Check out the animated show Bat out of Hell on Kickstarter!

Happy Birthday, Big Jon Bully!

Life Is Good

Existential Dissonance II

Here’s What Happens When You Stop Being a Vegan

Korrektiv did this to a church back in July.

‘The Poems You Write Up at Night’: Compulsive Versifying

A few excerpts from that article ‘Compulsive Versifying after Treatment of Transient Epileptic Amnesia’ in Neurocase that everybody’s talking about:



Compulsive production of verse is an unusual form of hypergraphia that has been reported mainly in patients with right temporal lobe seizures. We present a patient with transient epileptic amnesia and a left temporal seizure focus, who developed isolated compulsive versifying, producing multiple rhyming poems, following seizure cessation induced by lamotrigine. Functional neuroimaging studies in the healthy brain implicate left frontotemporal areas in generating novel verbal output and rhyme, while dysregulation of neocortical and limbic regions occurs in temporal lobe epilepsy. […]

[Read more…]

Gerasene 2014


aka Gerasene Northwest, aka Gerasene Guemes

Screen Shot 2014-07-13 at 7.46.50 AM

It’s on.


Webb has a set. Scholars will be knocking at his door when the (other) Web unravels.



Post your poems, prayers, and spankings in the birthday boy combox.


For Alana and Patrick, May 31, 2014

Your dad could strum a chord for the groom’s ironic
Soul, pluck notes for the bride’s unbridled heart.
The river could rush inevitably down the cataracts,
With music of mountains and trees and love and hurt.
Quotidian mysteries could rise like bread in ovens
With alphabetic fingertips at work
Assaying life and life’s atomic leavens
Filamented against the blooming dark.
And pouring off of certain pages of the local
Paper could come the haunted words of unbound
Laughter smashing through the wall to tickle
Tattooed limbs with the music of the mind.
What could be is on the verge: the wedding knot
Is tied to the bridge and the strings are strung tonight.

Your dad’s guitar could play from heaven a psalm
Of David connecting stretched, refashioned strings
And bent blues turned into bliss’s home,
The hallelujah wrung from righted wrongs.
The sky could cry, the ground could disappear
Beneath your feet, only to expand in daylight
Revealing oceanic paths of freer
Joys than you imagined in the gnarled night.
And schooled physicians with their evidence of cures
Could wrestle with your intellects and find
Themselves at odds with your inner music’s tears
Turned into a gladness they can’t understand.
Undo the funeral dirge; the wedding knot
Is tied to the bridge and the strings are tuned tonight.

Your father played a song when you were in
The womb, with river running to the rhythm
Of ingrained momentum’s long and winding
Road that led to this day’s bridged chasm.
The tuning fork in the road reversed to blend
The bramble and rumble of muscled motor city
With virginal violins and warbling stands
Of Douglas fir—gritty and pretty in harmony.
And parsed-entangled visions of the future
Stretch across the threshold of the room
Where the end of May is perched on June’s shoulder,
And blessings shower down with tears from him.
Two melodies now merge—the wedding knot
Is tied to the bridge and the strings are strummed tonight.