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I'm Special Agent DJ Justice; Radio Host and Program Director for Netroots Radio.com; and I'm manning the dials, spinning the discs, warbling the woofers, putting a slip in your hip and a trip to your hop.
The playlist for Sunday 16 June 8pm to 9pm Pacific Edition of The Justice Department: Musique sans FrontieresNetroots Radio is there for ya, baby!
~~ "To Be Something More Than Seeking" ~~
1 - The Clash -- "Spanish Bombs"
2 - Hossein Alizadeh -- "Vernal Presence"
3 - Kiran Ahluwalia -- "Vo Kuch"
4 - Tinariwen -- "Imidiwan Matanam"
5 - Quantic -- "Time Is The Enemy"
6 - Budos Band -- "Hidden Hand"
7 - Zero 7 -- "Give It Away"
8 - Tosca -- "Rosa"
9 - AKmusique -- "Ocean Drive 707"
10 - Montefiori Cocktail -- "Anamaria"
12 - Omara Portuondo -- "Canto lo Sentimental"
13 - La Caina -- "Bailando Va"
14 - Rosalia de Souza -- "Bossa 31"
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The heat out there this evening~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
is contained heat like things keep applicable boxes
at the ready then subsume their diverging constituent parts
long ambivalent talks into midnight, all those
glowy Sophia Coppola movies, Prosecco
the sexiest records I know. I don’t feel
how I know anymore to be more than something seeking
my appalling lack of cinematic knowledge, fictive innocence
& something like the break-down of those little boxes
little tombs put their hands up in front of my mouth
there’s a tacitly humiliating eulogy to drown out couldn’t feel
much more stupid about feeling stupid over feeling
stupid, living. Let me go & watch something
moving several images some of them symbolize humility broken
postures bloodshot eyes, intimately talking through this
publicly I am not developing at all but just the same. So hot
outside in the evening heat locking hazy jonquils
& sunflowers dead for two weeks, ridiculously
mournful as I’ll try & dimly think of the last real shock.
I remember disgust perhaps & something like alarm (the phone
going off in the middle of the night) pervasive disappointment
&, for sure, horror, but shock?, as if the heat were seceding from the frames
of its containment thought & feeling & establishing some wonderama
ratios & beanpole features quick to surge beyond the human model.
I know I do the heat out there this evening
will & maybe I should be the one I know who has to stop.
If I have to heal myself completely every time before I start
I shouldn’t be. I think about the god of demurrment in the world
or I think about it later having fallen to its love spell — the heat
keeps me shut up at the table in the evening
at the laptop arranging each letter with the same affectless love
it’s nothing moving Avery born & Vivian to come December
Kermit the Frog sings the Ave Maria while the white flag is endlessly
lowered & raised through the whole master/slave dialectic forever.
Don’t let me be wistful. Let me be the actual heat, forgiven
its severity & leaving for the year. Mercy is just like the children’s zoo it’s real
weird to think about anything now, think how fucking hard
a fucking beach read used to be sewn into its spine
delicious words from start to finish I could just
lay there & die it’s so goddamn nice in this sigh vitrine real 9/11
kind of midnight Friday midnight, lamely shifting in my chair, the fan
that stops the love that moves the world that stops goes out on gold
weeks other weeks it just sits in the back.
It collects statically. I hate that.
Voices and Soul appears on Black Kos Tuesday's Chile; poetry chosen and critiqued by Black Kos Poetry Editor Justice Putnam.
Question: Who is your audience? What are you here for?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Answer: Tribal Alliances, Heart-felt Convictions, Passionate Reason, Random Abandon, Sustainable Civility and a kiss; to comfort the sad and the mad Ones; the Ones roaming the International section of the American Supermarket at night; or roaming the neglected streets looking for an angry malaprop to sink their teeth into; the Ones who seek without seeking and learn as much as they teach; the Ones who embrace and kiss and embrace again; the Ones who sing the song of the city and the ballads of the forest; the Ones who chant the rhythm of the sea and hum the melody of the desert; the Ones who sing the prayer of Her name and Her name is the World. Yes, those are the Ones. -- JP
(Can you help folks in need heat their homes and cook their food on the Rosebud and Pine Ridge Reservations. Navajo has an important diary posted with all the particulars. Even a small amount can work towards building the minimum.
Could you please help?)
So that explains it... !
... Or does it?
(Rail Road Crossing, Sonoma California / copyright Justice Putnam)
"Many heroes lived before Agamemnon, but they are all unmourned, and consigned to oblivion, because they had no bard to sing their praises."
"Still the race of hero spirits pass the lamp from hand to hand."~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-- Charles Kingsley
Rest in Peace Aaron Swartz
(Morning Fog And Surf, Muir Beach, California / copyright Justice Putnam)