Thursday, January 24, 2008


I'm Drew. I'm 24, live in Indianapolis, have an awesome girlfriend, and work as an office assistant in a non-public part of the library. I have a BA in English/Creative Writing from Ball State University. I believe in good beer (particularly porters & stouts), the psychedelia/drone movement, the DIY aesthetic, eating ribs in Memphis, sock hats, wooden floors, and keeping the thermostat low. I play rock and roll as part of Everything, Now!; have been wearing the same black pocket tee's for years; and once lived in a house affectionately named "Transpanther".

I'll be writing about music [new & old]; cooking; creative endeavours; and fanciful whims.

This sums it up pretty well:

Voice got Soil

Down in the stomach pit of Georgia,
the Valdosta scrub pine stands chant


the iron-red Beefheart mantra.

swamp scallops sing bass below
the dirty tremble of Drumbo,
while razor-eyed herons stand-
statue in the Cypress funk.

an owl-horn solo bellows out
the A-frame floating cabin,
Zoot Horn Rollo laying boat-up
in a stew-pot of blood-shrimp, gin—

look!—the Captain done stole the soul
right out the rudder, the lamps out
the duck-green gloom lagoon,
spines zippered out the trout.

the mask of riverbed creeklife
saw ‘im; that diamond fish-head
smiling rotten, dirt-lipped, him
singing on vine-encrusted shoal,

him hop stone-to-stone,
note-to-note-to-bone, a minstrel
pluck sprung out the gutof a dusky-throated saxophone.

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