El Alto Hourly

We will have to return to traditional modes of inhabiting the landscape — villages, towns, and cities, composed of walkable neighborhoods and business districts — and the successful ones will have to exist in relation to a productive agricultural hinterland, because petro-agriculture (as represented by the infamous 3000-mile Caesar salad) is also now coming to an end. Fortunately, we have many under-activated small towns and small cities in favorable locations near waterways. This will be increasingly important as transport of goods by water regains importance.We face an epochal demographic shift, but not the one that is commonly expected: from suburbs to big cities. Rather, we are in for a reversal of the 200-year-long trend of people moving from the farms and small towns to the big cities. People will be moving to the smaller towns and smaller cities because they are more appropriately scaled to the limited energy diet of the future. I believe our big cities will contract substantially — even if they densify back around their old cores and waterfronts. They are products, largely, of the 20th-century cheap energy fiesta and they will be starved in the decades ahead.

An early August night of pleasurable conditions at the Stain bar in East Williamsburg last night. I hosted an event entitled ‘Old Fiasco Dry,’ which will serve as title of an upcoming collection of short fiction and poetry I have written. Friends Craig T and Caroline (co-owners) of this performing arts bar-lounge on Grand Ave are excellent hosts. I read from some of my work to a slim but receptive audience, and then Quoma and I played a track put together by us (El Alto) fairly recently to be played concurrently with Jacky Doll’s fun and perfectly unusual video presentation for this event. I have not read my work in a very long time, and enjoyed and learned from experience.

El Alto played a quiet set of mainly new songs that we hope to record in full for an upcoming fall album that should spin some heads and whet some appetites. The set went well, and we hope to get out there soon with another gig.

The topic of Screwpools came up in conversation last night. While talking about what state sponsored vacation promoting bureau TV commercial or radio spot we enjoyed best as far as the music jingle portion, the topic turned to those hotels or lodges, or general places that market themselves as love or passion rekindling havens for couples in need of such a getaway. Such places are always replete with tacky champagne shaped Jacuzzis, or heart shaped bath tubs, and very often pools far too small to swim or even to just chill in, but primarily designed for screwing. The thought of visiting one of these places and touching foot onto the ominous flooring of such a screwpool rippling a laughing white foamed wave of giddy disgust from all of us hanging out in the garden behind the good old Stain Bar. We hope to put together an Old Fiasco Dry (2) or some such other event there in near future.

Dom

                                                                        Coffin Candy for Fat Lips
                                                                   By: Domenic Maltempi
                                                                   7-28-08
                                                                                               

                                                                        5.

 I don’t want to kiss it all good bye

                                                                                    Right now

I haven’t had enough time to repeat my best mistakes in places I thought I’ve been spat into unfairly or fairly

            My guardian angel agent

            A retired softball coach

came by Wednesday to visit me

 in my time of crucible strummed spirit-torpor  

            He was a Constant finger splinted cold tooth smiling Jinx

 must have been a recluse in some other life

            Most recluses come back

soft ball coaches if that is available when they come back

            He was the Mozart of retired softball coaches

A legend at University town Hamburger parking lots

 for his moving reticence and sassy gesticulation

6.

 Fat pop fly(s) over easily bruised ethereal fields

 of bridge memory green

 Diamond dirt running lanes

 of course

Carving epigrams with the cutest back up short stop into a rotting

but wonderfully shaped bench smeared with multiple generation’s worth of personal slurs and viscous rumors in colorful script by viscous pre-teens in ennui fanged mischief modes

Her blue ponytail leaking out of her well worn Dodger’s cap

  My army knife in her grasp

1.

Nowadays most people die of a sort of commonsense
             

                        I always wanted to know what that meant

                        I wanted to pretend to know and look at myself

and know and not be smug about it

 but tender or self-effacing or something like that

 about knowing

and did she quote herself or who

or Wilde eyed and third inning tranced

     My head my mouth

tasting the sound

a second palate  

of cracking bats

and angry umpires have exciting sex lives

and angry umpires have exciting secret lives

 wear the chest protector in the shower and insult the soap on their face

and call there mistresses out on strikes looking

and look at me when I call you out!

 and how that made her very excited

and how his wife was the third base coach

 and how no one visited the popcorn shaman after Saturday day games

 and how her blue ponytail chased my attention down anywhere like one of those sage like murderer characters in a way too thinly American themed

regeneration through violence of the frontier story

            and how the grass stain slides are three minute standing ovations impossible to remove no matter what you do

  brushing it wet and dry in a dark place

 as a glissando rescues a drooling season ticket holder elsewhere but tied to you

  before the orchestra falls out of the hotdog truck

 This was all a bench thought daytune jaunt

A bench thought that should not have entered his mind until two weeks later

for these thoughts are given appointments for us

appointments that they bitch about

 they don’t want

like old people in podiatry waiting rooms shoving People Magazines down their pants in fits of hemorrhaging boredom

2.

everything through the grassy cleats of ones brain

            and wanting that to be true… and wanting that to be a big fat lie

Nowadays most people died of a sort of commonsense bluntly torn from stinking tomes

  Coach said:

De-glue a lofty set of stairs to nowhere dead enough to be

7.

Our hands just started holding each other

    The pointers criminally curled

            Playfully digging into summer soft palms

 Misdemeanor pointer fingers

  Each finger a sort of crime in a pose

on a tree stapled

 That was our game that day and if we forgot it forever after that

Fuck it…it was still a talk that would never be forgotten

that was no less important than the talk about inviting

 The Castanadas over for Mind Erasers and Zucchini Sabers

 Lashing each other with Hawaiian curse outs

 till an apocalyptic night crouched its filthy black sponged legs on the chest of a retarded dying sun

As anemic orange as an indoor Psychedelic Quaker maze designed by a pacifist hypochondriac in a squalid mood

 We shared wedding anniversaries with the Castanadas

            I’m remembering that now

            And I ask for a few more moments to gallop into my idiocies

  8.

 Tanya loved me

   She sold her snowmobile and named her plants after my favorite coronet players

  Her father gave up his chair as head anthropologist at Colgate University

   Before we were married…..

            Charlie settled into an upstairs kitchen

 with one circular window

   Where he laboriously put his soul into inventing a device

      To place over certain entry points

Homes, old inky currency caves, lascivious grottos, 99 Cent stores run by dreamy lovers with no libidos left

 mom and pop derivative shops

   This device would be able to play a few notes or more (depending on the person) of a music that you might be or that you were at the time

as you walked through some sort of entry point

  a piece of a part would be played that might be you…

 you are that unseen note

instruction for dynamics squeezed in a grassy margin

   scrawled allegro instruction in a burnt out manuscript boat

 all of you none of you

 belonging to a billowing score of mellifluous vitality and beauty

scrambled into seas that once were possible

 I understood the power of the Blue Pony Tail

      I understood Charlie’s kitchen and why I always heard the Tijuana Brass sibilant as hell in my left ear

 when you’re fugitive grand parents snuck back into

California exuding a grainy Central American pornographic gaiety

Two nights before the wedding was first called off

 I asked Charlie Scorcherbog

with his glistening time travel sweat serving as a mirror

 I didn’t need to see

If he needed anyone to invest in his idea

  I assured him I loved his daughter and would treat her

With the carefulness of an aging Air conditioning unit in a Gobi Desert snack shop tea hang gambler parlor

 that I just inherited as my only source of wealth for the foreseeable future

my impecunious woes at the mercy of gambling on a sketched popular tourist attraction cooked up by various shady NGOS catering  to crank mystics with a heat bent being lured to the area by a wealthy tin pot dictator with aspirations of being in action movies

  this NGO collectives only other idea was a failed attempt to market Lichtenstein as the Meringue capital of Europe

   how unusual the airport in Vaduz was decked out that strange sad month stuck between Austria and Switzerland

                                                                        Coffin Candy for Fat Lips
                                                                   By: Domenic Maltempi
                                                                   7-28-08
                                                                                               

                                                                        5.

 I don’t want to kiss it all good bye

                                                                                    Right now

I haven’t had enough time to repeat my best mistakes in places I thought I’ve been spat into unfairly or fairly

            My guardian angel agent

            A retired softball coach

came by Wednesday to visit me

 in my time of crucible strummed spirit-torpor  

            He was a Constant finger splinted cold tooth smiling Jinx

 must have been a recluse in some other life

            Most recluses come back

soft ball coaches if that is available when they come back

            He was the Mozart of retired softball coaches

A legend at University town Hamburger parking lots

 for his moving reticence and sassy gesticulation

6.

 Fat pop fly(s) over easily bruised ethereal fields

 of bridge memory green

 Diamond dirt running lanes

 of course

Carving epigrams with the cutest back up short stop into a rotting

but wonderfully shaped bench smeared with multiple generation’s worth of personal slurs and viscous rumors in colorful script by viscous pre-teens in ennui fanged mischief modes

Her blue ponytail leaking out of her well worn Dodger’s cap

  My army knife in her grasp

1.

Nowadays most people die of a sort of commonsense
             

                        I always wanted to know what that meant

                        I wanted to pretend to know and look at myself

and know and not be smug about it

 but tender or self-effacing or something like that

 about knowing

and did she quote herself or who

or Wilde eyed and third inning tranced

     My head my mouth

tasting the sound

a second palate  

of cracking bats

and angry umpires have exciting sex lives

and angry umpires have exciting secret lives

 wear the chest protector in the shower and insult the soap on their face

and call there mistresses out on strikes looking

and look at me when I call you out!

 and how that made her very excited

and how his wife was the third base coach

 and how no one visited the popcorn shaman after Saturday day games

 and how her blue ponytail chased my attention down anywhere like one of those sage like murderer characters in a way too thinly American themed

regeneration through violence of the frontier story

            and how the grass stain slides are three minute standing ovations impossible to remove no matter what you do

  brushing it wet and dry in a dark place

 as a glissando rescues a drooling season ticket holder elsewhere but tied to you

  before the orchestra falls out of the hotdog truck

 This was all a bench thought daytune jaunt

A bench thought that should not have entered his mind until two weeks later

for these thoughts are given appointments for us

appointments that they bitch about

 they don’t want

like old people in podiatry waiting rooms shoving People Magazines down their pants in fits of hemorrhaging boredom

2.

everything through the grassy cleats of ones brain

            and wanting that to be true… and wanting that to be a big fat lie

Nowadays most people died of a sort of commonsense bluntly torn from stinking tomes

  Coach said:

De-glue a lofty set of stairs to nowhere dead enough to be

7.

Our hands just started holding each other

    The pointers criminally curled

            Playfully digging into summer soft palms

 Misdemeanor pointer fingers

  Each finger a sort of crime in a pose

on a tree stapled

 That was our game that day and if we forgot it forever after that

Fuck it…it was still a talk that would never be forgotten

that was no less important than the talk about inviting

 The Castanadas over for Mind Erasers and Zucchini Sabers

 Lashing each other with Hawaiian curse outs

 till an apocalyptic night crouched its filthy black sponged legs on the chest of a retarded dying sun

As anemic orange as an indoor Psychedelic Quaker maze designed by a pacifist hypochondriac in a squalid mood

 We shared wedding anniversaries with the Castanadas

            I’m remembering that now

            And I ask for a few more moments to gallop into my idiocies

  8.

 Tanya loved me

   She sold her snowmobile and named her plants after my favorite coronet players

  Her father gave up his chair as head anthropologist at Colgate University

   Before we were married…..

            Charlie settled into an upstairs kitchen

 with one circular window

   Where he laboriously put his soul into inventing a device

      To place over certain entry points

Homes, old inky currency caves, lascivious grottos, 99 Cent stores run by dreamy lovers with no libidos left

 mom and pop derivative shops

   This device would be able to play a few notes or more (depending on the person) of a music that you might be or that you were at the time

as you walked through some sort of entry point

  a piece of a part would be played that might be you…

 you are that unseen note

instruction for dynamics squeezed in a grassy margin

   scrawled allegro instruction in a burnt out manuscript boat

 all of you none of you

 belonging to a billowing score of mellifluous vitality and beauty

scrambled into seas that once were possible

 I understood the power of the Blue Pony Tail

      I understood Charlie’s kitchen and why I always heard the Tijuana Brass sibilant as hell in my left ear

 when you’re fugitive grand parents snuck back into

California exuding a grainy Central American pornographic gaiety

Two nights before the wedding was first called off

 I asked Charlie Scorcherbog

with his glistening time travel sweat serving as a mirror

 I didn’t need to see

If he needed anyone to invest in his idea

  I assured him I loved his daughter and would treat her

With the carefulness of an aging Air conditioning unit in a Gobi Desert snack shop tea hang gambler parlor

 that I just inherited as my only source of wealth for the foreseeable future

my impecunious woes at the mercy of gambling on a sketched popular tourist attraction cooked up by various shady NGOS catering  to crank mystics with a heat bent being lured to the area by a wealthy tin pot dictator with aspirations of being in action movies

  this NGO collectives only other idea was a failed attempt to market Lichtenstein as the Meringue capital of Europe

   how unusual the airport in Vaduz was decked out that strange sad month stuck between Austria and Switzerland

• Stories that take you everywhere, but leave you in a very particular place
• The love of children or others shown to you in ways difficult to observe, but acutely and simply felt
• Those ever fading moments of peculiar recognition that there is something that dies warm little deaths constantly, but keeps you tastefully needled into a counter-oblivion quilt discovered in a disappearing jungle
• Morning Sex with a lover you are able to get very upset with (sun on half the bed,) but still very much prefer to be around in the evening talking raptly about music as superb coffee brews, and a jolly chef silently serves a ’classic’ southern Italian Sunday diner.
• Passing out with out a perturbing  thought taking the journey with you/a cnew comic humbling hole to fall into 
• fingers in hair, hair in fingers
• discovering art where it was either deemed impossible, or never/hardly considered
• Family
• Drives with perfect music (alone)
• long delayed gratification of minor thrills/the beginnings of familiarity of place/people

    A day hail helmet night bumps around night again but who will pick anyone up..up. Telling myself that exact. There’s windows to open. I know
Bright news for El Alto………new album is quickening it’s lambent pulses to be to be!  Mike Q and I might name the thing ‘The Long 18th Century,’ which has something to ‘do’ with the introduction of addiction writ large during late 16th to 18th century. There’s more behind it… Auto-tropic—revolution pinning stuff friends!

  Brian Dewan http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brian_Dewan is to create our future South American Slum City…where the slum is stunned…retreating to pellet tongue mountain…lowercase runnel in a borrowed hat. Playing good cop bad cop with a white nectarine. My therapist is dawdling all alone right now… I can see her through these