#jarret

[matsiro-be]

Un plat mijoté.

Boeuf effiloché au gingembre et piment.

[zanygardenherowobbler]

Watch "¡Jeff Jarrett: La Reacción a los Guitarrazos más Brutales!" on YouTube

[dragonroilz]

[mjfass]

There was an incident backstage...

[mycasualjoys]

REAL GENIUS "Number One" | 1985

[gundamcalibarney]

funny people that drive funny trains

[meekinthedraw]

I thought of this at work one day and it hasn't left my brain since.

[llovelymoonn]

favourite poems of february

brian gyamfi the almost love poem of eloise and kofi

angela jackson and all these roads be luminous: “angel”

sharon olds the promise

laura ma fossil record of a drowning carp

mahmoud darwish the butterfly’s burden: “i didn’t apologise to the well” (tr. fady joudah)

jimmy santiago baca immigrants in our own land: “immigrants in our own land”

james richardson essay on the one hand and on the other

john kinsella peripheral light: selected and new poems by john kinsella: “drowning in wheat”

twyla m. hansen the other woman

monica sok abc for refugees

sumita chakraborty most of the children who lived in this house are dead. as a child i lived here. therefore i am dead

chaelee dalton blood type personality theory

tj jarret of late, i have been thinking about despair

zubair ibrahim siddiqui sun, suna, sunaofying

sun yung shin skirt full of black: “immigrant song”

richard eberhart a dublin afternoon

louise glück aboriginal landscape

michelle cadiz oil and other drugs

hafsa zulfiqar small nightmares i dream in a foreign country

james richardson fire warnings

alberto rios not go away is my name: “immigrant centuries”

n.s. ahmed on becoming memory

andrea krause for our anniversary next year

ajanae dawkins blood-flex

ananya kanai shah my girls & i

aleda shirley the glass lotus

mahmoud darwish almond blossoms and beyond: “think of others”

robert américo esnard dendrochronology of a family tree

buy me a chai latte

[smulnsander]

throwing urself into the abys you suck #yousuck

[rustbeltjessie]

Chicago Noise (Love Letter to Steve Albini) by Jarret Keene

How many boys want to be whipped by Steve Albini’s guitar? -Sonic Youth bassist/singer Kim Gordon

Woke up this morning, as usual, hungry for white-boy noise and black coffee. Popped in – what else? – Big Black’s Songs About *!?king and blasted it at full volume on the home stereo so I could feel every

drum-machine wallop in my molars, every lacerating riff against my face, those places where noise really hits me when its good and loud. Steve, there’s something about your band Big Black

in the morning that helps me to more effectively hate birds outside my window as they chirp ridiculous tunes about nothing to no one, something in the serrated edges of the song “Pavement Saw” and

the slaughterhouse fury of “Colombian Necktie” that transports me to the Loop, jostling around inside a metal tube across an ice-cold, urban-Midwest landscape of old, bombed-out meatpacking plants.

Like it’s a clear day in March and I’m taking it all in – the canyons of LaSalle, the cliffs of Michigan Avenue, the public artworks – and there’s this satanic chainsaw behind my ears, eager to sink

its teeth into my skull, turning my lights out and then everyone else’s. This noise is dirty and yet so pure that I can’t help feeling even more comfortable in my alienation, even happier in hostile

territory. I imagine myself lying down like a lamb at the paws of a lion guarding the stairs of the Art Institute. I picture myself walking into a Wicker Park record shop (a real record shop that

actually sells, you know, vinyl) and asking the skinny, unfriendly employees there if they might sell me another Big Black LP. And when they scowl at me with an expression that says “Why don’t

you already own that record, poser?” all I can say to my fellow rock snobs is leave me alone, because I’m armed and dangerous, and about to vaporize Cloud Gate in Millenium Park, to rip

the girders from Calder’s red-orange flamingo-looking thing perched in front of the Federal Center with my incisors before flame-broiling it oh-so-slowly with an acetylene torch until the steel is tender enough

to eat with a plastic spork, to challenge the next thrash band to play the Double Door to a demolition derby-style mosh pit involving broken beer bottles and our bare chests and bags of salt.

And if anyone asks about the point of this tsunami of sucking nihilism, this whole tortured carnival ride, let me say that it’s my chance to ignore the terrifying silence at the end of this caffeinated daydream.

Anyhow, Steve, just thought I’d write you a quick letter letting you know how much your anti-corporate band gets me dreaming of Chicago and prepares me for another gray and greasy day

of corporate enslavement, chained to my cubicle, hoping for a moment to shut down my computer and loosen my tie, straining to hear a measure, the merest note, of the sweet music of birds.

[patepatu]

Sarah Jarret art

[hangmanshorse]

Adam page can spit in my direction any day

[dragonroilz]

sometimes you gotta hug the realest person you know because clearly my door opener isnt an actual person

[loveboatinsanity]

[mycasualjoys]

REAL GENIUS Chris Knight | 1985

[jazzandother-blog]

Keith Jarrett Trio - All The Things You Are

Recorded live in Tokyo, March 30, 1996 at Hitomi Memorial hall.