I kinda think this story is a little…suspicious:

http://www.cnn.com/2006/SHOWBIZ/TV/06/30/people.hasselhoff.ap/index.html

In other, non-David Hasselhoff related news, I have minimal ambition for writing lately. This doesn’t happen to me very often, as I usually find my writing to be such a vital part of my daily routine and spiritual practice.

Usually, this means I need to pick up a guitar more aggressively for a while and switch to that mode of expression. I spent a good deal of time this afternoon with the “new” electric, which was nice; I haven’t explored that palette enough since I got it back.

But of course, I have decided I need a new amp now. I’m thinking Vox AC30.

Never fails: consumption leads to more consumption.

ALSO: Sleater-Kinney is going on indefinite hiatus, with no plans for future recordings or tours. Shoot me now.

These days I am less
a poet
than a song
and dance man.

I know every step
and every word
to every popular
bit of show.

Nighttimes find me
on stages all over the country
parroting others’ psyches
and shaking hands afterward.

Then
I am erased and
I go back to being
a blank tape.

I’m waiting for
the next bit of
another person’s inspiration
I can copy.

I don’t think
I’ll ever write another poem
that wasn’t written first
by some one else.

I try sometimes
but I erase every other word
when I recognize it
from somewhere.

I wanted to be the first poet
to write a poem without
articles or pronouns or nouns
or verbs or any other parts of speech.

Staring at this blank page
makes me realize
that’s an easy goal
to achieve.

All I have to do
is see a magical poem
in my head
and not write it down.

No one will ever know
I’ve written it
but it will be my secret
touchstone.

When I’m up on stage
I can dream of my illegible beauty
and be comforted
by knowing no one can steal it from me.

And the shuffle ball change
and rooty toot toot will keep me in beer
and sandwiches while I think of how jealous
everyone would be if they knew.

I’ve solved the great dilemma
that the difficulty in being original
is not in having others think you are
but in believing it yourself.

We’re all thinking of you and yours tonight, imsonshyne.

I’ll make you watch this over and over.

http://www.collegehumor.com/movies/1696530/

Word to your sensei, g.

Y’all better come down to GotPoetry Live at Reflections Cafe in Providence tonight for the open mike and feature by Ryk McIntyre.

Or else I’ll be forced to come to your house and read you my pig Latin translation of “Howl.”

At 3:14 AM.

With a megaphone.

Naked.

With a jug band backing me up.

And a cropduster pulling a banner reading, “Olochmay! Olochmay!” flying overhead while Mandy Moore and Diamanda Galas do cartwheels on the wing.

from NYC, where I came out of retirement for a single night to slam at Bar 13 as part of the Worcester Slam Team, along with Bobby Gibbs, badgary, and urbanitus. I replaced morthsha who couldn’t make it.

I kept it quiet because I wanted it to be a surprise. It was the first time in 5 years I’d slammed in anything resembling a team slam.

We placed third in a tough contest of four teams: Brooklyn, louderARTS, Worcester, and New Jersey (that was the order of finish).

Went up fourth in the first round, did “Conspiracy” a bit differently than usual, and got a respectable 26.5 after the half-point time penalty.

Star of the night was badgary, proving once again that he is criminally underrated by getting the high score of the bout with a 29.5, and incidentally prompting Rachel McKibbens and Emily Kagan to dance vigorously to a crowd singalong of “Darling Nikki” after he was done proclaiming the patriotic virtues of listening to Prince.

After, Mr. Urban and I went out for Oxycontin and pizza before driving home. (You had to be there.)

It was fun. I’m going back into retirement now. Good night.

Last night was another punk show in Providence. This one was cut short by a crazy artist who lives in the building illegally; he came up during the last band with a FIRE EXTINGUISHER and sprayed the whole hall outside the practice space where the show was to drive everyone out. I looked up at one point and saw nothing but what looked like smoke in the hall, so we bolted out to get out — and I realized it was some sort of chemical which scared me even more.

I did have the presence of mind to grab the beer, though.

Tonight is the annual Poets’ Asylum auction at the Java Hut. I’m putting my old, battered yet serviceable twelve string into the pool of available items. There will be many others. C’mon down.

Tomorrow I’m busy all day, so likely won’t update until tomorrow night late or Tuesday morning.

See ya ’round…

Tonight’s entertainment will consist of steaks on the grill followed by beer and punk rock in a warehouse.

Flight and room are booked for Austin. I’m getting in late Monday night so I’ll be around on Tuesday.

Yay!

I’m behind on my political poetry of late.

I’m assuming Bush is still President because I can still smell brimstone, so I’m also assuming that all those poems we’ve written about him still haven’t succeeded in getting him out of office.

How about the revolution? Is it still not being televised? I bet A & E would pay big bucks for the rights to that if the revolution ever changes its mind.

I’ve officially licensed the poetry on this blog under a Creative Commons license as described below:

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.<!–

–>