Take the quiz: “Which American City Are You?”

Cleveland
You are blue collar and Rock n Roll. You Work hard and party harder.

Rock on.

In other news: Some of you asked about the short order cooks’ slang that gave me the title of my most recently posted poem.

Here’s a link to some of the common phrases:

http://www.jitterbuzz.com/diners.html

Specifically, “Adam and Eve on a raft, wreck ’em” means two scrambled eggs on toast.

Been working on this for a bit. Just getting to a first post…

ADAM AND EVE ON A RAFT, WRECK EM

The cup’s on the counter with
your lipstick on the rim.
Now the whole day’s shot to hell.
Woe and tumbled eyelashes swept aside, I sit down
at the edge of the counter. I used to kiss you
there, and there. I used to make you
easy there, and there. I was not
intact but I was complete and
the lipstick never stayed in one place on the
rim, it would be smeared over
again and again.

I’m not up to the job
of dealing with this.
Fire me, I’ll collect thoughts
for dole money.

I take a drink,
lipstick on the rim of my teeth,
you never used your teeth,
you always let me know
they were there, and now they are
not. I’m all tears and left hooks.
I’m counter
help in hell — short order joint, learning to wash the
dishes, make sure all the
stains are gone.

I’ll never hold this job.
I’m fired. I’m fired.
I’m history.
I’m gone.

Well, Annie’s been sick, so we haven’t gotten to the movies yet. And I’m likely skipping tonight at the Asylum for the same reason. (Sorry, Shakti.)

In other news, I’m working on a weird poem right now that talks about what happens when anticipation becomes memory. Not sure it’s working, but it’s an interesting concept.

I always find it difficult to get into the poetry-creation mode after releasing a new book. My body and soul cry out for a rest…but I fear rest, I fear it like death. It is death.

One of these days, I fear I may dry up and disappear in the wind that blows through where my poetry used to be. I have an obsessive need to keep the door blocked open until that happens, just to make sure everything that can get out does get out.

I’ve probably written 3,000 poems in my lifetime. (Seriously. Figure an average of 100 per year for 30 years or so.) I like probably 100. The world has heard maybe 75.

Bad statistics? I dunno. They’re mine…I own them.

I just wish they didn’t also own me.

I’m glad to see LJ is up to the usual standards or nearly so — I was going through withdrawal.

Also, I’m having big trouble at home with my PC. I’m ready for a return to Mac.

Just checking in.

OK, I have been a slacker and not done the column yet.

I’ll get right on it at lunch.

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I’m STILL tired from the trip.

This is my first big drive since the new meds regimen, and I did find it difficult to maintain a schedule with my dosages, so I’m sure that’s part of it. But I managed quite well, considering.

Thanks again to all the folks in DE and MD who came out, offered applause, bought books, offered hospitality (esp. Beverly, my gracious and accomodating host for the two days).

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Tonight: heading out to see Farenheit 9/11. I really want to give this flick a big box office opening. Sending a message, don’t you know…I may not love Michael Moore, but I loathe Bush.

I hope I can take it. I get so screwy around this subject.

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More later.

OK, the digest version of the trip:

1. Three hours from home to Montvale, NJ. Five hours and change to the Delaware Memorial Bridge. I rock. And break speed limits.

2. Picked up my host for the two days, Beverly Wilkinson (imsonshyne) and we jetted to Baltimore.

3. I printed the new chapbook and headed back in to Xando for a fun reading (and got to see the miraculously unscathed Droopy and the more battered but still ok delrica after their car accident). Good time.

4. Zoomed back to Newark for the night, did a little sightseeing/antiquing the next day, had Indian dinner and good conversation with Beverly, azureoceanlight and caolinnshouse, and then headed over to the Arts Alliance, a great space, to the reading, which was packed and high quality — besides those mentioned earlier, Amy Eyre pelelawngoddess, Matt MacDonald (who has an lj here but I don’t know the name), and Megan blindlyinnocent among the folks I recall. Good stuff.

5. I ended up doing a 45 minute set! Totally shocked me, but the crowd was into it…included a reading of “Geodes”, which I haven’t done in a while.

6. I’d give you setlists, but I haven’t got a clue. Mostly stuff from the new book with only a few repeats. Know I read “Clinical” in Baltimore, “Cante Jondo…” and “Suicide Notes” in Delaware, but the rest is a blur.

7. I got a standing ovation. Wow.

8. Afterward, off to a karaoke bar for rounds of exquisite corpse and bad singing, with the exception of a guy who covered that Evanescence song — doing both the female and male parts, and nailing them both. Impressive, to say the least, and I don’t even like the song.

9. Ride home included a beagle jumping out of a Jeep window under the wheels of an 18 wheeler stopped in traffic (he survived) and a two hour back up in southern CT. It took me 8 hours to get home. Grr.

10. Finished the night by watching “Monster”, which I’d never seen. Holy shit.

Be good, y’all…

The new chapbook’s done.

More Names for God includes a lot of what’s here on LJ, along with a few other pieces including “Geodes” and “As Slow as Possible”.

I should have it printed and ready for Baltimore. The master’s printing now.

We’ll see if it was worth skipping the Seroquel so I could stay up.

Ahhhhhhh….medication time.

I just signed off the slam list…and this time, I think it’s for keeps.

Time to say goodbye to all that.

I’ll be doing features in Baltimore (at Xando) on Monday nite, and the NEW Art House (in Newark, Delaware) on Tuesday nite.

If all goes well, I may have the new chapbook in hand.

I will also be carrying copies of the Worcester Poets’ Asylum 2004 Anthology, “What You Are About To Witness…” to sell to help benefit the team. Great anthology this year, with poems from all sorts of people like Morris Stegosaurus, Dawn Gabriel, Sou MacMillan, Andrew Watt, and me among them. 49 poets in all.

Come on out and say hello!!!!

After a string of good days, today bites big wet ones. Not sure why.

I just feel depressed and jittery as hell, not a good combo.

Will be pulling the new chapbook together tonight (More Names For God), so I got a jump on the new Zero Point Zero column and posted it already; an essay on your old poems and your new poems, and how they uneasily coexist in the messenger bag of your life. (Ouch!)

I also put another archived Zero Point Zero up at Blogspot.

Off to a million things now — not sure when I’ll update again, maybe the weekend…

Johnny Ramone is dying of cancer.

I posted a deliberately inflammatory post to the slam list a day or so ago, implying that the lack of chatter there was a sign of decay and dissension in the national slam community.

chazellik, lowhumcrush, and Bucky Sinister chimed in with points of view on the subject, including the belief that LiveJournal has taken the list serv’s place to some extent (I thoroughly agree). Charles also provided some thoughtful commentary about the importance of the old rough and tumble days of flames and arguments to forging the national community — and I agree with that too.

Interestingly enough, I received a couple of backchannel comments from the infamous bowerbird, who (no surprise) never really left the list he was banned from. This isn’t the first time he’s hit me up like that about comments on the list, so I expected that.

It struck me (as it did back then) that the banning of bowerbird was a mistake, as it took away a lot of the energy flashpoints from the list. Say what you want about him and his frequently unworkable ideas – he provided the catalyst for alot of discussions.

Now, all we get there is announcements and the occasional flurry of indignation.

The slam family is dead. Long live the slam.

But it is a way of life.

I’m so goddamn tired right now I could scream. Too many days running classes in front of people. For an introvert like me, it gets draining. (Yes, I’m an introvert at heart. Training and Performance Poetry are just things I have to do to do my job…when it comes right down to it, I prefer to be alone.)

I also think that I need to up my dosage of Seroquel to at least 50 mg/night, from the 25 mg I’m taking now. Sleep has been far more disturbed of late and I think tolerance of the drug is to blame.

My hair is getting long again. I had a trim a couple of weeks ago before the wedding and brought the overall length back up to the shoulders. Now the ponytail is back past them again but far more even. (On Sunday, Anne even braided it for the Java Hut — that was weird.) I do like it though, so I think it’ll stay around.

Next week I’m featuring in Baltimore and Delaware on Monday and Tuesday respectively. C’mon out and say hello. If all goes well, I may have a new chapbook by then too…

I’m thinking of actually developing two chapbooks soon: a “greatest hits” of the last ten years and a new one consisting of some of the things I’ve done in the two years since “Mano Poderosa” came out. That’s a lot of poems, so it wouldn’t be comprehensive; definitely things like “Geodes,” “As Slow as Possible,” “Cindy Moses,” “Suicide Notes,” “The Frontier,” “Clinical,” “Dialogue,” “Song for Shootings,” and a few others. Considering “Geodes” is such a long poem, that would likely be it.

The big question: can I get them done before next Monday? I doubt it. Maybe just get the new one done, and do the greatest hits when I come back.

Like I said — fatigue is not an option.

An electrolysis practice with an unmowed lawn.

To be fair, I suppose they could be dealing with it by removing each individual grass plant one at a time. That might not be immediately noticeable.

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Also, a sign for “Big Beaver Stump Grinding” brought so many levels of association up it was hard to stop.

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I’ll be at poetry tonight — dont’ know if I’ll be bringing the new hotness, but I might. It’s coming, it’s coming…

I had time to kill yesterday during one of my various chores that allowed me to do close to an hour of just free form writing. Haven’t felt that free in a while….it’s still really dark stuff, but I’m a really dark guy of late.

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OK…laundry to fold. But before that, one last thing…

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