Factory Farms and the Governments Who Love Them

You know, sometimes I see these videos, and I don't get angry at the people who are doing these horrible things but at the people who say things like "I don't care." I can't see how you don't care. This is some heinousness going down right under our noses. . . and into most people's stomachs. That's a big deal.

Now states like Florida want to make it so people know even less about what they're eating.

The Murder Bros. are Playing a Show this Saturday

The Murder Bros. are playing a show this Saturday, and you are welcome to come. It's a birthday party for a young lady who is turning 21. Her name is Lauren Young.

Here's a link to the Facebook Event Page »

Here are directions to the event, which starts at 6:30, but the bands will play at around 8:30:

975 Cottontail Trail- I81 exit 243. Left off ramp onto 11N. Right at next light Pleasant Valley road. Right at next light Early road. Follow back till you see Moose lodge on left. Take that left at Cottontail Trail. Last house on left. Big White scary looking farm house.

You can bring food and roast it in a fire pit, and there will be mud wrestling of some kind if you're into that sort of thing. I think Pablo will be mud wrestling. I hope you can make it.

National Poetry Month and How I Quit Writing Poetry and Killed Osama Bin Laden

I always write something in April about National Poetry Month. I feel very conflicted about NPH, but this month has been a sort of return to poetry for me.

Sure, I still read and write poetry. I even publish from time to time. But since I've been in a band, writing songs and playing music and doing all the things you have to do to keep a band going has been taking precedence over all other modes of artistic expression and ambition.

This April, we had two poetry readings at the Darjeeling Cafe. I read at one of them. I read a short cycle that has been accepted for publication, and I read another short portion of a poetry book I've been working on. I'm pleased to report that poetry readings, no matter where you go, are the same as they ever were.

People still clap when they're not supposed to. There are still members of the audience that will say "hmm" rather loudly in order to tell others audience members that, yes, they are listening to poems that are affecting them on a level that pushes them to audible response. There are still those well-meaning poetry reading goers who will laugh mercifully at little jokes in poems. Kids still make noises and distract everyone in a charming way that only kids can. I've always loved it when people make noise at poetry readings (except for the hmm's), but there is still the one lady who will "shh" her fellow inhabitants of the temporary holy ground of poetry. There's still the poet who demands people participate by raising their hands or saying something when prompted. There's still wine and wine and wine and wine and purple tongues to prove it. There are poets who read too long and ones who are too nervous. There are poets who don't know what a poem is but have enough money to publish through vanity presses. There are still stacks of books that go unread attractively arranged on a table near the bar where you can buy them for a handsome fee, knowing you'll never read them because there are just too many poems in them, and they aren't organized in a way that makes you want to finish. The pretty people and the ugly people and the over-educated and the wannabes are all still there and make a hodgepodge of who's who that makes you realize everybody's a nobody in the end because the art you're performing fell out of favor long ago and doesn't matter to anyone outside of that room, so you love them all anyway.

Poetry is still dead except during National Poetry Month for most people who have ever read a poem or pretend to care about things like that.
Poetry is still the greatest form of artwork the human race has ever known, forcing it to the privileged few and fringes.

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Someone put together a poetry strike online. I thought it was funny, so I observed it. It happened on May 1. Poets were supposed to not do anything poetic except maybe look at flowers and faint. For the poet, this is very difficult.

One day of not writing poetry, and Osama Bin Laden dies. Coincidence?
Maybe poets should abstain from writing poetry more often.

Osama's death is a very strange thing. It caused many people to cry out in jubilation. I don't feel the way I am supposed to feel about it. I'm supposed to be happy, I guess. I'm supposed to be relieved. But I wonder how much information died with him, and I wonder if knowing more about him and how he became the way he was would be more valuable than his corpse. I've heard why he hates Americans, but I would like to know what made him hate Americans. I wish that that information were more public, and I wish more people would think about what makes a mass murderer. I learned almost nothing from his death, and that's why victory is often empty, and this one seems Pyrrhic if it is a victory at all.

Murder Bros. Perform Wingman

The Murder Bros. perform their song Wingman at the Blue Nile in Harrisonburg on April 17, 2011. I hope you like this song. Sound is always hard on  people's cameras at shows, but I think this came out all right. Thanks for watching.

Life in a Foxhole at Stratton

The Murder Bros. put these shows together for Stauntonians to experience bands from out of town. We think they're great shows. We have a ton of great bands around here that don't get the notice they deserve. We are going to change that with our efforts.

The Stratton Event Room before Murder Bros. Go on

The Laundry

Thoughts about Life at the Laundromat

Your body is half legs, which means to me that human beings need to be using their legs as much as possible. Run, bike, swim, do anything you can to use your legs. Do these things for long periods of time.

Human beings aren't faster or stronger than most other animals on Earth. We are pretty smart, though, and we have an uncanny ability to keep things in our heads for a long, long time. Plus, we have endurance like nobody's business. It's incredible how far we can push our bodies. We can move ourselves over incredible distances with very little food, and the whole planet knows the sound of our footsteps.

I can run about 15 miles at a go--maybe more if I was chased. I want to run a marathon soon (26.2mi). I think running builds my endurance and makes me a better frontman for my band. I think my running affects every compartment of my existence. I hope to be in the best shape of my life before the end of this year.