Patrick Ludwig at the Birdhouse

The Silk Road

Iíve seen the tattooed horsemen of the desert plains riding hard to the horizon, and stalked the crowded bazaars of Tajiqistan overflowing with precious fabrics and jewelry. but my quest to enter the Forbidden City and bring back itís secret wisdom and rare essence remains unfulfilled.


it may seem the soup will never be ready, is taking forever to be done. but if you cannot abide the preparation, you will be forced to survive on the ruined taste of your need or start over once again.

My Mother the Car

itís hard to imagine how you ever held my tiny squirming body in your arms as I stare at you here up on blocks in the yard. with your loving voice and shining eyes transformed into braying horn and dim misaligned headlights. even when all seemed hopeless, when the somber accolytes of medicine passed the black ostrich feather across your face and chanted over your last breath, I held forth hope for your return and triumph.


maybe. or maybe it was the paint. despite any of this, these paintings are not the work of some accident. non-representational or abstract in some unknowable way maybe, but these paintings say something about this world donít they? secretions? paintings. just what do you guys think of jackson pollack?


he had for some time forsaken conversation for gesture, the clumsiness of signs offering refuge from a precision and eloquence he could never achieve. and now, even the thought of expending energy on arm flapping or finger sculpture seemed too much to bear and he sat slumped in his chair, defeated by entropy and minutia.


a great sea of sex surrounds me. like Vegas only brighter, wetter, and louder. the skylineís a huge TV screen. Bob Barker that slimy smiling bastard, has burst free from Time & Consequences and is setting majestically in the west while millions of tiny tongues wiggle over me like a car wash.

pat ludwig is a middle-aged musician, writer, and former large animal veterinarian losing whatever remaining faculties he has to loud music. having once munched heavily on psychotropic plants, he now follows a strict daily regimen of acid, jazz, shoegazer rock, structuredbiofeedguitarnoise, and super blue-green algae for the flashback potential alone. to keep himself in vintage 6L6's and EL34's, he also holds down a day job as a software designer for a big software company. He is also a contributing editor to obscursions magazine and Addicted to Noise.

[Writers] [Birdhouse]