Part Of The Problem 9

Sometime around 2002 I saw this in neon. LAUGHTER (buzz buzz) SLAUGHTER (buzz buzz) LAUGHTER. Big red neon letters on a building in Grand Center, with the "S" flashing on and off like when you see a WAFFLE HO SE from the highway. I don't know who put it up, it was seemingly part of a gallery event in the neighborhood. That is art though, that which inspires thought and consequent art from others, so thank you unknown neon-light installation artist.
What an insight into the strangely-related and hard-to-pronounce words of the English language.
The line asking "will it take the bombs to wake us" was stolen from George Orwell's "Homage To Catalonia", I proudly admit it. His use of it was in reference to England's ambivalence to the civil war in Spain in the 1930s. The rest I would hope is self-explanatory, kind of a little anthem.


SILVER SPOONS AND PAPER PLATES (lyrics by Tim Rakel)

what gives you the right to laughter and slaughter
drank up the well, poisoned the water
and it seems like it will be a thousand years
for some people to be free
as apathy settles back in with the debris
will it take the bombs to wake us and open up our eyes
or will we finally see the truth of how the other half dies
the rest of the world doesn't eat
from silver spoons or paper plates
and death is not some side effect
in the search for the cheapest rates

what gives you the right to laughter and slaughter
drank up the well and poisoned the water
and it seems like it will be a thousand years
for some people to be free
as apathy settles back in, with the debris
cut off the heads of state, use their corpses to fill the hole
in this lousy culture that they traded for your soul
if they don't own you, you get called the enemy
you get called the enemy of ignorance and apathy
and the rest of the world
doesn't eat from silver spoons or paper plates
and death is not some side effect
in the search for the cheapest rates

Part Of The Problem 3

When I first met Hunter Brumfield, Chris King was there. He has recounted some stories about Hunter in his blog Confluence City. He encouraged me to write about Hunter so I will from time to time among many others who must have their turn too. Chris was there and so were a number of Ogoni people, refugees from the oil-related destructuion in Nigeria. Hunter was the white dude dancing in the black church (quite literally, one of the first times I met him). He told me about spray paint and train hopping before Upski published his book. When all my college friends were reading "Bomb The Suburbs", I pointed out that William Wimsatt's friend "Hunter" was that guy that waited on us at Mangia. They blinked. Hunter told me a lot of stories when we talked. It wasn't that I didn't believe all of them, I was just continually amazed when they were supported later with evidence from an unexpected direction.

Cut to nearly ten years later, my bandmate Joey Gavin did some basement recording with Hunter. He called the space Cricket Studios. Bugs will always be around, even in a place as irrelevant as a studio name. Hunter and Lindy Woracheck (another bandmate at the time and friend of Hunter) documented some great musical moments that day. Hunter killed himself a couple weeks later. Joey and I made copies of the poor quality CD and passed them out.
The last thing I did was take one of those songs for myself and started playing it with the band Bad Folk. For me, it was a song he wrote about himself and I could sing it about him. People that don't know him sometimes think it's mine. Small compensation.


The Laughing Song (lyrics by Hunter Brumfield III)

He's sorry that things turned out as they did, it's a god-forsaken shame
small was the box in which that he hid to temper his poisonous brain
he reached for the stars, came back with stumps (maybe stubs?)
in a downpour, yearning for rain (though i was told "urine" was the lyric, i thought "yearning" more poetic and gave Hunter credit for the ambiguity)
happiness got him once he hit bottom
gonna laugh his way through all the pain

Believe him it's easy to drink and be sleazy
as your conscience just limps along
mistaking freedom for license, he screamed in the silence
and his echo said boy you're all wrong
well, life is absurd, haven't you heard?
keep laughing boy, that's your best bet