JaSar's Podcast

This was a dedication show for Waylon Jennings I put together back in March of 2002. I call it "Goodbye". All about that big goodbye. We are here and not, all at once. The dance around the black void of uncertainty which fuels us, pulls us into her. Having to say goodbye and go it alone into the unknown rules everything. It's the root of all our doings. So hello my friend, and my friend goodbye.

Anything that punches holes in the ordinary has the potential of value.

Set List as follows in which each piece is integrated and interchanged sporadically throughout the show. Not at all in the order of the list.

1. Performance w/ James Fox/Mick Jagger- filmed in 1968 by Nicolas Roeg & Donald Cammell. Written by Cammell with music by Jack Nitzsche.

2. Mozart - Requiem

3. Samuel Beckett - How It Is - read by Sarah Berthume

4. Gertrude Stein - How To Write - read by Jason Berthume

5. Tom Waits - Wait till Yesterday

6. ESP - East Side Percussion

7. KECAK - Balinese Music Drama

8. Jefferson Airplane - Wooden Ships

9. Frank Black - Bartholomew

10.Tom Waits - Regret #1 #2

11.The Band - When You Awake

12.Tom Waits - Cold Cold Ground

13.Jefferson Airplane - Plastic Fantastic Lover

14.Frank Black - Headed My Way

15.Tom Waits - You'll Have To Wait till Yesterdays Here

The true trend of the poet in my mind is the symbolic use of a more personal jargon which I referred to earlier as the old sign language no longer served. Although, I say it with a mad, hallucinated grin. Once I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have , but now I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity, I belong to my madness, my excrement, my ecstasy, to the great circuit which flows through the subterranean vaults of the flesh. A man who belongs to this race must stand up on a high place with gibberish in his mouth and rip out his entrails. One has to earn death with all one’s appetites, refuse no poison, reject no experience however degrading or sordid. One has to come to the end of one’s forces, learn that one is a slave - in whatever realm - in order to desire emancipation. And anything that falls short of this frightening spectacle, anything less shuddering, less terrifying, less mad, less intoxicated, less contaminating, is not art. You put on a bishop’s robe and miter, he pondered, and walk around in that, and people bow, genuflect and like that, try to kiss your ring, if not your ass, and pretty soon you’re a bishop. So to speak. What is identity? He asked himself. Where does the act end. The identity of the purveyors of the poisons concocted of brain-destructive filth shot daily, taken orally daily, smoked daily by several million men and women-or rather, that were once men and women- is gradually being unraveled.

The rest is counterfeit. The rest is human. The rest belongs to life and lifelessness. The benevolent pride of the genius lies in his will which must be broken. The secret to deliverance lies in the practice of charity.

the

Impostor

He must be an outsider's outsider.

This divinity of her's is a liquid blue reflection of a man in a study in front of a window peeping out of and back at a glass globe held in her hand holy n sacred, devoted to supreme greatness, enjoying a soft creamy kind a candy. A sort of crystallization of our image, our imagination, boiling n evaporating, weak, hesitant or ineffectual, even, flat n smooth (used in emphasizing a comparison) an even more of an unexpected oddity, even as she spoke, we entered level n steady, almost upright as if in a rough sea in a ship for sailing, with a bowspirit and at least three square rigged masts, each composed of lower,top, and topgallant members. Our fellow members have gathered greedily into the ceremonious hall outside the window behind the peeping man reflecting out of and back at a glass globe held in her hand beckoning the faithful in a foregoing story closed within the symbol of the people we were and the words composed by a queen whom longed for pleasure in repeating destiny.

Put up with nothing

Give everything

"Never before, when it is life itself that is in question, has there been so much talk of civilization and culture. And there is a curious parallel between this generalized collapse of life at the root of our present demoralization and our concern for a culture which has never been coincident with life, which in fact has been devised to tyrannize over life."

---- Antonin Artaud

10/10/2006

Non-breeder and breeder separation. In the far future, millions of years from now, the earth becomes flat due to a shift in gravitational pull and a giant black hole turning our galaxy lenticular. The ones in the beginning who were wrong were made correct millions of years later. Long after humans (due to their breeding and non-breeding ways and discriminations) evolved into an ecto goo plasma sliding or dripping over the edges of our flat earth into the blank void of the universe. Like spooge sliding over the edge of a toilet bowl into the great flush of life/death.

Bennett Theissen of The Chill Room reading my first blog post on The Digital Fallout.

the next step with jason berthume 091606

killradio

Banksy: Painted Elephants in 3 parts

Penny Serenade-film-Cary Grant

Depressurizing at high altitudes: a primer in terror from tim

Live recordings of Banksy art exhibit on Saturday 91606

Banksy's Paris Hilton remix

St. Germains Tourist

Kathy Acker

Kid Rock-Hard Night for Sarah

Frank Zappa-Mother People

William Burroughs and Kathy Acker interview

Frank Zappa-Comin Staight from the Heart to You

Harry Nilsson-Everybody's Talkin

Hank Williams- You're gonna change(or I'm gonna leave)

The Chillroom-Lennon Remembers

The Fugs-Wide, Wide River of Shame

John Lee Hooker-Hobo Blues

The Monk

Bob Dylan-Modern TImes-Working Man Blues #2

Scott Williams

Buddy Holly-Not Fade Away

I find myself on a patio of his design looking in at a patriarch lying dead. Circling mourners shatter the air with anguished wails. His body is laid on a leafy litter, his head is pillowed on a bananas stalk, and his arms are folded across his chest. His shell ornaments and plumed headdress are placed at his side. As relatives gather, women in an inner circle, men in the background, they make known the grief with shrieking sobs. All day and far into this night they howl. She was in the corner, eyes glazed over black. She had killed him with a sharp stiletto. I’m seeing this through the window in the wall. He had concentrated all his hopes and desires into this one adventure, into this wide world, expanding outward to the unseen edges of the universe. There was no returning to base camp. I turned a cold and unprofitable face to the wards of the convalescent city.

--me

"Become good at cheating and you never need to become good at anything else."

— Banksy (Wall and Piece)