Brain fried, body beat, write all morning, cut wood all afternoon, word and wood, word wood, wordwood. Woof, word, wood and woof, woofwordwoodwoof.


They dragged me along in the old truck, not that I don't like riding in the truck but turned out we were going wood cutting up a logging road where there was a big pile and the old man got a permit and next thing you know Mama jumped in and we all hit the landing together having a good old time till he started up that damned saw, that damned loud saw.

He's sawing, she's chucking the wood into the truck and I'm looking for a place to hide but this is a clear cut so I keep the rig between me and that snarling piece of machinery and it's a matter of urging urging time to pass fast, so what I'm wishing my life away?

AAAWroooofFF, a good sign, he's chopping now, the saw's shut down, come on, Mom, tell him we going to be gettin out of here, hot doggity dig dog as we say around the dog house, le's go home, le's go in the house, le's take a nap.

-- Jackson

Sheesh, now he's griping on the website, he's a tyrant, always wants his own way and he can't take the vacuum cleaner noise, even, although gotta give him credit, he does close the door after he comes in the house but only after you demand it and then have to give him a doggie biscuit, sheesh.

-- Capn Skyp


photos by Andy Vertal

Last Saturday night before the Hunter Thompson maelstrom hit I did a gig in Eugene with the Zen Tricksters. It was a small place didn't even have a stage, we were right on the floor with the fans blowing air in our faces from their encouraging shouts and it was super duper. Here's what I did:

Room For Love
by Ken Babbs

 How does your expereience
and the prankster outlook
teach you to deal with the
ever increasing crap that
flows from our leaders
I was asked and replied
recognize it for the
bullshit that will survive
four more years in
any unrecognizable form
remembering rome fell
but Italy remains so
fly away fly away
our national bird
swoop down and
pluck the patriot's hat.
 The appropriate destination
is the skypilot's goal
now where is that map
I got most of the feathers off
but the tar is real stubborn
and it's a free ride
on a rail out of town
and I'm thinking out loud
where does your fist go
when you open your hand
to the place your lap fills
whenever you stand
up for more than money
more than flesh
more than TV
more than motels
more than power
more than cars
and still room for love.

 If I remember right
I probably got it wrong
was written on a fortune cookie
sent out to thousands of Chinese
giggling with hands over mouths
and tongues in cheeks
riding to Hoyle in a bouquet
whilst knitting a handbasket
with heavy fog that holds
the cold in like a frozen blanket
wrapped round your bod
for feathers will fly
as will the fur
although no one
knows how far
just how fast
they'll apply the tar
when fur and meat are out
of order and full of juice
slower than my mind
and faster than my feet
a tad between the cheek
a pole between the legs.
 I was a rum crook kind of guy
until I gave them up for
the rum and coke with lime
whatever floats the goat
learn it by rote
I hope I wrote it down
that hope will float
unlimited takeout
and no late fleas
to know what we did
was what we could do
som spelade in
en version av 'Hope'
dat's no shitskie eiderdown
and there's still room for love.