snowed in...

so i made music...

ALLIGATOR TEETH

if i may sound like a pretentious douchebag... i'm a bit excited for this. it's cool.

hey, blizzards suck.

so, today my flight to new york city was cancelled. rather than get bummed... i went out in the garage and started my band "Joe And The Motisi's" enjoy:

joe of all trades... master of none

too many projects at once. need to focus. right now the focus has been directed towards making a documentary.

hopefully going to get it started through kickstarter.com.

also, because it's not like i don't already have to much on my plate, working on a music project with a guy i know. it's interesting because it is a move into music i've never made before... hip hop.

ever hear my dumb stuff? check it out below

http://www.purevolume.com/HeyManFarOut

for now, i have decent focus.

until tomorrow, when i lose my mind again.

Mortality

someone i knew died. he always promoted my shows and came out to them. the last time i saw him was telling jokes at an open mic in december.

i wasnt close to the guy, but i knew him. he was kind. he gave a shit about what we did.

of course my train of thoughts never stops... so i started thinking about my own mortality.

will someone blog "someone i knew died. i did shows with him. i wasnt close to him, but i knew him..."? fuck, i hope not.

once upon a time i wrote out the guidelines to my wake and funeral. i think i'll share them...

GUIDELINES FOR THE WAKE AND FUNERAL OF JOE MOTISI:

LET IT BE KNOWN THAT THESE ARE THE FINAL WISHES OF JOSEPH DAVID MOTISI. AS WRITTEN WHEN JOSEPH MOTISI WAS OF SOUND MIND AND BODY. THESE WISHES ARE TO BE STRICTLY FOLLOWED AND NOT ALTERED BY THE RESPONSIBLE PARTIES THAT ARE HANDLING FUNERAL SERVICES.

FIRST AND FOREMOST:

JOE MOTISI WISHES TO BE CREMATED. THE ASHES ARE TO BE SPREAD AT ELAINE BOND PARK IN SCHAUMBURG ILLINOIS

PROCEDURES FOR WAKE/FUNERAL:

- WITH THE EXCLUSION OF SLACKS, BLACK CAN NOT BE WORN AT CEREMONY. NO BLACK WHATSOEVER. IF SOMEONE ARRIVES IN BLACK, THERE WILL BE SHIRTS AVAILABLE FOR THEM TO PUT ON INSTEAD.
- PEOPLE ARE ENCOURAGED TO WEAR HAWAIIAN SHIRTS. OR BRIGHT COLORS.
- JOE MOTISI WOULD PREFER THE WAKE NOT BE IN A FUNERAL HOME BUT AT A HOUSE.
- JOE MOTISI WOULD LIKE THERE TO BE BBQ AVAILABLE FOR THOSE IN ATTENDENCE. I.E HAMBURGERS AND HOTDOGS
- JOE MOTISI WOULD LIKE HIS URN TO BE PLACED ON A TABLE AND HAVE COOLERS FULL OF BEER AND SODA UNDER OR AROUND HIS URN. THIS IS AN ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY PART OF THIS WAKE AND CAN NOT BE ALTERED IN ANY WAY.
- JOE MOTISI WOULD LIKE TO HAVE A TELEVISION/COMPUTER PLAYING VIDEO OF HIS STANDUP COMEDY PERFORMANCES AVAILABLE FOR WATCHING. HE WOULD LIKE THIS BECAUSE HE WANTS PEOPLE TO REMEMBER HIS EFFORTS IN MAKING THEM LAUGH.
- ALL WHO ATTEND OR ENTER HOME WHERE WAKE IS BEING HELD MUST WRITE A MEMORY OF JOSEPH DAVID MOTISI ON A NOTE CARD AND DEPOSIT IT IN WHATEVER IS USED TO HOLD ON TO THESE NOTECARDS (BOX, BAG, ETC.) AFTER THE WAKE THE CONTENTS OF THIS BAG ARE TO BE BURNED AND THE ASHES OF THESE NOTECARDS ARE TO BE ADDED TO THE URN IN WHICH JOE MOTISI IS CONTAINED.
- JOE MOTISI'S FAVORITE PICTURE OF HIMSELF MUST BE PLACED NEXT TO THE URN. THIS IS THE PICTURE WHERE HE IS DRINKING A 7&7 AND WEARING HIS FAVORITE BROWN SUIT.
- WHEN NIGHT FALLS, PARTICIPANTS ARE ENCOURAGED TO STAND UP AND ROAST JOE MOTISI. SHARE A STORY, POKE FUN, ETC.

ASHES SCATTERING PROCEDURE:

- JOE MOTISI WOULD LIKE ONLY IMMEDIATE FAMILY TO BE INVOLVED WITH THE SPREADING OF THE ASHES.
- EXCLUSION TO IMMEDIATE FAMILY IS OFFICER MICHAEL T. WOOD WHO IS ASKED TO BE IN PRESCENCE.
- THE URN IS TO BE EMPTIED BY HIS MOTHER
- IF MOTHER IS NOT WITH US, IT IS TO SPREAD BY HIS BROTHER WILLIAM
- IF WILLIAM IS NOT WITH US, IT IS TO BE SPREAD BY HIS BROTHER ANDREW
- IF ANDREW IS NOT WITH US, IT IS TO BE SPREAD BY MICHAEL T. WOOD
- IF ANY OF THE ABOVE IS NOT AVAILABLE TO SPREAD ASHES. A CLOWN MUST BE HIRED TO DO IT. SERIOUSLY.



so yeah, hopefully that happens when the time comes. now off to smoke cigarettes and eat red meat.

even i hate that im listening to this song

truth is you find youself a stereotype sometimes. find yourself awake when you should give sleep a shot. make yourself into that stupid image of a sad bastard you never want to be.

the past two days have been incredibly strange. i'd complain, but there's no room for complaints anymore.

someone told me once that happiness was a choice...

well, someone give me a coin. i need to flip it.

i wrote this the other day

"I Read Allen Ginsberg Once."

spit out whatever taste haunts the lips

be it words, places, events, the leftover
ghosts of kisses (spectre love gloom)

january clouds strike lightning, paralyze the body as
it stumbles, drank yourself into a stereotype

dancing for quarters, on berwyn, need train
fare to escape the saliva dripping from the mouth
that once promised eternity...

spoke of heaven as though it was a cab ride from downtown to
uptown to hell.

shocking like electricity advertising
all night delivery... so hungry. we are so hungry for
that moment, starving, like asthetics in jungles read
about in magazines, national apathetic, lounged in a bar
seeking enlightenment. booths not quite bodhi trees, levis
and flannels, not quite robes.

horrors, beers not finished, glass is half
fucked. this city is romantic when enjoyed responsibly.
prefer intoxication of concrete and lust

prayers on knees, i've seen the best jeans of my generation
ripped and torn and frayed because we knew not how to apologize
to those saints who paid bar tabs and told us about san francisco and
the poets who've done it before us

spit out blood from a tongue split, not cut, a decision
not made, left or right, go or stay, a train into the suburban
pit of self mutilation.

a body covered in scars from nights spent slipping
and hands held out for solace and restitution, ungrateful
black and blue and black stained shoes... borrowed from a friend

of all the cities fucked, this one is the easiest
and most welcome, coffee in the morning, kind of lay
that makes one pray it'll fuck you again the next day

spit out sunshine on a sunday afternoon.
exorcised ghosts caught the redline towards howard and that
is not your way.

it's never been, never will be, bite your lips, return home. or not
there are things to do and cities to wander

one foot in front of the other is not as beautiful a dance
as it was the night before
never took lessons, never took lessons

there are streets paved and parking meters
ticking, metronomes keeping pace with the worries of the mind

find the words, hidden, lips purse... robbed from
an old women on a bench, not much in it.

heathens, spitting on streets and smoking
cigarettes rebelling against their mothers but
only loving the ones that remind of us of said authoritatives
oedipus tore out his eyes, the tongue more suiting, words
last longer than stares when written in wet cement

the future is and always will be a sentence salivated
over breasts and hips and hair and dicks and hands
held over turnstyles

find the words, they were spray painted on
city walls and freight trains that only grandfather
knew the destination of, farms green, not
the gray desired

this city was once a slaughterhouse but still beckons blood
from papercuts, tickets and notebook pages torn out
and left on doorsteps of desire

a stroll, a leisurely stroll, still bleeding

tourniquets are phonecalls promising weekends
that will not be blood thinners, proper medication
of whiskey and forget.

if we could be criminals, we'd love each other
and forget the stolen conversations from french
films we couldnt understand.

black and white, not suiting
we need red and blue, the police
on the next avenue should arrest us.

for we are who we are never supposed to be

a comedian, a poet, a salesmen, a cook
a painter, a lover, a friend, a husband, a wife
a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a word spit on the sidwalk

a passerby called it disgusting.


1/25/10

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