I haven’t slept for about 36 hours now…I think it’s about the re-introduction of Prozac to the drug regimen, and I think it will wear off, but…

I couldn’t watch the State of the Union last night because I couldn’t sit still long enough to concentrate on it.

I used to be able to sit and make connections among the crap he spewed and see how it all fit because I was so up on everything.

Now, I just wanna scream.

And I’ve got another day of the 2 day class I’m training tomorrow. Which is why I’m not around much right now.

Thank God I’m working with another trainer, who knows what’s going on and keeps me on track, bless her.

I really am ok, maybe even a bit better; still it’s the teeth grinding side effects of this shit that get you.

Grrr…

I have a confession to make.

I have barely been following the election so far, beyond a vague and disorganized support (read, checkbook support and comments at lunch) for Kucinich.

I know this makes me a bad person. Or at least, a typical American.

It’s also so unlike me. I’m one of those guys who has a huge activist background, and involvement in electoral politics was always a piece of that.

Truth is, I haven’t been able to focus for longer than half an hour on anything in so many months, I feel like I’m completely out of the loop.

This is disturbing to me. It reminds me of the combination of circumstances that made me drop out of my Amnesty International work years ago, when I couldn’t do much more than focus on my navel and my sorrow for more than a few minutes at a time.

My therapist, knowing this, has asked me if the general air of dread in the country has contributed to my depression; she even is pushing the idea that I’m undergoing some kind of delayed reaction to the stress I dealt with on 9/11 and in the weeks following, especially all those weeks of “travel education” (read: grief counseling/shouting matches) I ran for all the folks here at work who lost friends and colleagues. Sessions I wasn’t really qualified to run, but which I jumped in and did like a good soldier, because, you know, I’m like that.

I don’t know the answer. I do know that half serious job offer in Toronto is looking good.

At any rate, the new drugs do seem to be having some mild effect at the moment; I’m trusting that will pick up shortly, increase with the rising dosages, and my concentration levels will come back up to speed.

Then I might be able to partake in democracy and debate more readily.

Imagine that: political fervor renewed by prescription.

Don’t you wish it was that easy? I know I do.

The punk anthology I just received for Christmas includes a book with the usual critical puffery.

In it, however, is this observation: that when “punk” considered itself a “movement”, it allowed for a great range of individual styles and expressions under its umbrella; but when it began to act like a “genre” it ossified, and you end up with pop punk and Maximum RnR fanaticism.

It strikes me that it’s not the most original insight, but that doesn’t make it less valid; it also strikes me that you could comfortably insert the word “slam” in place of “punk” and not damage the truth of the statement too much.

Updated, as it was on the slam list earlier today.

This is a REPOST, with a couple of significant edits, of an earlier post regarding submissions to the Worcester Review’s performance poetry edition, scheduled to be published and available for February of 2005. I hope it answers some of the questions I’ve received backchannel.

PLEASE discard any previous communication, as this one has the most current information. I am bolding the changes for your reference.

Again: don’t hesitate to e-mail me for more information, forward this anywhere you think it needs to be seen, and PLEASE SUBMIT!!!!

T

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I’ve got the new medications right in front of me.

No major changes…for now; dosages adjusted and a shift in timing…for now; a plan to ramp up slowly over the next 4 weeks with existing meds. The new guy is cautious, wants to tweak existing things to see the result and work from there.

But once we see how that goes…there may be big things in store farther down the line. My diagnosis has shifted from cyclothymia to bipolar II, with the emphasis increasing on the depressive side of the cycle; and that implies a shift, eventually, toward Lamictal, Zyprexa, and Depacote.

Lovely. More weight gain in store.

On the other hand, the new doctor is really really good…and surprise, he’s made a specialty of really getting the link between creative ability and this illness. Has read all the various memoirs and books of essays, and runs a group for depressives in creative fields.

I’m still scared, but I think this bodes well for the future.

Here we go:

1. The trip down: quick and uneventful. Left Framingham at 1:30, and was comfortable ensconced on a bar stool at the club by 5:45. That included 2 stops — once for coffee, once for pisscall — and half an hour trying to find a garage that had room for me.

2. Everybody and their distant relatives showed up! aurorabell was a great host; mstegosaurus was there, as was loudpoet, dura-luxe, new lj friend lordrexfear, half of twosnoos behind the bar, Taylor, Roger, Lynne, Oscar Bermeo, Fish, Edward Garcia, Eric Guerreri, Rich Villar, George McKibbens on the door…wow. Much drunken revelry ensued…

3. The open mike was s’alright. A Japanese film crew was filming it for some sort of documentary. Taylor’s new poem about high school history class fantasies was pretty funny…ditto Shappy’s searing political screed on George Bush and Star Wars. (I kid here, I’m a kidder…it was damn funny, though.)

4. The set I did was short and a real mix…

Getting Ahead
Song of the Twirling Accountants
Cindy Moses
Suicide Notes
Political Art
DIY

and it was pretty well received, I thought. Great sound system, and a cool experience…really enjoyed myself.

5. The slam was…a slam. With all that entails. I leave it to others to chime in.

6. Oh, it was SO good to catch up with these people, most of whom I haven’t seen since Nats!

7. The drive home: a bit slower, but similarly uneventful.

Thanks everyone who came out…let’s do it again!!!!

I’m in great mood…because of course last night but also because today is NEW MEDS DAY!!!

I feel something akin to hope again.

I’m home, everyone.

More tomorrow.

T

Gotta post the column for Friday and hit the sack…

see all ya’ll from NY tomorrow night…and the rest of you, I’ll hit this again on Friday.

Wish me luck.

T

also known as aurorabell, you get to see me as I truly am:

Scary.

In the next 48 hours, I must:

— post this week’s column this afternoon
— host my SPEAK reading tonight (c’mon down, the theme is “the dark”)
— finalize my set for Urbana tonight after the reading
— teach a class tomorrow morning, 9 till 12:30
— drive to NYC (ALONE!!! thanks, everyone… ;-D) tomorrow afternoon
— do a kickass feature at the BPC at 8:00 tomorrow night
— drive back to MA, alone

You’ll forgive me if I run…

This is why I hate this condition:

http://www.playbill.com/news/article/83750.html

If he is gone, he’ll be another notch on depression’s hilt.

Dammit.

I know I’m a huge prophet of doom and gloom when it comes to the state of poetry, especially in my home town of Worcester … so it delights me to say that while listening last night and at the Youth Slam on Thursday, I’m finally realizing that there are some REALLY GOOD poets coming up from the ranks.

mstegosaurus‘s and akamuu‘s recent cheerleading about Worcester has made me re-examine some of my pessimism. Thanks, guys…

Apart from known-quantity-getting-even-better androidlustre, we’ve got the ever interesting Raphael (and his father Larry ain’t bad either — someone suggested they could be a slam tag team), Nick Davis, Vo, and several others.

Time for me to get back on my game, I think… 😉

Now, if we could get a few more women involved…

I read “Suicide Notes” at the Asylum tonight, came home to find my wife watching a movie about a man who can’t bring himself to open the suicide note his wife left behind.

He is addicted to huffing gas.

This is the second movie I’ve watched this weekend that includes gas huffing scenes. The first one centered around a gas huffing man who committed suicide without leaving a note.

It took place on an Indian reservation.

The first poem in the Fugue State poems I’m working on includes the words “Suicide” and “Indian reservation”.

I just received my last Xmas present…My wife gave me the Rhino “No Thanks!” 70s punk boxed set.

I have most of this stuff on vinyl, of course, and much of it on CD as well, but it’s nice to have it all in one place; although where the Sex Pistols have disappeared to in all this is hard to fathom…and Boston’s hot Seventies scene is woefully underrepresented. Where the hell is DYS, for instance? Or the Real Kids, or the Neighborhoods, or SS Decontrol, or…

Ah well, plenty to kvetch about on any compilation which bills itself as definitive.

Nonetheless, feast your eyes on this track listing…

1.
I was born in Fort Dix, NJ, at the base hospital on March 3, 1960. This was the same day Elvis Presley was being mustered out of the service, and he was undergoing some sort of exit physical in the same building…so yes, dear friends, I was entering the building as Elvis was leaving the building.

2.
I spoke fluent Italian until I was 5 years old.

3.
Published my first poem when I was 9. “Highlights” magazine. I was hooked.

4.
I won a scholarship to college based on my writing skills. I never spent it all, since I dropped out halfway through my junior year.

5.
I was accepted at Harvard, Dartmouth, Brown, and UMass. I went to UMass. I heard the parties were better. This explains the previous entry.

6.
One of my earliest performance poetry experiences took place when I was asked to stall for time prior to a concert because the lead singer of the band was too fucked up to go on stage. The band was Flipper.

7.
I quit smoking when I was 22. I was smoking three and a half packs a day when I quit. That was 21 years ago.

8.
I saw the Ramones in the Seventies, dammit. Ditto Blondie, Devo, the Talking Heads, the Pretenders, the Clash, Elvis Costello, and way too many others both famous and infamous…I really miss that time.

9.
As a concert security goon — yes, you read that right, I was one of those guys whose job it was to start, um, stop fights and such — I met everyone from Frank Sinatra to REM to Sammy Hagar.

10.
I’ve been married for 19 years, and with my wife for over 22 years.

11.
I live on the street I grew up on, next door to my folks, in the house I grew up in.

12.
I am allergic to mosquitoes, although not as badly as I was when I was a kid.

13.
I collect: combat knives, guitars, Tarot card decks.

14.
I’ve seen a ghost. Yes, I’m positive. No, I won’t tell you about it.

15.
I put “poetry” down as my religion when it’s asked for on forms.

16.
I was a Boy Scout.

17.
I sang in barbershop quartets, madrigal choirs, and assorted other ensembles throughout and long past high school.

18.
I’ve had a recurring premonition that I would die at 7:19 PM on Dec. 19 of some unknown year since I was twelve years old. I do believe it will come true.

19.
I did way too much: cocaine, acid, and speed.

20.
I didn’t do enough: loving.