Category Archives: uncategorized
briefest of updates
Drive to NYC: Like the old days, except without beer. Thanks, Sam.
Brooklyn: Bad Veggie Burgers, Crazy Gallery Owners, Great Cubanos, Trophy Showing, Great reading, Fictional ceviche, Amazing cheesecake.
Drive home: Like the old days, except without police searches. Thanks, Sam.
Thanks to those who showed up: host Susan Chenelle, azureflame, geminipoet. dura_luxe and Erik, eliel_lucero, drgeorge aka Sam the Shotgun Rider, Marty McConnell, Patrick Rosal, Barbara Newsome, and all and sundry whose names I’ve forgotten or don’t know. (If an lj person was there i didn’t mention, speak up!)
dead_kitty, I missed you. Next time, then?
lowhumcrush, I missed you too. A lot. So very much. Don’t hurt me!
seracy, thank you for the totally sweet and amazing phone call!!!! We need to talk soon.
mahoganybrowne, sorry — it just got too late and we had a long drive ahead of us. i need to try and book a feature at the Nuyo soon — it’s been a couple of years at least. we’ll get together soon, promise.
i’m feeling a tad better. Yesterday met with therapist and we made a small meds adjustment. Seemed to help, although i’m getting tired of adjusting all the time — still, as this progresses i suppose it can’t be helped.
Sorry, indeed, to scare folks. More later, ok? Gimme a day or two to think.
Onward.
T
walking
a wise friend of mine once said that if you think you’re headed in the right direction, keep walking.
well, i think it’s time i stopped, at least for a bit.
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if you’re coming to the NY show, i will see you tonight. Words of Wisdom reading at the Spoken Words Cafe, 226 4th Avenue, Park Slope, Brooklyn, around 8:00 start. Open Mic followed by three 20 minute features: Barbara Newsome, Patrick Rosal, me. Right now, that’s the order.
after, i’ll either be heading out for ceviche with geminipoet and eliel_lucero and who knows who else from the Acentos crew and beyond, AND/OR heading down to the Nuyo for a bit. hey, mahoganybrowne — what time is that slot you asked me about?
then, back to town for whatever’s next.
i’ll have my faithful road companion drgeorge with me, as in the olden days.
this trip means a lot to me. i hope to see you there.
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also: if you need me while i’m in the city: cell # 5 oh eight – 9 four two – 4 one two four, k?
burning bridges
leaves falling,
air cooling, scent of
burning bridges.
he is not ready
to give up
yet.
he’ll give it until the weekend,
long enough to let another storm blow through,
and he’ll wait to see what’s still standing
before he lights his last match.
analysis (9-26-05)
finally i have determined that
what it has meant to me
to live by poetry
is that i long ago gave up feeding
my bones in favor of
my eyes and ears
and when i eventually needed the bones
all i could do was hear me crumble
and see me fail and fall
but the view on the way down was perfect
my slow collapse resolved me beautifully
into a helpless cautionary tale
get thee to the gym
and give up the pose
while you still can kids
no one with any sense that they might have a choice
should ever have to do the things
you need to do for this to be your life
honestly
living by poetry is a load of crap
and you are better off without it
leave it to those of us
who are dragged to it
kicking and sobbing
leave it to the dead-eyed ones
the sharp-eared ones who give up
form for function
the ones who are called
to fail at living
in favor of noticing living
the last long way down
road after road has been
hard on my feet.
long stretches of slim shoulders
that fell off into ravines.
falling rocks. rumble of thunderstorms
miles away but not far enough off to disregard,
frequent flooding,
and no overhangs beneath which to shelter.
most steps felt like staggers
and most of those felt like sins.
but i’m sitting now above a valley
that looks like it might slope
more gently down. i see smoke over there
by a silver oxbow.
there is such an urge to tuck my head
and roll breakneck down into
that place. i need that peace
so quickly and there are so many things
i need to say to whoever’s down there.
and god, my butchered feet hurt so much
i am bleeding into my chest.
_______________________________
for the New York Crowd
please, if you can, come to see the feature i’m doing in Park Slope, Brooklyn, on Wednesday night.
it’s at the Spoken Words Cafe, 226 4th Avenue, at the Words Of Wisdom reading hosted by Susan Chenelle. Open mic from 8-8:15 or so; we’re on after that.
I’m featuring with Barbara Newsome and Patrick Rosal.
Please come, it will mean a lot to me.
slept till noon again
for me, the hardest part of being mentally ill is the obsessive monitoring of every detail of my life, every tiny aberration from the “norm,” to see if it portends a breakdown or episode.
i think sometimes that it does me more harm than the episodes themselves. it’s so tiring.
i despair of ever feeling relaxed again. i worry myself into a state of disrepair that every word and gesture are signs of dysfunction, and that one day i’ll finally drive everyone i love away from sheer exasperation with me.
i’m not depressed right now — just tired of being myself with no hope of ever being otherwise.
this insomnia in patches,
in which i rise and sleep alternately, leads to bizarre repetitive practices.
such as the checking and rechecking of news from the bbc via rss feed.
finding this item there, i went to cnn to see what they had to say and found a more complete story, so here it is:
http://www.cnn.com/2005/LAW/09/24/fbi.puerto.rico.ap/index.html
i confess, i did not recognize the name. i usually keep track of this stuff, but i am shamefully unschooled on the nationalist movement in Puerto Rico.
i shall remedy that.
back to slumber, then…
Dark Matter 