SONG OF THE DAY: 'Neath That Cold Grey Tomb of Stone

My attempt at learning banjo fizzled after finger rolling style was just too damn hard. I think I might take another shot at clawhammer style, but because I’ve never been able to learn an instrument, I feel like a failure. My youngest kid has gotten the hang of guitar though, self-taught and doing pretty damn well with it. Maybe I was just missing something in my brain to get it right, I don’t know.

SONG OF THE DAY: Noches de Media Luna

Wrestling with goats underneath the cheshire cat moon, blasting cumbia from a Bluetooth speaker to drown out the failure demons.

SONG OF THE DAY: Train 45

Such a weirdly beautiful song. I failed at trying to learn the banjo earlier this year, but mostly because I think I was trying too hard to "learn" and when you listen to something like this, you can hear there's a whole lot more intuitiveness to it than any formal learning will allow for. But it's starting to get cold so maybe I'll try and fail again.

TH3 M4NM4D3 C4N F0LL0W TH3...

the manmade can follow the 
tracks laid out for limited 
periods, before failure 

TH3 M3R1T0CR4CY MYTHS...

the meritocracy myths 
planted in my brain blossom as 
failure demons, fraud syndrome 

SONG OF THE DAY: Limitless

missing self-imposed deadlines 
from demon inner critic 
but still alive 
and kicking 
though not really kicking, 
more like walking 
this seemingly endless 
pilgrimage through 
late capitalist american empire 
of diminishing returns 
and bridges that burn 
and hopefully the end of 
the "fuck you I got mine" era 
of manifesting individual destinies 

SONG OF THE DAY: You Know I'm No Good

A recent classic of those afflicted by poor choices and failure demons. Some of us are just meant to embrace the wrong step, and in fact somehow turn it into an impressive swagger of reckless doom. A lot of times with famous people who do amazing shit and die quickly, there is a normie tradition of being like "gone too young" about them. But imagine if Amy Winehouse had been alive, and doing Toyota commercials or some shit. I always think of this as the Cliff Burton rule - if Cliff Burton had remained alive, it wouldn't have kept Metallica pure; he likely would've fallen under the same evil wizard spell everybody else fell under after Lars Ulrich dabbled in his father's black magic arts. Sometimes the universe knows we have done what we need to do, and also knows the weight of struggle which we squeezed our art from, and decides it's all good, time to go. Can't question that shit or assume if Amy Winehouse had not succumbed to failure demons, that she miraculously would have ended up being something other than what Amy Winehouse is. Sometimes poor choices live forever.

D1ST0RT10N 0F M1RR0RS V13W3D...

distortion of mirrors viewed

with severe inner-critic

providing commentary

World Cup Tanka: GROUP D FINALE (Matches 39 & 40)

continuing my 
anti-colonial stance 
easier this group 

Iceland and Croatia both 
fragments of historic wholes 

my gaze focused on 
Rostov-on-Don where Messi's 
failure demons lurk 

pair of superpowers from 
sub-servient continents 

Naija passion 
running high octane Super 
Eagles in deep green 

Argentine drama also 
high - squad coup attempt denied 

Messi's mom said he 
cried after Croatia match - 
crowd is still sky blue 

Musa is Nigeria's 
Messi, but with a Moses 

whenever Messi 
with ball near the box feels like 
adult versus kids 

his confidence seems to have 
quieted his failure demons 

demons grow louder 
as the ninety minutes drip 
away in seconds 

Messi finally scores - and 
Maradona thanks Jesus 

Messi has same god 
complex Diego does, yet 
is somehow lesser 

young Nigerian keeper 
fingers off Messi free kick 

early second half 
energies intensify - 
Mascherano foul 

cool Victor Moses converts 
with flair; the demons whisper 

Croatia scores, which 
makes Iceland irrelevant 
if that result holds 

Rostov-on-Don remains a 
tense winner-take-all affair 

Uzoho only 
nineteen, on World's brightest stage, 
and thus far shining 

Sampaoli starts stalking 
sideline like fool hooligan 

Musa cross through to 
Ndidi near-dagger strike 
for Argentina 

Gylfi gets equalizer 
against Croatia - tied there 

Nigerian free 
kick almost sealed victory - 
SO FUCKIN' INTENSE 

bloody Mascherano looks 
intimidating as fuck 

Marcos Rojo nails 
cross to give Argentina 
hope for a future 

Maradona with double 
middle fingers, yells "puto" 

Maradona's trash, 
and Messi is an asshole - 
they deserve to lose 

Nigeria seems beaten, 
even with time left to play 

four minutes added 
time like an eternity 
for African hopes 

Argentina wins - FIFA 
wins - corporate sponsors win 

twitter renga #0318

[twitter renga done one tanka at a time

at my @rojonekku twit acct, monthly] 

failure demons spring
forth from dysfunctional mind
steeped in hopelessness

sown seeds decades, still no fruit;
perhaps my path is poison

the horizon keeps
moving further and further
away; and I'm tired

"sleep is the cousin of death"
cursive letter chest tattoo

futile swiping right
on dating apps for cursive
letter chest tattoos

love women who's making poor
choices at lifetime level

"only god can judge
me" - not even then though, we're
both consensual

priceline express deal hotel
room smelling like feral love

rental car smelling
like fried chicken gizzards from
random country store

contemplating bad tattoos
together - a crow dragon

ended up getting
"CURSIVE WRITING" but done in
old English letters

on my neck line from behind,
can be covered by collar

she got "OLDE ENGLISH"
in cursive writing tattooed
on fleshy left breast

obviously, I'm in love;
guess we'll drive further westward

wild and wonderful
promise of deep southern West
Virginia awaits

let us disappear, and build
fresh chaos, elsewhere, for now

responsible life
has death grip around my throat...
struggling, but choking

the right thing is a shackle
which keeps me in line, like corn

psychic slavery
born from meritocracy
myths sown early on

justice remains a social
construct, never seen in wild

social bankruptcy - 
I declare myself free from
these devils with fire

the smell of burning bridges
makes my dick hard to this day

perhaps not enough
burned bridges to be honest; 
bitches closing in

sulfur keeps fake asses at
psychic arm's length, maybe more

most people fake as
fuck, selfish, yet personal
brand as most righteous

fuck y'all fake motherfuckers
FUCK Y'ALL FAKE MOTHERFUCKERS

no love for dirtgod - 
my natural shine given
nothing but skidmarks

folks who think the world's gone to
shit must be new to losing

laid in hotel room
half the day, afraid to leave,
afraid to still live

went for walk tonight - so much
wealth... where does it all come from?

they've enslaved palm trees
down here, forced into single
file between wide lanes

the grass manicured tightly
as proud cop's shitty haircut

back home, they've enslaved
spirit, planting wild dirtgod
in cubicle bed

or perhaps cubicle grave...
"work sets you free" it's been said

Monday afternoon
just before 2 - first thoughts of
"my job sucks" this week

no progress to be made, just
looping through same old circles

meetings to discuss
meetings where we'll finally
decide what to do

decisions tabled for now
'til further meetings are held

working within this
immense bureaucracy like
building sandcastles

artistic purpose ignored
for "being responsible"

fuck all your fake ass
responsibility fears - 
it's a goddamned lie

my dumb ass gonna be dead
one day, wasted most my life

send psilocybin, 
fat asses in stretch pants, tape
decks banging that Screw

send sunshine and bad tattoos,
please send the Power of Lounge

warm day with promise
of spring, promise of rebirth,
promise of real lounge

this life I'm in feels like trap,
gamecock confined to a cage

domesticated
beyond the abilities
of my genetics

too feral for sitting still,
too wild to not burn bridges

sitting in sedan
air freshener crisp, but hands
smell like gasoline

open the sunroof and let
all fucks given blow away

ya boy the dirtgod
tired of a lotta people's
bullshit fake ass ways

surrounded by these human
facades, pretending they real

the algorithm
ignores "real recognize real"
self-meditations

people think algorithms
are as real as rain today

within limited
scope of this electronic
power gridlock? sure

but there's a much larger world
where data metrics don't help

I'm not no fucking
machine; I'm not no fucking
computer either

perfectly imperfect man,
stumbling through shit existence

Hatsu Basho 2018 Honour Tanka Day 5: AMINISHIKI (1-4)

[poor Aminishiki's knee, too much chankonabe]

Aminishiki 

old balding sumo bastard 

of perseverance 

made makuuchi debut 

back in the year two thousand 

spent years that level, 

no championship wins, but 

two times runner-up 

fourth best of all-time in terms 

of top level tournaments 

two years back though, tore 

his left Achilles tendon - 

withdrew… demoted 

scrappy fucker even at 

advanced age never gave up 

battled fourteen months 

at juryo, still consistent, 

fighting spirit strong 

last november, at 

age thirty-nine, he returned 

to makuuchi 

he faired well, earning his 

kachikoshi (just barely) 

but the new year has 

not been kind to our elder 

sumo rikishi 

knees wrapped in ace bandages, 

thickened with supportive gauze 

now in third decade 

of sumo wrestling, those knees 

have carried much weight 

real and metaphysical, 

how much can one man sustain? 

day five, we see our 

hero Aminishiki 

hobbled, with one win 

Chiyonokuni is not 

a top-level superstar 

Aminshiki 

struggled but held for a while, 

then tragedy struck 

the right knee discontinued what 

it was created to do 

Aminishiki 

buckled into the dohyo 

sand, clutching that knee 

Chiyonokuni checks in, 

sensing something had gone wrong 

the aging balding 

rikishi, pushing forty, 

couldn’t climb back up 

he limped to the locker room, 

gone fusenhai, with one win 

a few more basho, 

he would’ve been second in 

most appearances 

now though, his future in doubt, 

contemplating elder stock 

Hatsu Basho 2018 Honour Tanka Day 4: KISENOSATO (1-3)

[Kisenosato hears the failure demons] 

what a difference 

a single calendar year 

makes for a man’s life 

Kisenosato’s gone from 

yokozuna to hated 

at Aki basho 

nearly seven years ago, 

he was shukun-sho 

the outstanding performer, 

and rising young superstar 

at Natsu basho 

almost five years back, the young 

lord finished second 

this led to domineering 

run as east ozeki 

at next twenty-two 

basho, he was runner-up 

in half of all them 

a year ago, dominant 

Kisenosato stood tall 

last Hatsu basho, 

Kisenosato sealed his 

destiny with win 

the adoring crowd through seat 

cushions in adoration 

next was official 

promotion ceremonies - 

new yokozuna 

at Haru basho, he won 

again, as yokozuna 

Kisenosato 

seemed on top of sumo world, 

face of the future 

but destiny can be cruel, 

and fuck your shit up right quick 

the next two basho, 

he toughed it out, not looking 

entirely healthy 

last basho in Tokyo, last 

September, he was absent 

a yokozuna 

sitting out for injury’s 

allowed, but not loved 

last basho, he came back weak, 

finished with losing record 

on this fourth day bout, 

against Kotoshogiku, 

he briefly had shine 

but his fire’s no longer strong, 

he was outlasted, tossed down 

for split second, he 

upon one knee, looked down at 

the sand, bewildered 

the pomp and circumstances 

no longer so wonderful 

the crowd gasped in shock 

at his third loss in four days… 

no dominance left 

voices whisper retirement, 

past his prime at thirty-one 

a yokozuna 

can’t give up kinboshi gold 

star day after day 

a yokozuna can’t be 

a loser regularly 

after the scandal 

which caused Harumafuji’s 

retirement, eyes watch 

first time in forever the 

emperor won’t attend bouts 

Japanese people 

hoping for a bonus for 

Japanese culture 

the only yokozuna 

truly Japanese can’t lose 

Kisenosato’s 

sad eyes tell a larger tale, 

one of dreams gone dark 

this humane world eats us all 

up, one by one, day by day

[the full match, should you care to care]

4LL MY F41LVR3 D3M0NS P4CK3D...

all my failure demons packed

up in milk crates, collected

over the years randomly

F41LVR3 D3M0NS STR1K3 W1TH0VT...

failure demons strike without

warning, metaphysical

left tackle blown assignment

Aki Basho 2017 Honour Tanka Day 6: ICHINOJO (4-2)

(had too google using Japanese for this clip)

an underwhelming 

basho thus far, though perhaps 

life’s what underwhelms 

boredom and failure demons 

circling, awaiting doomed flesh 

“idle hands are the 

devil’s playground” - biblical 

quote I imagine 

not one for reading bibles, 

was raised firm sensualist 

work is meaningless, 

and home is obligated 

entirely to work 

both hours and money wasted 

chasing unattainable 

foreign digital 

distractions (sumo, football) 

do little to help 

A: what the fuck is the point? 

B: if no point, what to do? 

life is too much like 

this day six Ichinojo - 

Kagayaki bout 

life is like Ichinojo, 

clutching, in fact crushing you 

with relentless grip, 

it weighs against you; you think 

“how do I get free?” 

the weight doesn’t ease enough 

for obvious opening 

finally, you think 

in frustration, “fuck it, I’m 

gonna make my move” 

soon as you do, relentless 

unforgiving life throws you 

lying in a heap 

(yet again), you look up, and 

wonder what the fuck 

there is no answer, no point - 
it is endless (yet, you’re not)