The insidious festering flesh blob called Karl Rove has left the White House, but his putrescence will remain for a long time.

Before flesh blob, the Lone Star state of Texas was run by democrats and independents. In fact, Texas Democrats had controlled both houses of the State Legislature since Reconstruction. Perhaps it was bound to happen, Texas has always leaned “conservative” and the Republican party co-opted the word long ago. Don’t forget they killed Kennedy there.

But Fleshy forced it along ruthlessly. Never one for a stand-up fight, he took the state for the Republican party through tampering, redistricting, and criminal campaign finance deals, with Joseph Goebbels’s dairy clutched tightly in his man purse. Then, looking badly bloated, he set out to perform the same steaming turd job on the country. On January 20, 2001 the Presidency was stolen, and Karl redefined the word partisan. Power for the sake of power. Power for the sake of the party. Happily, it was his undoing.

Still, we mourn the division, the hatred, the ruinous policies, and everything else he used to his advantage. We mourn the Lone Star, but the country has not yet been consumed. Silly flesh blob, parties are for the People.

Karl Rove. White House, 2007

“Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter” – Yoda

An enormous Lego man washed up on the Dutch coast a few days ago raising long ignored ontological concerns. Who are we? Is there a God? What is existence?

A squad of small blond boys quickly commandeered the 8 ft. foreigner and lightened the mood with much singing, dancing and smacking each other with wooden paddles. But the questions still remain.

There is an apartment in Brooklyn that once in a while (pending a Blue Moon) turns into a cozy musical sanctuary. The experience is far more harmonious with the natural state of being human than can be found at any club, or even most other private venues. It also smells better, everyone’s nice, and there’s lots of delicious fresh baked cookies.

One blue Sunday night, after sharing wine and conversation a proper show commenced with a mindful aligning of bells and loops by The Holy Experiment. She’s the perfect opener, calling out some primordial sense of community and openness. If the curtains billowed and all the lights went out, I suspect even the most neurotic attendee would have just laid back and nuzzled someone else’s bosom. Between acts there was much joy and more cookies on the roof, in the kitchen, and anywhere else people could have little intermission adventures. Phosphorescent, a poet and bard of the first order, closed the evening. He joins a group of sad sounding yet celebratory American folk rooted singers, connected and truthful. It’s too bad the rest of the world does not get to hear this America more often.

But for me, between those two acts it was the threesome in the middle that brought the wonderment. The Dirty Projectors are pained, yet uplifting, playful, and haunting, but mostly…magnificent.

I sensed the petroleum lubed machine ear of clear channel hone in on Suite Lorraine for a moment, then recoil in fear at witnessing something distinguished. They’re also quite pretty. They sound like all the aluminum siding blasted off of buildings across the street revealing their century-old brick, all the cars outside turned to trees and you decided, after many years of following in line, that you were finally free to do as you pleased.

The Dirty Projectors

* * *

The bathroom at Suite Lorraine