ty gorton's writings

i'm curious

how dropping calm response

to mad signs of probable doom

is feasible,

even as we embrace some kind of truce

with the inevitable.

aren't we capable

of more sound than this?

our inaudible disgust

will become the shrieking historical record

others will peruse with shock and terror,

exclaiming their disbelief

at our silent meanderings through the most innovative oppression in the history of mankind.

There is a new video of Pat Hull shot at Cafe Coda in March, 2008 (CAMMIES Showcase) posted at recrux records! High quality.

CLICK HERE TO WATCH IT

Don't set out to change the world.

Set out to change your neighborhood, your community.

Every individual has the power to impact their local scene, and that is especially true in a place like Chico, CA.

Look at this website, the CRUX, Pirate Punx, Chikoko, the downtown "Secret Gallery"....each one of these creates a MASSIVE cultural impact on this community. If you removed these few things from Chico, it would dramatically change the social/intellectual landscape.

So, I applied for a Mini-Grant from the City for the next 48x48 event...and got the mild mannered slap down.

Which, oddly enough, inspires me.

The arts evolution will not be funded by the City, though it WILL be televised, and it will scare the hell out of Mr. and Mrs. Joe Smith.

Going through this process, I realized that it is OUR responsibility as artists to make our projects 100% viable. Like anything else, we have to make it functional and self realizing within the current social structure. If the PEOPLE won't support it, then it isn't wanted, and/or it needs to be evolved. 

Why dancing?

We symmetrical figures

slow line ourselves

into palmed discomfort

until a misspent whisper sets us free once more

for a breezy spin

into the unknown.

And I am dancing

to keep subtle dismay

Destruction is in my blood

like pretty lights;

a flickering

display

for others

on their way to something bland.

On Saturday morning
he steps out
and doesn’t bother
closing the door.

He walks across baked pavement,
down the foot-packed path
and onto sand
barely hot enough
to make him quick-step
for lengths of shadow.

He finds a cool spot
beneath the arm
of a lone eucalyptus.

From there
he watches young bodies
pound waves
until they concede
to sea’s permanence.

He studies
tight skin, tanned

I've always loved the sound of horns in music, from classical to rock to whatever it may be.

It has been a year of breaking out and exploring neglected possibilities...so I decided to set aside my silly reservations about learning an instrument.

I researched a bit, found out that Olds made some of the finest Student Trumpets ever, found one on e-bay, and snagged it. It'll be here soon!

I haven't eaten a single bite of solid food since last Thursday around Mindnight, part of a "Master Cleanse" program.

I had this vision of barely being able to get out of bed...perhaps someone dabbing my cracked lips with a wet cloth. So dramatic.

The reality is quite the opposite. I have regular to above average energy levels. I'm able to focus intensely on both work and outside creative endeavors.

When standing in the right spot,
the lines of high-rise apartments
blur against glass skyscrapers,
the sun bleeding along edges
until eyes water and shift away.

On certain streets, the pattern of brick
grown from cement becomes hypnotic,
interrupted at even intervals
by the green of block-trimmed shrubs.

The streets have a warmth and smell
distinct at specific times; on one corner