Saturday, September 29, 2007

Dead Kings


Aren't church poems a little weird? I think church poems are weirder than penis poems. Penis poems are only fun for people who have strong feelings about penises and the fluids they eject. Audiences laugh when someone reads a penis poem. I guess penises are funny. Also, anything having anything to do with semen usually gets big laughs.

When I was thirteen, I thought penis jokes and poems were hilarious. I still laugh at the occasional phallic reference in Shakespeare, oh Shakespeare you are a cheeky one! But are there any good penis poems?

I am going to write a vagina poem. It will be about the different vaginal discharges we all know and love, and everyone will laugh wildly when I read it.

Church poems are much more interesting to me for the following reasons: everyone has strong feelings about churches. They love them or hate them. They flock to them or flee from them. The church might have been a major part of your life but isn't anymore. Maybe you miss things about church. Maybe you are curious about what goes on inside churches. Maybe your memories are horrendous. Maybe you cry when you think about church. Everyone in the room has a different reaction. Some roll their eyes while others feel their spines go icy. Some take it all ironically and laugh into their collars. Some tremble. Some tremble. Some tremble.

I don't think that I could write a good church poem. Although my belief in and pursuit of a God has been painful at times, it has been more or less uneventful, yielding very few stories of interest. Priests and pastors have made me cry, but the stories behind those tears wouldn't move others.
Purveyors of vagina, though, have caused more consternation than carousing till the second cock. More laughter and tears surround them. I think that my vagina poems would be more sad than funny, but people will laugh. How many knees must one take? How many teeth must one sink? It's OK to be lugubrious around stories of love and woe much more than it is to sit on the floor and tell sad stories of dead kings.

But I wish I could write a good church poem.
ººººººªªªºªºªª999999ºººªºªªºªººª9

Last night at Pegasus, Parthenon West Review threw a release party for their fifth issue. I like the Parthenon West readings because they showcase local talent, and because David Holler and Chad Sweeney, the editors of said mag, are so into poetry it makes me feel like a phony. I don't think anyone is more into poetry than these guys. Call the library of congress, Chad Sweeney's looking for a job. National Poet Laureate?
Who read:
  • Paul Hoover
  • Rusty Morrison
  • Andrew Joron
  • Roxanne Beth Johnson
  • Mary Wanh
  • Kaya Oakes
They were all very good. It's hard to write what I liked about each without writing a book, so it will have to suffice to say that fun was had by all, and the evening was filled with pleasant surprises. A few penis poems. A few church poems, too.

Friday, September 28, 2007

Rae Armantrout

Rae Armantrout, the famous language poet, was awesome last night. She has a new project called "Dark Matter." It was really very good. I am going to talk in superlatives now.

Cecil Giscombe is the friendliest man I have ever met.
Lyn Hejinian is the most charming woman I have ever met.
Charity Ketz is the best graduate student reader I have ever seen.
Lisa Robertson is the most fascinating personality poetry has ever seen.

That was fun.
ººººººº9ºººººººªªªºººªªªªº
My bones are mice bones that crack beneath the feet of tyrants and friends. Sometimes I wish that you were my friend the way friends are in the movies. I would like to see that. Boots break bones easier than loaded pistols. Sometimes I wish you'd kick me harder. You cracked and said you loved me when I squeaked.

I joined a club last night: Friends of Manatees. Because they look like me. And when I sleep I am just below the surface. Right beneath your boot. I asked you to leave me alone, but I didn't mean it. I just don't have the valuable energy to play right now.

Pick me up by my tail and whisper in my ear, and we can be cute again.
ºººªºªºªºªªºªªª999ªºººººººªªºªªªªªª

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Ben Lerner (again)

Ben Lerner read at St. Mary's last night. It was a good night. I'd heard most of what he read at previous readings, but Ben has a great reading voice/presence, so it was still quite cool. His new stuff, I think it is called Mean Free Path, was super cool. I loved it.

After the reading proper, Brenda Hillman asked him questions at a table. I really liked that. Brenda Hillman is even more of a genius than I thought. It is exciting to see people who you think are smart operate spontaneously under stressful conditions. Under similar circumstances, I could never be as eloquent and witty as Ben Lerner and Brenda Hillman were. Someone named Robert asked a question about his editing process, how deleted sections effect the rest of a cycle. It is a question that I have thought about very often in my own work, but never asked anyone about. I wanted to thank Robert for asking it. "Absentia."

The term "rhetorical silence" is one that I have heard about seventeen times in my life. I used to think I knew what it was. Now I don't know what it means. I told that to poetic friends last night, and they didn't make me feel stupid for not knowing because they didn't really know either. What is rhetorical silence?
ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººª
I gave some posters to people. Brenda Hillman said I was talented and I kind of kicked the ground and said awe shucks. I don't know how to deal with compliments.
I bought a tube for my posters so that I can carry them around town. It makes me look like Rita the meter maid. A little like a military man. Or an architecture student?
ºººººººººªºªºªºªª999ººººººººººººº
Tonight is Holloway. Rae Armantrout!
There is a lot going on this October.
There are about a million things that I need to do.
I am sorry that I have not been blogging as much as usual.
There is a typo on this poster. I am stupid. But the info is all good. Hope to see you there.
Thanks for your support.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Your Permission Makes Me Happy.

Thanks for your permission to do what I want with whom I want.
I have always needed more permissions.

I reset the permissions on my brains so that I can date whoever I want. Isn't that exciting? Soon I will be in the right mind to write my poem. Stop pushing, I know what I'm doing.
ºººººººººººººººººººªºººººªªªªºº

What is really exciting is that I am doing a poster for a Moe's reading for Patrick Durgin. Clay gave me permission because he is the most wondrous man in poetry.

I am a little giddy to be able to do a poster for Moe's and Patrick Durgin. I hope they like my poster. It is nerve-wracking thinking about it.
ºººººººººººººªªºªºªºªªªºªºªªªªªº

Sorry for Snake is coming strong. It is keeping my mind busy, and it will be the coolest small journal you have ever seen. It is wondrous and exciting.

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Absurd Good News

I didn't just kind of like Julien Poirier's book, I thought it was fantastic. I mean, I really, really, really liked it. The language inside is delectable on pages too grey. The cover is nice paper with nice ink. It has cartoons that are like palate-cleansing sorbet between courses. It's all imbued with an energy that I think is often lacking in books of poetry, one that I aspire to. It's not that clumsy exuberance that is going around like the flu this season, but like an orchestrated effort done with great enthusiasm.
It makes me want to submit my book to Insert Press. My book is called The Haunting of Ninja Town. I think it would be perfect for them, but my friend, Salinger, wants me to wait until someone asks me for it. He doesn't think I should submit it. He thinks submitting is selling out. I don't know. Everyone who's read it thinks it's really good, but, , , whatever.

I think that Julien Poirier is a little bit of a genius. When I picked up the book, I thought, "wow, this looks so L.A." and then I noticed that it was a book by Insert Press, and I thought that it was weird that they are actually from L.A. What made me think of L.A.? I think it was the cartoons. They remind me of Bukowski in a way. I am from L.A. originally.

I met Stan Apps at a barbeque that Salinger organized. He was a nice person. His press is nice, too. I don't know anything about Mathew Timmons, but I bet he's nice because Apps started Insert with him. Poirier is not from L.A. I think I remember hearing that he was from the S.F. Bay, but there's no bio in the book, so I'm not sure. I know he's involved with one of my favorite things in the world: Ugly Duckling.

Thank you , Insert Press. Thank you, Julien Poirier

Friday, September 21, 2007

Holloway: Rae Armantrout

So, . , . ,
Rae Armantrout is coming for Holloway. It should be pretty awesome. It's in UC Berkeley's Maude Fife Room, which is actually 315 Wheeler on Thursday, at 6:30 PM. They raffle off a free book that you could get signed, and then there's also the grad student who will open, , , this time it's Charity Ketz who I hear is not bad at all.

October is the New April


Speaking of October being the new April (national poetry month), check this shit out. Can you believe so many great readings are going down already?
Thanks to the efforts of Clay's Eyeball Hatred readings series, we can see all this, too! Unbefeakinlievable if you ask me.

Oh, yes, the poster was Jack Morgan the illustrator. Sweet Zima!

SAT., OCT. 13 @ 7:30 PM
CHAD SWEENEY
ETHAN PAQUIN
GLORIA FRYM

MON., OCT. 15 @ 7:30 PM
ADAM CLAY
ALEX LEMON
TUE., OCT. 16 @ 7:30 PM
DANIEL MACHLIN
BRENT CUNNINGHAM

Irish Poets

"Irish Poetry? Totally sexy!"


I think that it is pretty cool that Irish poets will be riding the Celtic Tiger all the way to UC Berkeley next month. It's rare to get Irish poets all the way on this far-flung coast, and that's unfortunate because there is something endearing and provoking about the way the Irish do poetry. I had an Irish roommate in Germany who wrote poetry, and I really liked his stuff. These poets quite good, too. Just one more thing to look forward to next month.

Trevor Joyce and Fergal Gaynor will be reading on October 10.

Cathal Ó Searcaigh will be reading on Ocober 11.

Both readings will be at 7:00 PM in the Maude Fife room, 315 Wheeler, and free as air. C'mon Cohagen, give dese people AIR!!!

It seems like October is turning into an unofficial poetry month. The new April. A great deal going on.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Holloway: Rae Armantrout

A little crazy on the colors this time round. Partly because I am excited that Holloway is letting me work with color on the project, partly because I like to experiment with forcing unlikely colors together, partly because Rae Armantrout's poetry is colorful, and partly because my life has been an explosion of happy color as of late.
I am in better spirits than I have been in a long time. Everything seems to be going better than I could have ever hoped.
More on that later.

ºººººººøøøøø

I was with some people some time ago.
I was talking about language poetry.
Some ass hole was saying that Rae Armantrout wasn't a language poet.
I don't really like classifications like that one, but I think she is called a language poet by most people in the know, and having read some of her poetry, if I had to classify it, I would call it language poetry. I didn't argue, which is the way I am when I am unsure. I thought the ass hole knew something I didn't, that maybe he was smarter than me in this.
He was very certain and very arrogant about it. I was very upset later about the way he started listing all the language poets and how he knew so much more than I did. I hate being made to feel stupid.
When I found out later that I was right and he was wrong, when I saw the way he is to other people I like, I got angry. I was just kind of sad that I let him make me feel dumb, but now I am pissed about it. Fuck that guy. I don't like him. I would pee on him. On his stupid spikey hair.

Transitory

Every month I send a poem to PG&E.
This month I sent this one.

Transitory
by Jack Morgan

Traffic light rattling in the wind Sparrow
still cheerful in the summer chill
Poplars still phony in cells.
They all know it’s not forever
So that’s fine.

In Thailand there are poplars under
bridges and their families and pollution
in the heat and frigid entropy.

Realize poplars can live anywhere, in
anycondition and survive for a long time.
They all know it’s not forever
so that’s fine.

Monday, September 17, 2007

The Name of Thought

For example, language calls the ways of friendship friendliness. We now name things upon which we cast a dubious eye dubious. Everything apocryphal gives to thought. Gives until the shortest day as long as it remains apocryphal. We name now that which follows, above all else and first and foremost, in order to ensure that it will remain apocryphal until that aforementioned day upon which all will be judged: the most apocryphalest. What is the most apocryphalest? How does it manifest itself in these doubtful days we deign to writhe ‘tween heaven and earth?

The Name of Thought

We arrive at that which bears the appellation of thought when we ourselves think. To meet that end successfully, we must be at the ready to learn how to think.

As soon as we accept the need for such education, we accept the fact that we are yet incapable of thought.

But man, says you, is he who has hallowed thought––and rightly so. For he is that happy creature. Indeed, his happiness is hidden in his enjoyment of thought. The happy creature need only wish it, and thought is his. But perhaps he wishes it and cannot. And in the end, his wish to do so much allows him to undertake very little. Insofar that he has the possibility of thought, he thinks. But the possiblity alone cannot begin to guarantee the enjoyment of its undertaking. We enjoy what elates us, but on the other hand, we enjoy that which stays true to our way, that which holds us to our way, that which we, in our own way, enjoy. To hold means to foster and raise, to allow us to graze on the green garden pasture. That which holds us to our way holds us only as long as we are willing to be held. Behold: the hard hold of mnemonic hands on our heavy hearts. Memory is the cold sum of thoughts. Of what? Of that which holds us! Of that which holds us precisely because we allow it to––because we allow it to remain on the pastures of our minds. Things thought of are accompanied by Mnemon, who accompanies them because we enjoy her company. Only when we enjoy the enjoyment of those thought of things can we come to enjoy thought.

So, in order to enjoy thought, we have to learn how to do so. What is learn? Man learns as long as he is able and inclined. We learn how to think by investigating and observing the components of thought.

New Yipes: Fun Times in Fun City.


First of all, I would like to take back almost everything I said about Mills. I like them again. Why was I angry? I hate feeling left out of things, I guess. Sometimes people who are friends with one another have difficulty including outsiders, and I go blue like Babe. I could never be in a gang because I want to be in everyone's gang. I am very lucky to have been a part of as much as I have. When not included, most people feel like they have been rejected by snobs or something. That is a horrible feeling that makes people behave like asses. This happens to me a lot.
ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººOºººººººº
Wasn't last night fun?
I thinks so, too.

Catherine Meng was really good. I liked her so much that I wanted to put her on a stage so that everyone could see her. Seriously. She was sitting down, so no one I talked to could see her. That sucked. It was frustrating. The chair on the stage; that's a good idea. I liked her poetry a lot, though. You should read it.

Anslem Berrigan. He brought a big crowd. I think it's because, while he read a very long time, it seemed, there were moments of sheer brilliance. Those moments seem to have been different for everyone. I am going to buy something that he wrote: a good idea.

Craig Goodman is fucking brilliant. I would have liked to have met him, but I didn't know who he was, and I am always awkward meeting new people I admire. I don't know when to laugh or what to ask until days later. I am always emailing people telling them something was funny and asking them questions I should have asked when I was talking to them. Isn't that weird? Everyone knew when to laugh during Craig Goodman's films. Really, the films at New Yipes have been excellent. I wish I could make films. I think it is an art that has a great deal of creative potential. I took classes in college on film editing and shooting and stuff like that. It was a long time ago. I felt like it was useless if you weren't going to be in the entertainment industry, but I was wrong. Craig Goodman is a great artist, methinks.
ººººººººº0ºººººººººººººººººººº0ºººº
My smart friend Salinger got drunk last night. That was funny. I just emailed him to tell him he was funny. I gave him a copy of my manuscript to read. He said he would read it. I hope he likes it as much as everyone else has. I am beginning to think it might actually be good. It makes me very nervous. I wrote a novel once, and I never read it because it makes me nervous. There is something wrong with me. I finish big projects, but then they scare me and I run away. It's like getting Goliath on the ground and not kicking him into submission.
ººººººº9ººººº9ººººººº
So,,, I love Mills again, I wish I were a filmmaker, and New Yipes is still good.
There was more I wanted to say, but this is a very long post, and I don't want to scare you away. Please come back soon. Thank you very much for reading my blog. You make my life worth living.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Rugged Cloud Folx

Keeping up with the machines is rather hard when you're made of lead.

You are a beautiful person when you move that way.

Sometimes, when I am really tired, I think that way.

I don't like it when you talk to me that way.





Thank you for not telling everyone I've been happy lately.

It would be a shame if it fell into the wrong hands.

The light hit you just right last night. I was squinting hard.


Your fingers.
Yay. New Yipes is here again. Come see and be seen by the greatest minds of your generation and me.

My internet is nappy again, and I am still bummed about that famous poet who called me a disgusting lumberjack. Man. Soon, I will get over it and feel better about life and my blog and other stuff, too.

Jenny Drai said she loved my manuscript, but she still thinks that I am a shitty poet. Darn.

I have to pay my electricity bill soon, and I will send them a poem again, and I will post it here for all of you.

Thanks for your support in these trying times.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

happy crappy slappy nappy.

I thought poetry was ruining my life, but it's blogging.
Thanks, Blog.

Did you know that Poetry Snark was blogging again?
Poetry Snark has always made me laugh one of those laughs like you used to laugh when America's Funniest Home Videos was new and you had never seen a video of a child accidentally smashing his father in the nuts with a baseball bat. No one ever said it was trashy, I don't think.
A lot of people like Poetry Snark. Poetry Snark has the good sense to keep their names hidden. You're only allowed to talk about poets in a negative fashion if you are hiding your name.
Sometimes they talk about poets I like, and I say things like "ouch, dude, totally not chill, bru."
Sometimes they talk about poets I don't like and I say things like "hee hee hee."

I bought a book put out by Insert Press. I like it so far. I am so happy that I like it because I have been upset about the world.
I am happier now.
My schedule is looking almost like a normal human being's.


I have been trying to sleep like a human, too.
Last night I got three hours. Sleep Sleep Sleep.
If I take Ambien and say my prayers, I will get eight hours. Sleep Sleep Sleep Sleep Sleep Sleep Sleep Sleep.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007


My friend, Cameron Jackson, has a new blog. It is good.
Not disgusting at all.

Too Far, I say. TOO FAR!!!

How much has changed since the fifties?
A lot of you have been very offended by the fact that I like women in lingerie and think that they bring an air of sexiness that poetry deserves. The word trashy has come up a lot. I don't think that women in lingerie are trashy.
This is particularly interesting because I have always been one of the minority of men who finds pornography unappealing. I have learned not to judge it because every time I do
there is a flurry of objections. Everyone jumps at the chance to call me a puritan or whatever every time I say that porn is kind of gross. Now I just accept that it isn't for me. Why is it OK for you to say the girls in lingerie are trashy and that I am trashy for finding them attractive? Because, let's be honest, when you say that my blog is "disgusting" or "trashy" you are saying that I am disgusting and trashy. But who the fuck are you? Judge, jury, and executioner, apparently. If you have something to say about it, come up with something better than "trashy" or "disgusting." That is, unless you are judging me based on some kind of religious ethos. If you are a religious zealot, call me what you will. It's fun to be called names by the likes of zealots. But this is not the fifties. You have to come up with something better than one simple little adjective based on your high-horsed moral judgment.

I am turned on by poems, scantily clad women, Shakespeare, the intrigue of the court, and heated arguments. I hope that I can bring them all here. I don't care if you hate me. That's not true: I care if you hate me, but I don't care if you hate my blog. Poetry, Shakespeare, scantily clad women, and intrigue of the court are all in good fun. If you don't like fun, you won't like this blog.

Ridicule: I think that ridicule falls in the intrigue of the court pile. A couple days ago, I kind of attacked a poet who is very successful and who seems to thrive on publicity. In poetry, she is a public figure. Public figures are open game for cartoons, parody, and straight personal attacks. Consider Paris and Bush. Being a public person in our tiny circle, you are open to ridicule within it. A person I really respect called this attack disgusting. I erased it. People who didn't think it was disgusting said it was disgusting that I took down the post just because of what one person thought. Why is the opinion of one person more valid than another's?

Ah, but you always go a little too far.

I hate this. What is too far? Mr. Matisse, you've gone too far. Too far in poetry is when you push the reader out of the poem and his enjoyment of it. What is too far for some is not too far for others. Hurt my feelings. When I look back on my life, the times I did my best work were the ones when I was hurt. We all need a little hurt. To go home crying from time to time. What separates people is whether you get up the next morning to try again. Face those who shunned you, impress those who are least inclined to be impressed. Nothing is more enjoyable than when I find a piece I love from someone I hate. I also love hating the poems of my enemies, but the elation I experience from an amazing poem of theirs is nonpareil.

Mr. Icarus, you have gone too far.

Watch while poetry destroys my life.

If you think that women in lingerie are trashy, you need to reevaluate some things in your life or start voting republican or join your local church. I think they are tragic and beautiful. I think they are the saddest looking deer in the forest.

If you are going to get angry because I said something mean about your friend, I don't know what to tell you. Maybe start a gang or something? That way I'll know not to dis someone wearing your colors.

I mean, I was making fun of someone for constantly "mn-ing" in the audience. Everyone hates that. And I was called disgusting. Totally unfair.
Poetry = Beauty = Truth = Honesty

Let's be honest.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Soooo Avant-Garde

My Own Medicine/Poison/Advice

I've been trying to be nice on this blog. I really have.
When I am nice, my hits go down, and I feel bad.
Other bloggers say that my blog sucks when I am nice.
Another blogger wants to have a blog war with me so that I can be mean again.

I don't want to be mean or nice all the time.

When I am mean, everyone goes crazy.
When I am nice, no one reads my blog. No one leaves comments.

I have a lot of people telling me how to run my blog. It makes me feel like they care about me and what I write. But it is also quite frustrating.
Sometimes blogging is more difficult than it looks or should be. Sometimes it feels like a job.
I should have done this all under a pseudonym.

I was going to put up a P,G&E poem today, but now I will wait a couple days.

I erased some stuff. It feels Orwellian or something when I do that, so I almost never do. But someone left a comment that has ruined my day. It was good that they left it.

This link was the only important thing in the post.

YOU THOUGHT THAT IT COULDN'T GET MORE BAD ASS

Justin Botros made a theme song for Murdercycle! Play it while you read Murdercycle to enhance your experience.


powered by ODEO
powered by ODEO
The player is temperamental. So now there are two. Also this link if all else fails.

Love/Hate Right on the Knuckles.


Tonight was kind of a yawn.
I had an OK time after the reading, but I was kind of worn out by then.
A couple of my friends walked out during the first reader. I stayed for some reason.
+++++++++++++==+++++
At the Mackey reading on Friday, there was a strange noise. "mn, mn, mn, mn!!" That kind of humming a-ha that people do when they have been touched by something profound.
I had heard it before. She does it all the time. Every time a poet pauses, she does it. It drives me freaking mad. I have tried to be nice about this. I have been to three of her readings, and I have been to many readings where I've seen her and have tried to sit as far away from her as possible, but I never blogged about it because I didn't want to be unjustly mean or needlessly rude. But this is too much; I was sitting eight or nine rows away from her at the Mackey reading! So, I am writing a letter to her.
I don't have her address, so it will appear here.
**************** *** * ••• •***
I bought Richard Hugo's collected works tonight at Clay's. I hope to never blog about him (Hugo, not Clay) because I secretly love/hate him.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Edie Sedgewick

Every time I see a person with Bettie Page tattooed on them, I pity them for not knowing who Edie Sedgewick is. Hollywood recently released a full-length film about her. Bettie Page, too. Both are all right. Edie was the real thing, though. Bettie just played crazy for the cameras.

I MADE THIS FOR YOU



Saturday, September 8, 2007

Nathaniel Mackey at the de Young


Last night, I went to the de Young Museum to see Nathaniel Mackey read with Jazz Saxophonist, Hafez Modirzadeh.

The reading was pretty amazing, I thought. Actually, I totally loved it. The artists did a Q&A afterward that really complemented the work, and everyone ended up on the stage talking with them and other stars from the audience. It was one of those nights when you look at the people you're with and say, "don't you love the bay?" And everyone says yes and you rush to the BART before it closes and you feel alive and happy about it.

I had never been to the de Young, and it is such a cool place, that I didn't mind the TWELVE(!!!) dollars that it cost to go to the event. It was a nice respite from the dusty corners of dusty bookstores and church basements where poetry readings usually find themselves. I am looking forward to the next de Young reading.

We ended up drinking too much at places where no one knows who we are. Places where they don't care if you pass out at the table or black out and laugh too loud or read Chelsey Minnis as loudly as you can.
"""""'''''''""""""""" """" " '" " """''''''''''''''''''''''''
Tomorrow night is NATHANIEL TARN & H.C. TEN BERGE
Pegasus Books Downtown for the eyeball hatred reading series.
----------------------------------------------
Shampoo hated my poetry. They liked Sara Mumolo's though. Yay.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

A little more about last night and other stuff.


  • Hejinian: Maybe the most charming, disarming, wonderful poets in the world. A pleasure to hear her, see her, and if you get the chance to talk to her, she makes you feel good about being alive regardless of your current situation.
  • Shoptaw: Maybe you don't like his work. But if you were there last night, I think you would have liked his first poem. I did. I think it was fresh and weird and beautiful and interesting. I was surprised and happy, and next time I hear someone talk about him, I am going to mention last night.
  • Hass: Maybe you've heard of him. But have you ever heard him read a poem with a sex scene? He somehow managed to make an image of dogs humping simultaneously violent, tragic, romantic, and beautiful. Fucking brilliant.
  • O'Brien: Maybe the new kid on this particular block, but he stands with the best of them without falling in their shadow. He is one the smartest people I have ever met, and his poetry last night was so perfectly forged that people's mouths hung open a little as they listened. He's really good. But I've said that enough on this blog.
  • Giscombe: I liked his voice. He caught my imagination. I liked it. Afterward, we spoke a little, and he was very nice, too. He made me wish I got invited to certain "living room" readings.
"""""'''' ' ' '''''"""""""""""""'''''''''''''""""""""''' ' ' '' ' ''"" ''""
Dropsy, after nearly dying––he very nearly died. I mean, there was a little fish with a little sickle in his fin, waiting for Dropsy to finally die of, guess what, dropsy. It's funny that he was dying of dropsy, but he almost died––he is swimming mostly right side up and eating properly and not covered in icky cotton grossness. I was cranky and depressed while he was sick. My humour is recovering as he recovers.
""""""""""''''''''''''''' ' '''''''''''' ' '"""""""" '''''''''''"""""""
For those of you who don't know, I am a UC Berkeley student. I am old because I am a reentry. Last fall, I was stressed and confused. Spring was great mostly. This semester is finally getting better, methinks. It is a difficult thing sometimes when your schedule is fucked, and you've got so much going on. So, in only 24 hours, I am much happier. My fish is healthy, and I received many nice emails today and other pieces of good news that won't appear here because my smart friend, who I will henceforth call Salinger, told me to be more careful about what I say. Thanks, Salinger. Thanks everyone. I used the "F" word twice in this long post. Zima!
'''''',,,,,;;,;;;,,,,'''',',',',,,,'''','',',,...,,."""''.,,,,,,,,;;;
I did a search for curvy women. This is what I found. Is this what you meant?

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

TONIGHT


Tonight Lyn Hejinian called me a genius in front of a large group of people. Of course, you always want to believe it when people call you something like that. When Lyn Hejinian says it, you might really believe it for a second.

Tonight was a good reading. Famous people reminded me why they are famous: they are brilliant. They don't need blogs.

I don't feel like being a critic tonight and explaining why I like things or why I totally loved John Shoptaw's Crayfish Chimney poem. I am tired. Plus, one of the smartest people I know told me that I should stop blogging kind of.
"""""""''''''""""""""""''' ''''"" '""''''''""""""' ' '' '''''''''''""""""" '' ''''" "
I started this blog to record and make public the achievements and failures of a group of poets. I think that was good. But then the group fell apart. Many of us are still friends, but the group is gone. That still saddens me. I started writing about my own failures and achievements and just what it's like in the bay for an artist. Maybe that was a mistake. I like doing this blog. But maybe this blog is a failure.
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆ ∆∆∆∆
Networking. I really don't know how. I did not make this blog to network. I always say the wrong things to people. I always write the wrong things. I don't laugh when I am supposed to laugh. I don't laugh if I don't think something is funny. People think I am an ass hole because of that sometimes. Tonight I only talked to people I knew or with people to whom I was being introduced. Maybe I am the cliquey one.
My smart friend made a compelling argument for staying out of the scene and producing art in the womb of obscurity.
ˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆ ˆˆˆˆˆ ˆ ˆˆˆˆˆˆ ˆˆˆˆˆˆ
Someone asked me what was up with the half-naked women. I wanted to make poetry sexier or something for people who are not totally into poetry. A lot of people who know nothing about cars love their cars. When they sell cars, there's often a half-naked woman involved. I also thought it was funny after all of the trainwreck stuff I used to use. I guess no one else did.
´´´´´´´´´ ´´´´´ ´´´´´´ ´´´´´´´´ ´´ ´ ´ ´ ´ ´´´´
I am going to eat worms now.



Paul Ebenkamp has a new poem about Dropsy!

Famous People of Poetry

Tonight is kind of special over at UC Berkeley. Famous people will read.
The Eyeball Hatred Reading Series is also having a wonderful night at Pegasus.
Either way, you're going to have a great night.

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Elephant Polo


Elephant Polo is the goal.
Poet by day, Poloist by night
My Elephant has XX III on his trunk
the last his victims see
as he tramples them to death
I score one for the team.

Thanks for taking one for the team.
Last night you were my friend in the cedar
but that was just an MLK dream
like that time in the tree with your sister.
I will try very hard to forget you
now that you're dead
beneath the kneeless
slouching beast.



∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
""""" '''' ' ººº"" ' '" " ''" ''' ""' ' º
1-888-AGENTG4

Monday, September 3, 2007

Workshop Worship


I have a couple good friends who adore workshops. I don't think that they are worth a poet's time. I could be wrong.
But I read a lot of poetry. I read books and books and books of poetry. I read chapbooks, too. A lot of what I read, I don't like. There are many bad poems by "good" poets. So if I am reading so many bad poets who are, to some degree, considered "good" by the poetic community, why should I waste my time on crappy nobodies?
Friends' answer: to learn what not to do.
I try to learn what not to do from the worst poems by my favorite poets.
Friends' second try: to learn how to talk about poetry without hurting people's feelings.
If your feelings are hurt by what other people say about your poetry, good. Either get better, move on, or stop writing. All I ever talk about is poetry. I almost never stop talking about poetry. Some of what I say hurts people's feelings. If you let that stop you, that's good.
******** * * * ***** *** **** ** ** * * * *
Yesterday, I sat went to Jupiter with a Ruby. We wrote poetry with each other on their patio. We looked at poems and talked about them. We had fun looking for things we liked and things we hated.

After that I met with another friend who is the Director of Technology for a website I am going to edit. We talked about all the zima shit we are going to do. We talked about avant-garde poetry.

The day before all this, I hung out with Jenny Drai, who happens to be one of the most humorous people I have ever encountered, and talked about my poetry. We talked about what my poetry was doing and what I want it to do and how I wish people would like it.

I personally know a couple of my favorite poets. I ask them questions, and we argue aesthetics over coffee or in the halls of prestigious universities.
.......... .. .. ......... .... . . .. . .. ......... .. .. ... .
Aren't I always in a workshop?
My workshop has my favorite people in it, and it is not a womb of good intentions toward one another. It is not a safe haven or respite from the cruel cruel world. It also does not cost forty-five thousand dollars.
'''''''''''''''''''"""""""''''''''''''''''''"""""""""''''''"""""
Poetry gets sexier every day.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx x xxxxx x x x x x (0)
This is most untrue.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Joyful and Triumphant


I knew I was gong to get a lot of crap about that Mills post. I guess I should have gone on and on about how there are many Mills people that I like very much. Many emails were about how all poetry people are elitist monkey robots who enjoy shunning the uninitiated, Mills is just a little more snobby about it. Anyway, sorry Mills people. I didn't mean to make you sad. But you make a lot of people sad, apparently. I love it when I write something, thinking that I am the only one who feels a certain way, to find out that others have been brooding about the same thing.
-=-=-========-=======≠≠≠≠========–––
I have a friend that I will call Orsino. Orsino hates Tao Lin, the Beatles, Wes Anderson, and Chelsey Minnis. I love them all. I don't know if Orsino leads a joyless life, but by hating so many joyful things, he might. Orsino and I discussed/argued a little this week about Tao Lin, and I am not going to go into everything said, but I really like speaking about literature and art with Orsino because he is very intelligent and forces me to reevaluate the reasons behind my liking something. He neither accepts nor attempts the "I just like it" thing. A lot of people think that's ok. . . mostly people who like Jane Austen. In order to have a discussion, with Orsino, you really have to think about why you like it. I don't always think about why I like something. Not always. I enjoy thinking about that a great deal.
=-=====------–––––≠≠≠
My interweb has been quite nappy. I think it's better now. Thank you for your emails.
If more of you email me your addresses, I will mail you a postcard with a drawing on it and a little message. I am getting many new postcards. More than I thought I would. Postcards are one of the cheapest ways to decorate your apartment.