jonberger

Peter Case’s original group was way before my time.
So was his second group.
Even early Peter Case is before I was old enough to catch him live – but the Nerves existed when I was maybe five years old,
so pretty doubtful I was gonna sneak out
to the West Coast to catch any of their shows.

Their recorded output at the time
was a single EP
but it featured the pure pop
“Hanging on the Telephone.”
Heard of it?
Maybe you heard Blondie’s Top Ten version?
Thought so.
That was written by Jack Lee,
but his name didn’t rise as high as the other members,
Paul Collins and Peter Case,
both of whom I eventually saw.

I’ve seen Peter Case a couple of times:
both solo and with his second band the Plimsouls.
All versions are good.
If you find him out, give him a chance.

Everybody knows the Mad Jurist.
Stomping through streets,
making little mention of profession,
he creates commentary on the wildest of ideas.
ever whirling in thought, twirling a trillion ideas around,
speaking of them incessantly,
the concepts coming out randomly.
It’s really an incredible sight to see:
The Mad Jurist in action.

You’ll see him sometimes on slide trombone,
writing with an old chalkstone
or nibbling on a gnarled calfbone.
The Mad Jurist in action.

He sings songs with amazing plots.
He films tales with transporting shots.
He’ll quote stories with smart bon mots!

That’s the Mad Jurist in action!

With babe in hand and dog underfoot
the man will never ever be put
out as a host or a guest or a soot-
wearing thief of a Mad Jurist!

The apartment has been falling apart.
Barry says it stands to reason.
The materials used are cheap.
"You use rotting linoleum on the floor, of course a year later,
it’s gonna need to be replaced."

The two-year old refrigerator just got taken out
so a new one could come in.
At least this one is bigger, though it’s sticking out the front a bit.

A new front door should be coming in next weekend.

Until then, we’re just hoping that nobody comes into the building

to shoot up or try to rob us in the hallways.

The sink in the bathroom hasn’t worked in a while.
We’re making do.

The rent is still below city standards,

so we’re getting cheap for paying cheap.

Karma continues.

kill the cowboy
kill the native
native loves the land
native loathes the cowboy
cowboy loves the land
cowbay eats the land
land used by man
land raped by man
man steals trees
man kills water
water poisons land
water poisons man
man eats poison
man poisons man
man kills man
man kills native
native kills man
native kills cowboy
cowboy kills native
cowboy kills cowboy
cowboy kills native
native kills native
native loathes native
native loathes self
self loathes self
self loathes everyone
everyone kills everyone
everyone makes bomb
bomb makes death
death loves man
man loathes self
man loves more
more builds hope
more builds more hope
hope builds more
hope builds more trees
trees raped by hope
trees used by hope
hope kills native
hope kills man
man kills more man
man kills hope
hope loathes native
hope loathes cowboy
cowboy kills man
cowboy kills self
self loses hope
self loses more
more
hope

I cloister for four months
waiting out the cold
simply sitting inside
curled and covered
encircled in heat, protection,
wool and socks to guarantee
that none of the chill overwhelms me.

I will not live a slave to the weather.

I wait out winter
until Spring strikes
and then my allergies attack
and with them, my Daily Drill.

I begin my regular addiction behavior
with Big B,
coming out for the good stuff like clockwork.
Anytime I can get the stuff, I do,
to make sure the itch is scratched.

Benadryl is my savior,
my protector,
my best friend and my confidante.
It’s what gets me through the nights and days.

It’s how I survive my favorite season.

I bless the reign of Benadryl.

Did you know I just had to look hair buckle up?
Mostly because I thought I was creating the term.
I have not used a hair buckle in several lifetimes
– and since I don’t believe in reincarnation,

that’s like, ever.

A hair buckle would hold your hair back, I guess.
It’s not the sort of product I think much about.

Fashion isn’t really all that big a thing to me.

If you want a hair buckle, more power to you.
Personally, I don’t give a chuckle.

If you open a window, a bird might come in.

If a bird comes in, you might get shit on your sheets.
If you get shit on your sheets, you might go to the laundromat,
If you go to the laundromat, you might meet the love of your life.
If you meet the love of your life, you might break your heart.
If you break your heart, you might get a new heart.
If you get a new heart, you might become super strong.
If you become super strong, you might join a super team.
If you join a super team, you might become a superstar.
If you become a superstar, you might meet someone new.
If you meet someone new, she might break your heart.
If she breaks your heart, you might become weak.
If you become weak, you might sit at home and open a window.
If you open a window, a bird may come in.
If a bird comes in, you might hear a song.

She wore the Batman shirt
cutoff and tight

pale skin and bright red lipstick.
I never dreamed it was bright red with BLOOD
– because it wasn’t.

“Blood Red Number Nine,” she explains,
”but I am a ghost.”
“How’s that now?”
“I’m a GHOST!” She repeated, but somehow,
I heard “Goat.”

This led to a series of humorous false impressions
that followed us for weeks
– not the least of which were erotic –
that I shan’t get into here.

Just let it be said that when I cried “Bah!”
it wasn’t followed by “humbug.”

Five hundred years ago Giovanni da Verrazzano came to the New York area
being the first known Westerner to declare doing so.
April seventeenth celebrates him.

I’m not positive that I want to celebrate
the desecration of the native lives that his coming
predicated,
but I acknowledge that my existence here in the Bronx
would be inconceivable without Giovanni’s prior involvement.

My convenient life, as well as the suffering of millions of others
is built upon Giovanni’s voyages,
so there is that.

Well done!

All alone at night, looking for a sign of light

looking for a sign of life, an excuse to avoid the knife.
Some voice to cut through the fog.
Some sound to come closer to God.
Someone to get out of this clime.
Something to save you this time.
You see nothing.
You feel nothing.
You taste nothing.
You hear… you hear… the radio…

Listen to the radio station.
Never know what you’re gonna hear.
Listen to the radio station.
Don’t succumb to any your fears.
Listen to the radio station.
Doesn’t matter if it’s crystal clear.
Listen to the radio station.

Listen to the radio station.

What you hear changes repeatedly.
It doesn’t matter. It fits your mood.
And though the sounds range categorically,
you’re simply loving being wooed.
The radio is there for you.
It tells you exactly what to do.
The radio is here for you.
The radio is here for you…

Listen to the radio station.
Never know what song’s coming on.
Listen to the radio station.
The DeeJay will tell you exactly when’s the dawn.
Listen to the radio station.
If you need an answer, it’s here for you.
Listen to the radio station.

It will pull you through.
The radio station.

Just listen:
The radio station’s here for you.
Just listen:
The radio station’ll get you through
Just listen:
When has radio ever lied to you?
Just listen:
Well it won’t this time. It won’t this time.

The radio is here for you.