I’ve been in this thistling PonY business since 2003. A mysterious mandate uttered out of nowhere to relegate the gospel of Pony Law. Like all laws they are taken down and stomped into splinters. I became Payroll Bones, the navigator of that Cesar Vallejo poem Payroll of Bones.
Then i became one with a holy trinity. Pony Payroll BoNes.
Me learn pluck cluck wring rooster head off and string up all de hens with broken guitar string wire.
My first guitar teacher Shayne West taught me how not to play. I learned to play by climbing into the bottom of the old Rome Water works that once was also a confederate fort.
The south is a backwards place.The glory horrid days of losing your virginity in the back of a cutlass parked in a graveyard whilst a bunch of fools watch and leer.
It is called the deep south because the trouble you run into runs deeper in the fateful fussy dog kennel cage of being born there. It’s called the deep south because you get into deeper trouble. When tha liquor runs out that’s when the real trouble begins.
Tracy Snow and Bill Taft really got me writing songs….and the ugly ghost of Fiddlin John Carson.
There was that stint in Hubcap City (from Belgium) with Bill when things really started getting feverish. Don’t take advice at any British Consultants cocaine pool party or read too deeply into Rhys Chatham reading your palms. Don’t ever ever imitate Polish on a subway full of old Polish men.
My songs come from where the ghost really does duel the soul. They root down into the archeologies of now and the hard bone geographies. Love is lost Love is gained. All you git is family.
I had a drummer once whose girlfriend tried to kill me with the old narcotics. SOngs kept songing. There was that time Hurricane Frank and Farmer Clinton kept smacking raw bloody deer parts on my banjo. Things got real weird at the climatic finale when the heart was rubbed all over that banjO thing.
Pony? Why ponies? A pony will take you down to the lost trails by the river. There you will find something that is more revelatory then poor Jesus’s butchered talk. A pony is innocence. THa bones are anybodies architecture of the daily.