Thanks to all of you for the feedback on whether or not you think I’m arrogant.
(And hey, keep it up If you’ve got more.)

As I said, I don’t believe I am; but that being one of the criteria for arrogance, I figured I’d better check it out.

I got asked, backchannel, whether something specific drove this query.

The short answer is “yes”. The longer answer is “of course”.

Seriously…I guess I don’t feel like I trust myself to know myself. I think I do stuff that’s clearly understandable, at least from my viewpoint; but I don’t think I fully understand my impact on people.

Now, in regard to arrogance — I don’t think I’ll be likely to change much of that behavior; but I ought to know what it may do to people, and understand how that may work against my own self interest at times.

There are other things that I think I need to be more upfront about with folks.

I talk an awful lot about my mental health for instance; at least in part I do this because I am tired of society NOT talking about mental health issues in any sort of a reasonable and productive way. I figure familiarity breeds more comfort.

But now I think I may discuss meds and therapy and depression too often for the effect to be valuable. I think I come off as whiny, or self-serving; too much the victim.

I have been thinking that I may just move into a straight poetry-only mode here on LJ; I think I trust poetry more than I trust my ability to speak of myself.

For someone who’s said all his life that he was a creative writer not limited by his own experiences, not doomed to telling facts and facts alone, I find myself in the awful quandary of feeling that I have no inner life to speak of outside of my poetry.

I am somewhere in there, and I can’t see me. Frankly, I am a little scared by that.

Thus, the feedback request: what am I doing that doesn’t help me be connected to others? That’s all. Just looking for a lifeline. Someplace to stand and throw from.

I’m trying to come to grips with some stuff, and could use your help.

Do I come across as arrogant to you? In person or here?

I’m really asking this to learn about myself.

See, I don’t think I am arrogant, but I know I feel somewhat aloof at times, especially when I’m in crowds; it’s kind of a defense mechanism that I think is getting stronger as I get older. I can see where this might result in behavior that comes across as arrogant.

But I’m unsure of other things I may or may not be doing, and I would like to hear about them. Seriously, and not defensively.

I’m trying to be a better person when it comes to ensuring that my words match my deeds and vice versa. I would appreciate your help.

Thanks. And don’t be shy, ok?

I’ll be gone all day tomorrow on various errands so not much chance I’ll update again till Tuesday.

Please — if you’re in Western MA, come on out to Westfield, and see my feature at Jester’s Cafe on Monday night. I’m planning to do pretty much all the new stuff, and stay away from most of the slam voice things…

and I could use the moral support; although I like Jester’s, it can be an iffy crowd.

Anyway…signing off.

T

You have GOT to be kidding me. Really.

They did say they turned it down, though.

I guess. I mean, who knows?

You know, with “don’t ask, don’t tell” and all.

Read of the idiocy here.

It seems to me that people can talk academic theory till they’re blue in the face…but in the long run, the ones who ignore it and crash ahead on their own do the best work over all.

Please discuss. First use of the word “meme” in its original sense merits careful scrutiny.

i was alright today.

no, but i’m glad you asked.

just a note to everyone: i like to be asked. not here, necessarily, but in general.

some have a tendency to stay away when i’m particularly nutzoid.

i don’t know if it’s fear, stigma, or anxiety about making it worse. or sheer boredom.

some have been traumatized (strong word, that) by my antisocial behavior — i have become more solitary than ever of late.

it doesn’t mean that i don’t want to talk to you. it may take a bit to respond, but…i do.

please don’t call — email is LESS confrontational. i can take it at my pace.

thanks. second comment to follow.

I will admit I had the shakes for a bit.

I spent a good portion of the day cleaning my cellar. I’m full of snot from all the dust but I feel somewhat better than I have been — a combination of accomplishment and physical fatigue will do that for ya everytime.

On my way home from work yesterday I picked up a collection of writing called “Half and Half” about being biracial/bicultural. I’m looking forward to plunging into this.

Also, picked up a thrilling 2 CD set — “Thelonius Monk: Live at the Jazz Workshop.” Complete recordings of 2 nights in 1964. It is sublime.

Periodically I recall what a huge Monk fan, and indeed jazz fan, I am at heart. My punk awakening was paired with my first exposure to Anthony Braxton, Eric Dolphy, and so many others.

Both Max Roach and Archie Shepp were teaching at UMass when I was there, and the lectures they gave (as opposed to their TAs’ lectures) were EVENTS. Everyone tried to get in, because they usually played.

I was fortunate enough to be friends with a music student who was part of a small group of Max’s favored pupils, who occasionally got to drink beers with him at the campus bar, the Blue Wall, after their seminar. I went along once. Couldn’t get the courage up to speak directly with him. I did hand him a pitcher, though.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Shameless plug time: features on the way…

Monday, Jan 17: Westfield, Ma, at Jester’s Cafe. 7:00 or so.

February 10-12: I’ll be at as much of iWPS as I can manage with school and all.

March 30: Tentative — Bronx Museum of Art, NYC.

April 28: Where your Mouth Is series, Worcester Artist Group, Worcester. Me, Regie Gibson, and musician Patty Keough.

More to come — stay tuned.

I was just thinking about this based on another post…

What books did you read as an adolescent that were life changing for you?

For me, there were three: “The Temple of Gold” by William Goldman, which made me really think about the nature of friendship; “johnny got his gun” by Dalton Trumbo, which began some of my political education; and “Soul On Ice” by Eldridge Cleaver, which continued it.

Anyone?

1. No suit today. I have discovered, pleasantly enough, that my best suit doesn’t look right on me since I lost weight.

2. Also, no cufflinks — all my French cuff shirts are at the dry cleaners.

I am in a conservative starched blue shirt, a really sharp tie, and black tropical weight wool pants.

As of now, six people have asked me why I’m not dressed in denim. Six people got an earful.

Just another day in the corporate mine.

Ok. Help me out here.

The company I work for is designating tomorrow at home office and all weekend in the stores as “dress down day” — to kick off a Tsunami Relief campaign.

Usually, when retailers do this, the method is you pay a certain amount to get a pass to “dress down” — in our case, at Home Office, jeans and sneakers. (We’re the last company in the US not to have gone casual, I swear.)

We’re not doing this. Rather than making anyone feel the peer pressure of donating money for the privilege of dressing down, we’re just letting people fly the denim as a way of signaling our commitment to the relief effort. (Stay with me.)

The company’s donated a fairly sizable chunk of money, there will be voluntary donation opportunities around the building for the month. All well and good.

It’s this denim thing that’s getting to me.

See what’s happened is that there’s this real…festive atmosphere that’s developed around tomorrow. People talking about it, buzzing about it, wondering whether some women will be wearing inappropriate low-rise jeans, etc.

A little too festive for me. It’s offensive to me that the company’s created this “awareness kickoff” with this huge party-type thing. It seems a little bizarre, not entirely well thought out, and strangely out of touch with the scale of the disaster.

Am I overreacting?

ps: I’m wearing a suit tomorrow, by the way. With cuff links.

EDIT: by the way, i just locked this down. it occurred to me that i shouldn’t put it out there for anyone to see — more for the bad taste jokes than for the discussion proper. i know you guys well enough to know where your hearts are at — not everyone does.

In response to a request from ocvictor.

my One is one
i’m unafraid of — while the works
sometimes leave me breathless with
anxiety or awe
i am never so frightened
that i cannot see clearly past to
the new work

for static is not
the name of my One

in my house there are
real doubts and false certainties
that do not change
but the One moves among them and
while nothing disappears
it does diminish

for magic is not
the face of my One

the street exhales despair
when i step off the curb past
the unwanted who are sleeping
off the stale breath of the city
and the One hovers
warm above them with odd grace
dispensing free passes, relief,
hard soothsaying
and there is an explanation
i may not understand now
but believe i’ll
know someday

for deception is not
the face of my One

a woman holds herself strong
because there is a right
not to be simply a waiting vessel
and the pair who love well
love as the One loves
without qualification

and just when it seems that there is no One

when a passion play swallows a nation
a cross falls on a crescent
a crescent draws a bead on a cross
a star smashes a child
or a child bombs a star

the One says,

even as it is
pain or ecstasy,
just and cruel or
love and soft

even as it is, it is also not —
no state of being exists
that is blasphemous

my One
is not a limit

you know what we need?

another meme.

one that gives you a chance to name the five most important breaths you ever took. then post it in another’s mouth and they breathe them with you.

one where the titles of songs by your favorite bands become scars from bad friday nights and you post them in your eyes.

one where you get to ask everyone you know one crucial question and everyone you know answers in a language you don’t speak.

one where people circulate an empty template among themselves and curse its developer for forgetting to include instructions.

one where your name generates a personal deity who is all knowing and drunk with power.

one where you are classified by your hair, your eyes, and the misspelled gospels of your personality.

one where the people who see it go blind by choice.

one you can click past, confused and concerned, praying it’s not contagious. you come back to be sure. you come back to be sure. you come back to be sure.

you know what we need?

another meme.

one that gives you a chance to name the five most important breaths you ever took. then post it in another’s mouth and they breathe them with you.

one where the titles of songs by your favorite bands become scars from bad friday nights and you post them in your eyes.

one where you get to ask everyone you know one crucial question and everyone you know answers in a language you don’t speak.

one where people circulate an empty template among themselves and curse its developer for forgetting to include instructions.

one where your name generates a personal deity who is all knowing and drunk with power.

one where you are classified by your hair, your eyes, and the misspelled gospels of your personality.

one where the people who see it go blind by choice.

one you can click past, confused and concerned, praying it’s not contagious. you come back to be sure. you come back to be sure. you come back to be sure.

under available light that’s been
ladled onto your room like a slip on a cream-ware pot,
transparent across the floor and bed,
sometime after midnight

a once-foggy man
drops to his knees and confesses:
i am weary of the split i’ve fostered.
mend this. help me mend this. let’s mend this.

and so, he again
unveils
himself to you
a moment too soon.

he never has any unexpressed
thoughts. they are always the same.
he is never updated. he is
a discount store vase — thrown by rote, painted off-hand.

you push, once,
and he falls. the shatter
is almost a relief. you half expected
a soft plop.

when you lean to pick up the pieces,
you find him almost admirable now:
sharper edges. more interesting textures.
that yellow he was before

becomes easier to appreciate
when you can see it against
the red of the
original clay.

put him in a box.
close it tight against the sickly moon.
something inside is dead, or is not.
anything could happen now.

— SPEAK tonight: theme is “water.” penny_player is hosting in my absence.

— I will be absent because of my orientation for re-entry into school tonight.

— I will also most likely be absent from much of iWPS. While classes are supposed to be one weekend a month, they have scheduled two back to back weekends, each class running from 5-10 on Friday, 8-5 on Saturday, and 8-5 on Sunday. I am working on an alternative, but not holding out much hope.

— In general, I’m not holding out much hope. I had a horrendous day yesterday, almost no sleep last night, and I spoke on an emergency basis to my therapist; I fear they’re going to raise my meds again, or perhaps an in-patient visit is in order.

— It’s this scenario I’ve always dreaded: that I would slide further the older I get. For most people, this ends or levels off by the mid-40s. There’s a small minority who don’t get better; they almost invariably get worse.

— I head back to school, keep writing, keep making the attempt because there is nothing else to do, or rather the things there are to do are unacceptable.

But a day may come when that’s not enough reason to keep at it. When the options are ECT, or more hospital time, or more drugs, or stronger drugs, or…

I don’t know how to let go of myself as I’ve built me. I don’t know anymore how to retool for new realities. I am trying.

I am telling you this because I want it somewhere where people can see.

Please don’t offer any platitudes, any offers of help or sympathy or advice or wisdom. I don’t need more. I need me, now.

I need to figure out where I am in all this.