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The playlist for Sunday 23 March 14 8pm to 9pm Pacific Edition of The Justice Department: Musique sans FrontieresWho luvs ya, baby?
~~ "The Sound of a Beloved Voice" ~~
1 - Crooked Still -- "Oxford Town and Cumberland Gap"
2 - Abigail Washburn -- "Backstep Cindy and Purple Bamboo"
3 - Yat Kha -- "Orgasmatron"
4 - Kutumba -- "Bhajo Khet Ma"
5 - Leonard Cohen -- "The Partisan"
6 - Victor Jara -- "Caminando"
7 - Lars Danielsson -- "Granada"
8 - Rainstick Orchestra -- "Waltz for a Little Bird"
9 - Japancakes -- "Soft N EZ"
10 - The Bambi Molesters -- "Farewell Malasana"
11 - The Quantic Soul Orchestra -- "West Pier Get Down"
12 - Sound Tribe Sector 9 -- "Better Day"
13 - Irina Mikhailova -- "Labess"
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On one occasion Yūgen of Ise Province was offering to share, for a night or two, the comforts of his home with me when a distant, bemused expression came over his face as though at the recollection of a joke told him earlier that day; then, to a degree I would not have thought possible in one whose normal manner was so formal, that studiedly dour professorial expression gave way for an instant to one that positively beamed, illuminated from within by the sound of a beloved voice. So worn out, not even sure I was on the right road, I forgot myself awhile watching in weary amazement as his wife came and went, the two of them giving the impression of having long perfected some grave and complex dance known only to them, one of accord and the affection of two people moving hand-in-hand in the same direction, both possessed by desire while knowing themselves to be the source of that desire. But I am so tired, I heard my own voice say, one of them, that startlingly cruel, intrusive voice I hate, darkening everything, how sick I am of listening to it, and of having to go on! But after some time had passed once again I forgot all about it as I sat there, the witness of this marvel that brought peace to my heart or, perhaps, a hidden joy of my own, one I had so long considered extinct. When Yūgen fell on hard times and was dragged down into the most humiliating poverty, his wife made up her mind one day to have her long beautiful hair cut short so that she could sell it and he could afford to invite all their friends to an evening of laughter and drinking, renga competitions, and the conversation of those who have known one another for a long time, the kind look and humorous word that make it seem possible to live again. I think of her sometimes.
Moon, come down and
come alone. I have to tell you all
about Akechi’s wife.
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)
(Farm Road and Running Fence, Olema, 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
A Van Gogh
Hillsides and woods
In which the
Of nearly every
But I had become
Bound by guilt
Of the truth.
I came to believe
That in a sense
Was the same
In the park
I came to believe
That the measure
Was the amount
I could survive.
Like a crushed
By a colony of ants
But I had often
Cut my finger
From the beauty
Of a long-stemmed rose.
So I realized
In those final moments
What had actually
My life was
A series of patterns
A self created
Maze that offered
That I was
By its weight
I had no
Left to survive
With my own
I had sought
Between the legs
Only to make
Weakness of heart.
Between my fingers
(Portland, Oregon and Los Angeles, California 1978)
(from: Part 3 "And Memory Became A Fading Melody")
Rest in Peace Aaron Swartz
(Morning Fog And Surf, Muir Beach, California / copyright Justice Putnam)