The West Coast Cookbook & Speakeasy Podcast Archive
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(Be sure to check thenekkidtruth's diary, Pump NetrootsRadio Throughout Your Entire House and enjoy Netroots Radio in all of it's high fidelity glory!)
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Show Music for West Coast Cookbook & Speakeasy is by Frances Livings!
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Don't forget to tune in to The Justice Department: Musique sans Frontieres, Sundays 8pm to 9pm Pacific.
Special Agent DJ Justice; Radio Host and Program Director for Netroots Radio mans the dials, spins the discs, warbles the woofers, puts a slip in your hip and a trip to your hop.
You can listen here to The Justice Department: Musique sans Frontieres PodCast.
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Voices and Soul appears on Black Kos Tuesday's Chile; poetry chosen and critiqued by Black Kos Poetry Editor Justice Putnam.
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“Do you smell that?” she asked, as we drove through Reims, past the headquarters of the National Front, on our way to La Tranche sur Mer.
“I don’t know,” I said flatly, “what is it?”
“It smells like… ” she sniffed in a haughty, Parisian disdain, “it smells like, fascism.”
I knew then I was in love with her. I knew it truly.
– Justice Putnam
“My Little French Honeymoon”
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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
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I have some explaining to do — 5 o’clock
meant I would speculate
about artichokes (Greek) and the unfarmed mackerel.
Anyway, the men would present us with a bed of carrot
and potatoes + 1 cup of broth.
Our husbandry in sharp mustard
suit, laden with trial pieces for the fondue. I would prefer
not to. I had such friends —
a long time faring all through the West
with my filth and a bouquet of cutlery
where I had put it: by me.
And yet expansive, the things made by the things
I made. And a supervisor hovering behind me. The heaviness
of being.
I am the Name, Jehovah called from the bush. I had visions
of pigeons. And I replied:
Here I am to be called Ishmael and beget.
— Ricardo Alberto Maldonado
“Morning is Morning”
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Rest in Peace Aaron Swartz
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