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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE!: 08/10

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE! A dozen years. A hundred thousand on. Still waiting the old address. No, you don't. you never know. you can guess. you can fathom. you can plan your days away from dawn until the day you die in the shade of the bridge where you first let your hand slip under her dress while you kissed to a cicada sunset but it won't amount to anything more than the memory of a palimpsest. And clarity shines her grasshopper sonnet. The ants drown, lonely, in the bay. In The New Year.mp3. K Johnson, Esq.

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE!: 09/21

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE! A dozen years. A hundred thousand on. I know why carl hates god. I've heard his barbacked arguments. his inappropriate workaday pose. his banter. his existential folds. his sermon on the mount of human frailty at the end of the world rubbing his hands greedily waiting for just the right moment to shout loud as his red breast has ever beat I FUCKING KNEW IT! But i don't agree. A ghost, i guess. Ready to be destroyed as swept away to the peace that surpasses. Mansion On The Hill.mp3.

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE!: 04/26

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE! A dozen years. A hundred thousand on. Oh, and how we've fallen the fuck apart lately. stinking. foul and fucking forgetting what it is that fueled the maudlin exit. sorrow. pity. prize and i'm a mess but still presented with the chance to scribble half articulate while they're all sleeping. So half naked spit glass window on the world. the girls said yes, man. the booze said no. the next step was simple enough but here we are instead of floundering the rite of passage. Sleep it off, men.

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE!: 10/12

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE! A dozen years. A hundred thousand on. This started a lot for me. Too much, maybe. Sluts in the City.mp3. Once drunk, I stole her. Panties. blue silk and lace. pure. The sink, stained. i took them home. Came all over them. For a year. i burned. Them in an old tin with love. Letters from young girls. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). A mamma in the making. St mark's and underhill. K Johnson, Esq. Criminal Class USA and the Hush Hush Revolution. Astoria, Queens, United States.

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE!: 07/05

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE! A dozen years. A hundred thousand on. Some thin boy shaking pale fists in the rain. blonde hair stains his face and he's staring at his mother's window. naked. breathing in her bed. a window crack. curtains thin and tatter. Bruised fingerprints on her left breast. semen cakes her neck. her lips apart. half drunk. half sleeping. she mutters something at the shadows. a name. a prayer. He doesn't blame her. They learn to lock the door. If I Had A Heart.mp3. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE!: 11/15

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE! A dozen years. A hundred thousand on. To shine our regrets. to air all our grievances. to make mountains cower at the men we'd slewn in secret just for fun. Not as savages. not this time, at least. As welcome waters for the crickets to come and wash our feet clean of the cobwebs. the shit. the dreams, wrought and webbed and weighed down by all the company that kept us cowardly and free. The hours, irrelevant. days bleak as machines. But tonight, we ring. Out into the halls.

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE!: 07/19

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE! A dozen years. A hundred thousand on. My deeds are carried on. The backs of old crows as warm. Winters welcome me home. She sees me today. As a ghost whose hungry arms. Could hold her once more. All of my pages. Left under used cigarettes. Are yours to believe. Beside the bones shape. Unwelcome roads in dust foiled. By the western shore. Once and i would be again. If only you'd known. First Perennial Fall.mp3. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). A mamma in the making. St mark's and underhill.

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE!: 06/28

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE! A dozen years. A hundred thousand on. Maybe then you'd listen. maybe you'd give a shit. maybe i'd be the vogue that sneaks bumps to a midget in the back of the bar with a necktie drawn on his t-shirt and a habit grown just to kick and fatten later to a fistful of all the right accolades i'd memorialize in sanskrit on the nape of my neck. But then i'd be a joke. i'd be a product of the grist that kills our soft young kings. And i just can't. And it's imperfect, all right. K Johnson, Esq.

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE!: 12/21

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE! A dozen years. A hundred thousand on. Looks like my nails are rusty again, now babeez, so you'll forgive me if the sentiment doesn't run quite as dry as we'd like when you consider the cat's been crying this long and it doesn't look like he'll abate until he matches weights with charles atlas (the rockefeller way). It's fucking christmas time. A Swipe at Snow Angels. Http:/ www.megaupload.com/? Broken Hearts Sound Like Breakbeats.and so they're dancing, if for a time. Coalesce - Out on...

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE!: 12/19

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RIDE HARVEY, RIDE! A dozen years. A hundred thousand on. HO, SWEET HO! Banner up again, friends. We've come to close another year. And has it ever been a strange one. But since it's late and you've all heard most (if not all) of the stories already, let's just cut it straight. This year's mix is a two-parter. She works separately and as a two and a half hour whole. There are high points. There's some screaming. Some sadness and, somehow, some fun. Questions/Issues/Comments.you know where to find me.