Dark Matter

I still think Sleater-Kinney is the best rock band in America.

And the shirt I bought from Janet on the “All Hands…” tour finally fits.

thanks to everyone who showed up at SPEAK tonight.

um, that would be me.

and here i was planning to offer holiday oral to all, um, comers.

where you just know you’re done, and it’s just right?

yeah. it’s one of those days.

i couldn’t sleep.

i got up.

i tossed the widescreen edition of “reservoir dogs” into the laptop.

it just ended.

for some strange reason, my ear hurts. i really can’t sleep now.

i might just grab the guitar and teach myself “stuck in the middle with you.”

realized that I am imminently single.

Strictly (and I want to stress this –STRICTLY) for entertainment purposes, I am curious as to how one would approach the whole subject of random sex for sheer pleasure’s sake nowadays…

Keep in mind — this is supposed to be FUNNY. Not a solicitation for sex, ok?

But let’s find out — what does it take to get you into the sack? I promise to use the info for good and not for evil.

Feel free to lie through your teeth for the sheer joy of it.

Personally, I’m heterosexual and not particularly kinky, so I suppose a simple “let’s get naked” would do it for me.

Come to think of it, I suspect that a simple “You wanna?” would suffice.

Oh hell, “Hello” would probably do it.

Dig in, you sluts. I’m doing this for you as much as for me.

out of a dead sleep.

gonna go downstairs and see how i feel.

back in a sec.

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

well, THAT sucked.

the pain seems to have dulled from earlier but is more widespread.

this is NOT good.

for xmas shopping and suchlike.

also, did something to one of my surgical sites tonight — i get these occasional twinges of pain that hurt like hell, but this is different — i think i reinjured one of the hernias.

will sleep on it, heavily drugged, and see what happens in the AM.

see y’all.

Before I get too deep into this post, I should make it clear that Icchus, my male cat, is MY PET in the strict sense of the word — he follows me around the house, sleeps with me whenever i let him, and in general makes his ownership of me very clear, as opposed to the other two cats, who treat me, essentially, as Food Source, much as Plains tribes regarded the bison but with far less reverence.

Icchus, as the saying goes, is my boy.

So you will understand that i do not say it lightly when i say that after he once again has cut my lip with claws while affectionately pawing at my face as i slept, and then knocking my glasses and my phone off the night table when i awoke from this action in a foul mood…

what i say at 3:30 AM is this: somebody out there is getting a grey and white extra large fur tea cozy for christmas.

if anybody gains any more info about Peter’s passing, please let me know, ok? the more i think about it, the sadder i get.

and i’ll let you define that according to your own devices…

do you find your work has gotten more personal or less personal over the years?

for instance, i always prided myself on my poems having less to do with the facts of my personal life than it may have appeared on the surface. There was plenty of emotional connection, of course, but it was dangerous to assume that a specific incident in my poetry actually happened.

My infamous mythical daughters who have appeared in a lot of my work are the best example of this…i used them to explore all sorts of observations about my friends getting older, my own relationship to the truth, and of course my nieces…but of course, i have no kids.

while that’s still mostly true, i find i write more closely to the bone of real life these days. my definitions of what i will and will not share have changed and i’ve become more free in using aspects of my life. in addition, a given poem tends to hew more closely to a description of “my” mental/emotional state than a generic human emotion i may be exploring. (I hope this is coming out right.) Of course, I want to always connect that with the general human experience — it’s not navel gazing — but i am approaching the challenge differently these days — i was always the anti-confessional poet, and now i find the pendulum swinging — not radically, but swinging nonetheless.

i’m curious — how has your writing changed?

Peter Conti, aka Peter of the Earth, poet of NYC, who died of cancer Friday morning.

I met Peter on the 2000 SlamAmerica tour. Peter was funny, kind, and could be both softspoken and outrageous — sometimes, both at once. I hadn’t seen him in a while and had wondered what he was up to, but like so many other times, I assumed I would catch up eventually.

Stupid.

He’ll be missed.