Take a break.

ALL DISTORTION, ALL THE TIME
by Derrick Brown

Someone plug my lungs back into the guitar amps!
I want to live on
All distortion, all the time.

Aren’t you sick of being appraised as just wholesale?
Aren’t you sick of sailing on listing ships?
Aren’t you weary from playing cellos with ex-lover’s bones?

I want the butterfly brigade to grant me a year with no stomach drama.
I want a piano that will not warp outdoors
when the rain demands slow dancing.

I want to skew the difference between Tai Chi and Chai tea,
and end up drinking a tall glass of your graceful force.
I want to lick my hands after I touch someone that has just become
razzle dazzled by tomorrows oncoming lightning.
I want birds to come close enough to hear them speak Aviation Spanish.

“Abierto! Abierto!”

I want your record collection in my throat,
and my thumb in the electric ass of the all night jukebox.

I want my shoulder blades mounted in the museum of the most fantastic knives.

I want church in a bar. I want to pass out and hear you say Amen.
I want a skeleton night light in the closet.
I want your wow in my now so we become NWOW.
I want the light in your attic to shine down to where the sidewalk ends.
I want free shit to not cost anything. That’d be nice.
I want you to feel like a disco ball of fish hooks
so you can hang on my words and I can spin in your small miracles of light.

I want my kitchen to be a Brazilian dance floor
with a pot of your sweat in the oven
and a fridge stocked with booty lust.

I want your silver muscles cut into a quilt. Let me sleep under your strength.
I want more pony lamps. No reason.

I want to sing this feeling into all tail pipes
until I’m exhausted.

I want to smell everything.
I want to remember that the sky is so gorgeously large.
I feel stranded beneath it.

When I gasp beneath it,
I only want to gasp for more.

(Thanks to Meg Worden for the introduction.)

The Greatest Show on Earth

Like the fabled little-girl-with-the-little-curl-right-in-the-middle-of-her-forehead, when branding is good, it’s very, very good. And when it’s bad, it’s horrid.

And here’s the thing: There’s a great deal of skill, finesse, and psychological fill-in-the-blank-ing that goes into the very best branding. But creating good, solid branding is not all that difficult; it just requires a level of commitment that many of us lack.

What are you selling? You are selling a microcosm.

You’re selling small parcels of an entire, perfectly-formed, miniature world. A world with its own logic, order and beauty. This world does not exist, could not possibly exist, as a whole, on this planet. But the parcels you sell make their buyers feel as though they carry bits of this world around with them. They serve as covert membership cards, touchstones, rosaries, IDs.

Your branding needs to be utterly earnest, regardless of tone, about the world it’s selling. Earnest about its cheekiness, its usefulness, its temporary nature, its atemporal nature, its status, its cuteness, its superiority.

Believe. And then make me believe.

Consider the circus. When I visit the circus, I know that, very probably, the Bearded Lady is not truly bearded; the Alligator Girl is probably rocking a whole lot of dried Elmer’s Glue; the Wolf Boy is not some sort of lupine missing link. (And the clowns, obviously, are neither jolly nor intent on making you laugh; they are, in fact, waiting for you to turn your back so that they can sneak up on you–a fact best left for another post.)

But this is the circus, and I came to believe.

So let your production value be over the [big] top. [Sorry.]

Show off for us.

Or don’t: Let the stark, non-showy nature of your branding speak to us in reverent tones about your practical, tactical, no-nonsense world.

Commit.

Because my money can go in any direction my browser can pull up.

Make yours the greatest show on earth.