Karl Richter (1926 - 1981) was considered to be one of the greatest interpreters of this beautiful organ piece by Johann Sebastian Bach. Enjoy! 

Toccata and Fugue in D Minor

 

THE PRIEST

Check out those priestly hues: cardinal

red spotted with Irish stew, or flaked with parmesan

cheese, all depending on whether we’re in Dublin or Naples,

or dandruff on Jesuit black, or mullah white rising      

up in a desert wind, and a lovely Buddhist saffron    

plastered down and wet in a monsoon deluge. He could be on his way 

to hear the sins of his flock, or cast out demons     

in an Appalacian barn, or nod chanting over 

disembodied foreskins in Brooklyn. 

He might be barefoot(a literalist of the soulful arts),

wear boatshoes or Birkenstocks, Gucci

loafers possibly, or in Palastine plastic sandals,

or maybe the sort of embroidered slippers

stuck on the end of a saint’s bones. He might live

in Kyoto where he, in season, contemplates cherry trees,

or in Calcutta where he’s breathing in the fumes   

of a burning corpse, or blessing a suicide   

bomber in Beirut, or lunching on a plate of pasta

in the Vatican, and about to bring to the confession booth

a whiff of garlic and Frascati Classico, or he’s that man 

on his knees in Cleveland begging for forgiveness.

Biniaraix

Let's do a bit of reorganization this weekend

Reorganisiert - Reorganized 56 x 75 cm

REORGANIZED

there has to be chapter and verse on this

somewhere…what are the words…the lord giveth

and lean management taketh away?

a meeting in fifteen minutes, the contact group

committee for creative destruction

meet you at the coffee machine instead, bring smokes

yes but corporations ARE people therefore

need to shed several pounds every now and then

consultants conducting off-the-shelf search & destroy

missions instigating thereby fear of shark attack

            a shot of healthy fear never hurt anyone     

                      

                        i had my name all over

it still some asshole ate roughly 35% of my turkey wrap

at 6% interest per annum giving us a total of

a two-step process or dance if you wish

                           please remember

count heads first THEN order body bags 

Samuel Barber - Adagio for Strings

The Passing

Im dunklen, dunklen Wald - In the dark, dark Forest 30 x 24 cm

THE PASSING

Significant

others fall away like chaff,

like confetti

in a party’s aftermath.

Always have. Maybe you miss

the ambiguity of their smiles, the pinpoint accuracy

of their charm. Or maybe not. Nonetheless 

it does seem unjust that we have to 

bite the dust, cash in our chips, or

as the Germans put it, lay down the spoon, just

one more ego, fat with fantasy, consigned to the void.

Some wish that instead of kicking they could just go away   

for a while then return to their lives refreshed, even enhanced,

as after a few weeks in a Tibetan monastery, or

a single night in some plush bordello of the Belle Epoch.

Think of the expense. A  crowd gathering  

itself together like the remnants

of a lost tribe, clamoring for food and drink.

All of that attention gone to waste.

A stranger in Birkenstocks reading from

the HOLY BIBLE—is there any other kind? Evidently he

prefereth the King James Version. Still, the exit is plainly marked.

 Nina Simone - My baby just cares for me

A little country comfort for y'all

Abstract No. 3 - Pastel Painting

RED STATE OF MIND

We believe in law n‘ order

but we do like our vice. Not much

else to do on a Saturday night. The

MET ain’t coming to town any time soon

and I doubt American Ballet Theatre’d

get out of here unplucked(all

those nice little birdies in Swan Lake)un-

fucked(ditto)or undead.

What will we take? You name it.

Cut it with a razor and we’ll suck

it right in. Roll it and we’ll bogart it.

Sex? It ain’t subtle with us but it feels good.

Senseless violence? We can do that.

Shoot, we do that all the time, sometimes even for money.

Here’s number one on my hit list of great

out of town ass kickers. Three days

in Reno, Nevada—the “Biggest Little Town In The

World”—which is basically an over-sized slot-

machine with dollar-ninety-nine cent breakfasts—

all expenses paid. Sounds like a piece of heaven to me.

What was that you said about transcendence?

Well…it tastes like grits soaked in egg yolk.

Looks like a tired stripper in Fayetteville, N.C.

at two in the morning. Feels like a

pump-action shotgun ever so damp with linseed oil.

Sounds like Johnny Cash live at Folsom.

Smells like refried beans from a funky little stand

in Tuscon, Arizona. With cheese, lots of cheese.

That desert wind’s blowing hot today, and if you look real hard,

over yonder by the used car lot, you can just make out His

face in the swirling dust, frowning about

some minor offence, no doubt, but looking the other way.

He’s a good ol’ boy and this is His home town at the End of Time.

It's country time.

An exerpt from the Cohen Brothers' film "O Brother where art thou"