Poets who’ve grown up in slam tend to have less sense of themselves as poets within the long arc of poetic history. Less vision for the future, less ambition for universality, less urge to strive to reach/surpass poetic masters past and present.

It’s a personal observation, not a very scientific one, and I’m not sure whether it is a negative or a positive or a neutral.

Discuss.

Recall, always, that a belief in certainty and security is for suckers. You’re never safe. If you think you’re safe, you’re in even more danger.

Live armed and prepared and find your moments of joy between the wars. Humans were made for struggle; we thrive on it as long as we accept it as our lot.

If moving with the Tao is moving in a river, it’s a red one.

let’s see how you do.

For the record, I think Nancy Pelosi has already ruled out impeachment proceedings.

Cast my vote for a Democratic gov/ltg here in MA because the one time I met Deval Patrick he really impressed me as a different kinda politician. I’ve been supporting his candidacy ever since — that was back before the primaries, before he was ever given a realistic shot at winning.

I did my usual voting for Green/Rainbow candidates as well. I think my vote for Patrick was the first time in years I’ve voted for a major party candidate. I’ve never voted for a Democrat OR Republican for President, ever, not since I first voted in 1980. Cast my vote over the years for everything from Greens — not for Nader, though — to Communists to various independent candidates. I’m a firm believer in the quixotic, and a firm supporter of voting for what I believe rather than for the lesser of two evils, or for a candidate I don’t dig just to keep another one from getting elected.

Of course, being from MA I have the luxury of doing this because we’re such a solidly Democratic state that my vote will do little. Monopolies suck, no matter whose monopoly they are. But my vote will help keep the Green Party on the ballot for another election cycle — they have to garner 5% or better to do so. I think that’s important. Very important.

If I lived in a more contested state, I’m not sure how I’d feel — but I suspect I’d do much the same thing a lot of the time.

I’m off to vote, which I frequently do against my better judgment…

Someone I knew once used to say, “I never vote. It only encourages them.” A lot of times, I think he was right.

But I always vote, because somewhere in me is a tiny optimist struggling to get out, and it’s one of the few times he gets to stick his head up for air.

I think in another country and another place, I’d be a bomb thrower, a gunslinger. Thomas Jefferson’s stated belief that democracy needs to be renewed with bloodshed every twenty years or so (and yes, he was talking about the US) resonates with me…sometimes, the issues we deal with seem to me to be best dealt with with iron and blood, not a paper ballot or a campaign sign.

But I’m not that guy. I’m an American, a sensibly shod fat guy in need of a shave who writes poetry and thinks too hard about things and hopes like hell he’s wrong most of the time.

So I’ll vote, and let my inner optimist breathe, and leave the dream of smashing the state for another time.

But I’ll have a knife in my pocket, just in case.

I had a fairly bad weekend, 90% of which was caused by self-inflicted angst and resultant crapweasel behavior.

Most of that melted away last night with a cool set by Luke Warm Water at the Hut, followed by a serious amount of drinking that ended (for me) in the wee hours with Luke and me putting away most of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. (I think Luke stayed up to polish it off after I staggered off to bed.) Good to talk with him — I haven’t had such a satisfying chat about Native issues and just plain old chat with a rez twist in years.

I forget sometimes that while I’ve never lived on the rez, involvement with Native issues and cultural stuff was a major part of my life for many years. If my dad gave me anything, it was that sense of pride and stubborn ownership of my heritage that I forget sometimes.

Growing up as a child of an interracial marriage was obviously huge, and while I personally try to identify myself almost always as “biracial,” someone who has the experience of living between categories, I have to admit that it’s nice on occasion to just be “Italian” or just be “Mescalero” and have the whole problematic issue melt away for a while. Does that make sense?

I find it nice to get that stuff vaildated now and again by someone like Luke, who I found I could relate to on a level I don’t often get access to.

Woke up to a minor headache and more personal crapweasel behavior, which I think I’ve finally gotten out of my system.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I read a revised version of “Mission Statement” last night that contained the new poem “Open Mouth” in its entirety. I also read it in something slightly different than my usual breakneck style. It felt good.

I’m tired of doing oodles of new poems and not finding ways to make older work — well-known older work and overlooked poems alike — fresh again. The relentless pursuit of the new at the expense of the old is an American disease, and one I don’t wish to succumb to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quick blurbs:

— tomorrow night the 7th at Gotpoetry, the humble and hilarious Mike McGee (come see him, but make sure you vote first)

— next Monday the 13th, I’ll be performing as a feature (by myself for a change) at the Stone Soup Poets in Cambridge

— next Tuesday the 14th, it’s the return of Jim’s Fall (Faro and I) to Gotpoetry Live, where the set will be filmed for a DVD

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

C-ya, all…

I’m going to the airport to pick up some johnnyappledog.

Anyone need anything?

I’ve become incredibly opinionated in these middle years, and I’m less afraid than ever about letting that be known.

I suspect it’s going to lose me some more friends, as it already has.

I’m torn: I’ve always been good at diplomacy, but it seems less useful to me these days. I don’t want to be known entirely as a grouch or a curmudgeon, but I also know that that role has value in a community.

The older I get, the more I think of myself as being on some “heyoka” path — the cursed and necessary being whose skewed vision is crucial to the understanding of the un-skewed vision; the exception that proves (in its original sense of “tests”) the rule.

Hubris? Maybe. Maybe; perhaps probably. I find myself less and less interested in how I am seen and thought of. I can only do what I do.

at Gotpoetry was pretty good. A small crowd, due no doubt to the holiday, but a nice set by Brett Rutherford that included some of his Cthulu mythos work and other spooky stories (the one about the haunted sex toys was particularly nice).

I did have to speak to the crowd after an incident in which a poet loudly insulted a couple of patrons from the stage for being “rude” because they were ordering a little too loudly for his taste, and it threw off his concentration.

Arrogance.

What I told the audience — and him of course — was my point of view on these things: first, that too many poets have been tortured and killed around the world for us to be pissing and moaning as much as we do when something discomforts us in our pursuits. Fucking trivialities. Grow up.

Second — and maybe I was too harsh speaking as a host but I don’t care that much, frankly — I said that we are not owed attention, but we must earn it — and if you aren’t getting it, perhaps it’s because your poetry isn’t earning it for you. (I mean that, too; the audience’s duty to be polite has to be balanced by our effort to communicate with them.)

Rough and likely unnecessary. I did qualify it by making a point that I wasn’t saying it directly to him or about him, but about all of us. I doubt it made that much difference to him one way or another. I’m not even sure he was listening at that point. He almost nver listens to anyone else anyway, which is the greatest irony of all, even if a completely predictable one .

as it’s pretty much the only part of the country where I don’t have some family.

I was born in NJ, raised here, my mom’s from here, my dad is from a New Mexico reservation by way of a Georgia residential school. Got relatives here, the Deep South, the Midwest, and the Southwest.

They should have hit the “ant/aunt” divide too.

Also: the meme doesn’t correct for “foreign accents.” Where would an English-speaking immigrant from Central America fall on this scale, for instance?