And We Go On

Valyntina Grenier's reading series, Back Room Live, is on tonight at McNally's Irish Pub on the ass end of College Ave. It is a delight ful place and often a delightful series. There will be readers from other organizations, and it is always interesting to see what they are doing.

Valyntina has been very supportive of the Trainwreck Union, and I have not missed one of her readings. I don't think I will miss this one either. . . even though I have my differences with tonight's line up.

McNally's is known for amazing Irish coffee and white Russians. They make great cocktails and have a wonderful selection of beer. The reading's in back, past the bar. See you there.

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Last night was a Trainwreck brainstorming meeting. It went long as always. We made stops at both Pegasus and Book Zoo in order to buy too many books. Of course, we buy books when we're drinking.

Also, we broke $100 at Barclay's after a huge tab at Ralleigh's and went on to drink Trainwreck barley wine (!) at Ben n' Nicks. That's right, we have a beer named after us on tap at Ben n' Nicks. Who else can say that? Books and beer: nearly $200. Drinking with the finest poetry group in the bay area and perhaps the world: priceless.

Nice Things, like Flowers and Squirrels

I love how the incendiary posts seem to draw more attention than anything.

So much is taken seriously in the poetry world. But I bet you all love the snark more than the navel-gazing, happy-go-lucky blogs.

Thank you for caring about the Trainwreck Union. We love Kate Greenstreet and everyone else in the poetry world. Jack Morgan, the one maintaining this blog, likes to mix things up now and then, and the rest of the Trainwreck Union gets on his case and makes him reedit posts in order to mitigate their inflammatory content. The process seems to work well enough.

He is probably the worst, stupidest person in the Union, but we all tolerate him because he seems to kinda care about art.

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Sara Mumolo just got a teaching fellowship at St. Mary's!!! This is wicked retarded because she will be able to stick around the bay and manage to leave school without being broke for the rest of her life. Well, she'll be a poet, so she might still be broke. . . but not as broke. I, for one, am extremely happy for her.

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We are getting geared up for Mama Buzz Cafe on the 27th. This disaster will be much bigger than anything we've done. The streets will flow with effluence and tears. Bring vegetables to throw at our M.C. Guess who it's going to be! You'll love to hate him.

Fancy!

Two of our founding members got into Brown. Getting into Brown's poetry program is kind of a big deal, but that's not all of it. Three of our founding members will be attending fancy schools come next term, and we should be very proud of them and congratulate them every time we see them. They've got very big decisions to make because they were accepted to several schools each, all fancy ones, too! Isn't it exciting? Some day we will be able to say, "I knew them when we were in the Trainwreck Union together," and people will be impressed and want to be your friend because you once knew these shooting stars of poetry.

Pablo Lopez says it's between Brown and Iowa for him. Wow!
Sara Mumolo says she's considering St. Mary's, Pitt, and New School. Zowie!
I don't know where Sarah Stone wants to go, but she's a genius and got in everywhere she wanted! Woo-hoo!

Right now, in fact, Sara is in Pittsburgh, being courted by their fancy staff and faculty. She sent me this today. It's an interesting piece on Gertrude Stein by Lynn Emanuel. Miraculously, I liked it very much and have nothing negative to say about it at all.

Last night several trainwrecks occurred on College Avenue. Someone had the bright idea to leave Ralleigh's, raid Nabolom, and hit every bar on College. Chad even came out!!! Pablo and I (Jack) got into a huge argument about poetry, and Connie Coady was like, "you guys always talk like this about poetry?" In stereo, we turned to her and said "OF COURSE!" Connie got into it a bit when Gertrude Stein came up, as she invariably does. No one will escape Gertrude Stein. No one!

One more thing. Pablo, instead of cherishing his acceptance letters to places like Columbia, which I think many people do for a little while before tossing them, he wrote poetry on the back of all of them. For some reason I think this is rather cool. Good for you, Pablo.

The Scourge of Poetry.

Lately, I have had the feeling that the poetry world is currently at the lip of a wave. To be on the lip of a wave, to see the speed with which we are moving, fills me with elation. So much dynamic and interesting shit is going on. Poets all over are conversing and collaborating in a way that has not yet been fully explored. It seems like the community is finally getting used to the interweb and beginning to embrace it. Journals are everywhere at the moment. Who can keep up with all of the readings? Don't you want to go to all of them? It seems like there is so much going on that I am hustling just stay abreast of it all. It's exhilarating, really.

But where there's a game and players, there will be haters. The funny thing is, though, the Trainwreck Union is actually getting things done while they have to beg poets to submit.

Did that just happen?

Last night's reading was off the chain if I do say so myself.
It started strong with Landon Phillips reading haiku that managed to make everyone laugh without being lame, a feat. Chad Vogler read soon after. Do I need to tell you how great Chad Vogler is? Michelle Dolinsky read, a new face, her, and I was pleasantly surprised. Pablo Lopez gave us more parts of his self, which is always nice.
Mumolo thrilled, Jason Bolton fousted, Sam Urfer rocked, Alexandra impressed, Gillian Hamel softly beat us to death, and I am running out of good verbs and patience writing this. I read, too (Jack Morgan).
Some guy named Paul read on the floor! Arthur Klepuchov totally shit-talked on Bob Hass! Charles Altieri was there in spirit.
Others who read and were loved by all:
Nikol Polidoro (spanish), Beatrix Chan (getting all technological &s), Connie Rose Coady (who didn't let me down), Valyntina Grenier, Robert Perez, and others whose names I don't remember and will probably offend by not including,,,sorry.

Alex Snipes emceed like a professional killer. Seriously, he was amazing.

David Larsen showed up and made me cry that he was not there earlier. He got there right before the party started.

The rest of the night and morning was spent with booze. Lots of kisses, broken egos, and bruised hearts.

It's blurry.

But I can't believe how well the trainwreck union is doing. I always knew we could do it, but I never imagined that we would. Poetry is the most exciting drug.

More Drinks with Poets and a Chekhov Quote

So we were drinking last night. I know you're thinking what everyone else is saying, "all you trainwreckers do is drink." But Chekhov said in Uncle Vanya "[I drink] because it gives me the illusion that I might be alive. I like that.
Drinking puts one into situations. Some of the darkness of the night is only accessibly when intoxicated. It's not for everyone, but neither is Becket.
Pablo, as is his wont, was pulled away by an angry woman. The rest of us ended up back at the Grad, where the nicest girl in the world works, Mo.

It was there that I met Tiff Dressen. Tiff Dressen is one of the cooler people I have met in recent months. She talked a lot about Kelsey Street Press, which, thanks to Clay Banes, I actually know about. I hardly know anything, see. Normally my face would screw about my nose at the thought of a women-only club, but I would be wrong were that my reaction to this one. Sometimes we all have to grin and bear the obvious double standards that pervade contemporary gender issues in order to see the twinkling stars through the miasma. . . I guess.

We ended up sharing a street home, and we spoke about the things one speaks about at three AM with friends. There are certain nights on which one moment can turn the sting of drink-regret into an appreciation of the sweet core of the licorice night.

I read a little of her stuff today, and find it quite Susie. I hope you do to.

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Geoffrey G. O'Brien kind of saved my life this week. . . seriously. For his gallant intervention and candor, I personally excuse him for not going to Nabalom, Nabolom!

Clayton Banes, a Trainwreck Union member, has called in too many favors already lately to get more time away from work and sleep, so he won't be coming, but he's excused, too, with a tear.

What's your excuse? Most simply do not have one good enough to miss the impending disaster this evening at Nabolom Bakery.

See the flyer at the bottome of this page for more info.

A Day with Kites; a Night with New Yipes

At the Berkeley Marina, hung over but spry, the Trainwreck Union recuperated after St. Patrick's day and the previous Friday. Everyone said things like, "how have I been so stupid not to have come here earlier." We flew kites and lay in the grass like there was no war on. There was a big rally going on somewhere, but isn't flying kites and going to a reading a protest too? "My God, what a beautiful day!" was another thing people kept saying. So Wordsworth, really.

Then, to change gears, it was time to trek on down to 25th and Broadway to my currently favorite space: 21 Grand.

First up was Armand Capanna, and if you missed it you truly missed out. If his piece was 2.3 min. shorter or 7.5 bpm slower, I would have loved his work. The way he did his thing, though, I just really, really, really liked it.
A while back, I wanted to propose a research project that involved comparing Chicago Renaissance poets to current Chicago poets. I thought, and still think, that it is a shame that we on the west coast tend to ignore what is happening in the middle of the country. Capanna's work encourages my curiousity regarding Chicagoan poets. He uses references in his work that make one think, "shit, I've heard that somewhere," but it doesn't scream at you. It kind of pummels you. He has a machine-gun way of reading that reminds me of my clubbing days when D&B/Ragga/2step was the thing to dance to in Europe. Drum and Bass lets you stop and breathe with frequent bridges throughout extremely long tracks, but Capanna doesn't let up. You couldn't dance all night with Armand Cappana, but there's something there that is impressive and exciting. Maybe with a bridge,,, a breath?
There was a video playing behind him that grossed out Lisa Robertson until she squeeled with glee, but what made me nearly squeel with glee was the fact that a poet was setting his life upon a cast and standing the hazard of the die. I realized, I want and expected more than I should from poets like Greenstreet. But if you're going to go up and "bear your soul" then fucking do it. If not, stay home. If I need to go to Chicago for more knives, I'll go to the fifth ward no problem. I hear the Zephyr is the greatest train route in the world; it starts in SF and ends in CHI; let's go.

There was a video by Sarah Lockhart that was super cool; it was called "Suburban Guerillas." It had a soundtrack that wanted to eat everyone alive. Totally dug it but can't write about it.

Dodie Bellamy. Everyone loves Dodie Bellamy. She was following some high-energy shit, though. Her piece was awesome but a little anticlimactic after the full-steam-ahead stuff.

All around a fantastic Sunday. Got to hang with the union reading Graham Foust beneath the giant kites, go to one of the most kick-ass spaces for poetry in the bay, name drop with the likes of Clayton Banes, whom I kind of worship at the moment, and we all only drank one beer and got home by 2am (EARLY!). A great freaking day. Thanks Trainwreck Union and New Yipes!

St. Pat's and Clover in Retrospect

Poet, vegetarian, and tender of bar, Sara Mumolo, invited the whole trainwreck to party with her at Ben & Nick's in Rockridge last night for St. Patrick's day. Some random guy we've never met before wants to know about the Trainwreck Union. Heard we were it. FBI?

Pablo voted in the street.
Sisters Hamel, Sweet Caroline and Gillie-Sue, made grown men cry.
Jack was constantly in the way.
Ashley was in need of constant dotage.
Jason, Casey, Mo, and Sara Mumolo started a gang; they jumped us in, and we were all able to leave together safely. It doesn't seem possible, but no one fell, and no one fought. No one cried, and no one read an entire poem.

There are pictures somewhere with some of us drinking green Trumers.

Arron Pawlowicz had green teeth.
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Something about Joshua Clover:
Did anyone not like that reading? I love it when poets have arch enemies and friends in high places about whom they are never afraid to write. Setting friends up for public humiliation is always hard. Putting everything on the line just to see what happens is always thrilling for audiences.

I was fortunate enough to have dinner with Clover, Altieri, Bernes and other great minds after the reading. Putting people like that in a room together creates a palpable electricity. One might say it's shocking. I'm not very smart, but I know when I am around genius. Affect Affect Affect. Tons of affect. Post/late/postpost/pre modernity. Bull shit terms and categories annoy me, but hearing big shots using the undefinable makes me feel like less of an ass hole for doing the same thing.

Clover's goals for the evening were to exhaust all of Jorie Graham's budget (she's coming very soon) and wield words. He took one goal seriously. He told an amazing urban legend about John Ashbery, that is, I totally dig the idea of John Ashbery pulling a rock-star move by eating and drinking a year's worth of Holloway money in a single night. We discussed Weltsystemaffekt , string theory, and the latest horrible films. The guy's knowledge base is so wide, it's difficult to keep up at times, but it is always fascinating. . . much like his poetry.

Last Night at Pegasus

I don't want to be mean, but most of the trainwreck union had to bug out after the first poet last night, a little afraid of what might happen next if we all stayed.

Greenstreet read like someone much, much, much older than someone anyone would like to listen to. There was a great deal about salt, which is bad, because it only reminded me of being preserved like pork or some other fatty meat. Like maybe whale or something. I was busy apologizing to everyone I'd invited when Holmes came out, and I guess a few of us stuck around to see her, but no one talked about her, so I guess Greenstreet had successfully destroyed everyone's wills to live. I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

The night became about drinking at a little reading at Mo's beautiful flat where music was played and pomes were read. Mo, in case you're wondering, is the beautiful bartender at The Graduate. Chad Vogler, in a surreal turn of events played "Black Bird" on guitar while everyone screamed the lyrics. It's not the kind of song one hears screamed from the mouth of drunken poets, but there you go. Sara Mumolo and Connie Coady read some Vallejo in Spanish and English, respectively--nice enough on the ears and eyes, that. Jack pulled out his usual parlor trick and recited Shakespeare soliloquies in between his own stuff. Other people read and played and sang and did other such things, but I don't remember any of their names. They were all quite good, though.

The night ended in our typical fashion, with amazing tales of soul-grinding and bone-breaking. How are we to face St. Patrick today? Chasing our own snakes, we've got no time for Ireland's.

Next stop is probably going to be New Yipes at 21 Grand tomorrow night. I love New Yipes! David Larsen is an ingenious flyer-maker and poet. The readings are usually rather good. Who's reading? Who cares? Guess we'll find out.

I cannot wait to hear Connie Rose Coady's shit, btw; she is absolutely crazy, and crazy people, well, you know.

Trainwreck Reading at Nabolom 22 March

This is going to be an open mic for anyone in the Union. Many of us have never read before, so it's going to be a true wreck, full of bruised egos and broken hearts.

Of Note:

Chad Vogler
Pablo Lopez
Jack Morgan

Film by Beatrix Chan
Music by Nick Roth

Alex Snipes=MC
Musical guests will be present as always.

We specialize in self-destruction and self-aggrandizement, so join us for a total disaster. No cry-babies, please.