Wow...the time it takes him to put that sax to his lips a whole universe of spliced musicians couldn't feel a thing. The only time he picked up a camera magic was scene on all continents by several magic magicians three years later than the man whom he picked on in high school. Please let me not explicate the meaning beyond several interstellar spaces of human flesh and San Francisco soil. As well as the sun sets, let us not forget the time supernova came knocking on my door and boy oh boy was she looking good. The only time Mars and Jupiter ever got together they danced and danced. Whoo! Oh man look at 'em go. Nobody can move like those two. Feel that rhythm, c'mon, feel that rhythm, that jive, that toon, that oh-so-sweet lick.

Hamburgars never tasted so good when I got a hold of some of 'em down to earth sweetened moonburgars. Let me just take a look! Ah yes, they look so nice, the taste will stay on my tongue for days on end. Ah man, oh boy oh boy, do you feel that? The neighbor must have picked up his old habit. Can't a man feel so much pain all day long and then live that much better all day long the next day. Please let me see him jive like that, oooh, oh boy, shake that rhythm, feel that beat, the next day ain't gonna be so grand so ya better liven it up a little bit tonight so's I can see the man and all his glory in the morning sunset and rise out of bed with the evening sunrise. But forever and ever there will be light five times in a row seeing the believer. Oh lord! I can't tell you how happy I am to be seeing the lord in his full glory seeming to be a giant letter carrier in blue and white garb standing with his feet next to his shoes in a style not known to everyman on this universe. Ah yes, that's it, the planet's took the next sky for themselves and all I can see is the magnificent light stretching beyond the valley and seeing those deaths come through the next day eating up all the souls, but not getting away with anything.







Written at 12:37 in the morning after a wonderful Turkey feast and spirits and television and wonderful neighbors all under the vail of the moment which is delirium and John Coltrane's Interstellar Space in the changer. Incredible.

Everything I long for...I am back to that again. The first time was in middle school, I remember listening to the radio station 88.7 FM out of Windsor, or Windsor-Detroit if you want the American version. Late at night, around 11:30 or midnight (that was sort of late for eighth grade), I remember a program called "north of the border" or something like that. It was a half hour show of all music from Canada and I fell in love with it right then and there. It only lasted a month or so, which I still to this day do not know why, perhaps they changed ownership, this was around the time that Planet 96.3 FM changed formats and became a bad radio station and later on 102.9 stopped existing and 102.7 still sucked. I was glad high school was around the corner because maybe I knew Jon would become influenced by the burgeoning underground hip hop and indie rock scene which in turn would influence me. This I would ultimately be very happy about. But it had not arrived yet and I was still listening to radio broadcasts to try and find some sort of musical outlet for my expressive youth stature, which at the time was not very expressive, but rather very introverted with occassional bursts of anger or...well I guess just anger, no love, just fright and anger. Fuck you!

I'm digressing, sorry for that. Everything I long for. That was it, that was what put me into some sort of euphoric daze, everytime I heard a song from that album I was struck speechless, it was odd. The feel, his voice, the music encapsulated me. I was forever changed. His hurt, his pain, his longing, I wanted to feel that, his understanding of the situation was so...pure and visceral and despite my not knowing what he was feeling at the time, I wish I could.

The DJ played a block from his album, I remember four songs were played and two of them stuck out as remembrances of the past, I would never forget them. (*pause*)

Ten minutes ago I was on track to bleed. Now its turning into an internal hemorrhage, but that's good enough for me. It is better for everyone else too in my opinion. (*pause*)

I shouldn't go on. But I will leave you with this:

It was not my intention to have you think that I wanted to return to this. To return to this state would be foolish, it is in the past, I have lost it, remembered it, but lost it physically, I have a little more knowledge in my head these days and I hope that it is increasing, or at least the efficiency of my brain cells to retain the knowledge and memories of the past and perhaps learn a few more along the way. No, I cannot return. Now...now, I want to feel.

Let's dust off the shelves... and also dust off the helm.

Time is flying and that's no fun at all. This was supposed to be the time to do, find, and make something to be proud of or at the very least practice and be able to laugh at the lackluster results. Nothing really happens though and I am kicking myself for a lack of direction or perhaps, inspiration. I am so sick of that word, and no Chris it's not because of your long-standing beef with the noun in question. Rather, I think I've finally realized after some two decades that there's no sense in anticipating 'inspiration' if you're just going to sit around and pout about its absence in your life. Instead, I would argue that what stimulates or fuels one's creativity isn't a person/place/thing, but how that entity makes you feel. I think that this way, you can take more credit for your overall happiness and productivity because you are doing all the ingestion and processing yourself. So it's not the painting that inspires you to look at an evening sky in a whole new way... it's not the girl that makes you try harder to appreciate the simple things that no one ever notices anyway. I really think that we can be our own inspiration so long as something triggers the sequence in whatever is the creative half of our brain.

Until it starts happening keep up with your work and get plenty of sleep. Next time: "Finding Your Own Rhythm."

Read that poem and see why I am in love, then join the mixtape madness that is happening in November.

Let's figure out how we will do this, eh. Well, we will do this the way people want to do this. And, hmm...I do not know how people want to do this, so I guess we'll just be going with our earlier suggestions we received and do this gift exchange style. Bring mixtapes to Bill or I and we will give you ours before Thanksgiving!!!!! Then upon further demand we will recycle the rest of the mixtapes across the following days, weeks, months, years...eventually everyone will hear everyone else's mixtape and joyous and raucous laughter will be heard for miles and miles and a few extra yards for those with loud speakers in their automobiles.

So, let's make the deadline Thanksgiving, which actually means a few days before Thanksgiving since most people including myself are planning on either going home or somewhere that is not where they reside most of the year. So I guess sometime the weekend before. If you are someone whom I rarely see, then a special meeting must be made to establish contact and protein strains in doing so...

Any further questions? Well then sir or ma'am, feel free to call me on a piece of wonderfully crafted Alexander Graham Bell dreams while moving (mobile) at any time of day on any day of the week in any part of the country! Seriously! 734.355.6660

The name is Christopher Adam Sauchak, the blog is frozen yogurt, the man is 6'4" 195, the eyes are blue, the hair is brown, the smile is ever-present!

Ciao!

The Guest


All as before: against the dining-room windows
Beats the scattered windswept snow,
And I have not changed either,
But a man came to me.

I asked: "What do you want?"
He replied: "To be with you in Hell."
I laughed: "Oh, you'll foredoom
Us both to disaster."

But lifting his dry hand
He lightly touched the flowers:
"Tell me how men kiss you,
Tell me how you kiss men."

And his lusterless eyes
Did not move from my ring.
Not a single muscle quivered
On his radiantly evil face.

Oh, I know: his delight
Is the tense and passionate knowledge
That he needs nothing,
That I can refuse him nothing.


-Anna Akhmatova (1914)

First Annual Bill & Sauce Mixtape Exchange!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In the celebration of music we invite anyone, who enjoys music, to share with us your favorite songs and guilty pleasures in mixtape fashion and we will share with you ours.

Bill Martin and I, Chris Sauchak, participated in one last year that was run through Bob Nanna (Hey Mercedes, Braid) and it was a brilliant success. Very similar to his, which was also run through their blog on the Hey Mercedes website, Bill and I will ask anyone who is willing to make a mixtape and send it to us. (Well, since most people who see this go to SU you can just give it to us or at least tell us you're making one.) In return we will send you a mixtape from each of us. YAY!!! If there is anyone who is not able to reach us physically, well, then, let either one of us know and we'll get in touch the old fashioned way.

And since it is right before the holidays, everyone just might be getting some presents from a Santa whom they have never received presents from, how wonderful would that be! (Nothing against the real Santa out there of course)

If anyone has any questions or just wants to say 'hi' let's give ya some information, eh!

Chris Sauchak
heedthem@hotmail.com
AIM: orangesauce
734.355.6660

Bill Martin
blueguitar02@hotmail.com
AIM: airbag7
315.450.1494


Ciao!

Christopher Adam Sauchak

When something...you finish the sentence.

I've lost something. A wrong decision here or there. A time I didn't regret something because regretting things is impossible. You made the right decision. An unbearable face, a decadent snowfall, a warm evening, a surreal cloud. The time I walked around for hours listening to...

Just a single cloud in the sky letting go. Forget, "Sure there's other fish in the sea!" Look, "You snagged the line".
"Corny but cold in this empty sack of mine." Ah, Qwel with such poignant lyrics. Clever and straightforward, however not really matching with what I'm feeling right now. I don't really know why I repeated those lyrics, that's not really at all what I wanted to say or what I felt needed to come across. Oh well, they are good lyrics and I seem to have a knack for quoting the little 5'7' cocky white asshole, he knows what the hell he's talking about. However there is one thing I miss...

Tonight I'll not dream of nightmares and not mar dreams with spikes of nightmarish giant lawn tools, but hopefully have a pleasant dream or some lining of my subconciousness that definitely needs to poke itself in the head and figure out what the hell is going on in there. I didn't want to resort to this...

To leave on a good note, there should be a razorblade in the second drawer dude, you can cut...