Friday, December 18, 2009

Deep and Crisp and Even

Hey all and all and then some,

Really feeling the spirit today. Was recently, nearly
reduced to tears of joy hearing "Feliz Navidad" at the
bean aisle in Kroger.

Check out this performance of the song, live in Denmark in 1973.
Hippest caroling ever!



Regardless of your religio/mystico/philosophical relationship to the world without and within, this season really does put people in mind of others. Within such sudden selflessness there lies that great, untapped potential for Total Revolution: psychic, spiritual, personal, interpersonal, galactic...

This tree will grow.
I saw it in a dream.



Here is the text for the poem I recited in an audio post in the last entry in this luminescent journal:

"Origami Gunship"

There is a truer
truth to be
known beneath the smoldering
sky of starving
leaves as winter takes
over the South.

(A Yankee front
sweeping down from Connecticut.
An icy grimace
in Union Blue).

There is a knowing to be known
between myself
and the girl with the black
hat
and the red
bag
and the white
teeth.
She smiles like a friendly
Nazi and she laughs
when I reach
past her
for the hot sauce.

There is a light
to bright
this grey window
with the frost
in the corners
and the dead
hornet:
legs up;
tobacco-colored wings more
delicate than Chinese
paper;
memento mori;
origami gunship;
an abdomen
swollen with
frozen poison.
A glinting light breaks
across the tip
of the stinger.
The sun roars to life
for the first time
in weeks.



One of my most enjoyable projects was being asked to edit an issue of Number: An Independent Journal of the Arts. I've been writing reviews, reports and interviews for the publication for years and this opportunity allowed me to make an issue that focused more exclusively on the Nashville art scene (The journal covers Arkansas, Mississippi and Tennessee and is a publication of University of Memphis).

I recently turned in new piece that features an interview with TSU curator Jodi Hays Gresham. Browsing through the Number site last night I noticed that the back issues have been updated. You can now download a .pdf version of all the recent issues.

Click here to download the Joe Nolan edited Number:62

And here is a special Holiday treat. In a recent post I offered this track for download and had so much response from the folks who heard it that I've decided to make it an open link so people don't have to keep emailing me here and on Facebook to get it. This is a demo for my new song "Phantom Punch". Inspired by the second boxing match between Cassius Clay and Sonny Liston, my pal Jean Paul Lilliston and I had some audio problems so I recorded these vocals on a cell phone in Nashville to a speaker phone in Chicago. Most people who've heard this insist that I have to use these vocals as they turned out surprisingly good. See what you think...


Phantom Punch


Enjoy the goodies. Travel safely and be grateful and thanks to all of you who've read this electric rag and listened to my noises this year.



___________________________________________________________

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Listen to my earlier releases, and enjoy free downloads here!

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Love,
Joe Nolan

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Sunday, December 13, 2009

Origami Gunship


Seasons Greetings...and a new poem...

Mobile post sent by MightyJoeNolan using Utterlireply-count Replies.  mp3



___________________________________________________________

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Love,
Joe Nolan

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Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Invitation and Farewell

Amigos y amigas,

Bienvenido a la Nada.



"I had a friend who believed in UFO's"






This grey morning I
walk between the cracks.
Back
to the seen of the crime:
the true, original vision.

This grey morning I
steer into the current,
escaping the tangled embrace of morning
traffic and autumn
trees and sallow
light in the mist
like a kiss speaking
invitation and
farewell.

This grey morning I
sit in warm cafes drinking
in something more than
inspiration.

A poster on a board,
at the back,
near the busted fountain says that
"Air is an element".
But I am dreaming Russian
dolls.

The water that wets the air is -
in turn - grim with earth and
everything's born
from fire.

In grey mornings I
stopped worrying about
tears years ago.
Now, it's the not crying that is worrisome.

Sadness suckles salt.


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Love,
Joe Nolan

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Friday, May 15, 2009

Undiscovered Country

God Bless us every one.



I have recently discovered a trove of treasure, a vein really, one full of heroines in the rain, firing arrows into the stars.

Moving images move at the speed of light. We sit hushed in darkened theaters while Scientists madly scratch their heads in search of Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel.

In Contempt, Godard builds a universe on a piece of ass and James Toback counts to 7 and back again using every one of his Fingers. Blake saw the Universe in a Grain of Sand when he woke from a vision of a movie camera's glass lens.

We reproduce the moving of our movements so that they may move again. Not to infantilize - to live forever in a repeating loop - but to prove the existence of parallel worlds. To show ourselves to ourselves the way some mystics see human beings as the eyes of God staring back at the blind, mad, demiurge. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, and we are the eyes of God, then surely we replicate HIS replication and the fall continues unabated.

Apples are complimented by both butter and popcorn.

Lets open the vein and see what - exactly - may pour out.







The Power of Words

- Edgar Allen Poe

OINOS. Pardon, Agathos, the weakness of a spirit new-fledged with immortality!

AGATHOS. You have spoken nothing, my Oinos, for which pardon is to be demanded. Not even here is knowledge thing of intuition. For wisdom, ask of the angels freely, that it may be given!

OINOS. But in this existence, I dreamed that I should be at once cognizant of all things, and thus at once be happy in being cognizant of all.

AGATHOS. Ah, not in knowledge is happiness, but in the acquisition of knowledge! In for ever knowing, we are for ever blessed; but to know all were the curse of a fiend.

OINOS. But does not The Most High know all?

AGATHOS. That (since he is The Most Happy) must be still the one thing unknown even to Him.

OINOS. But, since we grow hourly in knowledge, must not at last all things be known?

AGATHOS. Look down into the abysmal distances!–attempt to force the gaze down the multitudinous vistas of the stars, as we sweep slowly through them thus–and thus–and thus! Even the spiritual vision, is it not at all points arrested by the continuous golden walls of the universe?–the walls of the myriads of the shining bodies that mere number has appeared to blend into unity?

OINOS. I clearly perceive that the infinity of matter is no dream.

AGATHOS. There are no dreams in Aidenn–but it is here whispered that, of this infinity of matter, the sole purpose is to afford infinite springs, at which the soul may allay the thirst to know, which is for ever unquenchable within it–since to quench it, would be to extinguish the soul's self. Question me then, my Oinos, freely and without fear. Come! we will leave to the left the loud harmony of the Pleiades, and swoop outward from the throne into the starry meadows beyond Orion, where, for pansies and violets, and heart's- ease, are the beds of the triplicate and triple–tinted suns.

OINOS. And now, Agathos, as we proceed, instruct me!–speak to me in the earth's familiar tones. I understand not what you hinted to me, just now, of the modes or of the method of what, during mortality, we were accustomed to call Creation. Do you mean to say that the Creator is not God?

AGATHOS. I mean to say that the Deity does not create.

OINOS. Explain.

AGATHOS. In the beginning only, he created. The seeming creatures which are now, throughout the universe, so perpetually springing into being, can only be considered as the mediate or indirect, not as the direct or immediate results of the Divine creative power.

OINOS. Among men, my Agathos, this idea would be considered heretical in the extreme.

AGATHOS. Among angels, my Oinos, it is seen to be simply true.

OINOS. I can comprehend you thus far–that certain operations of what we term Nature, or the natural laws, will, under certain conditions, give rise to that which has all the appearance of creation. Shortly before the final overthrow of the earth, there were, I well remember, many very successful experiments in what some philosophers were weak enough to denominate the creation of animalculae.

AGATHOS. The cases of which you speak were, in fact, instances of the secondary creation–and of the only species of creation which has ever been, since the first word spoke into existence the first law.

OINOS. Are not the starry worlds that, from the abyss of nonentity, burst hourly forth into the heavens–are not these stars, Agathos, the immediate handiwork of the King?

AGATHOS. Let me endeavor, my Oinos, to lead you, step by step, to the conception I intend. You are well aware that, as no thought can perish, so no act is without infinite result. We moved our hands, for example, when we were dwellers on the earth, and, in so doing, gave vibration to the atmosphere which engirdled it. This vibration was indefinitely extended, till it gave impulse to every particle of the earth's air, which thenceforward, and for ever, was actuated by the one movement of the hand. This fact the mathematicians of our globe well knew. They made the special effects, indeed, wrought in the fluid by special impulses, the subject of exact calculation–so that it became easy to determine in what precise period an impulse of given extent would engirdle the orb, and impress (for ever) every atom of the atmosphere circumambient. Retrograding, they found no difficulty, from a given effect, under given conditions, in determining the value of the original impulse. Now the mathematicians who saw that the results of any given impulse were absolutely endless–and who saw that a portion of these results were accurately traceable through the agency of algebraic analysis–who saw, too, the facility of the retrogradation–these men saw, at the same time, that this species of analysis itself, had within itself a capacity for indefinite progress–that there were no bounds conceivable to its advancement and applicability, except within the intellect of him who advanced or applied it. But at this point our mathematicians paused.

OINOS. And why, Agathos, should they have proceeded?

AGATHOS. Because there were some considerations of deep interest beyond. It was deducible from what they knew, that to a being of infinite understanding–one to whom the perfection of the algebraic analysis lay unfolded–there could be no difficulty in tracing every impulse given the air–and the ether through the air–to the remotest consequences at any even infinitely remote epoch of time. It is indeed demonstrable that every such impulse given the air, must, in the end, impress every individual thing that exists within the universe;–and the being of infinite understanding–the being whom we have imagined–might trace the remote undulations of the impulse- trace them upward and onward in their influences upon all particles of an matter–upward and onward for ever in their modifications of old forms–or, in other words, in their creation of new–until he found them reflected–unimpressive at last–back from the throne of the Godhead. And not only could such a thing do this, but at any epoch, should a given result be afforded him–should one of these numberless comets, for example, be presented to his inspection–he could have no difficulty in determining, by the analytic retrogradation, to what original impulse it was due. This power of retrogradation in its absolute fulness and perfection–this faculty of referring at all epochs, all effects to all causes–is of course the prerogative of the Deity alone–but in every variety of degree, short of the absolute perfection, is the power itself exercised by the whole host of the Angelic intelligences.

OINOS. But you speak merely of impulses upon the air.

AGATHOS. In speaking of the air, I referred only to the earth; but the general proposition has reference to impulses upon the ether- which, since it pervades, and alone pervades all space, is thus the great medium of creation.

OINOS. Then all motion, of whatever nature, creates?

AGATHOS. It must: but a true philosophy has long taught that the source of all motion is thought–and the source of all thought is-

OINOS. God.

AGATHOS. I have spoken to you, Oinos, as to a child of the fair Earth which lately perished–of impulses upon the atmosphere of the Earth.

OINOS. You did.

AGATHOS. And while I thus spoke, did there not cross your mind some thought of the physical power of words? Is not every word an impulse on the air?

OINOS. But why, Agathos, do you weep–and why, oh why do your wings droop as we hover above this fair star–which is the greenest and yet most terrible of all we have encountered in our flight? Its brilliant flowers look like a fairy dream–but its fierce volcanoes like the passions of a turbulent heart.

AGATHOS. They are!–they are! This wild star–it is now three centuries since, with clasped hands, and with streaming eyes, at the feet of my beloved–I spoke it–with a few passionate sentences- into birth. Its brilliant flowers are the dearest of all unfulfilled dreams, and its raging volcanoes are the passions of the most turbulent and unhallowed of hearts.

THE END








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Sunday, May 03, 2009

Love and Might

Love and Might


She walked through the kitchen on bare feet in the middle of the night searching for the knife in the dark. She touched the blade of the chef's knife and slid it back down into the block. She touched the blade of the bread knife and pulled it all the way out.

The open refrigerator illuminated the dark kitchen, its blue light bouncing off of the hard, shiny, concrete floor. In many parts of the world, the blinding blur of all of this electric would take on the glow of a metaphysical revelation: a miracle.

A sun inside of an ice cold box.



She pulled out the rest of the chocolate cake and cut a thin slice before bisecting that same slice into two pieces of sugary architecture that she could pick up with her fingers. She touched the side of the decanter and then poured the still-warm-enough coffee into the mug. The entire nation of Ethiopia rose and roared from the ceramic bowl. Hailie Sallassie prayed to his great, great grandfather - old Solomon himself - while the coffee wafted from the bowl in waves of wisdom and bitterness alike.



She slid back the door. The light, white curtains blew in, taking the shape of the night air. She tugged her short robe together at her chest and sat on the sleek white chair overlooking the avenue and the intersection at the boulevard down the block. The streets were quiet, the occasional car whispering to itself as it slid by seven floors down.

She broke the first, small piece of the moist, dark cake and dipped it into the coffee making sure to get as much of the bitter, black liquid into the cake before it became too full and broke of into the cup in soggy defeat. She held the cup near her mouth as she sucked the chocolate in.



Some scientists say that chocolate stimulates a woman's brain in a way that replicates the experience of falling in love. White people first had the privilege of tasting chocolate after the Spanish conquered the Aztecs. The Europeans in their desperation for love enslaved the Mesoamericans on cocoa plantations so that women a world away could pour the dark liquid into their powdered faces. The brown people in South America had been given the gift of the cocoa bean by Quetzalcoatl, the great, feathered deity who had been banished from heaven for sharing the Food of the Gods with mortal men. It seems the people themselves were also banished from Heaven within the boundaries of their own land, and that the Gods -everywhere- favor might over love.

She left the second piece of cake on the saucer, on the steel table next to the sleek chair and held the mug in her hands, warming her pink palms as the chocolate mellowed her expression into a somnambulant gaze focused on some distant desire. She rushed back into her own eyes when she heard the crash.

She could make out one of the cars - on the far side of the boulevard - and could see some kind of steam or smoke rising from the place where the sound came from. The white plume rose above the shop at the corner of the boulevard and then above date tree glowing green beneath the grey moon before she heard the first voices - desperate, scared and angry - disrupting her perfect love with noise and metal and the sound of an ambulance just now wailing in the distance.

At the very first, mushrooms had been served...They ate no more food; they only drank chocolate during the night. And they ate the mushrooms with honey. When the mushrooms took effect on them, then they danced, then they wept. But some, while still in command of their senses, entered and sat there by the house on their seats; they did no more, but only sat there nodding.







Joe%20NolanQuantcast

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Love,
Joe Nolan


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Wednesday, April 01, 2009

The Last Days of Pompeii

Hola, Amigos!

If you have been enjoying these little stories I am writing here, encourage me with a comment :)

If you hate these, I'll understand. Just tell me to stop.



THE OL'SARGE



In all his days, he'd never seen nothin' like this.

The Sarge wiped his brow with a hard, dirty, tan forearm - the grime running like fast, gray tears down either side of his face. The smoke bombs draped the whole scene in Tibetan prayer flags.

Drifting Yellow.

Rising Red.

"So, this is the bardo...?"





*
Chikkhai bardo (Tibetan): is the fourth bardo of the moment of death. According to tradition, this bardo is held to commence when the outer and inner signs presage that the onset of death is nigh, and continues through the dissolution or transmutation of the Mahabhuta until the external and internal breath has completed.
*

2) HISTORICAL USAGE OF DATURA

Press Play


2a) TIMELINE

1676
a group of soldiers go insane in jamestown upon ingestion of cooked Datura plants.

1968
Datura over-the-counter remedies for athsmatic difficulties are banned after people begin using them recreationally.

2b) General Overview of Historical Usage

Datura has been used for a very long time. Originally, it seems it was used as a shamanistic tool, one that could help a shaman gain entrance to "other worlds of existance." It also contains several chemicals that are helpful to the body in certain conditions. Atropine, a chemical derived from plants in the Solanaceae, is used in hospitals and generally a trusted drug. As such, one can imagine that it is fairly safe when used within the suggested dosages.

It would seem that people discovered its medicinal properties through shamans, or "Medicine Men." Often shamanism is used to cure illness, and certainly Datura would be a very good cure for some diseases.

6 a2) Tea

My experience with tea is also inconclusive. The first time I made a tea with boiling water, and seeds in a coffee filter. I used about 45 seeds, that were not quite mature (still rather small and somewhat yellow). The tea was very bright yellow and was not particularly pleasant tasting, with a mild spicy taste (like jalapeno) to it. The effects came on in about half an hour, with a mild stupor. Basically it was difficult to walk (I felt almost drunk) and thought was somewhat impaired. This didn't last very long at all, probably about 3 hours.

Note: This stuporous effect could have come from the blocking of anticholinergenic receptors. Drugs that produce acetylcholine have long been called "smart drugs" (Nootropics) for the way they make a user feel intelligent (and they actually perform better intellectually) and stimulated. Some have even been dubbed healthy coffee substitutes.

Perhaps atropine is a "dumb drug?"

My second experience was with more seeds, perhaps 60, but this time I ran the tea through the seeds 5 times. I added a very big (proportionally) amount of Grenadine and I also put a bag of Celestial Seasoning's 'Red Zinger' into the mix. The taste was mainly sugary, and the taste of the Datura was almost non-existant. The effects lasted about as long. The second dose was taken 2 days after the first, so it is important to note that they may have had a combined effect. After the second dose, I went to sleep, and had incredibly vivid dreams.

I remember being in a room talking to friends of mine. It seemed proper to speak out loud (I was aware that I was speaking out loud as well as in the dream), and was overall a very pleasant experience (the dream). This is probably delerium, along with interference in the brain stem.


My third experience was just the same as the first, and dreaming was no different than "normal."

This effect may also impair driving. Wearing sunglasses is usually a good idea when driving, provided they arent too dark, and with dilated pupils, it almost becomes a must.

Delerium/Delerium in Sleep

This is not well documented, so all I can do is hypothesize.



When one dreams, most of the images, sounds, et cetera, one hears, originate from the brain stem. Atropine interferes directly with much of the activity in the brain stem, ranging from motor impairment and tachycardia to the basal ganglionic blockage.

"One guy, who dealt drugs and wasn't particularly centered and/or able to connect with anyone else in the group decided to take off. Another guy and I understood that it was dangerous for anybody to become separated so we pursued him down to a busy boulevard where after a couple of blocks we became freaked and ceased trying to talk him into returning with us. We went back to the house. He went on his way, went to his house, got a suitcase full of drugs, walked to a strange neighborhood and into some old people's house. Whereupon, he began to behave as if he was in his own house. What occurred next I'm sure is obvious."




The baby cried out over the intercom and she climbed down off of the step ladder, jumping to the floor with the last step.

A young woman - given early to marriage and children - she had been up in the dark getting the older ones off to school.



"Just me and the baby, now." She thought the thought just before the house began to shake.

In the last days of Pompeii, there was a festival in the street. Thousands of people crowded the storefronts - smiles full of lamb, wine, cheese, and herbs - listening to the music, and dreaming of an Africa guarded by tree cats with sharp eyes and wide wings - a fresco of human movement, undulating in the sun like an iridescent snake. The girls dropped their dresses in the public fountain and the graffiti punned the walls it was written on until the writings - and then the walls - were covered in the light, gray ash.

The artillery continued in the distance. He could hear the squawk of the radio getting closer. "These birds only sing bad news."

"Sargent! We've broken through! We've been ordered to push to the border!"

The Sargent stared at the huge, smooth, silver disc, half-buried in the mud and trees, burning blue flames, so hot the surface distorted its reflection of the battleground like a not-so-fun-house mirror.

"We're way passed that, son." The Sargent emptied his rifle into the black ground.

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK



THE END




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Love,
Joe Nolan

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Sunday, March 29, 2009

A Rose Colored Ghost

La Lumiere Jaune

Chapter One -



"That's what I do is candles," she spoke loudly and clearly beneath her whitening, widening eyes, beneath her whitening, thinning hair. He gazed at her, nonplussed, barely paying attention in that way that calls attention to itself. He leaned back, his weight on one foot behind the counter, quickly sweeping the damp espresso grinds from the counter top into the aluminum knock box.

"We've got the bigger ones and - you know - the smalls and the mediums, and the Buddhists and the ones they call Juniper Joan in France. They're the ones that are yellow." She was gesturing with her hands, as if she could tease some kind of sign out of the thin air that would mean "yellow". He made another espresso, cranking the porta' to the right, stabbing the button on the left.

"Well I need candles." He said it in a tone that subtly - but unmistakeably - revealed itself to mean "You should give me some free candles."

"I can bring in the flyer. I'll bring you one." She walked out the door, into the bleak Sunday with an hysterical smile on her face, as if she'd just murdered the Easter Bunny.

"Doppio Espresso!" he called out, spinning the saucer onto the counter so that the coffee in the white demitasse cup swirled - without spilling - forming the image of Bodhi Dharma in the soft, caramel-colored crema.


Chapter Two - In the Garden



That was the morning that he had the idea for the pink.

He had painted layers of gesso on the canvas before he added the light plaster, like a layer of dust on the moon. Between each step he'd used the sandpaper, here and there, one spot rough, one spot smooth, drawing a map of the human capacity for love.

This morning he mixed the pink just as he had in his dream, the the plum color he'd already used and the white and the cadmium, and the thinner. Thinner than thin. A rose-colored ghost.

He used a roller, riding just over the edge of the tape covering nearly two thirds of the horizontal rectangle on the right side.

She came in from the street from the car from the store where she'd run to get salami, whiskey, tampons and new batteries for the camera.

"It's started," she said as if gazing at a horizon after a quick steep climb.

"Gimme." He took the sack from her arms and walked into the house, the screen door banging behind him. She looked back at the painting and smiled, her shoulders rising a bit, her beaming face bending slightly down and to the right as if she was crushing her nose against a baby.

Chapter 3 - I Want Everything

They found the Saint in the middle of the road. By then he'd gone completely blind from the corrosion of the visions and his hands had become misshapen crescents - like a crabs claws; shining, hard, and smoothed by prayer.

The End



Espresso Machine Parts Glossary & Nomenclature

(from http://www.espressoparts-usa.com/category/espressotutorials.01_espresso_glossary/)

Espresso: Nomenclature

The Oxford English dictionary is the leading authority on the etymology of the English language, and provides a clear source for English. Espresso is a purely Italian word, as the O.E.D. states:
Espresso,
[It. caff� espresso, lit. '�pressed-out coffee']

However, for a more concise understanding of where the term 'espresso' comes from, one must delve a little deeper and explore the word 'Coffee'�. Again from the O.E.D.:
Coffee,

[ad. Arab. qahwah, in Turkish pronounced kahveh, the name of the infusion or beverage; said by Arab lexicographers to have originally meant 'wine' or some kind of wine, and to be a derivative of a vb.-root qahiya 'to have no appetite'. Some have conjectured that it is a foreign, perh. African, word disguised, and have thought it connected with the name of Kaffa in the south Abyssinian highlands, where the plant appears to be native. But of this there is no evidence, and the name qahwah is not given to the berry or plant, which is called bunn, the native name in Shoa being b{umac}n.

The European langs. generally appear to have got the name from Turkish kahveh, about 1600, perh. through It. caffe cf. F., Sp., Pg. caf�, Ger. kaffee, Da., Sw. kaffe. The Eng. coffee, Du. koffie, earlier Ger. coffee, koffee, Russ. kophe, kophe{ibreve}, have o, app. representing earlier au from ahw or ahv.]

Now a clearer idea of the meaning of 'espresso' comes to the surface. We have seen that it literally means "pressed-out coffee"�. This is partly due to the process of extracting coffee from the beans in an ingenious process developed in 1901 by Luigi Bezzera. Some stories report that he wanted to be able to brew coffee faster so that his employees wouldn'�t take lengthy coffee breaks, so he came up with the idea of using steam pressure to quickly force water through coffee held in small removable baskets. It probably did not take him long to figure out that loose grounds held in this basket were not producing a very good cup, so, after re-calculating the volume of grounds and temperature of water, he pressed it and produced the first espresso.

Now on to the espresso machine parts.

Espresso Machine Parts Glossary
Portafiltro (Portafilter)

This words definition is simply based on the word split in two: porta (portable) filtro (filter). It could be said that it is the first best tool of the barista when it comes to interacting with coffee. Without it, there is no espresso. But without its best friend and next best tool, the tamper, or the thing that one presses or �tamps� the ground coffee with in the portafilter, your grounds are useless. There are literally hundreds of designs of tampers, but the best would certainly be a tamper that fits snuggly into the portafilter.
Portafilter Body

The main component of the portafilter is the 'body' of the assembly. The body holds the 'filter'�, or 'basket'�. The remaining components are the tension 'spring' which keeps the basket in place, the 'spout' which directs the flow of the espresso and the 'handle'� itself. In most cases the body of the Portafilter is specific to each manufacture, but in some cases, different manufactures have borrowed the designs from other manufactures, and they may be interchangeable from model to model.
Portafilter Spring

The springs hold the baskets in place. It is held in the portafilter by clipping in to a groove that is milled into the inner surface of the portafilter body. Some are round in profile and circumference, but most are bent into a hexagonal shape with one open end.
Portafilter Basket

The same is true with the baskets, not only in size, but also in volume. Most machines use a standardized portafilter basket with the volume capacity of 14 grams for the 'double-shot', but 12 gram versions are available for some machines. For the 'single-shot', most people are comfortable with the standard 7 gram basket, not even knowing that a 6 gram basket is available as well. Some machines portafilter bodies are able to accept an even larger size: a 'triple' or 21 gram basket. These variances are based exclusively on personal preference, and in the end will not affect the quality of a drink: in the end, it is the barista that chooses and grinds the coffee and then pulls the shot, not the basket.
Portafilter Spout(s)

The spout attached to the bottom of the body of a portafilter offers a barista yet more choices.

In most cases the portafilter spout is threaded onto the bottom of the portafilter. Most manufactures (except Gaggia, which employs a �"�) use a 3/8"� threaded fitting. The double shot versions are available tall, short, with a cover or without, in an adjustable or the standard non-adjustable style. The single shot comes with a straight, curved, short or tall choice. A rare and essentially never used triple� spout can also be used.

For the La Cimbali machines, a screw on style is used. Two screws hold a double or single spout onto the body. The height of your drain pan in relation to your cup may be a factor in choosing a style of spout. Most baristas will agree that being able to physically see a shot being poured thus being able to closely watch the process for quality is very important. Placing a large 16oz. or 20 oz. cup directly under the portafilter, pressing a button and walking away is frowned upon by any barista with distinguished taste and respect for the art.

In some cases, a machine will simply refuse to pour an even double shot from each end of the spout no matter how much �'tweaking'� of tamping or positioning a barista may try. This is what the adjustable spouts are for. The adjustable spout re-directs the espresso from one side to another with the turn of a screw. As with the baskets, one portafilter spout is not necessarily better than another, but you may find that your functionality and efficiency may be improved by your choice of spout.
Gruppo (Group Head)

The group head (brew head) is the large protrusion coming off of the front of an espresso machine which the portafilter is engaged to when brewing. Most espresso machines are categorized by the number of groups that are on the machine, i.e., one (single), two, three or four group. The group head can sometimes be an enigma to owners, users and customers alike. There are various different styles of group heads as with all other components of espresso machines.


The oldest system is the lever operated espresso machine. It uses a lever and piston assembly to force water through the grounds with a steady yet adjustable flow; the barista has the ability to increase and decrease the water dispensing pressure as he/she pulls a shot. This is where the term "�pull a shot" comes from. There are also a wide variety of hydraulic heads that are, today, rarely produced, and difficult to find parts for. These work in a similar way as the lever groups allowing the barista to control the flow rate, but use a combination of smaller vertical pistons that open and close with a small lever or arm. The most common form of group head today is the solenoid operated group. It employs and electronic coil that energizes a valve to open and close its orifice and allow water through - or keep it contained -� and are operated with either an analog rocker switch or digital electronic circuit commonly referred to as a touchpad.

Solenoid group machines are then divided into three other designations: super-automatic, automatic and semi-automatic.

Super-automatic Espresso Machines

Super-automatic machines are the newest style of espresso machine on the market. These machines grind the coffee, tamp, extract and dispose of the grounds, while frothing milk and pouring the entire drink - whatever drink one selects from its digital touch pad - all in one step.

Espresso aficionados are of the opinion that these take the heart out of brewing coffee, but they are very useful and convenient for extremely high volume, high traffic (both with customers as well as employees; little training is required) locations.

The down side is that they can be very labor intensive for technicians, if one is able to find a certified or trained technician at all, leading to costly service bills.
Automatic Espresso Machines

Automatic espresso machines are probably the most common machine on the market. The come with programmable digital touchpad dosing circuits. The operator enters two single (one short and one long) and two double shots timed shot pours into the computer in the machine. The computer then sends a signal to both the pump motor and flow meter (a small electronic wheel also called an impeller) to dispense water though the group.


Rubinetti Vapore/Acqua (Steam/water Valves)

Steam and hot water valves are no less important than the group heads; they are used just as often if not more! Most two, three and four group commercial machines only come with two steam and one hot water wand. The steam wands on most traditional commercial machines are placed at either end of the machine, and move in any direction. Some older equipment steam wands will only move forward and back, but check with a dealer of the equipment -� there may be a retro-fit kit if this design doesn'�t work for you.

In recent years, some manufactures have started producing equipment that comes out of the box with what is known as an 'auto-frother'. In days past these were an optional item. These are attachments placed on a traditional steam wand, or replacing the steam wand altogether. They allow the operator to quickly froth milk without learning or implementing the skills practiced by traditional baristi for frothing milk. Some are very technically advanced, going as far as digitally displaying the temperature of the milk, but with all of them - as with traditional wands, but to a far greater degree -� they must be cleaned daily, which can be labor intensive due to the number of components they are assembled with.

Hot water wands are kept very simple. They are normally an aerator threaded into a tube which draws hot water out of the boiler. In most cases, the machine must be hot for the siphoning effect of the valve to be operational.

Both steam and hot water valves may be operated by a knob that one turns, a lever one activates, or a button, digital or analog, that one presses. Valves that are opened via a knob are easily repairable, and are similar to the valves we see in sink and tub faucets. Lever activated valves are just as simply constructed, but can take a little finessing to repair.

Electrically opening valves all use a solenoid to open and close the valve, but digitally operated valves can be problematic. With a digital steam or water valve, a signal must first go through the circuit board behind the button before sending the signal to the solenoid to open or close. This can be a problem to diagnose: is it the circuit that has failed, or the solenoid?
Caldaia (Boiler)

Boilers in espresso machines vary in construction material, size and assembly. Most are brass. Some are constructed out of stainless steel. The benefit of a stainless steel boiler is the fact that it will never rust, but by the time a brass boiler rusts out of a machine, it has probably been long enough for the machine to have already paid for itself in sales it has produced. All boilers are subject to, and victims of, lime and mineral scale build-up.

The size of a boiler can be important. With a large capacity boiler and a small wattage heating element, the machine will take longer to heat up and struggle to maintain its optimum temperature in a high volume output environment. The variables of wattage, voltage and boiler capacity are infinite and can be very confusing, but a comfortable high ratio would be about 300 watts per listed boiler liter capacity for a 220 volt machine.

The most prevalent boilers on the market use a heat exchanger to supply water to the group head(s). Heat exchangers are essentially boilers inside of a boiler. The ambient heat of the water and steam inside the main boiler heats up the cool water coming into the heat exchanger. What this means is that the temperature of the water is directly dependent on, and related to, the amount of steam pressure in the boiler. If one increases the steam pressure, they are also increasing the temperature of the water being dispensed out of the group. In two, three and four group machines, this effect takes place across the board, thus the adjustability of steam pressure and water temperature is limited.

Some machines come manufactured with two separate boilers; one for steam and one for brewing. The benefit of this is the ability to adjust either boiler to your specific needs or desires. Each boiler has a different circuit controlling its heating element, and can be dialed in for the desired temperature of brewing and steaming.

Boilers are filled with fresh water in two ways: with a manual-fill valve, and with an auto-fill valve. These two valves work in tandem. The main power switch for machines generally turns on the auto-fill circuit, allowing water to by-pass the manual fill valve through the auto-fill solenoid and fill the boiler with water. Once the water reaches a probe (the auto-fill probe) that is threaded into the top of the boiler, this grounds the circuit out, telling the solenoid to close and the pump motor to turn off. The manual-fill valve is usually only used in emergencies when one or more of the auto-fill components has failed. These valves can also be electronically opened, but most use a standard push stem valve. Additionally, the manual-fill valve differs from the auto in that it doesn'�t use the pump motor to allow water in, only the static pressure of the water supply.

Keeping a close eye on the water level is very important. An empty boiler will quickly burn out the heating element.
Pompa (Pump)

The pump is used to push water through the group head, as well as fill the boiler. Most commercial machines use a large pump called a rotary vane pump. They are commonly made of brass and come with water in and water out fittings, a mounting flange, an adjustment screw and a drive shaft. The most common version has a clamp style mounting flange and a flat drive shaft. Other variations are a bolt on flange, using two or three bolts, a retrofitted three prong flange adaptor and or a round drive shaft. These pumps should all have an adjustment screw located on the side of the pump that one uses to increase or decrease the dispensing water coming out of the group head. While dispensing water, one turns the screw clockwise to increase or counter-clockwise to decrease the pressure. All rotary vane pumps are required to be hooked up to a pressurized water supply. These pumps can only run without water for about 75 revolutions before the graphite bearings wear out and the pump is ruined.

Some smaller compact models (and almost all home machines) come with a different style pump, the vibratory pump. These are smaller, less expensive and not adjustable. Some, such as the Fluid-o-tech model, are connected to the electrical wiring via a wiring boot that snaps on and is held in place with a screw. Others, such as the Ulka model, come with two spade type terminals, that may or may not be wired in with a high limit pump shut-off diode. They do not need to be installed to pressurized water, and are not attached to a pump motor, discussed next.
Motopompa (Pump Motor)

The motors turn the pump. In most new machines, the motor and pump are placed inside the machine, but in a large majority of older machines, the pump is mounted outside. Some manufactures still prefer to keep the look of their equipment the same, and so have not modified their body assembly to be able to fit a pump inside. This is inconsequential as the pumps and motors are very durable.

As with pumps, there are different models of motors available as well. The most common is the clamp flange, flat drive shaft model. Others may have a round or splined drive shaft and holes in the flange for bolts. They are available in different sizes as well, but the important thing when replacing a motor is to get the exact wattage and voltage, as well as the same microfarad rating on its start capacitor.

That pretty much covers all of the major working systems of an espresso machine. As with any piece of machinery, all makes and models, even if they have the same tag, may not be exactly the same. So be observant, vigilant and patient when working on the equipment.



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Joe Nolan

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Wednesday, March 25, 2009

A Burning Thing

Love in the Free World

Chapter One - The Free and the Brave

He sat on the porch, twirling a wooden match between his fingers like a tiny baton. The cars passed by on The Boulevard with a sweet hiss in the just-cool night time air. He could hear the television in the downstairs apartment. A trumpet played a fanfare and a number of people clapped and cheered. It was either a game show or a war movie.

Chapter Two - A Woman's Prerogative

Like the night before - and the night before that - she was already in her pajamas by 9:30, the slight burn beneath the blinking lids of her eyes like a sharp little voice admonishing her to get to bed even a few minutes earlier tonight. She had to be up by 5 to catch the bus by 6 to make it to her stop by 6:30 to cross the street at Mag and West by 6:45 to get to the University by 7; at which point she would stop into the Student Union and order a small orange juice to drink with the perpetual cereal bars she pulled from her purse like magician's rabbits. She'd read the latest movie review in the paper and see if she could complete the crossword before heading to teach her class at 8. She had finished the whole puzzle just yesterday.

Chapter Three - Me and the Blues

The Kid got up late. He had a way of getting off his schedule. This was mostly due to the fact that there was no schedule to keep. Not really. Ever since the surgery, he had been at home - mostly in his room - mostly moving his head like a squirrel peaking out of a hole - fast jerky glances from side to side - as if "looking at things faster" would somehow compensate for the fact that his eyes really didn't work anymore. He glanced quickly to his left as he accidentally knocked his water over into his pill bottles. The entire TV tray crashed, the little blue capsules swelling and softening in the clear wet between the shards.

Chapter Four - Angels with Dirty Faces

As usual, the music was too loud. She was yelling something in his ear but he couldn't hear her. He yelled back, but she couldn't understand. He stepped away from her and took her by the shoulders, squaring her to himself and looking directly at her face.

"What?" He mouthed it exaggeratedly hoping she could read his lips. She smiled, closed her eyes and licked her lips as she inhaled - as if she was about to jump from a high dive. She exhaled and smiled and grabbed his elbows with her small hands, gently moving them in rhythm with her mouthings.

"I adore you."

Chapter 5 - Follow Apollo

The next day the sun rose and the sun set, and everyone was quite sure it would continue for some time.

The End




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Joe Nolan

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Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Lake Not Still

Down by the Water



Chapter 1 - The Stone Skipper

The surface of the lake was smooth, but not still. The entire mirror of its green expanse slowly undulated above fast moving contractions and expansions of water that seemed to have been displaced by something the size of a 16 year old girl.

Chapter 2 - A Gun and a Girl

"Never point the gun toward yourself or anyone else"

"Duh..."

Her father laughed, his broad red nose - like a wedge of cheese - bouncing above the spreading, rock-candy smile. He coughed a few times - bringing his fist to his lips - then he exhaled like a punctured tire, dropped his hand to chamois on the picnic table, picked it up, and continued to slowly rub the barrel of the rifle. He wasn't being particularly thorough. In fact, he was hardly paying attention at all.

Chapter 3 - The Tree Falls

The crow called out as it lit down within the tree-shaded clearing; the dark, damp earth cool and moist beneath a winter's worth of wind blown needles, leaves, bark, broken twigs, and a small silver ring on the slender white finger of a pale hand at the end of a pair of bones where another black bird pulled something passed it's snapping beak and into his gullet.

Chapter 4 - The Ring of Mary Bell

Mary Bell stared at the sky with a gaze that had forgotten time. Time - also - had forgotten Mary Bell.

The End




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Joe Nolan

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Monday, March 23, 2009

Romeo Has A Raygun

Bonjour, mes amis



Happy Monday!



Here's to hopin' you dreamed a little dream in the last 48.

Had a quiet weekend myself. Watched the Spartans win a few basketball games. Watched my friend's teams lose a few. I've enjoyed that a little bit too much ;)


The Silent Sounding Sea

Chapter One - The Young Boy

The Young Boy stood on the grey cliff overlooking the blue water. The breeze blew in from the west, warm and full of sun. In the distance he could hear the Monday morning sounds of the market opening. He could smell roasted meat and rich country dirt as he contemplated the deep dark indigo that stretched to the edge of the sky.

Chapter Two - The Physics of the Free Kick

All the boys yelled at once, shirtless but dry in the mid-afternoon sun despite the frantic pace of the game. The ball passed quickly from foot to foot, knee to chest, head to ground, only to pop loose suddenly like prisoner on the run, skittering across the dry dust toward the women where they cooked and smoked their pipes, before finally being caught by one of the young boys who extended his foot passed the ball - mid-run - and brought his heel down like an ax, sending the sphere leaping backwards toward another dark, wavy head. The women looking on disapprovingly as if to say "Boys and men are only full of games."

Chapter Three - Romeo Has a Raygun

Three small tables constituted a makeshift cafe in the market. The American frowned beneath his stringy mustache like he had taken a bite of bad fruit. Keeping to himself, he read from a thin volume of Shakespeare. Having spent a lot of time alone, he had developed the habit of talking to himself. Around others, he usually whispered, but absorbed in his reading, surrounded by the chaos of the market, he had forgotten himself and mumbled aloud -

The world's my oyster
Which I with sword will open.


On the small table next to his coffee, a British voice spoke English over a satellite radio -

Surging demand for feed, food, and fuel have recently led to drastic price increases, which are not likely to fall in the foreseeable future, due to low stocks and slow-growing supplies of agricultural outputs. Climate change will also have a negative impact on food production, compounding the challenge of meeting global food demand, and potentially exacerbating hunger and malnutrition among the world's poorest people. Economic growth has helped to reduce hunger, particularly when it is equitable. Unfortunately, growth is never positioned to reach the poorest people.


Chapter Four - The Winds On High

He ran as fast as he could. The young boy lifted one brown, bare foot onto the rock while the other swung forward into the emptiness. Rising into the air, the distant market disappeared from the edge of his sight, replaced only by billowing blue sky. At this highest point, the rest of his vision filled with the endless ocean. Imagining himself immersed in that warm water, he'd hold his breath - floating. Weightless. Forever.

The End



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Joe Nolan

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Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Grand Grey Lynx

Bon jour,

Comment?

Recently asked what my favorite period of visual art was, I had to stop short and address the subject through a broader, more general appeal.

For me the best stuff happened in America between the end of WWII and the middle of the 1960's...give or take half a decade. But not only in visual art. This is the GREAT TIME for journalism, art, film, music, dance, poetry/lit - everything! Social Justice...Spiritual Consciousness...True Human Liberty...

This is not to say the BEST in the history of the world. Who knows? Who cares? This is my favorite period and the one that is most influential where my own projects are concerned.



I also started watching Jean Luc Godard's Histoire(s) du Cinema.

It is a poem.


The Old Man

Chapter One - The Old Man

The old man stared at the spinning fan in the window. He peered through the blink-a-black light, his eyelashes fluttering before his agitated vision.

He heard a hornet humming past his left ear. Then another. Then another hornet, closer and faster, like the next one, and the one immediately following it.

The cars passsed by like armored boars, snorting and growling, masticating and belching all black roads between here and there; shitting carbon colored clouds of bleak, black, bad history and torment.

The Old Man sat upright on the sidewalk near the intersection of Hart and Altman. He'd fallen asleep again.


Chapter 2 - Wake Up Little Snoozy

Tea comes from China. Whether it does or doesn't is of no importance to us dear reader, but it was important to the Old Man as he dunked a small, white, wet bag on a string into and out of the still, steaming water.

Tea comes from China. He thought the thought for a long time. He didn't hold the statement in his head like a scribble on a chalkboard. It breathed. It was draped in musculature and wet with function and consciousness.

Tea Comes from China.


Chapter 3 The Devil Rides West

The television was turned up loud, but he didn't really notice loud noises anymore. As his senses receded he felt safer in the world. As his hearing dulled to a soft, still, hushing wave, he became more like an animal, more aware of his faculties, having begun to perceive the limits of their definitions. He began to interpret the input from the environment around him in terms of fight-or-flight - like a monkey or perhaps a grand, grey lynx. Sounds were either vitally important or of no consequence.

Their was little to flee from in the small apartment on Altman. But there was fight in the Old Man.


Chapter 4 The Conquering Hero

The Old Man stood up and turned slowly, committing to an about-face like a reluctant mule. He raised one hand above his eyes to shield them from the bright, burning light. He began the long walk home.

The End












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Joe Nolan

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Monday, March 16, 2009

The King of May

Happy Monday!

How about another old-school poem to set the ol' steps in the right direction...




The Straits of Magellan (by Joe Nolan)

strange and true and green and huge and

waiting

beneath seven miles

of ocean.

reflecting blades of daybreak

grass, breaking toward the break

of day and breaking

into the space

of the sky

at the far horizon.

rising

like an art

and like a knife.

a blue-green hue,

that line where the sky meets the sea.

and the rowers row to oblivion,

straining rum-soaked

oars

and sun-stroked

minds,

hallucinating Jésus walking on water

in the shape of a slaughtered

lamb, bleeding

good luck

coins,

plopping

down

to the bottom of the blue.

falling, failing, dove-less olives

returning to Atlantis.

deep, deep down where the dead men go,

on their way

to the center

of the earth.



As a special bonus, here is another poem by Allen Ginsberg. The King of May was inspired by Ginsberg's deportation from Cuba to Prague. Welcomed as a hero in Czechoslovakia, Ginsberg was crowned King of May during the May Day parade. Having seen enough, the Czechs sent Ginsy back to London.



This is a great Spring poem.




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Listen to "Mission" and the rest of my new CD - Blue Turns Black!


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Love,
Joe Nolan

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Sunday, March 15, 2009

May Day (In hope of Spring)

Gracias, muchachos.

Another vintage verse vrooms from the vault.




May Day (by Joe Nolan)

The White Hand
marks the countenance
of the mind soldier.
Digital rifle shoulders grim determination.
Calls of  EVACUATION!
mark the midnight’s jaundiced
malaise.
Propagandography in the coding of the symbol.
The bug chaser
licks a leg razor
and swallows his sallow tail
like a sick Pisces.
doomed/damned/dimmed
under bomb raid
light-
and the copkillers huddle in
some brave shadow where
everyboy is a King.
We deny The Law its rule and its gallows.
We kill our own martyrs and mark the night
like satyrs
at the limits of our blue desiring.
There are no hirelings among us comrade.
No merchants among pirates.
No cynics among lovers.
No cataract occludes our Solar
Vision of a Vice
that is risen -
Red Angel -
at an angle to the midnight,
that presupposes its corrosive intent.
Hey Mooneyed Ghetto Child
bleeds low-rent television static
from a wound in his side.
No pride among the desperate.
The vestments of poverty and shame learn
a new name from an old one.
Burn
a new flame from an old sun
that no longer dawns
on the chrome junkyard heart of
fallen-sweet autumn apples drinking
seventh story water
in this A.M. (Year of the Ram).
I quest a grail-full
of Love of Chaos.
My Beauty’s breast ridden
with Anarchy ribbons
in the wine-soaked twilight of May Day.
A rose blooms in my palm and
bleeds a bullet
between my teeth.


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Love,
Joe Nolan

Use this player to listen to my new CD. Purchase a song or two at your favorite digital outlet and help us stay awake here at Insomnia!

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Friday, March 13, 2009

From a Makeshift Bed

Bon soir mes amis.

This is a poem I was reminded of today. Check out more
poems here.




From a Makeshift Bed (by Joe Nolan)


The Ghost haunts my Autumn mind
on the morning after
All Hallows’ Eve.
New-born thoughts
marked
with the symbols of their own demise.
A graveyard in the groin.
A murder on the lips.
This morning, this dawn, upon waking,
I muttered a muddled
prayer
and rose from a makeshift bed
in a strange room.
I cast my fortunes
with the Dark Horse Contender.
I cast my nets in black
waters
and pull my treasure
from the pleasure
that throbs beneath
love-sore skin.
And The Eyes shine through
the 11 hundred light
like a shadow on fire.
I desire my love to come to me
feet-first.
I desire her to fall from the sky.
I will call her manna
and I will speak her name
with a great gnashing
of teeth.
I will name her Hannah
and I will meet her over
waffles and syrup
at a pick-up hitch-up
East of Eden,
West of Spokane,
where the name of the night
 is blown
on Pacific winds,
through high blue
trees, that bend
with the ease of death,
taking its toll for a last breath
(a pound of flesh
when a pound of faith is lacking).
And the razing wraith of sunset
overcomes the sky
with the inevitability
of its own
falling blade.
“If we’d stayed here, things would’ve been different.”
“If we’d stayed, we’d’ve reaped The Avalanche.”
And The Hands
shape the shape
of the awkward
afternoon
(a blunt object to bludgeon
the hour by)
as the hours pass by this witness to
their mean meander.
And on the desert floor,
a salamander
swallows a mantis.
And a shark sinks
to the bottom
of some merciless
Atlantis.
And here I still an hour,
for a moment
to devour my love,
coming up through the ice.



Please take the time to check out my vids, the archives of The Sleepless Film Festival, and more at my new You Tube channel:

Joe Nolan's Imagicon

Listen to "Mission" and the rest of my new CD - Blue Turns Black!


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Love,
Joe Nolan

Use this player to listen to my new CD. Consider purchasing a song or two at your favorite digital outlet and help us stay awake here at Insomnia!

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