Jason Eisenberg was born on September the 18th 1948 in
Bridgeport, Connecticut USA. Just returned from Crater
B-19, Mars, veteran performance artist, bandleader and
writer Jason Eisenberg has appeared in many incarnations
with his outrageous proto-happenings, spoken word whammys
and recreations of the jazz-blues poetry of gone giants
such as Jack
Kerouac and Lord
Buckley. He has engaged and enraged audiences at venues
including New York's Bitter End, the Lowell Celebrates
Kerouac Festival, Boston's Institute of Contemporary Art
and the London LIPS Festival.
Information about theLord
Buckley Reincarnation Ensemble, formed by Eisenberg
and his band The
Jazz Orchestra of the Royal Court can be found by
those who dare to click.
Go to www.google.com
to learn more about Jason Eisenberg.
top of page
The Global Village is HOMOGENIZED......
New York Burger!
Same damn Burger!
Global Village Burger!
Bonanza reruns London!
Bonanza reruns Antwerp!
Bonanza reruns Munich!
Bonanza reruns Los Mochis!
Same Damn Cowboys!
Global Village Cowboys!
Same damn Buick!
Global Village Buick!
Inquisition in Spain!
Holacost & Ethnic Cleansing!
Somali grandma escapes!
Global Village Diaspora!
Pink Post Office!
Pink Tea Room!
Same Pink Paint!
Lime Green Mosque!
Lime Green Jail!
Lime Green Igloo!
Same Green Paint!
Global Village Latex!
Latex Condoms Bankok!
Latex Condoms Lowell!
Latex Condoms NEW YORK!
Same Damn Condoms
GLOBAL VILLAGE LATEX!
WATERS OF PAWTUCKAWAY
The girl bird shrieks and coos wildly,
in her beautiful moan-screech language
in open-throat echo and perfect breathless voice.
What ripples and echos and even thunders
across the now still waters of Pawtuckaway ?
Her mate shudders with a flap-wing sound upon her back;
knee-jerks his way into eternity
on the slickbacked loon-girl of Pawtuckaway.
They're under blueberrys under hemlocks at twilight
under calm rosetint sky just past sunset horizon
where all beasts entwine their mates as the bible required
and where even lovers tangle and entangle with complicated
which color their abandon
and their Savage Thrill presents a living sound duet
of the moment of abandon,
the pine-tarry waters of Pawtuckaway lick at the birchroots,
tarry pinetops jut up the sky raking moisture from the
teenagers far off on the western lakeshore invoke the
masterful radio voice of El Voz Infantil del Momento,
and the flapping sound of Time's weightless mantle
settles over all the living beasts of Pawtuckaway.