Reading Tonight

Tonight I am reading at the Smell with Stan Apps and Aaron Kunin and Sara Mumolo. It's going to be incredible. Can you believe it?

Neither can I.

I think a lot of people will be there. I think that they will hate me. I think that they might make me cry and drink. I think that I might have to hurt somebody. I don't know what the Smell looks like inside, but my rock star friend says it's a good venue. But he's a rock star. Rock stars have a strange opinions on things rather often. Poets do too, I guess.

I am looking forward to the reading very much. I am reading with some of my favorite poets in the business and that's saying something. I am not sure what.

TONIGHT!!

There's a reading I am helping curate with Sara Mumolo going down at Studio One Art Center, 365 45th St. in Oakland. It's really an amazing space, and I hope that all of you will find time to come.

Ann Svilar, C.S. Giscombe, and Chris Stroffolino are reading. It should be a great night.

I'm Reading Tonight

Yesterday I received a postcard. Every time I get a postcard I think it's a rejection letter. I don't know how I equate the two since I don't think I have ever received a postcard that was a rejection letter. I love postcards from friends in faraway places. This postcard was from a new friend in a place not so faraway. This postcard was from a charming woman.

I am reading tonight at Adobe Books in SF near 16th and Mission with Sophie Sills. It's free! You should come.

I went to see John Ford's "Tis Pity She's a Whore" last night at A.C.T. It was great to get out of the smoky night for a few hours, and the play was very good. Bonfire Madigan Shive does the music and is on stage all night. She does a great job. The play will go on for at least a couple more weeks, so you should go see it. You can get pretty good tickets for fifteen bucks!

Mike Young wrote this, and I like it.

I saw Pericles a little while back at Orinda Cal Shakes, totally worth seeing as well but no longer playing; hopefully their Uncle Vanya will be worth seeing. It's a good summer for plays. A really good season so far.

Air

This is a very busy week.

Sara Mumolo's book will come out this week.
The city of Oakland is turning the poster I did for the Studio One Reading Series into a massive mailing. I haven't designed something for capricious consumption on that level for a long time. While I have been more rock-star on the poetry circuit, I have been less rock-star on the visual arts front. And since the fall of Pegasus, I've been a bit nervous about what would happen to my penchant for poster production.

I woke up yesterday missing Europe. I don't miss it every day. I felt a bit naff, and when I chatted with Sara found out that she was much the same, so I cajoled her into seeing a "stupid-funny movie" with me. (get smart)

I left the house feeling ugly and friendless with the baggiest clothes I have and the darkest sunglasses the law allows. There were no cute animals and I could smell the smoke from distant fires that reminded me of other fires near other cities I've lived in. I thought about my lungs. I just wanted to walk to cafe Lyon for Kombucha without thinking of any internal organs. But I was thinking about my lungs when a bright and swift rush of fresh air pushed me right out of my rut. Like blowing on a stylus hard enough to make it jump from the groove, a charming woman.

I am not going to review "Get Smart." It is good if you like stupid-funny movies.
I found out that the Grand in Oakland gives you free popcorn on Monday through Thursday.

Coming and Going

Jack Morgan reviewed K. Silem Mohammad's Breathalyzer, and RainTaxi published it. Rusty Morrison and William Alexander also have reviews in there. You should be able to get a copy for free at a bookstore. I am happy.

I am reading at Adobe Books on Thursday at 7:PM with Sophie Sills. It's free, and there's wine. If you come, I will read you a poem and try not to make you cry.

And then there's the L.A. reading this Sunday. I haven't been in L.A. for a few years now. I was born there you know? My rock star friend is impressed that I am reading at the Smell with other famous poets.

Please join us Sunday June 29, at 6:30 pm for the Smell Last Sunday of the Month reading.

This month's poets:

Aaron Kunin
Stan Apps
Sara Mumolo
Jack Morgan

Aaron Kunin is a poet, critic, and novelist. He is the author of a collection of small poems about shame, Folding Ruler Star (Fence Books, 2005); a chapbook, Secret Architecture (Braincase, 2006); and a novel, The Mandarin (Fence, 2008). He lives in Los Angeles.

Stan Apps is a poet, essayist, and Angeleno. Books include soft hands (Ugly Duckling, 2005), Info Ration (Make Now, 2007), Princess of the World in Love (Cy Press, 2007) and God's Livestock Policy (Les Figues, 2008). Stan's criticism is beginning to catch up to his poetry and will be collected in The World as Phone Bill from Combo Books. Stan co-edits Insert Press.

Sara Mumolo co-edits the poetry journal Sorry IV Snake. She works with the Mission Arts and Performance Project in San Francisco and co-curates Studio One Art Center's reading series in Oakland CA. These are the pure facts.

Few poets have faced more criticism and controversy so early in their careers than Jack Morgan, who, despite the efforts of frightful enemies, whose sternest stretches of imagination vie with slanderous tongues to hold him down, has become one of the bay area's most famous poets, authoring several chapbooks, publishing variously, co-editing Sorry for Snake, a poetic journal. He is an award-winning blogger at "the Trainwreck," where you are invited to watch poetry destroy his life. Jack Morgan has been voted the world's most bad-ass vegan poet; he might still be known as the most hated poet in Berkeley, but he is also a scholar and a gentleman.

THE SMELL
247 S. Main Street, between 2nd and 3rd St, downtown Los Angeles
(enter in the alley in the back--the alley is named Harlem Court)

Some Stuff I Did While You Were at Home Sleeping

photo by Sudweeks

Yesterday was pretty awesome. It took us a while to decide what kind of adventure we needed to go on yesterday. I thought it would be good to climb a mountain and try to see Mt. Whitney, which is rather far away. Ryan Stark decided that Mt. Diablo was our best bet, and Vince Penuela said something like, "fuck yeah," and Jack Morgan said "word." On the very top of the mountain there is a building with an old rusty light. The floor of that building is left open so that you can stand on the stoney peak. The old man who spends his days up there knows a lot about everything you can see, including faults and other geological things and stuff about the animals and the little birds and yellow butterflies. We also scaled rocks and stood atop boulders to look at the wind.

There was a Vespa club hanging out up there. If I weren't such big person, I would buy a Vespa.

Then we went to E.J. Phair in Concord. They have really good beer, but the cool thing was that they served me one of the best vegan meals I've had. It could have been due to my great hunger, but I loved their vegan wrap. It was really incredible. I never thought that I would want to go back to Concord, but that E.J. Phair is worth a trip to the East East Bay.

After that, we stopped for showers. And we ended up at Ben and Nick's and after that closed, there were many more of us, including a famous rock star, another famous poet, some of my dearest friends, so we all went to the Graduate and stayed until 4:AM. I made one woman cry, but later she laughed. It's hard being my friend sometimes. Over all, it was a pretty wonderful day filled with adventure, exploration, friends, and drinks.

Communing with Angels

I get one of those google blog updates so that every time someone uses the words Jack and Morgan together on a blog, I know about it. Most people call me Jack Morgan in person. I like my full name more than my first name alone. People are like, "hey Jack Morgan!"
Today one of those blogs caught my eye for some reason, I think it had the word poetry in it or something, so I went to the blog and spent all morning there. I am fascinated by
people who live normal American lives and go to church and have families who they openly and loudly love.
I am not sure that my parents and I have much more than a vague notion of responsibility for one another. If we love each other, and I think we might, it's a very secret love that no one's allowed to know about. And since I went to religious schools for a while due to their having before and after school daycare, I knew some religious people.
I spent a lot of time laughing at Morgan's Blog. It wasn't a mean laugh, but a laugh that some men make when they want to express their disbelief in something cute that makes them feel a way they don't really comprehend. You know that feeling when you think that something's cute? Fuzzy I guess it's called? I don't know how to express that emotion, so I laugh when I think something's cute. I once knew a girl who hated that because she said that men always laughed at her when all she wanted to do was be taken seriously. She was extremely cute. I am very fortunate to have grown tall and a little ugly. People always take me seriously––sometimes too seriously.
But there is something eerie about Mormons, no? They commune with the dead and don't drink. Any religion that is against the drink is no good. But they seem so happy. I would like to be that happy. I would also like to commune with the dead and see angels.
)()()()()()()(
Yesterday, I blogged about water. I saw that Kendra Malone commented on a post. I put on my Tao Lin shirt because it was clean. I found Mike Young's book in my mailbox. I read it all, and it mentions Kendra on the last page. I went home and watched the news. East Bay MUD says we've only reduced our water consumption by 4% when the mandate was 15%. I realized I was having a weird day.
I worked on websites. I realized that my friends are more indispensable than any friends I have ever had and probably more indispensable than most people's friends. I don't cry on their shoulders or call them and whine about things, but I count on them for more important things, like machine guns.
I went out with a lovely woman to see Beowulf at the Grand Ashby. I had wanted to hang out with her for a long time, and I'm glad that we finally were able to. We almost didn't because she nearly missed curtain. Ann is nice and smart and takes me too seriously. Her friend called and wanted to cry on her shoulder. Ann loves her friends.
There is something rather angelic about Ann. I am not exactly sure what it is. I like people that are hard to figure out.

Drought

I grew up in LA during its worst drought. Water conservation is something we all just did. There were police making sure we were conserving, so there wasn't much choice, but we made it through.

I live in Berkeley now. It's nice here. Something surprising recently happened, though: we were mandated to lower our water consumption. My landlord stuck a note under my door saying basically "conserve or else." I think I use very little water, but the mandate is for everyone to lower their consumption regardless of how conservative they have been in the past. So, if you were someone who was conserving water before the shortages, you have to lower your consumption as much as everyone else now, effectively being punished for being green when it mattered most, before the crisis was here.

The whole thing is scary. I don't think anyone ever thought that Northern California was going to start running dry. I am worried about the price of water going up, so I am taking drastic measures. I only flush the toilet twice a day now. I live alone, so it isn't as gross as it sounds, and I flush if I have company. I just don't know how I am supposed to reduce my water consumption any more than I already do. I rent an apartment, so I can't put new hardware in the building. My water habits are already so conservative having grown up in a drought.

Barbara Boxer sent me an email a few days ago. It's basically a bunch of links that you probably won't find interesting. They tell us how we can conserve energy as consumers, which apparently means buying new hardware. Buying more crap won't really help, though, will it? If we don't change our lifestyles, all the new gadgets in the world won't help. If Ms. Boxer wants to make a difference, though, perhaps she should tell us what she is personally doing to help solve the problem. Blaming global warming isn't enough. Really, even with global warming, we should be able to come up with ways to recycle or desalinate water while coming up with new ways to conserve. But before we figure all that out, we need to change the way we live. Not one of the sites she sent, for example, says anything about the fact that meat-eaters require 4,000 gallons of water a day; compare that with a vegetarian's 300 gallon-a-day water dependency. Perhaps California senators can live by example. I am going to write her an email right now linking this blog post.

Parthian: California has a lot of cows. If we stopped raising cows for food, we would have a lot more water for people. Vegetable use less water than cows, so we won't starve. If senators started going veg, maybe more Californians would. If Arnold came on TV and said, "we're in a drought. I care about this state, so I am going vegetarian and using less water through this and other sacrifices," that would tell us something, that would get us all on the same page. It makes me a little sick how government officials act like monarchs in this country; they want the masses to do the lifting while they sit on our shoulders.

Meme 2

Cocorosie is one of my favorite bands, and this song is one of my favorite songs, one that I can't get rid of. Listen for the stretch that "diamond store" and "dinosaur" makes. The whole song is one of the most poetically perfect things I have heard in a long time.

Kendra Malone

I just finished a long, hectic, and kinda crappy day. I am feeling good about it being over. I wanted to say what I meant about Kendra's work. I couldn't earlier. Sorry.

I enjoy Kendra's work and work like Kendra's because I enjoy my own difficulty with describing and defining the authentic. Since all writing is artifice, it is thrilling to read something that seems quite real.

Jennifer Best used to write a blog that I liked very much due to its being convincingly authentic. I think she may have created a Golem that she had to destroy before it destroyed her. Things that are too close to reality have a way of smashing their creaters.

Authenticity allows the reader to be forgiving and judgmental and curious all at the same time. It also empowers the reader in that it creates an imaginable experience while keeping him at a safe distance. I mean that authenticity like the kind found in Kendra's "journal" emboldens us to get dangerously close to the flame but never close enough to burn our wings, and it constantly reminds us that we might. The danger is all on Kendra, and I hope that she is never squished under the heel of her own honesty because I am selfish and want more of it.

Kendra Malone's Month of April

When I was last in New York, I met a very nice and quirky little woman named Kendra Malone. She just published a portion of her journals, calling them "long and lurid." I read them and like them. I wrote a little post about this, but all of my compliments sound mean today. It may be because it is gray and cold outside. It may be because I am a big fat jerk. I deleted my post about Kendra and her work. But I like Kendra, and I like what she's written here. You should drink wine and read it, pretty little pigs.

The Mexican Landromat

On Thursday, I went to Clay Banes's going away party. It was sad.
I went to Clay Banes's last reading on Friday at Pegasus. Truong Tran was good, and I got to talk some shit with Achiote press people a little, which was fun, but over all, I was sad.
After the reading I went to a party where there was a good band and nice people, but there was a Republican there, which made me sad.
Last night I went to Ben and Nick's, where I usually go on Saturdays. People who haven't spoken to me for a long time, talked to me, and we all made merry. We ended the night at the Grad, and we danced a lot, and it was like old times, which made me happy.

Generally, you have to weigh under two hundred pounds to go skydiving. People don't want to strap you to their bellies if they think they might snap their femurs on the landing because you're so heavy. Yesterday, I bought a scale at Target. That scale says I have lost four pounds since I last weighed myself at a Mexican laundromat for a quarter. I think that I will look very skinny if I lose another 20 pounds, but we'll see. I need to lose 24 pounds this summer so that I can go skydiving at the end of August. I have a little belly, but not much more to lose, so I might look like Iggy Pop. Being this tall kind of sucks when it comes to extreme sports. When I went bridge bungeeing, I had to wait to be one of the last people to jump because they have to change the ropes for fat people and me. Back then I weighed 210. My last semester of college gave me some pounds. I was drinking more and sitting more. And drinking more. And drinking more and more and more.

Does anyone else think that Target is one of the strangest places on the planet?

new series at studio one.

Some Stuff

I like this little banner.

I am officially sold out of the third issue of Sorry for Snake. Thanks to everyone who bought it for buying it.

I am also sold out of Dearest Children of the Revolution, I am Pleased to Announce my Resignation. A special edition of the chapbook will be out soon.

Also, also, also, Sara Mumolo's chapbook, Brain in a Vat, will be out soon.

Sorry for Snake 4 is out now. There's a contest to get a free copy. For details, email me. To buy one, you can go here.

Tonight is Clay's party. I will go to that. Tomorrow is the last Pegasus reading I know for sure will take place, so I will go to that, too. Sad. I am sad that the East Bay will suffer such a crushing blow with Clay's departure from Pegasus. I will have to start buying poetry online like everyone else I guess. Will Diesel pick up the slack?

I didn't sleep last night.

The sun lit the morning blue, and I realized it was a new day.

I spent the night writing things that have no value.

Come On, Ezra, Pound Me In the Wasteland

A while back I posted a video I found while searching for Ezra Pound. It was funny. Better was the title. A version of that title is now the title of this post and the title of the team I was a member of at quiz night at Ben n' Nick's on Tuesday. Every time the announcer said the title about 2.5 per cent. of the bar chuckled quietly. They were the only people who knew who Ezra Pound was. Fifty per cent. of that small group knew that Pound did not write "The Wasteland." About 50% of them knew that Pound edited Eliot's piece of crap. The title is a bit nerdcore and pretentious, but that's perfect because Ezra Pound, the king of pretentiousness, said "swift perception of relations, the hallmark of genius," which, in case you don't get my drift, is very pretentious and nerdcore.

We won, and now the title of this post is on a pretty board in the bar. Very funny to me to have that name on a board in a bar. Irony, which should always be met with scorn, is pretty funny when it happens by accident.

The New Yorker coincidentally published an article this week about Ezra Pound by Luis Menand. It didn't tell me anything I didn't already know about Pound, but I enjoyed the article very much because it uses clear prose and subtle tricks. I think it's a great article. It also has a great picture. I think it is a the best picture I have ever seen of a poet. I will pay any amount of money within reason to any photographer who will take a picture of me like this. I want a picture of me to look precisely like this. Seriously. Email me. It's hard to see how it vignettes with a blur, but I can do all that with photoshop I guess. But it looks like a very long exposure with a pinhole. It would be incredible to do it all with old tech.

Does anyone else have trouble believing that a hardcore antisemitic fascist wrote this?

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet black bough.

There are some other things by Ezra Pound worth reading, but any time people talk about his genius, on either side of the debate of whether or not he was one, this poem. . . this poem.

I wonder if Dusty Roads Veteto knows who Ezra Pound is.

Oh My God

I am cracking up tonight because I just found out that someone put Murdercycle on Goodreads. Someone told me I should put one of my chapbooks on there, but I never did because the last one sold out too quickly, and I thought it would hurt people's feelings if they couldn't get a hold of a copy.

A friend of mine almost ran over a blind person with a seeing eye dog. She was pulling out of my driveway and I noticed something move behind her car. I couldn't see what was going on from where I was standing, and then someone who could see started yelling "oh my God." She said "Oh my God" a few times before anyone knew what was going on, and by a miracle, my friend stopped her car before running over the dog and his master who obviously hadn't seen the car pulling out and had stepped right behind it. If I had seen what was going on, I would have yelled "stop." "Stop" makes much more sense and everyone around you stops when you say it. My friend's windows were down, so she would have heard it, too, and known immediately what needed to be done. On 9/11 in New York, several hundred people died who didn't have to. Women screamed "oh my God," and people who didn't know what they were talking about didn't bother running. When men yelled "RUN" or "Get out of here!" people did so and were spared.
Women often say that they speak a different language than men do. They also often say that men don't share their feelings or don't want to talk about them. I don't know much about men in relationships because I have never dated one. But I only like to talk about things that I've thought about. I like to think and then speak. Sometimes that happens quickly, like "stop" and sometimes it takes a long time, like "I don't love you anymore." When I cannot figure out a proper way to articulate the way I am feeling, I either say something stupid or I don't say anything until I can say what I mean. Women have pushed me to say stupid things on more than one occasion. Even if I tell them that I need to think about things before I actually say anything, they tend to flip out and demand to know what it is I have to think about. But thinking about things more often helps when you need to do it quickly, e.g., a blind person and her dog are about to be run over.
When I see a situation that needs my input, I try to ascertain what needs to be done, and I do it or tell someone else to. Women seem to scream "oh my God" a lot without thinking. A long time ago, I saved a woman's life in Las Vegas. No joke, I was even thanked and pat on the back by cops. I almost didn't get there in time, though, because she was screaming "oh my God" and not "help." "Oh my God" is often screamed when merrymaking, so my first instinct is to do nothing. When she did finally scream "help," it came in the form of me, which wasn't much, but it saved her life.

If my friend's foot had been on the gas a little more, or if the blind lady had been just a little nearer to the bumper, it would have been a bad day, and I don't think it would have been my friend's fault. Of course, the law wouldn't see it my way, but the woman who could not properly articulate what had to be done, stop, would have been more guilty than anyone else because she could have prevented the accident by using her brain a little. "Oh My God" doesn't help anyone.

Someone told me the Lakers are losing. I said, "are they still playing?" He couldn't understand, me being from L.A. and everything, but I didn't even know it was basketball season. Go Lakers.

Sara Mumolo and I are working on a new reading series in Oakland. It's going to be awesome.

I saw an old movie called "McCabe and Mrs. Miller." It reminded me of "No Country for Old Men" in a lot of ways, and I loved it.

I am afraid of the economy.

The economy is killing many dogs and cats who used to be pets of people who could afford to keep them. Animal shelters are overflowing.

Yesterday was Monday, and it was beautiful. High gas prices means fewer cars on my busy street. It's oddly peaceful. It's usually quiet in the summer time when the students go home to their mamas and their papas, but it's even quieter. It's 2:07 AM, and the street is dead silence. How am I supposed to sleep with all this quiet? But during the day, it's nicer than ever. When they raise the gas prices even more, when I am living on Safeway peanut butter and wild berries and apples, my street will be nice and clean and quiet.

Someone will come in and murder me for something valuable, but they will only find scraps of things that look like they might be poems and a half-empty tub of peanut butter from Safeway.

Things To Do Tonight

Idiolexicon is tonight. Logan Ryan Smith (above), Vox Maids, and Jessica Wickens will be performing. Should be crazy cool. 8PM at Cafe Royale, at 800 Post St. in SF.

After that, Hubba Hubba Review at the Uptown in Oakland.

Should be quite a night.

MAPP in June

I just got back from the MAPP reading. It was unfortunately one of our smaller turn outs. I think that was because we had fewer people doing publicity for it. Unfortunate, not for me or L's Caffe, but for you. Those of you who missed this missed something rather great. The MAPP readings that Mumolo and Morgan do get better every time, and this time was no exception.

I know I am blowing my own horn, but I have some great taste. You can say what you want about me and my writing, but you can't really touch my taste. The readers we had tonight were amazing. You all know about Elliot Harmon by now. You all know about Joseph Lease by now. If you don't, you should get out more; you can't count on me to tel lyou everything that is cool. But Lorelei Lee was the flash point again. She's one of the best prose readers I have ever heard, and her writing is incredible. The thing is that I have heard and read a million other things that are like or try to be like what she does, but everything else falls short and is quite tame and lame in comparison. Lorelei Lee is destined for greatness, methinks. When her book comes out, I will be the first in line to buy it, and I will read it quickly so that I can blog about it.
And if you know me, you know that I think that the only sex writer worth reading is Anaïs Nin. I have to change that now. The only sex writers worth reading, the only ones who have a poetic knack and talent, the only ones who seem to have really lived the life that they talk about and bring it to life with words of all things, are Anaïs Nin and Lorelei Lee. I know they're very different in their styles and focuses, but they are the only ones that have ever made me say something like "wow."

Joseph Lease was great, but I have already blogged about how much I like what he reads a bunch. Elliot Harmon was wonderful and didn't let me down. I love his work, and I love his presence on a stage, and I like the way he is. He is a very good poet, and he is one of the few young poets that I always look forward to reading more of. He's awesome.

But Lorelei Lee! Wow!

Two Pictures from Ashland

By Ashland Creek there's a place called the Green Leaf. It's good. We went there on our last day in Ashland.Jessica and me at the Elizabethan (outdoor theater) during intermission.

Very Bad Poetry

I published a bad poem here. I think everyone who submits gets published, and I was looking for a place to put some of my bad poetry. Et viol! My very bad poem is called I'm Jack Morgan.

Ashland's Finest

Last night, I had drinks with poets and scholars, Bryan, Alex, Kasey, and Lacey. We talked about poetry and Shakespeare and blogs and things like that.
It's nice to have smart people to talk to in a town I have never been to. Being a poet sometimes means that you have friends in faraway towns. I like that.

I am really very lucky. I lead a very exciting life.

I got a galley of Barnaby Jones. You should buy a copy. It looks great and has some great poets and writers in it.

Weird Night Red Bluff

We stopped to spend the night in Red Bluff on the way to Ashland.
Deciding on a drink, we ducked into a pretty huge bar called the Palomino Room and met some locals, who were pretty cold to us, but the pretty bar tender and the security guy, Zack, befriended us, and we all ended up going to "Karaoke" together at some other little dive bar, where the bartender reminded me of my grandmother when I was little. My grandmother was young when she was alive. At the dive bar, everyone was very nice. The Karaoke wasn't really Karaoke, but the jukebox worked and was cheap, and the pool tables were flat enough to play on.

So we all end up at a table at Shari's, a place quite similar to Denny's that the locals claimed was sooooo much better. So there we were with a bunch of people with accents, laughing away the night. One of the locals named Dusty Roads Veteto said he was the third highest selling Chevrolet seller in the state, and he told the waitress she should know him from television. He was the local celebrity. Dusty Roads Veteto said he was rich. I suggested that Dusty pay for the meal then. He took out his credit card and threw it on the table, and one of the ladies picked it up and put it in her shirt by her boob.

Dusty Roads asked me what I did, and I told him I was a poet. He said he was published in Stars and Stripes magazine. He said he was a writer, too. Dusty Veteto said he made more money than a poet ever could. None of them had been to Ashland. Dusty Roads Veteto said that he was from L.A. But when I said I was from L.A., he said he was from O.C., but he moved away before his first birthday. The lady who put the card in her shirt by her boob said she was from Reno. Dusty said his name was not "Veteto" but "Verero" but his business card said "Veteto." He said I was pronouncing it incorrectly. And then everything got really weird.

Dusty Veteto's credit card was missing. Dusty and everyone started freaking out. They tore apart the booth we were sitting in, searched our pockets, searched out wallets, searched Jessica's purse, went nuts and said they were calling the cops. We told them they should call the cops. Then the lady with the shirt and the boob said that we should get the fuck out of there because we are fucking thieves, and Dusty canceled his card. And we were laughing, and I told the boob shirt girl to get the fuck out of there and that we were weren't thieves, and then they all started talking about disrespecting women, and Zack acted like he wanted to fight me, but I knew he didn't. Then everything was cool for thirty seconds, but the other redneck girl started freaking out again waving her hand around and saying that she knew everyone in town and that some broke poets stole the card, and Zack told her to stop "running her mouth" and then he got up and left, but he shook my hand and said he knew we weren't thieves and that this whole thing was lame. I told Dusty Veteto that he shouldn't have accused us of thievery, and he said he knew, and we left the redneck women "running their mouths."

We didn't sleep in Red Bluff because we were afraid that people like that do stupid things and might mess with the car while we were slumbering.

Holy Crap! Jack Morgan Got Another Poem Published Already!

Pineapple War just published one of my poems. I am very happy about that because I think that Pineapple War is extremely cool, and I feel cool that they think that I am cool enough to be on their site. Please visit the site and read my little poem.

Also: don't forget to check out Kayd at Hoboeye.

What Are You Going To Do Now?!

I took this picture of myself when I finished my second thesis. I think it's hilarious because I don't think I felt as tired as I looked. I wrote two of them! Can you believe that? I remember when all of my friends were writing theirs last year, and I thought, "how could an honors thesis be so hard?" I now have to say that the people who were complaining so much are kind of losers in my eyes now. I mean. . . I did two of them. Give me a break. I don't want to laugh at people's shortcomings because I have many of them, but I scoff at their inadequacy. *scoff* These people are my contemporaries? These people the future teachers and leaders of America? Seriously?

I am swaggering a bit more than usual today because all of my grades are in. I graduated from UC Bekeley with a 4.0, and I earned an A+ on my German honors thesis. Just an A on my English honors thesis. The grades don't matter much in the end because most people who finish the race get high scores. And it is only a race with yourself, an endurance test.
But I ran two races in the time it takes most people to finish one.
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This week is all about Shakespeare. I am going to Ashland to see Coriolanus, Othello, A Midsummer Night's Dream, and Comedy of Errors. Should be really great. I have been looking forward to going for a long time. I have never been to the Ashland festival. I guess a lot of people who grew up in Nor Cal go there as children, but it's my first time, and I am as excited about going as I was when I went to Disneyland way back when.