Dark Matter

There is something pressing
I want to say about me,
or to me —
really, more to myself,
but it feels as if I no longer recall
what language
I speak.

Right now in fact
I can’t even think of a word longer than
two — what do you call them? parts?
sounds?
Two of those.

I hope when I do think
of what it is
I was going to say
that it is simple enough
for me to say it.

I could not stand it
if it was so
hard to say
that I might die before
I get it out of my mouth.

If it is worth saying,
let me say it in time
to save myself the trouble
of finding someone
to tell me lies
and convince me that
their lies are truth,
they are my truth,
that there is only one truth
for all of us.

It is said that saying things
doesn’t make them so,
but I have not
spoken yet — so
how can I
be sure?

There is something pressing
I want to say about me,
or to me —
really, more to myself,
but it feels as if I no longer recall
what language
I speak.

Right now in fact
I can’t even think of a word longer than
two — what do you call them? parts?
sounds?
Two of those.

I hope when I do think
of what it is
I was going to say
that it is simple enough
for me to say it.

I could not stand it
if it was so
hard to say
that I might die before
I get it out of my mouth.

If it is worth saying,
let me say it in time
to save myself the trouble
of finding someone
to tell me lies
and convince me that
their lies are truth,
they are my truth,
that there is only one truth
for all of us.

It is said that saying things
doesn’t make them so,
but I have not
spoken yet — so
how can I
be sure?

Zero Point Zero this week is about poetry and identity politics. I was writing the column before our recent debate, played with it a bit as a result. Thank you.

Have at it. It’s right here.

Zero Point Zero this week is about poetry and identity politics. I was writing the column before our recent debate, played with it a bit as a result. Thank you.

Have at it. It’s right here.

I swear this isn’t based on anything except the column I’m writing for this week.

When I was a youngster, disco was king. Lots of people hated disco out here in the suburbs; in later years, I realized that at least some of the dislike was based in racism, conscious or otherwise.

So…

How much do you think the dislike of hip-hop poetry comes from the same source?

I’ll be over here behind the bulletproof glass if you need me.

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

ADDENDUM:

My perception of racism being behind dislike of disco or hiphop is based on observations and comments I’ve heard. Just that.

This perception by those feeling hostile to them that these art forms were/are associated with non-white cultural expressions is simply that: a perception.

I didn’t say it was logical, valid, or reasonable. Prejudices rarely are.

PLEASE stop trying to convince me I’m wrong about that perception. I’m not. I’ve seen it, heard it. Period.

My question here is pretty simple: do you see it too? And do you see it as being pervasive, less than pervasive, or what?

Clear?

Yow.

Which movie? by travel_crazy
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I’m really not sure what to say about this, as I didn’t like the movie despite the presence of Bowie.

In general, science fiction, speculative fiction, fantasy, horror movies, supernatural thrillers in any medium simply do nothing for me, with rare exceptions. This was not one of them.

BASIC

Something there is in us that likes to go to war,
but is dishonest, and will not admit
to a love of blood,
yet snickers up its sleeve when we try to justify
this warm pool growing sticky around our feet.

We will search for anything to make it good and right
that we are here again, in love with resolve,
and cordite, and smoldering. We hand over the wheel to stolid, steadfast men,
then crouch near our televisions
for hours until we hear the first news of carpet bombing.

We turn to each other. “Outstanding,” we say.
When our children come
too close,
we shoo them
from the room.

I just got accepted to read at this event. They’re still looking for readers, but you’d better get stuff to them quickly…it was on craigslist not too long ago, was forwarded by a friend.

“The Gallery of Social and Political Art sees itself as part of a broad ongoing struggle against all forms of social injustices. Though we are highly supportive of artists, we do not showcase them or their work: we showcase their concerns about social justice. The non-profit Gallery is run by two directors: Nathan Burke and (myself)Holly Wheeler.

“The upcoming exhibition, ‘Is this OUR country?’ will run from September 17th – October 17th, 2004. It features works of art that analyze the current state of our country and will feature a poetry reading that will take place during the opening. The scheduled exhibition will be held at a very important time in the year.

“This is a time for us to come together and express our views about America. We are still accepting poetry submissions for the reading, so if you know of any others that may be interested I urge you to spread the word!”

I submitted my work (which included “Political Art,” setting me up for one of the great meta-moments of all time)to them embedded directly in a e-mail to:

gpsaboston@gmail.com

ADDENDUM: The gallery is in Boston, at 565 Boylston Street.

And he’s a nice guy to boot. But you knew that.

The open at AS220 was pretty typical; with the absence of Jared (who got arrested at the RNC, surprise) Morgan stepped in to fill the hosting duties.

I read in the open, doing “News Conferences,” as I threatened earlier. I shared with the crowd my solid feeling that George Bush would win the election and why I felt that way.

Put bluntly, the Right has shown that they’ll kill to defend the country as they define it, and people are fine with that. We the people don’t mind someone killing in our name as long as it’s elsewhere and the dead don’t look like us. We’ll even tolerate a certain level of bloodshed on our side, if we feel safer in the long run.

Safety through bloodshed. It’s an American tradition.

Nobody trusts the Left to be good killers.

The Left needs to stop being pissy and unbelieving that people don’t understand their logic. Americans could care less about logic and sense. They want the emotional satisfaction of blood in their mouths. They distrust intellectuals and will rather follow a man of strong resolve and dull mind anyday.

What the Left needs to do is to go apeshit.

ANYWAY…

Sage finished his new album this afternoon, for release on Epitaph in February. He treated us to three-quarters of the album done a cappella for his feature.

I’ll be buying it.

Afterwards, we talked (before too, but that was mostly goofing with hairy_lamb and androidlustre), and he’s walking on air about the recording…too cool.

I left before the slam, per usual…

Zero Point Zero is up — review of Sage, some random reflections on mastery. Here’s the link.

to see Sage Francis and Slug from Atmosphere (which, evidently, means something to a lot of people) at the slam.

Haven’t been out for a purely fun time in a bit. Gonna read in the open, something loud and nasty for George to hear all the way in NY — probably “News Conferences,” or maybe “In America” if I’m feeling loud enough.

Corrina will be there, Alex, John, and who knows who else.

Yay!

Historic underprosecution of rape?
Victim demonization?
Harassment of victims?
Consensual vs. forced?
Malicious prosecution for the sake of money?

Historic railroading of black men who have sex with white women?
Automatic presumption of guilt? Of innocence?

The vast number of cases of all of the above that no one ever hears about?

Celebrity justice?
Dollars infuencing justice?
Justice as commodity?

Celebrity arrogance?

The media’s blinding spotlight?
The media’s lemming-like gaze?

Where do you stand on this? Not because it’s important; not because it matters; but because of what it says about you. About us.

Do you know why you choose to consider some of these dynamics and not others?

Can you even tell?

Let’s see what happens next, shall we?

Kobe walks on the criminal complaint.

is ill spent on the Internet, reading up on news and such.

I really need to visit NY soon — need a fix.

I really need to book some features here and there — need a fix.

I really need to schedule a tour — maybe Texas in the spring?

I really have to get my fat (albeit slimmed down) ass in gear and have a poetic career. More submissions. More publications.

More poetry.

More work that makes me happy, makes me feel good. Less that makes me feel old and tool-like.

I’m coming up on twenty years here in May. Shit. Although I’ve bounced around and done a lot of different stuff…gotta say it: too long.

I’m 44 years old and ready not to act my age.

I don’t think this is a midlife crisis, or a manic episode, or even a moment of self doubt and despair — it’s just the simple revelation that I’ve been wasting my time.

Everything else will remain true — I’m unhappy, stressed over aging, sick near unto death with the inability to balance my moods. Those things are simple facts.

But it could all be ameliorated a bit if I changed my life to own my poetic endeavors more fully.

So…I shall.

And I can’t even take credit, because dead_kitty dropped superb editing on what I’d done and made it far better. Much more economical.

Hmmmmm…final_girl offered a new ending to one of my poems a week or so ago and it rocked. Maybe I’m better at starting poems these days than finishing them.

Never let it be said that I didn’t accept help from better poets when it was offered. I’m no idiot.

thank you, again…

😉

happy family

johnny dropped a penny. ellie
picked it up. saved a few
and bought johnny cigarettes. johnny
smoked them and didn’t speak to ellie
until he needed more.

johnny and ellie got married and
had kids. the kids rolled around
on the floor because
they were crazy anyway. they got pounded until
they fit the holes they fell into. everyday johnny

dropped a valentine in front of the kids
and they didn’t say anything
until they’d about chewed
each other’s arms off to get it.
then ellie asked them why they were such a mess.

and that is how it happens
that we find johnny and ellie smoking
and the kids cringing back
holding a valentine soaked in blood,
with pennies over their eyes.

johnny dropped a penny. ellie
picked it up. saved a few dozen
and bought johnny some cigarettes. johnny
smoked all of them and didn’t speak to ellie
until he needed more.

johnny and ellie got married and had a
couple kids. the kids grew up and
rolled around on the floor because
they were crazy anyway. they got pounded until
they fit the holes they fell into. everyday johnny

dropped a valentine within the reach of the kids
and they didn’t say anything
until they’d about chewed
each other’s arms off to get it.
then ellie always asked them why they were such a mess.

and that is how it happens
that we find johnny and ellie smoking
and the kids cringing back from them
holding a valentine soaked in blood,
with pennies over their eyes.