Category Archives: uncategorized

Please, cut it out. I’m sick of your self righteousness.

I’ve already seen people cranking about Palin’s use of the pronunciation "nucular" tonight.   (Y’know…Jimmy Carter pronounces it that way too, and during his Navy career, he was involved with the early nuclear sub development…what an idiot, eh?)

Know what this reminds me of?  People who think all Southerners are idiots, and who therefore use Southern accents to illustrate stupidity.

Snobs, in other words. 

It’s a variation, and not even an uncommon one, and NOT one that’s limited to stupid or uneducated people. 

For the record, here’s a note from Merriam-Webster concerning the fact that they list "nucular" as an alternative pronunciation of the word "nuclear."  Bolding is mine.

Webster’s standard response to readers inquiring about "nucular":

We do not list the pronunciation of "nuclear" as \’nü-ky&-l&r\ as an "acceptable" alternative. We merely list it as an alternative. It is clearly preceded by the obelus mark \÷\. This mark indicates "a pronunciation variant that occurs in educated speech but that is considered by some to be questionable or unacceptable." A full description of this can be found in the Guide to Pronunciation on our website at http://www.m-w.com/pronguid.htm. We are definitely not advocating that anyone should use the pronunciation \’nü-ky&-l&r\ or that they should abandon the pronunciation \’nü-klE-&r\.

To say "the word is spelled (x), and therefore should be pronounced (y)" doesn’t make any sense. Spelling is not a legitimate basis for determining pronunciation, for the following reasons:

1) English spelling is highly irregular. For example, "move", "dove", and "cove" are spelled similarly but pronounced differently. Likewise, "to", "too", and "two" are spelled differently and pronounced the same.

2) English spelling is frequently based on factors besides pronunciation. For example, the "c" represents three different sounds in "electrical", "electricity" and "electrician", but is spelled the same in all to show that the words are related.

3) Most importantly, spoken language is primary, not written language. Speaking is not the act of translating letters into speech. Rather, the opposite is true. Writing is a collection of symbols meant to represent spoken language. It is not language in and of itself. Many written languages (Spanish, Dutch, etc.), will regularly undergo orthographic reforms to reflect changes in the spoken language. This has never been done for English (the spelling of which has never been regularized in the first place), so what we use for written language is actually largely based on the spoken language of several centuries ago.

All of the entries in our dictionary (pronunciation, meanings, etc.) are based on usage. We have an extensive collection of files which date back to the 19th century. Language is changing all of the time in all respects, and any dictionary which purports to be an accurate description of the language in question must be constantly updated to reflect these changes. All words were pronounced differently at some time in the past. There is simply no scholarly basis for preferring one pronunciation over another. To not list all pronunciation variants would be irresponsible and a failure of our mission to provide a serious, scholarly, record of the current American English language.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In other words:

I may be in line with the sentiments over Palin as a candidate, but I really think those who make this an issue,  or use it as something to make fun of, are full of shit.



I love reading in Newark, Delaware. 

Feature tonight (after a long and crazy day of training in Philly at Urban Outfitters, which officially wins the title of Coolest Looking Offices I’ve Been To) went well, even if I burnt my throat to a crisp by the end of the night.

Set list:

Breathe (new)
Getting Ahead
Sociology (new)
Punk (hence the shredded throat, but considering how I might have been shot if I had decided not to do it, there you go…)
Total Recall (which went over well, and I had to give a copy of it to a kid in the audience who wanted it badly because, as he said, "it’s about me…")
Americanized
Revelation(new)
Where Do You Live?
Radioactive Artist (another one I couldn’t have gotten away without doing, I think…)

No cover tonight: I did have the third section of Rilke’s "Spanish Trilogy" cued up, but decided it didn’t fit the mood after all.  I haven’t been including covers much lately, I’ve noticed.  A break from tradition…got to get back into that.

I was pretty well wrung out both emotionally and physically by the end, for some reason.

Small crowd, but a great response…gotta love this scene.  I think this makes the sixth or seventh time I’ve been there, and it’s always a trip and a good one.

And now…total collapse.  See y’all tomorrow…


Bloody Mary Bloody Mary Bloody

I’m sleeping
in the Philadelphia Navy Yard
tonight. 

There’s a rusting aircraft carrier
hulking in the dark outside the window.
It reminds me of childhood,
of Vietnam on TV,
of spacecraft splashdowns.

When I was eight
I went on a field trip
to an aircraft carrier
whose name was "USS Essex,"
big enough to fill my head for years,
and I wanted to be a sailor,
a soldier, a warrior of any kind.

Tonight 
I’m that kid again, no longer the pacifist
even when faced with how stark and ruined
my dream has become,
and still I love it, yes,
I want to scale the fence and climb this one,
whispering its name: "USS Ranger,
USS Ranger, Ranger, Ranger…"

Somewhere in the Persian Gulf
or Arabian Sea, my niece is afloat
on a ship like these, helping planes
rise from the flight deck.

If I can stay up till midnight,
find a mirror,
stare into it
and say her name
three times,
will she come home? 

If she does,
who will she be,
that woman who has gone
to war?


 On the road again…off to Philly; back late Thursday night.  Will be in touch in the evenings. Have fun.


whew!

 Pretty much back up to speed with this thing — just got my Palm sync going again the way I like it.

I’ve lost most of my addresses and mail, so if there’s anything you need, re-send it.  (Fucking Microsoft Entourage data base got corrupted somehow, not for the first time, and didn’t back up completely. If work didn’t make me use it, I wouldn’t.) Otherwise, back up and running again, just in time for a big business trip…

See you Delaware folks on Tuesday!


help!

 spent the day backing up my laptop and reinstalling leopard clean, since my recent upgrade, evidently caused a major kernel failure.\.  which, of course, meant that i had to buy an external drive.

most critical stuff is back up and running, but before the OS crashed entirely, it stopped recognizing my airport card.  claims i don’t have one.  it’s a dirty lie.

can anyone help?  how do i get this thing to see the card again???


Blank

Blank paper,
blank screen,
the great white open —

Pour something into it.
Push it around into shapes.
Read it out loud when you think you’re done.

If after that you’re sure you’re done,
step away from it
into the next terrible empty space.

You will never be done with this.
Even when you are certain you’re done,
with nothing left to say to anyone,

there will still be more empty space
and you’ll still stare at it, waiting
for your cup to fill just so you can spill it.


Revelation

Rewrite of an old piece.  I resurrected this last week at the Ship, and it went over well, so it’s gone through some tweaks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I want you
the way an aged priest
falls to his knees without understanding
to praise his God, not thinking of the ramifications
of his years of blind faith.  The choir sings
pure and clear, his evening service goes off
as planned, and he lies down at night certain
of the blessings, never imagining  that such things
come with contradictions and illogic
subsumed to the drive to
fit everything
into a single frame of grace. 

That’s the way
I want you: uncomplicated
by the difficulties.

I want you
the way a cathedral breathes when no one’s around.
The gargoyles and saints wish themselves pliable
and stroll the aisles speaking in low voices of everything they’ve seen.
In the morning they settle back onto pedestals knowing so much more
of the lives that move through here —

and again, that’s the way I want you:
with unexpected sources of hidden knowledge
at my back, whispering truth
and calming me
as I approach.

I want you
with a prayer and a sacrifice. 

I want you
the way salvation wraps itself around a leg
and holds tight even as the suicide climbs toward the rail.

I want you the way a sword burns on watch before Paradise.

Somewhere under the closed mouth of the sea
lie the bones of unbelievers. 

I want you the way
the ocean closed over them
as they stared up at the overwhelming evidence
of something greater than they were.

I could write a gospel or more tonight.
Scriptures have been written for less.

I want you the way a hermit pores over the texts
searching for a new name for God,
something to conjure with:

give me one word,
one syllable to pray with,
and we will remake Creation tonight.


My Internet connection seems a tad wonky today, and my phone is doing stupid shit left and right, so if you need to get in touch with me today, it’ll likely be a tough job.

Reminder:  less than a week to go before I feature in lovely Newark, Delaware on Sept. 30.  Newark Arts Alliance, as always.  Locals, c’mon down — I plan to do some new stuff and not a lot of the old stuff unless you beg for it, in which case I might relent for one or two poems.


I’ve been trying to come up with names for new flavors…

but…um, yeah…um.  Yeah, sometimes, there’s just no need to try and enhance the humor of a story with additional stuff.

PETA to Ben and Jerry’s:  Replace cow’s milk with human milk, please!


Downsizing

I gathered my thoughts this morning for an emergency meeting. Times being what they are, I had decided to let some of them go.

First on the chopping block was my most elegant thread: the one that included the image I’d seen long ago in a Time-Life book, the one illustrated by a series of apes gradually learning to stand upright and walk heel to toe while carrying weapons and perfectly feathered haircuts. Along with them went the music to “Also Sprach Zarathustra” and a whole set of preconceived notions about propriety among the nations based in mutual ancestry and a desire to keep walking forward, haircuts ever changing as necessary. I knew this would mean a savings on stylists, with only a modicum of increased health costs to cover a greater number of scraped knuckles. I felt a little twinge as I took in their beloved faces as they heard the news, a Neanderthal hooting softly in the background, “Not again.” (I did think, for a moment, about the diversity angle and the potential for litigation, but then I realized that even the lemurs here were destined to be white men according to the picture, and I let that particular fear go.)

Next to go were a small division that I’d always cherished but had to admit hadn’t performed well in recent years: the Wealth Fantasies. The ideas of the house in the country, the good if not flashy car, the ability to travel at will and whim…all had to go. I knew they’d land on their feet somewhere else, so I felt that the discomfort in this particular discussion was most likely stronger on my end than on theirs.

When it came down to core functions like memory and morality, lessons learned and such, I decided that I wouldn’t make wholesale cuts. Too hard to remove the interlinking of them all with each other, I decided. Instead, I offered a buyout/early retirement plan to them, allowing them to leave on their own in the natural order of time. Based on current rates of attrition, I could save big over the next few years by simply not making new memories, by reducing my exposure to new things. Big savings.

I came to the hardest part now: all the small, complex contradictions I’d held about life had to go. In a downsizing, you have to really focus on your core strengths, and while I’m capable of all sorts of esoterica in a given day, over time I’m likely to find them a burden more than anything else. So I released them: the surrealist images, the facts others called “trivia” that I called “general knowledge,” the ease in recalling facts such as how to spell “Ouagadougou” and the British pronunciation of “lieutenant.” I let go the idea that social justice and fair economic policies were somehow linked, and the conviction that everything was possible was fired unceremoniously when it reacted strongly to my saying that it had been chosen for downsizing at all. There is no place for changes of heart or second guessing these days — and I let them go too.

Chosen to remain were faith in the eventual triumph of true love, buckling down, and focusing on the big picture. The belief in God stayed because it was so ingrained in the charter that I couldn’t conceive of moving forward without it, but I decided it would be reassigned in the near future, perhaps given a strictly honorary post in an outlying locality.

After the announcements, all the thoughts sat there for a minute longer than was necessary (buckling down found this annoying) before shuffling off through the far door toward the exit.

That afternoon, I sat on the porch with a glass of lemonade. I had no desire to weep, but I had a heaviness in me that I knew would pass but there was no sense of when that might be. Still, I could not imagine a better time to be alive than now, in the immediate present, a fat man short of breath, staring at the autumn sky, while the thoughts I’d just dismissed picketed on the crumbling sidewalk in front of the rundown building.

Tomorrow, I told myself; I’ll have to do something about this tomorrow if they’re still out there.


The Sense Of Smell

There are such good words
out there, things written and spoken
in ways that pierce armor and break walls,
things written by alleged heroes,
that it is hard to believe
that they grew in the same manure
that gives rise to fungi, mold,
and wild cancerous weeds that sting
and lift heinous welts on the skin
of the unwary and those innocent
of the scent that has lingered
for too long unnoticed or unremarked
by those in thrall to the words.

There was a time before we grew up enough
to understand that evil is inherent
in everyone, to understand how much shit
there is under the lovely flowers,
and we would let a friend go in a snap
when the scent reached us in a cloud that rose
from a treacherous mouth. After all,
there were always more friends out there —
a simple shift was easy in grade school, in
high school. One week, we had these friends;
the next week, we had others.

And now, all we want
is to be back where it was simple again;
where shit was shit, and words covered nothing,
and all the vision you needed to live a good life
was a sense of smell.

I can smell you from here.
I can’t decide if the flowers
you hold out to me
are worth the way
my gut is churning.
For the first time in my adult life,
I want to be back in high school again —
close my locker, turn my back on you,
pretend I’ll never run into you in English class,
pretend I don’t recognize that smell
from the times I’ve put my hand
before my own mouth
and inhaled before opening it
to speak to the unknowing. I want
a bell to ring, and I want to run
all the way home.


Is there anybody on this list

who DOESN’T belong in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?

http://www.eonline.com/uberblog/b30219_metallica_run-dmc_stooges_hoping_roll.html

Seriously, that’s the best list of nominees I’ve ever seen. Wanda Jackson being on the list blows my mind, as does Bobby Womack…but not a bad choice in the bunch.


nantucket show…

Awesome Duende show last night on Nantucket. We did a nice, tight 45 minute set to a decent crowd, which included my high school music teacher…the woman who was at least in part responsible for the series that gave me my first ever poetry feature in July of 1978 — over thirty years ago. I felt both old and complete with that, like a circle was being closed.

As a note to drgeorge — her daughter looks EXACTLY like Barbara did back then. WEIRD to see them sitting together…

That felt weird and cool, as did performing on the same stage that Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Frederick Douglass lectured from in their day. A nice bit of continuity on the International Day of Peace.

We’ve been invited back to perform on Dec 7 with Regie Gibson, but I think we’ll have to pass as I’ll be heading out to Charlotte for IWPS early on the next day.

More tomorrow on the weekend and what’s coming up…


Observation

Self-righteousness bothers me FAR more when it comes out of the mouths and shows up in the posts of people I agree with than it ever does coming from the other side. I expect it from them. We’re supposed to be better, know better, and act better.