For Ever

For Ever

So.

What does it matter?

He says, she says

For the clock

is not a reality

but that of a dreaming thing

Unmeasured, 

by the heart.

1000 life times past

1000 life times hence

This mortal coil

shall rule us once again

Unknown

&

New

To begin

To arrive

And to start it all

Again.

For I await 

upon the

shore 

for her

For ever.

Strangers

once more

hoping that we

have finally learned

our lesson

For history, time

eternity is nothing

Without her

And without her

Time does not matter.

_____________________

R.M. Engelhardt 2011

The Dead Crooner

The Kenmore Hotel

THE DEAD CROONER

This ain’t the story of Bing Crosby. And sure as shit ain’t the story of Sinatra or Fred Astaire either. This is a story unfit for Bobbie-soxers & the elderly. And this is not the story of some sentimental journey, a very very long-time “ago”.

So let’s all get nostalgic and flashback as they say to the golden days. Where dreams were a dime a dozen and love was still innocent,for a few. At least that’s what they say. This story starts back in the days when some guys named “The Nazi’s” were just starting up the party in a place called Germany, and when some shit-head named Adolph Hitler who they called “DA Fur her” told the world that they were all inferior to his master race. Then one day in the neighborhood he just came along they say. A young man in his early 30’s, not a kid at all but some guy who looked like he had it all together. With his leather jacket flung over his one arm, hair slicked back with pomade and a Lucky-Strike dangling from the corner of his lip. Five feet-10inch’s & all the the girls said “He’s a dish”. That confident smile, the smart ass knowing grin, and a voice they all say that they remembered as sounding like some kind of magic, some kind of bird as he walked from place to place in Albany. He, knowing everybody back then, and everybody knowing him.

“Don’t let your daughters go near that crazy jazz fella!”, All the mothers would say,”He’s trouble!”. As if just by the sight of looking at him all their daughters would instantly become impregnated. But the secret is, the rumor was was that some of those mom’s wanted & got some “singing” lessons on the side themselves.

“Hey!, I’m singing at the club tonight!” He’d tell them. “The New Kenmore Hotel” You should come check me out. the legend being that he had learned to sing from and that his voice was a gift from singing in some negro~black churches when he was younger, and that over the years he had sang with all the creme de’la creme as well. Bull Moose, P. Baby Dodds & The Scranton Singers as well as many others. Rumors that he was into “Voo doo” strange drugs & everything else and that he didn’t worship God, like a good Sunday-morning christian. But night after night his orchestra & his beautiful voice had filled the room as couples danced, swayed and fell in love. Going on forever as if the music would never stop. Gallagher? What was his last name they say these days? The big band historians don’t remember.

Then, one night, as the old-story goes. Upon the dark streets of Albany after all the bars closed. A debt was settled & paid …in full. Y’see the singer, the crooner didn’t know what he had gotten himself into. As if there were some hand of strange fate that had reached out and ended his brief career. What happened was he crossed the wrong man’s, the devil’s path as they say. A man known in the city known as “Legs Diamond”. And a man who wasn’t pleased that some good-looking, handsome singer with his tones of gold, was screwing his girlfriend inside the hotel. And on that dark, cold night one October as the wind brushed by his face, walking down Broadway, the crooner got snared by some of Diamond’s men. And that was the night he paid the devil his due. As still alive, screaming they held him there on that street corner and cut him open deep from chest to throat. Gutted him, still breathing…screaming & gasping for air, like a fish. And then as legend has it took the only thing that that boy had had left. His voice. And dumped the rest his body in the Hudson River but took that one piece of him..that made him unique, and hid it somewhere, possibly in a palace, where no one except Legs would know where to find.And O’Connell and all the police..did nothing.

But many years have passed, long ago since that fateful night. Times change, times swing and time goes by, and they rock n’ roll and have moved onto bigger & better things, where the streets & all the old buildings of that era remain empty and vacant. All of the people from another time, seemingly erased as well as the gangsters who are also remembered vaguely. But the kids? They just keep on dancing, whatever the newest craze, as they should. And yet what happened to Gallagher? they never found his body or anything that was left of him, and remains for the better part of things “A Ghost” in the history of the time of the big bands. Yet every now and then, when the city streets are empty in the early near-morning hours under the streetlights as you are walking you can still hear some strange-sweet beautiful voice singing from out of nowhere, a phantom that lulls you into thinking that someone is walking towards you from around the corner, which you turn. And it has been reported by strangers & college students that if you listen that you may possibly see him there. A good-looking man in his mid-30’s in a pinstripe suit, smoking a cigarette, who then suddenly & mysteriously fades away.And in Albany they refer to him as “The Dead Crooner”. an urban legend, as they say. Appearing..here & there to the ladies as they walk by what’s left of The Kenmore saying

“Hey beautiful? Can I sing you a dream?

And then, just vanishing…into thin air.

___________________

R.M. Engelhardt

Nevermore …

There are surely other worlds than this—other thoughts than the thoughts of the multitude— other speculations than the speculations of the sophist. Who then shall call thy conduct into question? who blame thee for thy visionary hours, or denounce those occupations as a wasting away of life, which were but the overflowing of thine everlasting energies?

Edgar Allan Poe – The Assignation

The Raven: An All Hallows Eve Tribute To Edgar Allan Poe At The UAG, Albany NY

MONDAY, OCTOBER 31st ~ Halloween

The Upstate Artists Guild

247 Lark Street

Albany, NY

Houdini & The After~Life …

Houdini & The After~Life

Houdini

Watch Him Disappear …

http://rmengehardt.tumblr.com/post/4066628531/houdini-the-afterlife

Houdini & The After~Life …

Monkeys Are Rewriting Shakespeare …

William Shakespeare is often regarded as the world’s pre-eminent writer, but so what? Most of his complete works are so elementary, they could be written by monkeys. Don’t think so? Just ask Jesse Anderson.

NEWS: Monkeys Invent New Fishing Technique

Anderson, a software developer in Nevada, is up to some serious monkey business. He recently developed a computer program that simulated a few million virtual monkeys randomly bashing away on virtual typewriters. Their assignment? Randomly re-create the complete works of William Shakespeare.

cyborgs
DNEWS VIDEO: CYBORGS, WIRELESS INTERNET, EXOSKELETONS, SYNTHETIC LIFE AND MORE …

And the virtual simian wordsmiths are close to doing so. They are 99.99 percent finished with Will’s entire catalog. The first work to be completed was the poem “A Lover’s Complaint.”

Anderson used Hadoop, Amazon EC2 and Ubuntu Linux to create his virtual monkeys. The sequence he wrote is nine characters long and has 5.5 trillion possible sequential combinations.

“The computer program I wrote compares that monkey’s gibberish to every work of Shakespeare to see if it actually matches a small portion of what Shakespeare wrote. If it does match, the portion of gibberish that matched Shakespeare is marked with green,” Anderson explained on his blog. “The parts of Shakespeare that have not been found are colored white. This process is repeated over and over until the monkeys have created every work of Shakespeare through random gibberish.”

Anderson developed the project to test Amazon’s Web servers but also to satisfy his curiosity about whether an infinite number of monkeys could randomly reproduce Shakespeare’s work by pecking away on an infinite number of typewriters.

BLOG: Test-tube DNA Brain Gets Quiz Questions Right

Anderson started the project on Aug. 21.

No word on when Anderson will complete his project. But when he has to “part” with his virtual monkeys, it will surely be “such sweet sorrow.”

Monkeys Are Rewriting Shakespeare …

100 THOUSAND POETS FOR CHANGE …TODAY!

Saturday, September 24 · 11:30am 11:30pm


This event will take place in many cities, at the same time and date, outdoors when possible, and of course it will be televised. The main website is: http://www.100tpc.org

Poets For Change

The first order of change is for poets, writers, artists, anybody, to actually get together to create and perform, educate and demonstrate, simultaneously, with other communities around the world. This will change how we see our local community and the global community. We have all become incredibly alienated in recent years. We hardly know our neighbors down the street let alone our creative allies who live and share our concerns in other countries. We need to feel this kind of global solidarity. I think it will be empowering.

And of course there is the political/social change that many of us are talking about these days. There is trouble in the world. Wars, ecocide, the lack of affordable medical care, racism, the list goes on.

It appears that transformation towards a more sustainable world is a major concern and could be a global guiding principle for this event. Peace also seems to be a common cause. War is not sustainable. There is an increasing sense that we need to move forward and stop moving backwards. But I am trying not to be dogmatic. I am hoping that together we can develop our ideas of the “change/transformation” we are looking for as a group, and that each community group will decide their own specific area of focus for change for their particular event.

100 THOUSAND POETS FOR CHANGE …TODAY!

Apocalypse, Etc.

Bite me ... Apocalypse, Etc.

Note:

Humanity?

I am tired of your self-centered

Bullshit & whining ways

Stop this train, stop it now.

For we shall all remain… Dream.

Persevere

Into this life,

Or the next.

An ode to the dead world that is poetry, lost and faraway.

The ancient soul of Sappho gone and golden days.

Tear these words, voices away. Now only left with memories.


Let the prophets burn,

And create the visions of what shall be

Under the currents and beyond the sleep of the icons reach…

Let us

Speak of that which is human,

Love …this eternal dream

Forget the fools, the mundane

Apocalypse, Etc.

A wild ride,

An action packed extravaganza

With spooky, scary thrills

Coming soon to an idiot near you.

Fuck it… Fuck them.

I’m going out

For a drink &

Kiss my wife & kids

Goodnight.

Love thy neighbor

Love thy friends

For this life

Is all too short

To waste.

_______________________

R.M. Engelhardt 2012