Kill” is one of the strongest tracks on the album and in a great critique of imperialism both on the earth and of space. Given America's return to its fascination with space travel and its possibilities while President Reagen was in office, "Oh, man has invented his doom/First step was touching the moon.” Seems like a clear condemnation of this mentality. While the rest of the song attacks mankind's relationship to the environment as well as what Dylan sees as our predilection for violence.

“Man Of Peace” with it's overt religious theme and imagery fits more with Dylan's previous recordings. But like some of the other tracks on Infidels it contains the same vibe of man who feels he can no longer connect to the world around him.

“Union Sundown” is a look at a popular topic at this time in the 1980's, that of the decline of U.S. based manufacturing. As the decade began and would continue on, more companies began closing their factories and starting new ones overseas, where labor was cheaper. The companies played the high pay and benefits the workers demanded coupled with the American consumers desire to not have to pay high prices for the goods. The unions and most everyone else blamed corporate greed. The practice continued well into the 1990's and beyond, with everything from manufacturing, customer service, and tech support jobs being sent overseas. The song is interesting in that it highlights Dylan's ability to take a subject and look at it from all angles, yet create a seamless narrative structure, which provides all sides with a voice.

“I and I” is another of the top songs on Infidels. The self pity that hangs heavy on the rest of the album gives way to a strong pessimism which feels more like a return of the Dylan most of his fans were used to listening to. But even with that, one gets a sense of Dylan being lost and confused. The lines, 'Someone else is speakin' with my mouth, but I'm listening only to my heart/I've made shoes for everyone, even you, while I still go barefoot.', I think best illustrate this sentiment.

The closing track on Infidels is, “Don't Fall Apart On Me Tonight”, which is very similar to the closing track, “I'll Be Your Baby Tonight”, off John Wesley Harding. The two tracks even play the same role on the album. Both albums are filled with preaching about the evils of the world and are littered with religious imagery, and both closing tracks are sweet, almost sentimental love songs.

Though Infidels didn't return exactly resurrect Dylan's career, the album would be his strongest of the decade and when his label produced a music video for “Sweetheart Like You”, it ushered Dylan into the MTV era.

noise

The water washes away

blood and toothpaste stains,

the sounds of emotions spilling.

The windows are sealed

in hopes of containing

the smell of splendid isolation.

Foolish desires -- expectations,

hanging over our heads

like thick, suffocating

winter clouds.

Outside of this house of doubts.

there are things

that might astonish her.

Night sweeps over us.

Pride is swallowed,

the stars draw near,

vision conquers the mind.

Blasphemy is the language

of the back alley mercenaries

with broken hearts in their eyes.

Their love is hard and estranged.

Their god is painted on plaster.

Their queen is hiding in a church.