Category Archives: uncategorized

Can I just say

one more time how much I loathe Jim Morrison, his poetry, and the Doors in general?

In fact, how many rock stars are also good poets? Patti Smith, I guess. I don’t think of Leonard Cohen as a “rock” star, so he doesn’t count. I like Dylan, but I never got into more than a smidgen of his non-musical output.

Who else?

Brickbats awaited. Begin.

ETA, 11:45 AM Sunday:

Boy, whatta lotta comments.

Here’s my thing: I’m talking mostly about people who fancy themselves poets and who also publish books of poetry in addition to their recorded musical work.

I dislike the Doors because I dislike the Doors. I shouldn’t have mixed my indifference toward the Doors’ music into my deep and abiding dislike of Morrison in particular.

I stand by the rest of my opinions. Again, it’s NOT because I like or dislike the work of any of those people mentioned by y’all.


friday night

I have figured out my next tattoo, and will get it before Austin depending on the news I get next week.

No, I’m not telling.


Job Interviews and such

Yesterday’s interviews went well. I won’t go into details, other than to say I should know something by the end of next week.

I asked the recruiter about next steps on the way out the door, and she said, “Well, the hiring manager wants to see a couple more people, because you’re the only candidate she’s seen, although I’d really hoped to have this wrapped up today…” I figure that’s a good sign.

I’m going to be bold and ask for a start date of August 21…giving me a week after I come back from Nats. Think it’ll fly? Never hurts to ask.

In other news I’m loving my new amp. It’s just a practice amp — a Vox DA15 — but it’s preloaded with effects that can be customized. i’m having fun, and liking the new guitar more and more.

Saturday night I was at a party where I got to jam acoustically with a bunch of guys who were WAY better than I am. It was fun — we did stuff by X, the Pogues, and a variety of other stuff. (The acoustic “Immigrant Song,” though, I sat out. The less said the better.) I acquitted myself passably and gained a great deal of confidence in the meantime.

I would also like to point out that I’m not typing this at the end of a long night of insomnia, but after a good night’s sleep and an early waking.

More later.


I’ve got job interviews this afternoon and a doctor’s appointment in a couple of hours, so this particular posting binge is coming to an end.

You know what this country’s political discourse needs more of? Cognitive dissonance. Both the right and the left are too comfortable with their preconceptions.

i’m going out and getting a “Support The Troops” ribbon and a peace sign for the car. I’ll get a “Pro-Choice” bumper sticker and paste it on next to one that reads “Clergy.”

Any other ideas? How can we promote cognitive dissonance that can challenge the prepackaging of political belief?


restraint

i am on the bed
with each wrist tied to the headboard
and each ankle tied to the footboard
with a blindfold over my eyes

this is the first time
that i am not
the one who ties the knots
not the doer but the one being done

all i have to do now
is be
and i’m terrified that i
will fail at it

how will i know
i’m doing this right
when i can do nothing
except experience it

the prospect of
hours and hours
of being unable
to act

while the window fan
blows hot air over my skin
and things happen
that i can’t see

she draws something soft
across my chest
she rubs something sticky
on my thighs

i can’t breathe
it’s all too pleasant
too much
i might cry

hours and hours
of being unable to act
i may never get
used to this

but for now
let being
supplant doing
there is so much to learn


4th of July

two flags
three houses apart
same wind
one flaps
the other lies dead
against its pole

i don’t think
it means anything more than
what looks like a steady wind
that should blow all flags the same way
sometimes isn’t

i’ve never spoken
to the neighbors
who own these flags

i’m buying a flag myself
tomorrow
two flags in fact
one old glory
one with a peace sign

i’ll hang them
on the same pole
and see what happens
see how each of them moves

the dead flag just snapped out straight
as if it has something to prove


German

He announces that the poem
he’ll be reading is a gift
from the ancient ones
unveiling the dangers of the coming
ultrafascism.
Then he begins in German
and if he could speak German
at anything more
than a freshman level
we might find
less menace to his voice.
Instead the elementary cadence
marches uninflected
over art into history.
We catch snips of words
and phrases, some in English:
holy war,
Taleban,
Allah,
Jehovah,
Freemasons,
KGB.

We shift in our seats,
startle when he reaches
under his shirt. Nothing
is forthcoming but no one
relaxes. His voice rises
to a near shout. He concludes
with English: “man cannot destroy
the earth, he is of the earth.” We
are not comforted, we who are in
this room full of smart people terrified by
a strange man reading a bad poem
in halting German. But when he is done
we applaud, looking around to see
who is applauding, who is not, who sees us
applauding.


happy birthday, america

Weekend update:

playing catch, playing pool, new amp, drinking, smoking, fireworks, poetry, beer, band names, shopping, laying about, playing, visit someone in hospital.

I promise a return to coherence soon.


Recent reading:

I just finished reading (in like two days) the new book by Ron Suskind, “The One Percent Doctrine,” which is an inside view of the war on terror and the bizarre policy that drives its conduct: the idea, formulated by Dick Cheney, that a one percent possibility that something might happen should be dealt with and responded to as if it were a certainty.

So if a piece of information gleaned from research and surveillance MIGHT have a one percent bit of credibility to it, the Administration’s policy (known in the inner circles but never voiced in public) is that they will hit it with all resources available.

A tip from an informant in Cairo suggests that a “sleeper cell” might exist in New York, or was it Philadelphia, and they might have a member who might have met bin Laden once and maybe they were in the vicinity of al-Qaeda’s training camps when it happened? Round up the guy and all his relatives.

Add in the bureaucratic infighting, the struggle between the career analysts and the policy makers, and the sheer volume of information being collected, and you have the roots of our current state of perpetual fear out for all to see.

It’s a good read, if not a particularly well written one — Suskind uses a sort of breathless narrative that I think was probably a sincere attempt to not bog readers down in a technically obtuse quagmire of details — and I would recommend it to anyone looking for some clarity on the mess.

I bought the book after listening to Suskind on NPR. During the call in section of the show, a woman called in to say (sarcastically) that she thought the policy was great. She went on to wonder how our responses to things like Katrina and global warming would have been different if the same thinking had prevailed there. Interesting and sobering thought, no?


Please explain:

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.


Original (draft)

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.


end construction

after much thinking
i have determined
that knowing things
is impossible

all there is
is feeling things

i thought i knew
how to move forward
and i see now
it was fear driving flight

i thought i knew
my guitar and my flute
now i see
i was yearning to reproduce
memories

residue
is what
i build on
stacking bricks one upon another
to create what i think is solid
and grounded

though every brick
is hollow


naked in a room

the woman
raised her T-shirt
behind the poet

everyone saw it
no one
said a word

it didn’t matter — after all
there was more nakedness
onstage than off


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


Never mind the pig Latin version of “Howl…”

I’ll make you watch this over and over.

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

Word to your sensei, g.