Click Bait For A Grateful Nation

Profane ideas and anarchy
The atmosphere slips from static to rabid
Spotlights spin and kill the battery
Bodies in the basement, heads in the attic
Seduce with cruelty, destroy with flattery
Amping up the electrical addict
Cigarette City, Celebrity nudity
with every cheap exchange shot cinematic

Bad weather, good natured
Green means stop, red means floor it
Watching the watchmen and tablature
Fight it, Fuck it, Ignore It
Social scavenger, local massacre
Ramming speed, four on the floor it
Breaking down the unnatural ambassador
If you can’t join it, deplore it

No regrets but no one forgets
Your ass is a star but your still on the dole
No regrets but no one forgets
You sold your soul without a loop hole
No regrets but no one forgets
You bought in for a bigger role
No regrets but no one forgets
No regrets but no one forgets

Sex and state and God and fury
Fear and truth the line is blurry
Peace and love and fascist fashions
Click Bait For A Grateful Nation

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Horton Hates The Who. Do You?

Of all the grandiose mysteries this experience called Life offers us, the current one stuck in my craw, the one I stutter on the hard consonants of, is the legacy of The Who.

For those who are too young to understand (or to think this is a half baked, fully stoned Sci Fi reference…or even a pronoun), The Who was a Rock Band. Not a Blues band turned up. Not a R&B band (yeah, that’s right, come at me Who fans…).

The Who were big. Bombastic. Smart…maybe overly so. The Who were required listening if you lived in a Classic Rock Town. The Who made amazing music, killer singles, created a sound that would in time be bled of purpose and become ‘Radio Rock’.

As the big bands of the time continue to be worshipped, deified in these days of ‘All the best music is ollllld…..’… not The Meaty, The Beaty, The Big nor even The Bouncy. I have dear friends whose taste I trust implicitly who can’t even listen to the stuff. And look upon the World at Large….there is still Zeppelin Radio Hours and Pink Floyd Nights and endless Beatle-y bits. But The Who is fading.

Why? I am not even the biggest Who fan…but I know why they are great. Some truly great songs, a real Rock and Roll attitude not hampered by fear of offending, concepts that are occasionally dumb but…ambitious. A literate lyric style unique to the author and the sound. This is where Punk came from, in attitude, in ambition.

So…sure. Rock Stars deservedly. But…..what happened? I am going to take some fairly unthunk up guesses…cause I don’t know. Do you?:

1) The Never Ending Ending: Sure the reunions were cash grabs. Sure, it was ridiculous that they continued to even exist after Keith Moon died. Is that it? They may have been the first, right? Certainly not the last. I will say though…the cash grab does come off a bit worse for wear from a band that seemingly had an ideology once upon a time.

2) Pete: Yeah….Pete. It is an uncomfortable subject. It is a hazy subject. Let me tell you how uncomfortable: I have no interest in looking it up. Pete has always been a polarizing figure. What was flippantly revolutionary…what was thrilling, the calling out of the culture for what it was…sold out / selling out…. with age and an excess amount of press facts and statements came out that were…creepy. You have the Internet too. If curious, go digging.

3) Sell Out: Is it because The Who were so quick and successful at selling out? Is it the mystical but commercial codex that translates the electronic binky intro to ‘Wont Get Fooled Again’ into the phrase ‘Buy Me’. Is it the irony of The Who selling so completely that I hear more of them in car commercials than on the radio?

4) The Concept Records (and shows)? The creepy English dance hall vibe? The just below the meanness in everything they say and do? The movie ‘Tommy’ (to me, a true dividing point that jackbooted my sicker inclinations towards baked beans and laundry soap).

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Re: Tonight’s JikiJikiJa Singles Night – Practice Tapes

A few words about tonight’s Singles Club release. And those words are ‘Practice Tapes’.

My life can be cataloged through Practice Tapes: boom box recordings (on cassettes!), jamming around someone’s big recording deck or in the current Zoom style tech. And frankly, I would not have it any other way. It is not simply the material that I created, the songs. Much of it is about the errant noises that pop up within. The voices (in harmony) of friends long lost, either to my world or the World in general. The pure adrenaline of folks with a central purpose: bring the song to its fullest and best arrangement, which is experimentation. Even the sound of my own voice (which I think anyone who knows me recognizes I love dearly). My youth, my growly screaming youth into my smooth Rock Croon I wear these later days.

Pictures exist but beauty (and memory) fade. Records exist but considering I have put out about 6 records and have written hundreds of songs, some songs get forgotten. And then remembered due to these infancy tracks of a melodies first steps. I have never kept a diary but can track my emotional growth…then backslide into stoned bellowing…then a bit more emotional growth…. then a deep slide into shallow Rock and Roll (the best kind) followed by….now.

If you are a songwriter, you know exactly what I mean.

I recognize that the aural quality is rarely releasable. I just don’t care. Life is short.

Which brings us to tonight’s track ‘Gods In The Garden’. A Practice Tape featuring me, Julie Kay on cello and Jack Adanti on shaky & beaty things.

A song I wrote and did not think much about. Maybe because it was a love song and I was being dark this past few years. Maybe cause I could not identify where it came from within me and it felt like an interloper. JikiJikiJa probably has not played this song since this recording.

Till I found this recording…and whatever damage I had related to this song faded. Perhaps cause I am not as dark as I used to be. Maybe cause I can truly relate with it now on a far deeper level.

Give it a listen. Let me know what you think. I would apologize about the bass frequencies but…. Life is short.

Gods In The Garden

It Blooms in November
Its a challenge to the senses
It opens in the rain, all spice and incense
And I fall too, I fall into you
I press every petal
Drop to my knees, let the day begin

And the days have collected bled of meaning
Except a taste I never lose that haunts my evenings
I carry ghosts hid in deep embraces
The Rabbit runs, The Wolf chases

And in the Garden lay Eden. And in the carpet we play
Between cloud and field
We are revealed
By the will of The Gods Of The Garden

And it beams bright in the grey, it sneers at the season
I feel it ever day Its beyond reason
Its beyond treason
I cant pretend it dint matter
That mirror that saw us true…it never shattered

And in the Garden lay Eden. And in the carpet we play
Between cloud and field
We are revealed
By the will of The Gods Of The Garden

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Is Distraction Contagious?

I have things to do. I am very important.

I have a record to record. And a spaceship to acquire. A set to write (for next week’s Wandering Uterus show at Mac 650 on Main Street Middletown, CT! Ahem).

Busy, busy boy. So why can’t I do any of it while I trip away the day reading about Fyre Fest?

At first I thought I was having a mental block. After further thought, I believe it is your fault. Yup. Allllll you. It’s a social issue clearly as I am the tippy top of mental health. Right? Right (answer the voices back).

Distraction. Where is was often a much used word, it is now a craze. It is muttered at screens and speakers, responsible for late arrivals. Conversations about the distractions we deal with personally and communally become conversations that distract us from what we should be doing. Which is…living, I guess. Playing in the flowers and fishing and shit.

You see it clearly at play in the White House, and I wonder if we will ever not fall for it.

We LOVE to outraged. The GALL of whatever impossible stupidity that gets spoken aloud. And we can not help but take the bait. We whisper ‘distraction’ beneath our breath and then weigh into the ridiculous debate that really never deserved to be debated.

As we speak and get all self righteous, a much more malignant and meaningful monster slips in the door. Or a much more important bit of evidence gets lost in the fray about if the president knows much about history. (He doesn’t but this is not new information).

So it is Trumps fault? My personal distraction? I wish. (Remember. It is your fault)

No. It is deeper. And maybe even more ugly.

Why was Fyre Fest such a media event. It is the same reason Trump was elected. We want people taken down a few pegs. That is Leaf and Right.

People who voted for Trump wanted to ‘drain the swamp’. Too many people of power pulling power moves. So they voted a new cast of snivelers in their seats. They found the optimism that the country operated with unrealistic. And cut their won throats doing it. Bummer, since healthcare…..Etc.

Now the Resistance rises up and burns down everything Trump says or attempts to say. Like he is not a stooge, a patsy. They talk about how outrageous and sad it is (which…it is.) and miss the mark about what to do about it. I won’t pick a side. I clearly have already picked a side.

But then… Fyre Fest. It is a haters dream team. First it involves Ja Rule, who really does suck. And privileged rich white kids playing God with no concept of how that usually ends up (I am speaking of the organizers) and pictures from the scene of sad rich kids looking a bit nervous (I am now speaking of the attendants). A $100 Million dollar lawsuit. A lot of indie types weighing in on the ‘We knew it would be like this’ side. Horror and heartbreak (OK, not really) and recriminations from the Bahama Tourism Board.

How can you not dig into that? Whatever your lifespan, and whoever you choose to follow that span with, that’s good mental eatin’! Cause we allllll hate rich people, right? Yeah!

It’s a different disaster from our daily disasters and variety is the spice of life. Wisconsin loves Fyre Fest. As does Texas and Massachusetts. We all like big failures we are not responsible for.

It puts things in perspective.

It talks about what’s important.

Us.

Fuck. Wasn’t I supposed to do something? Fuck.

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Keep Your Friends Close. F&#k Your Enemies

I am rich with poverty and poor in everything else, but i do have my treasures, my precious things, I have a cabal of weirdos and free thinkers flanking me who I call friends.

And I don’t pretend that plural is toooo plural: they number few and are rare finds like a flea market Rolex.I trade quantity for anxiety. Gladly.

Despite this haberdashin’ prose, I am a cartoon curmudgeon. I am that slightly cool slightly angry character writ into a million sitcoms:

I’m good with quick funny line, but don’t hug me cause I have issues. I am poorly written in the flesh.

In order to realllly ‘get me’ (and as proven by Facebook, few are interested in that investment) you need put me in the proper setting. Caffeine’d up. Not terribly straight. Steered into subjects I can speak too (music, relationships, the sad state of horror) and given the freedom of enough rope to hang, I will pontificate and perform naturally. I will be funny and something close to charming. I speak and rant till the words just spin around me and I feel myself lift from the ground (note: not terribly straight at all).

And my friends are similarly wired. Each has a windmill to tilt at. Each has a strong opinion on things and will, state it with grace and humor.

Certain friends will spin along with you, on their own separate trail of destruction (or construction if your feeling generous) and the effect is two separate conversations lost in the sound of spinning…but every advice gets through, every question gets answered, in an almost natural cadence of osmosis.

Its a hard trick. But if you work these mechanics long enough, its the only way to fly. It’s a new language. Its real flesh and mind interconnections, quicker than digital, more stable than Plymouth Rock.

Ultimately this is about freedom. We don’t choose where we were born from but we choose where we really live.

And today….I wish these things to you all. We can all be millionaires even after the money is nothing but colored paper.

Keep your friends close. Fuck your enemies.
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The Nu Darwinism: Love Like A Dog and Live Like A Cat

 

Listen, I will not let scientific fact stand in my way. (Topical, eh?)

 

And I won’t weight in on the relative  value of owning a cat versus a dog. Yes, I have called cats ‘domestic terrorists’. I meant it too.

 

(FACT CHECK: As recorded in ‘Lust, Love & Longing: Dispatches from The Grimm Generation’ OOP)

 

But this is the Internet, which means it’s cat country. So I will withhold my (VALID) personal perspectives.

 

That said…. I am warming to the idea that we evolved from cats and dogs. Yup.

 

Let us talk about Monkeys. Who I also do not enjoy. Scampering and spitting furry diva’s. I can see a vague resemblance. But when it comes to attitudes, real identifiable human traits, they seem vaguely…French. That is not an insult to Monkeys. It is simply they seem  a bit … rape-y.

 

(FACT CHECK: This opinion is based on actual events witnessed while serving a sentence for Community Service at The Beardsley Zoo. That aside, I know nothing about Monkeys. And see to have an issue with consistent capitalizing of the very word)

 

They just don’t fill the grey area between animal and human behavior as well as the domestic pets do. I figure it like this:

 

A race of super intelligent cats and dogs came to Earth in prehistory, figured it would make a nice spot to procreate in, but had a problem: they could not reach the counters. Counters are a necessary part of species proliferation. And despite being super ass alien, that did not make them taller. So they planted seeds.

 

Human seeds. And we grew like weeds. And they play dumb.

 

So when I say ‘cat person’, I don’t mean a person who loves cats. I mean someone with actual identifiable habits as the feline. For instance:

 

1) an air of self entitlement

2) a desire to play with yarn

3) the ability to appear as if your are just a moving piece of furniture

4) never properly learning their name

5) spends nights out on the town that you have no awareness of

 

Sound familiar?

 

And dog people:

 

1) an excitement at cars and things that go fast

2) Lust.

3) The ability to eat anything with a straight face

4) mopes around when they know they have been bad

5) the only thing that allows you to own them is a closed door

 

I won’t make the obvious connection here (that the sexes align with these choices…though seriously?). I will simply say that to succeed in life, love like a dog and live like a cat.

 

(FACT CHECK: The Author has had no training in animal habits, pre-history, writing, thinking things through or acting like an authority figure.)

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The Last Thing – JikiJikiJa – The Singles Club #1

Good Evening. Don’t you look lovely this solemn and serious 420?

Step right in to the JikiJikiJa Singles Club. On the menu tonight…
‘The Last Thing.’ Drink all the way to the bottom, that’s where the poison is.

JikiJikiJa on SoundCloud: https://soundcloud.com/jason-p-krug/the-last-thing-jikijikija-the-singles-club-1

The JikiJikiJa Singles Club meets every third Thursday, forever. JikiJikiJa will be out around and in your town soon, so we need a secret handshake. Middletown in May, DR in July and Venus…TBD.

Interested in beating feet off this blue rock? We got you. Sign up for the JikiJikiJa Flight Crew by sending an email to jikijikija@gmail.com.

See you in cyberspace!

JikiJikiJa is … J to the P.K. on acoustic, singin’ and stomping foot. The shimmery celestial of the First Chair in the Zen Ground Force, Julie Kay. And The Mayor of Everywhere, the Beat Box of the Medulla Oblongata, The Untouchable Swiss Timer that is Mr. Jack Adanti.

This trio can’t be strung together under a human name. We needed to go old school into the secret history section of Rock lore and find the only word that can fit such wooden witchcraft. The Unspoken word. The Truth of All Truths (though still fleeting…these days) and bring it forth, wear it out, like a tattoo of a scar (if that becomes a trend, you heard it here first…).

We are JikiJikiJa. And you are not.

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Celebrate 420 @ The JikiJikiJa Singles Club (watch this spot…)

Ah Life. It is a marbled colored pickle, in’it? Well….IN’IT????

 

Sorry. It’s the coffee. Oh … and the general surliness.

 

On a day where Mind Expansion is celebrated and appreciated, on a day when the first hippies see’s his shadow (or was it HIS shadow? Hmmmm), the fine folks at JikiJikiJa are bringing something Kind for the party. The Good Stuff. Tunes. Almost legal tunes.

 

But you gotta wait till nightfall. I am all about the Evenin’s.

 

So this is what’s up: Tonight JikiJikiJa will post our first single (our first release, period) on all your social media faces. We will be kicking ash and taking emails.

 

Cause it’s a secret. If the authorities find out what were planning, there will be Hell to pay.

 

Let’s just put it this way: Listen (Yay!) + Follow (OK) = Zoom! (Space)

 

You game, Red Ranger? Cause the countdown started days ago.  Get on board by joining the flight crew at jikijikija@gmail.com. There will be prizes. Fun ones. Like the thoughts I wouldnt speak public. About him. You know him. Dick. And her. Can you believe her????

 

Tonight, and for every Third Thursday till Lift Off.  The JikiJikiJa Singles Club.

 

Couples welcome.

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Shoot JPK Into Space: Come What May…

So space craft aren’t built in a day. Are they? I need look that up.

 

I’m not a great planner, so I keep smart friends around me. I am a genius ponder’er.

 

Today I ponder leaving home. I have left homes before. But usually when I got there, there were still birds and grass and trees.

 

And gravity.

 

And now…well….what is there to do in Outer Space?  Aside from breathe huge sighs of relief that we are beyond carbon coding and dictators du jour. We are good with our taxes and the quality of our cars vanishes in a massive, fiery plume. As, of course, we may too. Rocket travel is safer than auto travel (I hear), but a fender bender may involve more than exchanging information.

 

I am rushed with thoughts metaphysical. And some physical. I’m considering where the good space coffee is. I wonder if we can sing in space. Like sure, I heard that astronaut do ‘Space Oddity’ too, but did you download it? No. It sounded like it was an old Leadbelly recording with scratches still intact.

 

And worse yet, a cover song.

 

I think of the short term (tomorrow night, the first official JikiJikiJa release hits this spot, and others. The Third Thursday Singles Dance begins), I think of the medium term (getting the deposit on a spacecraft….which with my credit….yikes) and the longest term. A new hope. Home. I meant home.

 

I will miss these lil’ feathery bits of color buzzing around me. I will miss the particular green that comes in late April, The waters running high and strong like healthy veins.

 

I will miss my hawks the most of all. My Silver Familiars who are always there to act as a sign or an omen, but always good. The vultures serve the equal and opposite purpose.

 

What will you miss? Are you really ready?

 

Home is a concept. Space is not. Space is unforgiving. A small error and we become…well…..Christ…..something small I reckon.

 

I am readying myself. For anything. Cause anything is on the menu.

 

So tomorrow, we start building a community. I want to keep it private initially so you will eventfully receive a request to send us your email. I feel like if we keep it public…aside from the writings of a clear madman…we will deal with people beating on the launch pad to get in.

 

The idea is simple…and yes, near impossible. We build a community and blow town. In a larger sense. Possibly blow ourselves sky high in the process.

 

But fuck it. Nothing ventured…is…ummm…not good.

 

Drop by tomorrow night for the first Third Thursday Singles Club introducing JikiJikiJa. Every Third Thursday a new song. Plus others thrown in based on our whims and our wilds.

 

I am going to sing my heart out till we hit the atmosphere. Then I will luxuriate in the knowledge that we have a new home to settle.

 

So par-tay. Take your clothes off type of par-tay. We must repopulate like bunnies.

 

And have a Hearty & Happy 420, kids.

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Shoot JPK Into Space: The Next Day

‘OK….I just read your blog from yesterday. After you went on and on about your feelings….’

 

‘Yup, that sounds like me….’

 

‘… and then you started talking about going to Space…and we can come too….’

 

‘This is true.’

 

‘Well….that’s impossible.’

 

‘The possible and Im’ are unrealistic markers…’

 

‘!!!!!’

 

‘This is more about how you want to spend your remaining time here. Consider the musician. What was possible 10 years ago nears Im’….but at that same time, what was possible now is an ever opening flower….’

 

‘Um…what?’

 

‘Meaning…the Olde ways of thinking are all used up. I could make a record and try and get it on the radio. Or a video. Or a movie or TV show. But I’d rather direct my energy to something more…. possible.’

 

‘Wow. OK….I will bite. You want to make music that pays for an eventual Planet Caravan.’

 

‘True.’

 

‘How much do you need to Brave a New World?’

 

‘Ohhh….about $196 Billion. But I haven’t even checked Craig’s List yet.’

 

‘You expect us to buy you a rocket?’

 

‘No. I expect you to enjoy the swinging sounds I’ll be laying down in the next 48 hours. The JikiJikiJa Singles Night come Thursday. And if you really like it, just stick 2 billion in our hat and were cool. Unless you wanna come….’

 

‘Ummmm…I repeat, Wow.’

 

‘I can see you think I am quite mad.’

 

‘Perish the thought.’

 

‘They said that about Lincoln too’

 

‘No, they didn’t’

 

‘W.E. History is for losers now. We learn nothing from history, even on a loop’

 

‘Are you OK?’

 

‘Eccentric. But getting better. At least that’s what the voices say.’

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