I have nothing to say anymore about poetry.

I keep trying, but nothing comes out.

I know I have more to say, but somehow I’m more interested in writing poems than writing about poems.

I think I’m aiming toward ending my tenure as an essayist, soon…getting harder to come up with topics than don’t seem like a rehash of past ones.

I need some inspiration.

I need a drink, as well, but I’m not drinking these days — maybe there’s a connection.

Questions from blindlyinnocent

1. What is your biggest fear that you still have yet to face?

I have an unreasonable fear of being hanged by the neck. Needless to say, I fantasize about it frequently.

2. What does the face of your mother look like?

Small, old, careworn, and filled with consternation upon seeing her son.

3. Describe the happiest moment you have had in your life up until now.

Certain moments after making love have been pleasurable…resting, comfortable, not alone.

4. If you could go back to highschool and start over again, knowing everything you know now, would you do it? Keep in mind you would have to live through everything all over again. Why did you answer as you did?

Yes. Except I’d be bolder. Less afraid to raise hell.

I answered that way because I’m a sucker for do-overs.

5. Are you a spiritual person? If so, where is the most spiritual place for you? If not, why not?

Yes. I find my spiritual side onstage, in my office writing, or, speaking in a low voice to friends.

Or…when I’m breathing.

Zero Point Zero won’t be up until Friday night — I gotta sleep.

blindlyinnocent left me these questions to answer. The same goes for them…not tonight, but shortly.

1. What is your biggest fear that you still have yet to face?
2. What does the face of your mother look like?
3. Describe the happiest moment you have had in your life up until now.
4. If you could go back to highschool and start over again, knowing everything you know now, would you do it? Keep in mind you would have to live through everything all over again. Why did you answer as you did?
5. Are you a spiritual person? If so, where is the most spiritual place for you? If not, why not?

I think the worst part is
the sheer offhandedness of it —

in the sense of it happening suddenly, not in response
to something obvious like disaster or stormclouds, but as an accessory
to good times, a just-acquired bauble weighing you down, as if
no good time was good unless chained to sorrow. Then again,

I think the worst part of it is
the sheer offhandedness of it —

in the sense of emotional dislocation, much like being compelled to use an off-hand
in place of the accustomed one – reaching for the doorknob left-
handed and not right, brushing teeth backward, and melody and harmony
changed about so nothing sounds as it should. Of course,

I think the worst part of it is
the sheer offhandedness of it –

in the sense of severed hands. Banging red stumps
cruelly against the door, unable to fasten a bracelet,
brandishing the remnants of utility as if the memory of it alone
was enough to hold something.

Off hand, I would say the worst part of it is
the way your grip slips, regardless of the hold you use.

Sounds just about perfect…at least, as it would have been circa 1978.

Your Ultimate One Night Stand… by crispnite
LJ Username
Favorite animal
You invite over…
They bring…
You talk about…
You end up…	falling in love
Quiz created with MemeGen!

The weekend was uneventful — good time at the Cape; since I’m not drinking right now, I played bartender and made excellent Bloody Marys for folks using Ketel One; played extensively with a 6-month old Golden Retriever pup and generally did very little.

Def Poetry really bit the big one last night, with nods to Ruby Dee, Bonafide, and Besskepp for not making my half hour a total loss.

OK. One more thing.

Just saying this to put last week’s disastrous breakdown to bed: Yup, it was that serious. Yup, I was ready. Yup, I’d planned the method. (A dive from the balcony on the fifth floor, here at work. Picked my spot and everything.) Yup, I’d written the note. (Some of you saw it before I took it down.)

I thought I’d let you know, just because I feel like I owe you all a debt of gratitude – the realization that it was real, coupled with the quick responses from some of you regarding your alarm — yeah, that’s what stopped it.

I’m ok now. I stepped up some of my meds based on doctor’s recommendations, and while I’m not thrilled with how I’m feeling (the old flat affect effect), it’s better than a swan dive.

Thanks again.

I realize, now, that my resistance to using this more extensively in my writing is a form of denial. (I know — you’re thinking it’s all I talk about. You have no idea how many pieces get discarded out of sheer disgust.)

I may decide to do a series on dealing with this — an exorcism of sorts.

OK. No more for now. That’s about all I can deal with, and please, don’t worry too much — I said I’m safe, and I am. Promise.

Would I lie to you?

Gone for the weekend — skipping the antislam — bye. See you Monday at the earliest, I think.

The new Zero Point Zero is now up here — a commentary on poetry as a personal spiritual quest.

I had planned on a different column, but decided to postpone it until I felt better. This was a backup I’d started sometime ago — I looked it over and decided it was ok for posting.

Comment here, comment there, you can comment everywhere.

We’ll do something easy, to start. Meme from just_jeff.

NAME AN EXCELLENT:

Country song: Ring of Fire, Johnny Cash

Soul song: Try A Little Tenderness, Otis Redding (Monterey Pop version)

Blues song: Come On In My Kitchen, Robert Johnson

Rock song: Shook Me All Night Long, AC/DC

Acoustic/folky song: 1952 Vincent Black Lightning, Richard Thompson

Punk song: Search and Destroy, Stooges

Rap song: Fight the Power, Public Enemy

Song with a great lead vocal: Anything by Patsy Cline

Song with great harmony: This Boy, the Beatles

Song with great drumming/percussion: Sing Sing Sing, Gene Krupa paying as part of the Benny Goodman Orchestera, 1938 Spirituals to Swing Concert at Carnegie Hall

Song with great bass playing: The Real Me, The Who

Song with great acoustic guitar: Anything by Paco de Lucia

Song with great electric guitar: See No Evil, Television

Solo break in a song, any instrument: Saxophone, Illinois Jacquet, in Lionel Hampton’s Flying Home

Song with great piano/keyboard: My Favorite Things, John Coltrane (McCoy Tyner on piano)

Instrumental song: Miserlou, Dick Dale

Song with a great hook: Blitzkrieg Bop, Ramones

Overall rowdy feel: Bang On The Drum, Todd Rundgren

Lyric from a song that means a lot to you: “Life/What a mess/On the ladder of success/Where you take one step/And miss the whole first rung” — Bastards of Young, Replacements

Lyric that makes you laugh: “I wasn’t born as much as I fell out” — Lost In the Supermarket, the Clash (not sure why, by the way)

Album from the 60s: Interstellar Space, John Coltrane

Album from the 70s: Sex Pistols, Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols

Album from the 80s: X, More Fun in the New World

Album from the 90s: Rumor and Sigh, Richard Thompson

Album from the aughts, so far: Lust in Phaze: the Best of Soul Coughing

Some of you know I had a meltdown earlier today that was…well, extreme. And frankly, more extreme than I allowed my self to believe.

Your concerns for my safety were both appreciated and well founded, I am embarrassed to say.

I will promise you all that I will seek immediate and direct in person help if it gets that bad again.

While it’s no secret that I’ve been fighting depression for years, I have to say it’s been a very long time since I got that far into a hole, and was actively thinking about self harm.

And I’m pretty freaked out about it.

In general, I’ve been doing better; but I think that the cycling piece is different, and pretty wearing on me overall. My sleep is also pretty disturbed as a result of the new cocktail, which makes for rough mornings, added time pressure, etc.

I am looking on this afternoon as a warning sign.

You need to understand that I am deeply embarrassed at having frightened my friends this afternoon. Many of you know I’ve carried on a long crusade to erase the perception of mental illness as a necessary part, or even cause, of creative ability; the same kind of mentality that has caused us to lose some great artists.

I think of Chris Branch, from St. Louis, most immediately when I think of this.

So when I find myself in the same trough, it’s hard to reconcile my high minded rhetoric with the truth that I can be as much a wallower as the worst teen angst poets.

At any rate, my apologies if I frightened anyone.

I will be absent from here, I think, for a bit…until I get myself settled and more stable again.

Thanks for your patience and love. It is more than I could hope for.

I was just having a bad moment.

Please, don’t worry about me. I am sorry to have caused anyone any anxiety.

I will be going home shortly, I have various doctor’s appointments tomorrow and will not be at work again until Friday.

Your concern was deeply moving to me. Thank you.

I am safe, I promise. And I will remain so.

OK, Meme for the day:

If you want me to interview you–post a comment that simply says, “Interview me.” I’ll respond with questions for you to take back to your own journal and answer as a post. Of course, they’ll be different for each person since this is an interview and not a general survey. At the bottom of your post, after answering the Interviewer’s questions, you ask if anyone wants to be interviewed. So it becomes your turn– in the comments, you ask them any questions you have for them to take back to their journals and answer. And so it becomes the circle. Who will play? May I interview you?

These questions courtesy of ablueeyedboy.

1) Anger is always based in fear. What makes you the most angry, and what are you afraid of in relation to it?

I think what makes me the most angry is intolerance of difference. Some of my most nominally liberal friends are incredibly intolerant of those who don’t share their views…to the point of bigotry.

What I fear most as a result, is twofold: first, that I will be the same way, and second, that I will bend so far backward with tolerance that I fail to stand up for that which I find important.

2) What date that you can put numbers on, besides the common shared ones (Kennedy assassination, trade center, etc.) do you remember vividly and why is it so important?

I think it would have to be Dec. 19, 1975. I was involved in an act of violence that I prefer not to describe in detail. It was important because it changed me forever.

3) What is your first regret?

I had the chance to live in Ireland some twenty odd years ago. A friend and I were going to borrow a house on the coast from an old professor for six months. I was too afraid of leaving the US and my family for six months with no obvious means of support. I turned down the chance. Stupid.

4) If you could trade bodies with someone of the opposite sex for a week, who would you trade with, and what are three things you would do with it?

Patricia Smith. I’d write three Patricia Smith poems.

5) If you could alter the nature of one thing in existance, what would you be and how would you alter it?

Water would be intoxicating.

The new Zero Point Zero column which so many of you contributed to is up here if you’d like to take a look.

I posted the link on the weekend, so you might have missed it.

In addition, a couple of my good buddies (Joe Fusco Jr., Paul David Mena, and — I think — a couple more are getting their own columns there as well. Joe’s funny, and Paul’s a truly great haiku master (won awards in Japan for his work).

I have come to the decision that I only feel good before I get on stage, while I’m on stage, and in the few minutes of applause after I am done.

All my good feelings dissolve a few moments after that.

Isn’t that known as Janis Joplin syndrome?

THE END OF THE WORLD

The best part of
The end of the world
Was the moment
Just before it happened

When
The ground and horizon that had been clear before us
slipped a bit
and we said
hey,
This is it, this must be it

And it was grand
because
for that one second we knew just what was going to happen
We knew that we could expect things to change
Because change was inevitable and unavoidable
and sex was over but so were war and famine
and we thought all we had to go on
in the few minutes we had left
were tenderness and a refusal to give up –

But then

the shock

to find

the end was instead so
quiet,
low clarinet
instead of tympani,
that
we weren’t sure it had happened
until long after it was over
until the morning we woke up and saw the sky turn bright white

We turned up our faces toward it
And they shone like hubcaps
Rolling away from a wreck
And we couldn’t eat breakfast together and
We didn’t kiss goodbye and we barely
Recognized each other
As we went about our business

And that was the true end of the world

Or at least
of my part of it