I was cooking last night and ran downstairs absentmindedly to get shrimp from the freezer - I was wearing wool slippers. On bare hardwood. THWACK. My feet swooshed right out from under me and I bumped awkwardly down a couple steps. My tailbone was safe but I had a big bump on the fleshy part of my bum. Rubbing my smart, I complained to B, "My bum hurts!"
This cheekily reminded him of a line from this spoken word piece from the beat poet (punk poet?) Steven Jesse Bernstein, who was a contemporary and friend of William S. Burroughs. I can't stop playing it. I love his gritty, growly voice with its Jewish American nasal and the big band music in the background.
No No Man Part 1:
No No Man Part 2:
Monday 31 January 2011
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