» Pat Dixon

patdixon — Sat, 16 Jan 2010 17:12:33 +0000

So, many of you have been writing and asking me how I like to spend my time in Appleton, WI. I’ve gotten emails in the teens about this. They keep coming in, dozens of them, all in the teens, numerous requests for information, which I’m now willing to provide.
I can’t tell you the information, I was unable to retrieve, hahahaha. It’s a rather esoteric statement this morning from the black part of my core, and it’s got a lot to do with a certain feeling you get sometimes. A couch, a television, a sandwich, a piece of fruit, a cup of coffee, some snow, some trail mix, a hot shower, picking a tie, next thing you know you’re being watched by 180 people in a room, there is laughter and cheering. Turn the mutherfucking page. This is my book. MY book, do you understand me?
Communication is happening all around us. I’m too unable to remember the things that happened in recent communications which might be helpful. Again, unable to retrieve, but you’re getting the idea. At the end I reveal who shot the main character, and there’s a wedding episode filled with surprises. The beginning touches the end and the end wraps around and licks the ass of the beginning. That’s the way a circle works. In every circle, there is the implication of ass eating. How can you have any pudding if you don’t eat ass? Stand still with it!
Circles is what I’m talking about. There are tons of them. Everything a circle in it’s way, and in it’s own way eating ass. The Olympics, in it’s way, is the biggest ass-eating event there is. It’s impossible to look at the Olympic symbol and not be thinking about eating the ass, even if it’s deep in your subconscious mind. It’ll probably never be an Olympic event.
Maybe you’re starting to figure it out. Use your brain to do your thinking and your tongue for you know what. Then turn off your brain and your radio. No music while you’re doing that. You don’t want to fall into a steady rhythm.

Ice Cream For Crow

patdixon — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 08:30:10 +0000

I just watched a video on youtube.com for a Captain Beefheart song called “Ice Cream For Crow” and I believe there’s a chance that this experience has changed my life forever, changed me as a person, as a man.
(There’s a leather thing under me.)
I’m not sure really where Captain Beefheart came from, like what planet because this fucking guy is undeniably from a planet that’s not this one. I can’t come to any other conclusion. Planet planet.
There’s a huge blues influence on the music, and it seems like it might be the only logical next step that rock and roll never took. Meaning that he’s not so much ahead of his time as just beyond any time that’s going to ever exist. To the extent that popular music deviates from this extraordinary music, that is the extent to which it is completely off course.
I can hear this music reaching back into a chant, something primal, something born with time or before it while reaching into the future, or into a future that’ll never exist. It is a music with the breadth and depth to stretch across and encompass all of time. It is the music it is because it is every music simultaneously, the one without beginning and without end. It’s a club and a raygun, a spaceship up on blocks in front of a cave. I’m wearing a loincloth.
All this music was meticulously composed by Van Vliet. If you watch and listen, you will be startled at this. These musicians are playing note for note compositions by the singer, they are not just jamming, this is the way the song was written, for each instrument. It’s the least corny music that could possibly exist because it takes you prisoner and never lets you go broadcasting something into your consciousness that you are not conscious of really, what music does what I just said? You can’t name one, except for this one. I’ve listened to it.
This is from his last album and it’s an example of him at his highest level. Where could this have gone beyond this? I think it’s appropriate that he retired from music for painting. It makes all the sense in the world. He carried it to this point, and now I have yet to hear anything that picks it up and carries it forward.
The greatest of all time is that way because it’s the only of it’s kind. This music is at once completely repetitive and constantly evolving. It it scripted, drawn up, meticulously crafted, diligently rehearsed and explosively executed chaos. What is the music that also answers to this description.
I can see something maybe in Ornette Coleman that’s similar, but here’s the difference: Captain Beefheart is doing this blasting rock thing and this deep blues groove and holler. There’s a lyrical element that you don’t really get with Ornette.
Not to be ridiculous by posting a challenge; but I honestly do not think it’s possible to watch this, to become totally absorbed in it, the music and the images, and to not have some sort of religious experience.
There are also a series of concert videos by the man that are astounding. This is not the way humanoids play music. Z rhymes with K. Flonk.

CLICK THE LINK BELOW

Ice Cream For Crow watch?v=iqRHr5pEIFU

Coffee

patdixon — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 22:05:32 +0000

Two girls having a lively conversation. I can’t understand a word they’re saying. Why can’t teenage girls ever drink HOT coffee. It’s all about iced stuff, frappe’s or whatever the fuck they are.

Their socks are short and white and they agree on everything. It’s a lot like one girl having a conversation with herself. They look like twins.

I wonder if they’ll still be friends when they’re 28. 35. 40. I wonder what they could fall out over. They seem so compatible as friends with their matching socks, hairstyles and drinks. And voices.

This world is made for them now. They are so much more commercially relevant than I am, it’s not even funny. They are the coveted demo. Teenage girls who are either buying things they don’t need or having things bought for them they don’t need. And yet, they are the most superfluous of people, saying nothing of importance ever, doing nothing that matters. The one thing they could do to change the world is the one thing everyone says not to do and that’s get pregnant.

Charming girls. 13 years old. God bless them. I’m going to be like them someday, without a care in the world.

Friday after Thanksgiving

patdixon — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 14:17:55 +0000

Waking up out of town, you sometimes have to think for a few seconds before you move.

The quietness is cheap. Everywhere there’s the sound of things not making a sound. You look around and it’s like the soundtrack has been removed. And the sound of a ticking clock has been added. It’s clicks comically on the mantle to remind us of our impermanence. Then someone slurps something and the spell is broken.

It’s the kind of day where I want to tear my head off my shoulders, hold it like a football and run blind into the yard with my other arm out like the Heisman Trophy. Of course, no need to stiff-arm anyone, who’s going to approach a headless guy running in his own yard.

Tick tock.

Less than 24 hours I’ll be on a plane.

KATG poker night

patdixon — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 14:43:31 +0000

Arrived around 4:15. Ray Devito wasted no time announcing to everyone that I was there to ruin the fun. I have this reputation as a card nazi. The reason is because I like to play and don’t enjoy looking down at my Jack/Nine off-suit for more than 3 minutes while people like Ray Devito tell a story about some shit that happened at Sacapuntas or get into a side conversation on the way to urinate or get a beer. Why get together to play cards if you don’t want to play the game? I’m all for conversing, all I’m asking is for a little multi-tasking, a little priority for the game.
And here’s the other thing, when people hold up the game, I’m the kind of asshole who will say “You’re holding up the game.” So, right, I’m a fucking nazi. But play cards, asshole.
So, the water was poisoned early for me, thanks Ray.
Players included Keith, Chemda, Ray, myself, Victor Varnado, Myq and Myqa Kaplan-Fox, Mexican Felix and Alabama Angie, Jeremy the stickler and the rest, all together 11 players, two tables for some reason.
Let me tell you something about Myqa Kaplan-Fox, she’s one of those players who wins a hand and then stands on the table and calls everyone bitches. The word “biotch” was used copiously. I support that sort of behavior. It’s an about-face for me. I used to get very annoyed with excessive celebration. I’ve downgraded that reaction to condescending bemusement. I suppose you have to take your celebrating where you can in this life. If pulling a decent-sized pot at a friendly poker game makes you want to whoop and yell like you’re at a pep rally, then enjoy it with all your little heart. God knows, we’ll all be dead soon enough. Well, not soon enough maybe, but still pretty soon. At least she usually knew when it was her turn.
Chemda, although also a very loud player, makes most of her noise when someone raises when she’s got a drawing hand. Chemda has only two kinds of hands: awesome hands and drawing hands. No folding hands. She folded pre-flop maybe 4 times in three hours. How she still had chips after I was busted I’ll never know. Oh, yeah, I lost by pushing my pair of queens at the wrong time. But that can happen to anyone.
Jeremy is one of these loose-raising type guys. To his credit, you can’t really put him on a hand which is a nice way of saying he plays rags routinely. But that’s how it’s done.
I only played a few hands with Keith, so I can’t really say what kind of player he is. I think he’s kind of opportunistic in terms of position, which is a standard good move.
So, forget all that. I know what you really want to hear about is the food. Chemda, god bless that woman, put out some truly amazing quesadillas with all the right shit in them. Then some true fucking award-winning chili and she made these huge pots of mashed potatoes that stick to your ribs when you just look at them wrong. Thick, and seemingly all-real spuds in pots. With herbs. Wow and damn. Thank you for that!
Great fun was had by all, but mostly by whoever won. I was eliminated by Victor when he slow-played his pocket aces and I over-bet my queens. When he moved in, I was pot-committed. Happens. It was right after we’d combined the tables and I hadn’t watched him play. But then, with a snakey-player like I assume Victor is, I probably wouldn’t have put him on that hand anyway.
When you get right down to it, I’m not a very good poker player. My chief skill at cards is probably KNOWING WHEN IT’S MY FUCKING TURN and NOT HOLDING UP THE GAME, RAY!
As always, THANKS to Keith and Chemda for putting opening up their home, putting out delicious food and hosting an awesome card game. They are the F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgeralds of Jamaica.

“Goodbye Forever Fatty” number 6. on iTunes Comedy Albums chart

patdixon — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 22:38:47 +0000

It’s official. “Goodbye Forever Fatty” is an international hit, appearing this week at number six on the iTunes Comedy Albums chart in Portugal. (See for yourself! http://www.apple.com/euro/itunes/charts/top10comedyalbums.html).
Thanks to the Portuguese Pat Dixon fans for pushing me one slot above Dane Cook this week! Stay tuned for live dates in and around Portugal.

“Goodbye Forever Fatty” number 6. on iTunes Comedy Albums chart

patdixon — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 22:38:09 +0000