Quinine

I Thought My Life would Get Better when I Got an iPhone, and It Did

I got myself an iPhone a few weeks ago. It's the first new phone I've bought in 5 years, and it was worth it. I hear a lot of people complaining about things I've never noticed (it doesn't support stereo bluetooth headsets), but even the shortcomings I do notice are tolerable in light of everything it does well.

Every morning, I read the NY Times and the AP to find out what has happened around the world while I've been sleeping. I check my emails to see who wants things from me. I play a Tetris-type game. I text people. I check my Twitter. And all of that happens before I get out of bed.

When I'm out and about, I take pictures that I can instantly add to my twitter or to my blog. The GPS makes me a little blue dot on the Google Maps so that I always know where I am going and where I am. When I get one of those texts that ask "Where you at?" I can give people latitude and longitude if I were a jerk like that. When I'm hungry, I can look for vegan-friendly spots that are open and near my current location.

I also like the way it organizes calendar events and text messages. My calendar automatically syncs with my laptop, and I can see every text message I've ever sent or received in a chat-like window that makes me feel like I can look back on how my relationships with people have developed. Speaking of syncing, everything's automatic. I remember when USB came out standard on Macs and how excited I was about the possibilities. The iPhone, more than ten years later, finally seems to live up to the USB's potential. It even charges while it syncs.

And it has an iPod inside of it.

I wish it would be able to copy and paste lines of text. I can't believe it can't.

Another nice feature is that the iPhone has a little switch on its side that makes it silent without waking it up. It doesn't have to make a sound to tell you that it won't make anymore sounds . I think it is utterly ridiculous and laugh every time a person in a theater audience turns off/silences their phone only to make a superfluous sound effect of a plane flying by or a silly copyrighted tone.

My iPhone has improved my life more than any other gadget I've ever had, seen, or heard of.
I love my iPhone. I have the 16 gig one, but I got it in black.

No One Cares about McCain.

So McCain is giving a crazy lady from Alaska a round-trip tour of America. That's nice.
I can' t imagine wanting to have anything to do with someone who tries to use her influence to get her sister's ex-husband fired. But who cares? He's unelectable. The press wants a close race so that they have something to talk about, but there's no possible way that it will be.

Sure, some states will go red. Those people who are afraid of homosexuals and brown people will always go red. The color of fear in America has always been red. But as long as we have someone on our side who is strong enough to stand in the face of fear, we stand a chance. Right now, that's Barack Obama. I've always been Democrat, but I have never had the faith in a representative that I have in him. And I'm not alone. 38 Million people watched the Brack Obama accept his party's nomination. Do you think that McCain will strike fear in the hearts of that many people?

In November, the Republicans will attempt to thwart the will of the people by making sure that polling booths in certain neighborhoods are inefficient, that machines break down, that their lists are inadequate. But that won't make any difference. Americans are finally waking up. I am happy to be living in such an exciting time. The dawn is always a beautiful tiem to be alive.

I hope the governor of Alaska enjoys her tour, though.

Abe Lincoln 3

Well, I got my copy of Abraham Lincoln 3 and found myself jealous of everyone in it and spiteful about a few. It's a very good journal. A couple of my favorite poets are in there, and it's one of my all-time favorite journals for poetry. Issue 3 is friggin awesome. You should probably buy it. I haven't finished all of it yet, but Stan Apps is great in it, and Lyn Hejinian is always fun to read. I am enjoying it immensely so far.

The Trappist

Belgian beer is good.

Robot Utopia

I feel a little bad that that book went so fast and I realized that I haven't done a Robot Utopia post lately. So just so you don't feel ripped off:

I love the slow-mo bit in the end.

Giveaway: Jack Hirschman: Front Lines

*UPDATE* This book went blindingly fast. Tomorrow I will give away another book!
A few yearsa ago, before I moved to the bay, I was in the poetry room at City Lights. It's like a chapel at an airport; there's something there to worship for everybody and there's usually just one or two people up there. I said hello to the old guy in the corner, and he said "Check this out. He's about to be named San Francisco Poet Laureate." I knew who Jack Hirschman was, but I hadn't seen Front Lines before, so I bought it along with my millionth copy of Coney Island of the Mind. People always steal "Coney Island" from me.

I've already talked at length about how much I like Jack Hirschman, so I won't bore you with too much more, but I'm looking at this book again and I'm thinking that Jack has the ability to be simultaneously nostalgic and innovative. I'm always a bit self-conscious about admitting I like the Beats, but I do. In Front Lines, Jack includes a great poem about the day he found out Hemmingway died that makes me envy his age and his era like I was a teenager again reading On the Road for the first time.

I'm giving this book away to the first person who emails me their address. I really hope this one finds a good home.

Oldest bar in orinda!

The bartender didn't want his picture taken so I smacked him in the
face.

I'm going to see Hamlet 2 tonight and will review it on playshakespeare.com, where I have a new gig.
Things are going very well.
Tomorrow, I will also start giving away books.
Thanks for your patience during these trying but exciting times.

Rolled Like a Mexican Joint, Rock and Roll Harlot-Killers

Dear everybody,

A while back my blog roll disappeared. I was unsure why it happened. I have been dreading putting the work into rebuilding it. If you think you should be on my blog roll, please send me a link, and I will make it happen. If you were on there before, please tell me, so I can start reading your blog again.

I like having a longish roll.

I think size matters when it comes to blog rolls and I think that mine is inadequate.

Help. Please advise.

Your friend,

Jack Morgan


P.S., I know I haven't published any poetry lately, but that's because I've felt artistically stifled. But worry not, gentles, I have been working on bad-ass motorcycle poems that will make your mothers cry.

Looking for Work

It's not easy keeping a poetic life.
I've spent the summer seeing plays, writing poetry, and driving fast cars. That's an expensive way to live.
Now it's time to go out and turn an honest buck.
I can't imagine anyone turning me down. My résumé is just that good.
I'm only applying to dream jobs right now, and when I get one, I will tell you.
If you know about any dream jobs that are open to world-traveling Shakespeare-obsessed, internet savvy, totally computer-literate writers/poets, let me know about them please.

I am thinking it wouldn't be horrible to relocate. Get away from the big city. I've never lived in anything else, and it would be a nice change.
)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(
I sent an email to Michelle Obama today, telling her she looked better than Jackie Kennedy during her wonderful speech last night. Unable to watch television, I get the video updates from the awesome Obama website and let the videos run in the background while I'm working.

Yes We Can!

Going Live and Getting Jacked on Your iPhone

TrainwreckUnion.com is your one-stop spot for all things Jack Morgan.
Stormy Petrel Press is Jack Morgan's press. That's where you can buy Sara Mumolo's chapbook!
A lot of you didn't know that. They haven't been totally live for very long, and there are still a few things about them that we're tweaking, but I am proud of the sites and I am grateful to know one of the most elegant programmers I have ever met.

Ryan Stark is able to write code that looks super simple, which is way more difficult than it sounds. It's harder to make things that look clean and disciplined than it is to be fancy and opulent. What looks like a basic website for Stormy Petrel is actually a creative way to handle content management, one that I have never seen before, one that I am entirely impressed with because it gives me way more control than I have ever had on a website. I want to build a statue of Stark and put it in front of city hall or the mayor's house or something.

Speaking of opulence, if you use your iPhone to visit TrainwreckUnion.com, I've made a fav icon for the device. If you go to the site and add it as a bookmark "to Home Screen," it will put the Trainwreck logo where the apps are so that you can just hit a button and your iPhone will take you the site. How cool is that? And the button looks really awesome.

And as long as this is a web-heavy post, someone told me there was a press ripping me off. I checked them out, and I don't think they are. I think I'd like to submit to them because how hilarious would it be to get published by them? I google fought them. I won, so I feel OK.
Trainwreck Union forever!

Oakland Street Fair

Would You Have Me Ball Gag Myself?

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I will not sacrifice my integrity.
Without my integrity and honesty, I don't have much to offer.I know some of you'd like to see me fail, and you might.
You internet haters sometimes make me feel like crap, and that's fine because it's worth it. I want it to never be a mystery to anyone how I feel about them.
If you are an artist I know, you will never wonder if I really like or dislike your stuff. You will know precisely where we both stand.

This week, I have had to dig deep. I've had to ask myself some questions I thought I knew the answers to. And it turned out I did know those answers. In fact, it was all one answer. Three Q's and one A.

Some would have me more diplomatic, more political; they want to see me succeed, and they don't want me to fail because I ended up on the wrong side of a sycophant who slimes his way into a position that might hold some power over me. But I don't play those games. The powerful often have no character, and I don't expect them to treat an artist fairly. People with power are almost always afraid of artists and try to screw them every chance they get. I've grown used to getting screwed by powerful people. I'm even used to getting screwed by weak people. The thing is, I'd rather lose for honesty over win for lying.

As for just shutting up and keeping my nose clean, I wonder where I would get that way. I think that you cannot stay silent about the things you're passionate about. Staying quiet is a compromise. It's like "looking the other way." Honesty is one of the few things that are never worth compromising. If I ruin my "career" by being honest, it won't be because I'm in the wrong profession, it'll be because I am on the wrong planet. And that's just not worth worrying about anymore.

David Oreilly

I love "Please Say Something" by David Oreilly. I like his other work, too, though it's not for everyone.
Animators sometimes seem as cool as poets.

Biden

Joe Biden

Sent from my iPhone

Brain in a Vat

Stormy Petrel Press Presents:
Sara Mumolo's first chapbook of poetry,
Brain in a Vat

Guaranteed to fuck you up for life.
I promise you will like it.

Tragedy

You know summer's over when people start betraying their lovers and looking for sympathy when they've done really bad things to each other. My circle of friends is torn at the moment because of betrayal. . . the worst kind. I am glad it's not me getting hood-winked this time. I am happy that I've cut the worst people out of my life. The name Chad Vogler has become the word we use for the type of person who betrays his friends, and it's perfect. When I meet a person who I think is shady, I ask myself if this person is a Chad Vogler.

I am also happy that I can be the consoler this time rather than the consoled. I am much too trusting. I feel like I'm always the one getting the short end when it comes to stick grabbing, and it's usually someone I've trusted who gives it to me.

Everyone I know has broken up with their s.o.'s and is hurting. It is going to be a long Autumn.

In the meantime, I am dreaming of motorcycles thanks to "Hell Ride."

Sara Mumolo's Book is Coming Out Tomorrow

I bet you can't wait to read it!

Faustus Callback

Look at this hapless mug. Would you cast him in a play? Jack Morgan in
front of the theater.

Poetic Life

I think of my life as a work of art.
I think it is important to keep living like this.
When I die, I want people to say that I had an interesting and exciting life.
I would rather be ash than dust.




Last night my team, "Come On, EZRA, Pound Me in the WASTELAND!" won the quiz at Ben and Nick's. Ryan, Jeff, Jeanine, and Jack Morgan were very proud, victorious, but never sacrificed magnanimity. The team who had the lowest score, a team of only two, had been clairvoyant enough to name their team "Coming in Last." We gave them our free pitcher in a gesture of unparalleled generosity, making Angelina Jolie look like a green-washer or something.

Ben and Nick's has a really good Portabello sandwich that can come vegan. Tasty pub grub for yours truly. It's rare that pubs care enough about little vegans like me.

I got called back for Faustus. I'll be reading some lines tonight. I am looking forward to taking the stage again. It gives me a break from doing poetry readings. I still look forward to poetry readings, but I need a break, I think, from reading at them. I feel like my work is suffering under the pressure of performance.

Jeanine

Jeanine says nothing is wrong that she wants to talk about.

Free Jack Hirschman Book Giveaway

*UPDATE* This book is spoken for. Thanks!

Jack Hirschman is the last Beat poet I like, and he is one of only two "political" poets I like. A couple years ago, I sang and danced with Jack Hirschman at Specks in North Beach. We drank the night away. The last time I saw him, his voice was wrecked by medical problems. That ragged voice read the erotic poems in "All That's Left" in a way that was somehow heart-breaking, and my heart breaks a little bit writing about it.

I think the reason why his polemic poems work is because they are infused with a kind of sensuality that turns issues as hopeless as Katrina and Iraq into songs of hope and love without letting on. To some people Hirschman seems like just another poetic whiner, but that would be a mistake in that such a position dismisses a movement and a tradition that placed the Bay Area on the map, the Beat Poets, the ones who writhed and railed beneath the boots of conservatism and still found time to love and lose and wish on stars to angel midnight.

If you email me your address, I will send you this book for free.

In front of my house on the stoop

Sometimes people wonder what I do to pass the time when I'm not busy
working or adventuring. When the weather's right, I like sitting on my
stoop and looking at the giant elm tree and the peeps walking by.

I do love college ave.

A Love Poem about Jack Morgan and His Motorcycle Mayhem

I am so famous that people write poems about me.
We already know about that Lovemakers song, but this is just as cool. Thank you so much, Flora Grande. Or should I say "¡Muchos Gracias, Flora Grande!"?

I'm about to audition for Faustus at actors ensemble of Berkeley.
Looks like I'm being exorcised.

Free Chapbook: Three Column Table by Harold Abramowitz

*UPDATE* This book is spoken for; thanks!
Today someone asked me why I was doing this, getting rid of all my books. It's hard to describe my sudden impulse to empty my life of influence. I enjoyed reading all these books, but now it's time for someone else to. I also think that I am doing the world a favor by giving away my huge book collection. I put out two free boxes of books I thought were too heavy to mail away in front of my house, and they disappeared in one day. ALL OF THEM! And that felt good. I feel like the books are haunting me like trophy heads. I think that books on shelves serve the same purpose as trophy heads. I read the books, and they should be read again. I probably won't read them again. An elk head is supposed to bump against the heads of other elk. If you shoot an elk, and you hang its head on your wall, the elk head isn't doing its job anymore. It's on your wall to impress your friends or something. But I don't want to impress my friends by how big the elk was I murdered in the forest or with how far my shelves bend beneath the weight of hundreds of books.

The book today is Harold Abramowitz's "Three Column Table." I liked this chapbook. It was put out by Insert Press, people I like very much, and it's printed on really nice paper using a Japanese method whose name I can't remember. I wrote it down somewhere when Mathew Timmons told me, but now I can't find that moleskine right now.

Anyway, I liked this chapbook a lot. At first it looks a bit gimmicky, but after a couple pages, it starts to read very well. I would call it "experimental" if I liked calling things that. And I would also say that I like the way the poetry looks. It looks like some kind of weird instruction booklet from outer-space that will tell us how to save the planet if we could only decode it in time.

If you want this chapbook, you should email me your address! I will send it to you for free, and I will include a copy of an issue of WORK from Union Herald, which is a super-cool poetic journal if you didn't know.

Also, I have added a "DONATE" button on the side of this blog. You don't have to donate anything. But let's say you like this blog, and/or you think it's cool that I am giving all my books away for free, it would be nice to donate. I am a broke poet who doesn't have a job. I will use the money for postage and peanut butter.

Man on Wire

Ma on Wire is a good movie. You should watch it. It's about Philippe Petit, the guy who tightrope walked between the towers of the World Trade Center. He had to break into the place to do it. Remarkable.

Vault

This is me at brunch at the vault.

Jack Morgan's Bad Day

I want you to read about Jack Morgan's bad day. It's really short and worth it.

Chapbook Giveaway

*UPDATE* These books are gone. Better luck tomorrow!These are four chapbooks I like:
Tyler Carter's "New Place" has a nice cover and it is funny and "Twelve-thousand Miles Away a man removes a small rock from his shoe." Pierce Press: 2007
Jake Kennedy's "Hazard" is bright red, has some really great prose poems and a couple wonderful vizpo's, and "Her mother kills herself." Book Thug: 2006
Joseph Massey's "Out of Light" is pretty and fun book filled with short poems that are like missives from nature and "Dead barnacles abd gull shit grip the driftwood." Kitchen Press: 2008
Hugh Behm-Steinberg's "Sorcery" is kind of weird, filled with prose columns next to pictures of strange things, and "Twills are loomed in a series of small steps."
This package will also include a copy of WORK no. 7 from Union Herald.

Email me your address, and you get all four! I think you will like them.
)()()()()()()()()(
I put a free book box on College Avenue in Berkeley today. People went to it like crazy. I am looking forward to having more and more empty spaces in my life.

Tropic Thunder at Grand Lake. Shit!

By "shit" I mean pretty awesome. I didn't want to see "Tropic Thunder," but when Rotten Tomatoes was talking 83%, I reconsidered. Ben Stiller directed and co-wrote it, so if you liked "Zoolander" even a little isty bit, you will like "Tropic Thunder," which also includes Ethan Cohen (wtf) in its writing credits. It's clever, unabashed, and strong in a way that constantly calls into question what kind of movie you're watching. I have to say that no matter what Ben Stiller does, when he writes and directs, I am reminded of the charm of his TV series; at the time it was the best thing on TV.
Another thing that helps this genius writing trio is the genius actors in it. The ultimate buddy movie, there isn't a woman in sight that isn't a mere prop, but it manages to maintain its stature by being too smart to be just a BS movie. Robert Downey Jr., out of nowhere, gives the performance of his life. Jack Black is the Jack Black that we love and miss in his lately shit. And where the hell has this Nick Nolte been hiding? It makes me feel like renting "48 Hours." One of the stoners from "Pineapple Express" is in it, too, and I think we'll see more of him, seeing as how he gets a laugh just being there.

And then there's Tom Cruise. You might not notice him if you aren't paying attention. He's got a bald cap and a wax nose on. But he proves that he's got all the right kind of crazy to be the movie star we all adore. I am one of those who don't care what religion people are. Scientology is no different from any of the other bull shit religions out there. But Tom Cruise in the movie is indispensable. Crazy? Good. I'm having a hard time, even though "MI:2" was pretty crappy, finding a really bad movie he has ever been in. He's good, and I don't care what the artist does in his free time. Worship a bearded man in the sky for all I care.
And on some Friday nights, the organ player plays at the Grand Lake in Oakland. It's one of the coolest things in the world. So old-timey. The audience howls for him when he rises from the floor. And it does it again as he sinks back. Everything about movie night tonight was fantastic.

Chelsey Minnis Giveaway!

*UPDATE* Books are gone! So fast! And people say people don't read poetry anymore.I am giving away two of my favorite books of poetry. Chelsey Minnis is a good poet. If you email me your address, I will mail you these two books with a copy of WORK, a great poetry journal.
I feel a little crazy to be giving these two away, but here we go.

Saloons, Naked Athletes, Falling Asleep

PETA is not going to let you forget that China isn't only trampling human rights.
The Saloon was meant to support raconteurs who would keep the glories of the past fresh in the minds of the citizenry; for the comfort of the ancient mariners and the warming of the marrow in their ageing bones; for the rendition and preservation of half-forgotten chanties.
~George Heinold

Something weird is happening.
Usually, when I fall asleep, it goes like this:
I begin to doze but am conronted with a nightmare. I kind of snap awake. I doze; nightmare; snap awake. This goes on until my brain gives me something that isn't ugly enough to wake me up, like flipping through infomercials until you find a hypnotizing one amongst the flashing horrors. Lately, I've been dozing and getting good dreams right away. I think it might be due to the person I've been speaking with most. I have been getting tons more sleep than usual.

K. Silem Mohammad giveaway!

*UPDATE* These books wen t fast. More will be up very soon.Clayton Banes (left), Jack Morgan (right)

Yesterday I went to SPD with Mums to visit Clay and buy "Dear Ra" and "Rubber Side Down." I hadn't seen clay since the going away party and wake for the Pegasus reading series. We had coffee. He bought pizza (pictured above). SPD is a great place, and I like them all very much. I saw John Sakkis there, too.

It occurred to me then that I had been talking about selling everything I own for a very long time. But now I just want to give it all away. I probably won't give everything away, but almost everything. I am starting with books and working my way up to much bigger and much more expensive things. I was going to do one book a day, but that would take two years or something. So, if you were one of the first to "win" a book, you'll see I put other books in there with them.

I just want to have a less cluttered life, and I have way too many books that I've read and just sit on the shelves. I can't move them, and I am going to move soon.

So today's second giveaway is K. Silem Mohammad's books. I used to have more, but I must have given some away, or someone has "stolen" them from me. They are: "Deer Head Nation," a really good book, the first Flarf thing I ever read, not knowing what Flarf was; "Abraham Lincoln 1," a poetic journal edited by Mohammad and Anne Boyer that I like in the extreme; and "Breathalyzer," my favorite book by K. and the one I reviewd in Rain Taxi.

The first person to email me (see right) will get all three in the mail. EVERYONE is eligible. Addresses will be deleted as soon as I mail the books. No records will be kept. When I get an address, I will update this post saying so and post another giveaway!

Banging Famous Musicians; another free book, too!

*UPDATE* Free book is gone.
*UPDATE* Everyone is eligible to have as many books as they want. There are no limitations. When I am out of books, I will start giving away other things, like my TV and digital camera. So the more things you ask for, the quicker we can get to the big things.
I am not sure how we both ended up behind the bar, but there we were at the Graduate, Scott Blonde and I, and I said something like, "screw musicians!" and then he said something like, "screw musicians? No way, José; screw POETS!" I was like, "oh no you didn't!" He said, "Oh yes I did." Then I turned him around and had my way with him. It changed his life, and he went home and wrote this song about it.


I'm flattered to have inspired a Lovemakers song. Should I write a poem about them?


Have you ever looked around and wished that you could find some real man poetry? Something a bit more working class? Well, this book is for you! I picked it up in Ashland, and I liked it. Gary L. Lark has some style and some experience and some poetic know-how. It's different from a lot of the crap out there, and it's better than some of the "experimental" smarty-pants poets in the bay. Oh, the bay. This book is bound with a red ribbon. If you want, you can email me, and I will send you this book for free. When I get an order, I will update this entry, so if there's no update, the book isn't spoken for.

why do they keep putting nick cage in movies?

Free Charles Bernstein

*UPDATE*
This book is spoken for. Thanks.


If you ever wondered why people call Charles Bernstein a genius, you should read senses of responsibility. I love this book. I was going to write a review of it, but I am not going to now. But if you want my copy, I will send it to you gratis. Just email me your address. Sometimes people tell me after I do things like this that they wanted to get the book, but they thought that since they didn't email me the day of the post that their chance was gone. But that isn't the case. It usually takes some time before someone tells me they want a free book. I will send it to you for free. I think it would be nice for you to read it. So I will just give it to you. Maybe you would like to write a review. Maybe not. Maybe you would like to give it to a friend who needs more poetry in her life.

The reason I am not going to write a review is because it is a very old chapbook. It might be worth money. Or it might not be worth anything. The thing is that when I look for quotes to use as illustrative examples of why this book is one of my favorites, I want to quote whole poems.

So email me if you want a free book that is very, very good.

Food Day

I went to the Mission to see one of my very bestest friends, poet Jarrod Roland. Everyone knows "Rod" in the Mission. We went into Needles and Pens, and the dude in there knew his name. People stop him in the street and say hello. He is definitely a fixture in that part of the city. He is vegetarian and works at a butcher shop, which I give him a hard time about because I don't see how you can rationalize that. But Jarrod is very good at organizing thoughts; he helps me organize mine, anyway. He has the uncanny ability of articulating my thoughts so that I'm able to understand them.
We went to have granola, but they put yogurt in it, even though I asked for soy/vegan. Bastards. I ate it anyway and felt gross.

In Oakland, near Jack London Square, there is a new place that has had a "Coming Soon" sign for almost a year. Tonight was their soft opening. It's called "Oh My Dawg." Oh My Dawg is a sausage and frittes restaurant run by a German named Ami (sic?). Germans know a few things about kicking ass, and they definitely kick ass at sausage and pommes. They have vegan dogs and curry dogs with sauce and marinated onions they make in-house. They also have a beer license and outdoor tables. Ami lived in Montreal for a while, so he offers the kind of fries they make there; delishhh. I want to go again. He and his partner, whom I assume is his wife, are super nice, and I hope that you will go to their store. It's on Broadway and 3rd or 4th right by Jack London theaters. They don't have a Yelp or a website yet because they are really brand freakin new. Their grand opening is this Thursday. You should go to it.

Some low-life subscribed me to a low-life magazine. I don't know who it is, but they must read this blog. My new friend in Virginia guessed what the trash-a-zine is, can you? That's right, MAXIM. I dislike MAXIM very much. I would say that it's written for retards, but retards are smarter than that. It's not all bad. They say that Zachary's, right down the street, in Oakland, thought they say it's Berkeley, is declared by the crack team of experts over at MAXIM HQ, has one of the best slices of pizza in America. Some of the car stuff is OK I guess. But the girlie stuff is a bit lame and tame, supplemented by semi-offensive captions that are presumably supposed to make 14-year-olds say ooh-la-la or something equally insincere to their friends because that's what they're supposed to say when they see starlets half naked. I've read that many women read MAXIM. I hope it isn't true. I also hope that grown men don't read it, but they must. National Guard guys? Anyway, I don't know who it's most offensive to, but I know I'm offended. Crap always offends me, especially coprolite.

Somewhere in there, I wrote a lot and took a boat across the bay and thought about life and Saturn and how I want to go on one big adventure very soon.

Reading Rox0red @ idiolexicon. 2 B a P03t is w00t.

The last idiolexicon before the ignominious hiatus was pretty awesome. I know so many people who should have been there to enjoy it. The house was full, though, and I couldn't help but wonder if the people who ran cafe royale thought that they had made a huge mistake letting this series leave them. In this picture, Jack Morgan, Elliot Harmon, and Mike Young look into the abyss way after the reading was over. The thing most people don't know is that poetry readings are supposed to turn into parties afterward. It was Monday and everything, but come on. Who cares about tomorrow? We don't.

I was texting to Virginia a lot tonight. I was having a great time, but I wished I was there somehow. I am thinking about leaving the Bay for a while. People think I am crazy for that, but I think I need a break from the scene for a short time. These thoughts are incomplete.

Logan Ryan Smith was there tonight. He didn't stay late enough, but I liked seeing him. He's one of those guys that you're always missing when he leaves. That's a good trait to have. I always think that Logan and I have a lot in common and that we should hang out some time.

We talked about New York and Philadelphia and East Bay and West Bay and Massachusetts. Mike Young lives in Mass. There was a young man wearing a Daniel Boone hat and a young woman wearing a shirt with a peacock on it.

We had to rush to catch the last BART. I will never understand why there is a "LAST" BART.

Seriously, you missed a lot tonight.
We even went to Golden Era for Vegan food that everyone liked.

Things to Live for : Idiolexicon Reading Tonight

Brian Teare and Mike Young are reading tonight at Cafe Royale.
LINK for Idiolexicon Reading Series.
Idiolexicon is my favorite reading series since Pegasus and New Yipes both died untimely deaths.
And Idiolexicon is going on hiatus, so if you haven't been to one of their readings, this is your last chance for a little while. Mike Young is hella cool; you will like him.
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I bought an iPhone yesterday, but I have to wait 7-10 days for it. That was the only way I could do it without losing phone service for a couple days. Gives me something to live for until then.
I'm looking forward to the poetry season kicking back up, too. I don't know what will be happening this fall, but the bay area usually has a good one when it comes to Po-biz.
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I've been reading tons of chapbooks.

I haven't looked at my counter for weeks, and it's liberating.

This is a song by Madeleine Peyroux.

I'm thinking about relocating.

I really liked Bernie Mac.

Phucking Philanderers and Betraying Bastards

Now John Edwards is a philanderer?

It bothers me that so many people are disloyal to the people they love. I don't understand it. I have never cheated on anyone, and I think I have been loyal to everyone who has passed through my life.

Spending most of my life with expatriates and poets and artists and writers and actors, I have seen my share of messed up things when it comes to love and friendship, and I've gotten used to seeing other people complicate their lives with betrayal, but betrayal is still the only thing I cannot forgive. Anything else can be forgotten with time, but not betrayal.

When people betray me, I cut them out. I stop talking to them. I try to forget they exist. I don't get angry; I get melancholy. After all, to me, someone has died.

I am not judging anyone. I've learned not to judge when it comes to the way people handle their romantic lives. But it certainly tramples a bit on my hopes and my belief that most of us are good.

Betrayal cuts deep. Brutus is a villain. Judas is the bad guy. Delilah...

Well, there are still more people I talk to than don't. Inductive reasoning for now will have to do.

Sheep Phone Home

robot sheep phone home;
marble cools their plastic hooves
listen coiled yesterday wool

Good News and Bad News

These are the winners of The Sorry for Snake/Idiolexicon Sedoka Contest:

David Morini
Lucas M. Rivera
J. Bradley
Kat Cornelius
Matthew Melnicki
Matt Mason
Jessica Wickens
Adam Rubinstein
Stanford Chen
Andy Nicholson

Isn't exciting? They will all receive a free copy of Sorry for Snake and be published in Idiolexicon! Woo-Hoo!
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Russian tanks rolled into Georgia today.
So much going on with war and blood, and I am beginning to feel guilty about spending my time in artistic pursuits rather than something more useful. My whole life, big countries have invaded small countries while the big countries pretend to hate each other, holding one another in stalemate by mutual fear and respect. I don't want it to be that way for the rest of my life, but it would seem that that is inevitable.

Another surge in Afghanistan means more blood on the sand and more coffins and flags.

Everything in the news today depresses me and makes me feel worthless as I plan my trip across the bay to see a play tonight, thinking about how great it is that I am going to hang out with some of the poets I love this weekend.

What cheer, Hypolita?

Funny Shit for Late Night People, and Natalie Portman's foot fetish

Tact forbids me to say who sent me this, but it was quite a nice thing to come home to so late, coming back from Santa Cruz and the pub. It cracked me up.
I am posting it in the hopes that there are other creatures of the night who may think it funny and that I might still find it funny when the Bob's out.

In other news: did you hear that Natalie Portman has a vegan shoe line now? I think she might be the only mega celebrity I like. I can think of many smaller ones I dig, but she's the only big-timer I think is worth even a passing interest.

Everyone loves Kendra Malone and Denise, but more people love Kendra.

I am unsure why, but this is one of my favorite things online right now. It has nothing to do with Denise Richards. Or maybe it does. I don't know. I don't think anyone does. Thanks; we love you, Kendra Malone.

Some Updates

Isla Prieto, who designed our next cover for Sorry 4 Snake, will be having a show in SF at the Space Gallery on the fifteenth of August.

Viropop mentioned my blog on their podcast, calling me a vegan writer in LA.

Did I tell you I have a review in Rain Taxi?

My theater blog was mentioned twice in the Shakespeare Santa Cruz Press Room.

Mansions in Berkeley and my ROBOT! And fuck all the people who talk shit about Tao Lin.

Yesterday I went to mansions because my friends Cameron and Jessica are living in one and had their cats stowed at another, and we had to get the cats from B to A. We put them in cardboard boxes and brought them in a car, which was kind of funny. Cats poking their heads out of boxes is like an image out of Norman Rockwell or something.

Both mansions are owned by the guy who owns Rasputin and Blondie's. I don't know his name, so when we talk about him, we just call him Rasputin. The first mansion has a game room filled with air hockey, pinball, and pool, and nerdcore models. It smelled like peppermint oil. Have you ever seen that show called "Silver Spoons" that was big in the eighties? The house reminded me of that. All hardwood floors. I pretended to be Ricky Schroeder and played the pinball games.

I probably will never be rich. I don't think I would like to have a ginormous house even if I were rich. I think I would like to have more friends who have giant houses, though, so I could pretend to be Richie Rich in their game rooms and wear wool socks and slide across the hardwood floors. I think I would also have a remote control car and a robot that could walk around those floors. I would bring them to my friends' mansions and let the robot walk around by itself. The robot would be three feet tall so that it would scare a dog but not a human. It would be able to recite every poem Jack Spicer ever wrote and know how to mix perfect Tanqueray and Tonics. It would also tell jokes and take pictures. It would say ""say cheeze." It would also know the answer to every stupid question people ask about being vegan so that I wouldn't have to answer them anymore.

At my house, it would live in the closet. The only time it would come out is when I went to my friends' mansions and to poetry readings. I think robots ride BART for free. It will introduce me to people and ask other people their names and remember them and tell me when I forget.

I will name it Tao Lin because I like that name and because Tao Lin is kind of short, though much taller than three feet, and because I think Tao would laugh about that. Maybe Tao Lin 3000. It would sometimes say funny things about hamsters or other small animals.

Also, I wish I could buy rights to Tao's new book. I wish I could buy half a share. I don't have 2000 dollars for shares in books, but I wish someone would want to split one with me.

People shit-talk a lot. Some people do it about Tao Lin, and when it happens I feel bad because it's much bigger and much more intense when it happens to him. When the police made me come into the station because of shit-talking Rae-Lyn Barnes, that was pretty intense, and when Suze Stein made that comment about people who like me being horrible people, that was pretty intense, but sometimes people who are not as easy to laugh at and dismiss say mean things about Tao that are untrue and stupid, and I don't understand it.

I am going to wear my Tao Lin shirt today.

Going back to Cali

My Apple and I made it back to California last night without speeding tickets or airplane disaster. I think that Christine the flight attendant had asthma by the way she said the safety instructions.

I am too tall for airplanes.

I had to give back the red Mustang convertible that made me look like a middle aged, drug dealing douche. It was a fun car to drive through Virginia with the top down and the sirius radio blasting, so I was sadto give it up.

Of course, my last night in Staunton broke my heart.
If you've been someplace for a while, you are destined to meet that place's coolest person moments before you leave. I met the owner of the local tea shop in Staunton, and we hit it off and had one great night of laughter and youth.

We watched the sun scale up over the ducks in the park.

Very sad to have to leave.

But now I am back in California. Everyone's in town except Stark, but he'll be back soon. Time to start thinking about the future again.

I'll ask poetry what she thinks about it.

At a Party with Famous Shakespeareans and a Dog Named MacDuff

I have very intense feelings when confronted with nature. I am immediately impressed by everything I don’t know.

At the party’s beginning, the only person who was interested in me was MacDuff, the dog, who likes to lick toes of scholars. The house was capacious and pretty and filled with academics, famous Shakespeareans, and people who I didn’t know; not knowing anyone was a crushing blow to my wit. How am I ever supposed to leave the bay if I get lost where no one knows who Jack Morgan is? Every place that is not SF BAY or NYC is a vast wilderness in my mind because they don’t know who I am.

The view of the Blue Ridge was breath-taking. The Abraham Lincoln Robot at Disneyland’s “Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln,” said no foreign power would by force make a trek along the Blue Ridge. That never made sense to me until now. Something as breath-taking as the Blue Ridge might be worth fighting over, like Scotland. The cicadas thought so and screamed.
I became the weirdo at the party who couldn’t fit in with the larger portion of guests. The poetry scene is very different from the academic one, and I’m not used to it I guess. I don’t know all their acronyms. I don’t know how to be funny with them. And I was busy having intense feelings on the other side of the deck, looking out over an endless prairie, eternity stretching before me, letting it occur to me how far the Pacific lay and how juggernaut earth would soon clipse her father the sun.

I felt like an ass hole for not taking advantage of the company of geniuses filling the house. The only people I talked to were Ralph Cohen, Alan Armstrong, and Stephen Booth, all famous Shakespeare people, all people I respect and admire. After most people left, I would meet two vegans and a fascinating Sarah. The party would end well with hugs and kisses and new friends.
But first I saw fireflies and wondered if I had ever seen fireflies before or if I had only seen the fake ones at Disneyland. Mars burned like one who had flown too high. Grain silos spotted the landscape. Somewhere a cow looked up and howled at the moon surrounded by glittering lightning bugs while real lightning struck silently in the impossible distance. MacDuff returned and looked at them with me. Magic is reserved for the speechless.