Head’s killing me. Damn pills.
I went off the deep end on someone yesterday instead of spending enough time educating as to why something was offensive. It’s not something I’m proud of. It was wrong. Sorry, Chelsey. I shouldn’t have done that.
What is wrong with me? I can’t get it together at all these days.
Feel like the only time I’m functional is on stage. Piss poor way to live.
What happens when that goes too?
Head’s killing me. Damn pills.
I went off the deep end on someone yesterday instead of spending enough time educating as to why something was offensive. It’s not something I’m proud of. It was wrong. Sorry, Chelsey. I shouldn’t have done that.
What is wrong with me? I can’t get it together at all these days.
Feel like the only time I’m functional is on stage. Piss poor way to live.
What happens when that goes too?
Westfield is usually a pretty good time, and tonight was no exception. Some good conversation afterwards.
Here’s the setlist:
Telephone Booth Poem #905 (cover, Pedro Pietri)
Unsent Letter to the CEO of Hooters (mine, not akamuu‘s)
Music for Funerals
Revisiting Roses and Violets
Late Night Thoughts While Listening to Fugazi
Getting Ahead
Home on Leave
Braid
Julie
Song for Shootings
Do It Yourself
30 minutes solid with minimal patter. Easily the weirdest set I’ve done in awhile; three premieres (Fugazi, Braid, Home on Leave) and mostly on page (with the cover, Getting Ahead, and DIY being the exceptions). Mostly new shit, obviously; and not especially uplifting, either…with a couple of exceptions.
No real theme tonight, except that I was trying to consciously work in unfamiliar territory — minimal prep and lots of responding in the moment to room dynamics.
I needed an out of the ordinary experience, felt like I got it. Hope the room did too.
Westfield is usually a pretty good time, and tonight was no exception. Some good conversation afterwards.
Here’s the setlist:
Telephone Booth Poem #905 (cover, Pedro Pietri)
Unsent Letter to the CEO of Hooters (mine, not akamuu‘s)
Music for Funerals
Revisiting Roses and Violets
Late Night Thoughts While Listening to Fugazi
Getting Ahead
Home on Leave
Braid
Julie
Song for Shootings
Do It Yourself
30 minutes solid with minimal patter. Easily the weirdest set I’ve done in awhile; three premieres (Fugazi, Braid, Home on Leave) and mostly on page (with the cover, Getting Ahead, and DIY being the exceptions). Mostly new shit, obviously; and not especially uplifting, either…with a couple of exceptions.
No real theme tonight, except that I was trying to consciously work in unfamiliar territory — minimal prep and lots of responding in the moment to room dynamics.
I needed an out of the ordinary experience, felt like I got it. Hope the room did too.
Revised — thanks, Stefan and Dawn. I read it tonight at my feature and it worked well.
HOME ON LEAVE
The whoosh-snap
of the rifle’s report dissolved
to a fastball’s thud
in my chest.
I only knew it was real
after it had happened.
The only way I knew that sound had been there
was by its immediate absence as I fell back.
This too:
my target
fell without making any sound.
He did not get up again.
I’ll be the feature at Jester’s Cafe tonight, out in the strangely appealing decaying Western Massachusetts milltown of Westfield. Reading starts at about 7:30 or so and proceeds apace. If you can make it out, c’mon by; I’m pretty sure I’m starting a manic phase, so it ought to be interesting.
One of the nice things about Jester’s is that the cafe is owned by and is part of a music store that has a reasonable if not particularly distinguished line of acoustic guitars which I can peruse prior to the event.
Heck, maybe I’ll even pick one up and blame the purchase on the impulse control issues so many of us with bipolar syndrome have.
Later for this. Right now, I have to go call the guy at the Bentley dealership back; something about credit approval.
Here’s a quickie/first draft, based on a writing exercise developed by Lynne Procope.
HOME ON LEAVE
It can best be described
this way:
the moment I knew everything
would be different forever was when the whoosh-snap
of the rifle’s report dissolved
into a fastball’s thud of pain in my chest,
and I realized that the sound of it and the feeling of it
were one and the same, and that
the only way I knew any of it was real
was after it had happened –
there was no sound while it was happening,
and the only way I knew the sound had been there
was by its immediate absence as I fell back. All that –
and of course
this too: my target
fell without making a sound of his own,
and he did not get up again.
Here’s a quickie/first draft, based on a writing exercise developed by Lynne Procope.
HOME ON LEAVE
It can best be described
this way:
the moment I knew everything
would be different forever was when the whoosh-snap
of the rifle’s report dissolved
into a fastball’s thud of pain in my chest,
and I realized that the sound of it and the feeling of it
were one and the same, and that
the only way I knew any of it was real
was after it had happened –
there was no sound while it was happening,
and the only way I knew the sound had been there
was by its immediate absence as I fell back. All that –
and of course
this too: my target
fell without making a sound of his own,
and he did not get up again.
Just a few notes on upcoming feature gigs…
Monday, May 3: Jester’s Cafe, Westfield MA, 7:30.
Monday, May 10: My niece’s high school honors English class. (Private, of course…)
Tuesday, June 1: Frantic Rabbit, somewhere in Worcester…I hope.
Monday, June 21: Xando, Baltimore, MD.
Tuesday, June 22: Art House, Newark, Delaware.
Friday/Saturday, July 16-17: Catskills Folk and Poetry Festival, Callicoon, NY(tentative)
Wednesday, August 4: Cantab Lounge, Cambridge, MA.
All these subject to change based on being locked up or dead or catatonic, of course.
Just a few notes on upcoming feature gigs…
Monday, May 3: Jester’s Cafe, Westfield MA, 7:30.
Monday, May 10: My niece’s high school honors English class. (Private, of course…)
Tuesday, June 1: Frantic Rabbit, somewhere in Worcester…I hope.
Monday, June 21: Xando, Baltimore, MD.
Tuesday, June 22: Art House, Newark, Delaware.
Friday/Saturday, July 16-17: Catskills Folk and Poetry Festival, Callicoon, NY(tentative)
Wednesday, August 4: Cantab Lounge, Cambridge, MA.
All these subject to change based on being locked up or dead or catatonic, of course.
Long day today.
Very long.
Please, PLEASE don’t ask about the local poetry issue, ok? I should have kept my mouth shut…when the time comes, if ever, I’ll deal with it. (Chances are, if you’re reading this, it doesn’t involve you.)
I’ll be absent from here for a few days…nothing’s wrong, just not going to be at the PC.
Take it easy.
Ever have one of those days where you feel self-destructive — not in the suicidal sense, but in the mood to do something that will cause a disaster just to watch the fun?
I’ve got a seriously cranky and fairly explosive local poetry issue chafing under my belt, but I do think the consequences of exposure of it are far worse than holding it in.
It’s like Poe’s story, “The Imp of the Perverse”, y’know?
Sometimes, though…
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ADDDENDUM:
Zero Point Zero tomorrow is just me goofing on vacation. Go have a snicker, if you like.
It’s right here, as of Friday AM: ZERO POINT ZERO
1. Go into your LJ’s archives.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
My sentence:
You know, time will grow you out of teen angst…but how long does it take to grow you out of adulthood?
1. Go into your LJ’s archives.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
My sentence:
You know, time will grow you out of teen angst…but how long does it take to grow you out of adulthood?
Good reading tonight.
Theme was “illusion”, and some interesting takes appeared in the mix.
We had a spectator! A woman from town who came just to listen. She was taken with the work Walt chose to read — poems by a friend of his with CP which were not bad — not great, but not bad.
I read a few Russell Edson poems, my own “Getting Ahead”, and Robert Frost’s “Fire and Ice” to end the night.
I like what Heather and Melissa read; Dave G read a great piece by Marj Hahne, Dave Mac (penny_player)was his usual sterling self.
I really want to offer Tom a feature at some point…but embarrassingly enough, I don’t know his last name. How did this happen?
I think I knew it at one point but have lost it.
Sucks to be me lately…
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I’ll be out and about a lot over the next few days, so don’t expect much here.
