spokenlist: feb '05

The following is a list of things that fueled my engine in the month that was:

1. razorlight "don't go back to dalston"
2. kings of leon aha shake heartbreak
3. the big sleep by raymond chandler
4. all of us by raymond carver
5. sniper (play by bonnie culver)
6. almost famous: bootleg edition
7. sealab 2021
8. snow patrol final straw
9. OTIS REDDING
10. Slouching to Nirvana by charles bukowski
11. "passage for trumpet" (twilight zone)
12. replacements let it be
13. ben & jerry's peanut butter cookie dough ice cream
14. house, m.d.
15. ma/cw
16. the office
17. bubba ho-tep
18. little steven's underground garage
19. walking in the snow
20. middleswarth sour cream and onion chips
21. jesse malin "downliner"

today's soundtrack: dusty springfield dusty in memphis; otis redding otis blue; u2 the joshua tree; stevie wonder songs in the key of life; elliot smith x/o

sleep is for the weak

I took a nap today for about an hour in the pm--pretty much all the sleep i really got today. was up beyond awake and tired last night. . . lots of backroads and good language. even jay made comment to my zombie-fied ass this morning. . . I don' t know how Lester Bangs did it--oh yeah, speed. . . and oh, yeah, he's dead.

more later.

today's soundtrack: john coltrane and johnny hartman s/t; elvis costello and burt bacarach painted from memory; nick drake pink moon; jimmy scott holding back the years; tom waits early years vol. 2; gladis knight and the pips; otis redding good to me/live at the whiskey a-go-go; stevie wonder songs in the key of life; lucero tennesee; jesse malin the heat

sketch 7

a powerless design,

everyone sees themselves

in every you-turned phrase.

she spilled her flirt table-length:

"girls dream of being poems"

i

keep telling these

twelve point confessionals

that poems

dream of girls to emulate.

in the better parts of

empty beds, words are tired

of becoming failed promises

so they hold out for abstraction,

to be the amalgam of hair

colors and perfumes. . .

an influence over low tides only,

no longer a slave to heart-string

gravity

poems are as fickle as their

authors,

and

hold grudges, too--

deadpan meditations on solitude,

rhetorical

rehearsals stonewall silence,

to toss their turns into the

knotted bellies of sleeplessness:

a

girl

with

many

names,

none of which

containing or

implying you.

night sountrack:

kings of leon aha shake heartbreak; jeff buckley sketches for my sweetheart the drunk; jesse malin messed up here tonight; rolling stones exile on main street; nick cave and the bad seeds let love in

day off!!!!!!!!!

The whole day off? Wow. . .forgot about the sweet freedom of it all.

So far today I:

-went to both jobs (not to do work: I know I'm so LAME)
-did an AM coffee & grocery run w/my pal Mischelle
-hung out at a coffee house (maybe found an artist for my cover?)
-almost got hit getting out of my car
-bought a book
-listened to the replacements
-worked on Paper Hearts. . . draft

Speaking of The Replacments: Paul Westerberg is God, and his disciples get remastered this fall!

Poetry reading tonight? Dunno. . . may have other plans. . . more later.

daytime soundtrack:
The Replacements Let it Be/Please to Meet Me/All Shook Down/Stink EP; Kings of Leon aha shake heartbreak; Stevie Wonder Talking Book; Jesse Malin the heat

buick shaped bobsled mania!

Sometimes i wonder what determines what street gets plowed when. Consider nanticoke--a place where, apparently, they have one snow plow. His name is Jeb, he's 84 years old and that old schwin with the two pan-handle shovels ducked taped to the front just doesn't get around as quick as those "horseless carriages" he keeps hearing about. I guess since no one leaves nanticoke, it's alright to let snow just pile up on the f$#ing streets!

My rewrite goes out tomorrow--had to make some hard decisions about what stayed/went. I am sure someone will not be happy; hopefully that someone is not the publisher!

I got the morning off tomorrow, so I plan to:

a) drink heavily tonight, be hung over all damn day tomorrow
b) sleep in until sometime after 1PM.
c) hang out @ Wilkes and chit-chat with everyone who's working
d) three words: corned-beef hash!
e) get up at the same damn time, go to my other job and then do stuff

If you guessed--well, if you guessed any answer maybe you have too much free time. Go read a book or take a walk or something. . .

more later

today's soundtrack: kings of leon aha shake heartbreak; miles davis kind of blue; bobby womack stop on by; secret machines now here is nowhere; jackson browne late for sky; etta james her best; radiohead the bends; Rhino Soul Hits Vol. 1; ray lamontagne trouble

Yeah but who would keep aubrey awake on her drive home?

I think my insomnia comes from my dad--since i can remember he has always worked crazy work shifts, often doing overnights and grabbing sleep between 7 and 11 in the morning. Four hours--that's what i work on, too. . .

Someday I hope to fix my broken-ass sleep clock!


late-night soundtrack: miles davis porgy and bess; magnetic fields 69 love songs; tom waits closing time

traps: fickle, tender, and escape plans

there are so many things that are stretching me and how i feel tonight that i can't focus: people not getting it, people thinking a book deal means $$$$, looking at my bank statment, meeting James Jones Contest winner John Smelcer, eating my first real meal in two days, trying to be social in a roomful of social workers. . . too many things to say that would both incriminate and frustrate me (people actually read this now--like people i don't even know: odd). Believe me this isn't me filtering how i feel about x,y,or person z but there are somethings nobody gets from me nowadays--(i'm trying to wise up, yes?)

instead of all this nonsense, i'll just say a couple of things about my grad assistanship. Sometimes, if you are lucky, a second chance is tossed your way to rewrite an ending--my grad assitantship is my second chance. i am not very proud of how my college career ended--a lot of people who earmarked my potential were privately disappointed (no more so than yours truly) at what i was becoming or what i was squandering. . . as a result i lost contact with so many people who really inspired me and molded those good parts of me i cling to today--namely both dr. fields and dr. culver always challenged me and provided me with chances to become live up to my poetential, but in a way, I f*&ked that up--call it young, drunk, and stupid.

fastfoward a couple of years and the brass ring has been polished off, tarnished removed and it dangles in front of me again--now i get it, this is the second chance to do something with a gift i almost stuffed inside a bottle and through messageless into a whiskey river. it won't go down like that this time around.

tonight i was invited to have dinner with my fellow grad assistant, dr. fields (now dean fields), dr. culver, a couple of Manuscript editors, faculty, and John Smelcer. in the middle of dinner, dr. culver was sitting across the table watching me tell Smelcer all about the poetry scene in this area. i caught her out of the corner of my eye give that look--a look that had been lost for several years of me being a fool. . .

i'm home.



ps: did you know that volvo's were designed to prevent moose from entering through the winshield in a head-on collision scenario? those zany sweedes: thanks darrin!


today's soundtrack: Kings of Leon Aha Shake Heartache; Otis Redding Dictionary of Soul; Tracy Chapman s/t; Razorlight up all night; Eddie Piaf Volume 1; Replacments Let it Be; Al Green I Can't Stop; Snow Patrol Final Straw; REM Dead Letter Office; Nina Simone Best of; Toad the Wet Sprocket fear

the bucket

Sure, crazy happens in Detroit, the Bronx, and Camden; however their crazy is the usual urban fare. When shit goes south in a place like this, it is so much more bereft of sanity simply because everyone in towns like these are so tightly wound:

This what happens when someone loses their nut in a small town.

Alright, this isn't what I really wanted to talk about, but damn! Chainsaw!!! You hardly ever get a chance to pick up the local newspaper with that kind of headline. . . see, kids we are growing and progressing--a downtown gigaplex cinema, chainsaw wielding maniacs, minor league football, welcome to the new Wyoming Valley!

I am very close to a rewrite on my poetry book. It should be going out by the end of the week! Mischelle has been a huge help with the final poem cuts--it's also flattering to have someone who has made a career within the English field take an interest in my work. She has offered great criticism and encouragement.

more later. . .

today's soundtrack: solomon burke don't give up on me; joss stone the soul sessions ep; chamberlain exit 263; kings of leon aha shake heartbreak; marvin gaye super hits; jimmy scott holding back the years; plow united; whiskeytown faithless street; uncle tupelo anodyne; new york dolls s/t; sam cooke the man and his music; the band s/t

Gone.

Goodbye, Raoul Duke.

late night soundtrack: marvin gaye what's going on

Passage for Trumpet

My friend from Brooklyn Bibi was here all weekend--it was nice to spend quality time with an old friend--she and Andrea took me in during a time in my life where I was homeless, I will always be in their debt. . . You could not ask for a better person--she works @ the Strand and had Chandler and Bukowski for me. . .what a cure all!

Didn't really do much just bought tons of movies, listened to music and watched the twilight zone. I love the twilight zone--I got a dvd with the episode "Passage for Trumpet"--one of the greatest monologues in tv history is delivered by Jack Klugman at the story's begining. If you have not seen it--shame. . . "jewled sound" indeed! I forget how much of an impact watching the twilight zone actually had on me--makes me want to dress in a suit and tie everyday of my life. Beyond that nonsenese comment, the consolidation of story and pace that occured in each episode was amazing. To think that there was a time that network tv offered such poetry in the language of their dramas is almost unbelievable in a world of the OC and Fear Factor. Granted, there are great tv dramas; however, this was a thirty minute antholgy--different stories, different actors, different language every week--36 episode seasons! I was 12 when I first watched the twilight zone on tv--WPIX out of NYC used to do a 24 hour marathon on new years and the fourth of july. i would tape it and watch these vids until the picture would ghost and the vcr consumed the footage. . .

"Passage for trumpet" was the second twilight zone episode i ever saw. it introduced me to jazz and it gave me a new language for my burgeoning passions--music and poetry. . .

The Twilight Zone may also explain why I'm so damn odd, but I don't think I can sue anyone over not getting a date until I was 17. Then again, that lady with the McDonnald's coffee. . . (see also Dennis Leary's rant about Dan Fogelberg and James Taylor)

today's soundtrack: R.E.M. document/dead letter office/green; big star columbia; ryan adams heartbreaker; hank williams 24 greatest hits; chamberlain fates got a driver; less than jake hello rockview; beatles s/t; stan getz verve jazz masters; son volt trace;

poetry in the pub

the first new old donahues reading went well--found my sea legs by the end. . .read "she doesn't. . ." to a cell phone, which happened to be aubrey's voice mail. she called later, amused and maybe a little befuddled. . .the best rendition of that piece ever.

knee hurts, time to advil and elevate. . .

more later. . .

pm soundtrack: hank williams 24 greatest hits; lucero s/t; jesse malin the heat; elliot smith x/o; counting crows recovering the satelites

Bibi, Tennessee, and a splendid silhouette. . .

Maybe I should start worrying about where exactly I can hold the candle that I am burning at both ends, the middle, and some part that--OUCH, Shit! That's actually my right index finger. . .most of this playing with fire (insert Stones pun here) comes at the heals of not getting nowhere enough sleep. Working on two hours today TWO HOURS--120 minutes. If my sleep time was a movie, there would still be at least a whole f$#king hour left in Return of the King!

While talking to Mischelle (who sent me some poems-more on that in a minute), I think I have found the cause: I've been reading the poetry of Wallace Stevens before going to bed. Last night, at about four in the morning, I was laying spread eagle on my kitchen floor asking myself "What the f*^k is up with that jar?!" Call it Jungian, call it insomnia but I think Wallace has been a explicative earwig in my collective unconsciousness. Mischelle let me in on a dirty little secret--she got all twisted by figuring it out, too. My friend (and fellow GA) Donora conucrred. Bottom line: if sharp folk like them have problems with the poem, then I feel much better about it--thank god Bibi came down from Brooklyn with stacks of Chandler and Bukowski--I know where these cats are coming from!

Speaking of Mischelle, she sent me a poem with one of the hottest lines I have ever read:
"I want you raw and desperate and doe-eyed drunk."
Sweet Jesus! When do you want me is all I'm asking the poem! Out of context, the line takes on a wholly different meaning than within--in context, the line is self-reflexive: the narrator herself is raw and desperate and doe-eyed drunk but it's the challenge--so immediate and bellies a fire that doesn't burn candles as much as it incinerates city blocks. And then without the breath of a linebreak, the narrator reduces her would-be lover to cold reality--a come down indeed! But for what it's worth, if a girl ever dropped the gauntlet like that, I hope I could be cool enough not to blurt out "marry me." But I wouldn't be that cool, I would probably just turn to ash and cinder.

Bed! No Wallace Stevens, either damnit.

today's soundtrack: ryan adams gold; jesse malin the fine art of self destruction; ben fold 5 whatever and ever amen; george harrison all things must pass; rolling stones s/t; nina simone greatest hits; jeff buckley sketches for my sweetheart the drunk; weezer pinkerton; sonny rollins saxaphone collossus; replacements let it be; otis redding dictionary of soul; donny hathaway collection

mick taylor deserves more respect

Hi my name is Jim and I don't sleep. Alright, that's a misnomer--I do sleep, I just don't sleep well or long or regularly. Right now I am going through a phase of sleeping for two-two and a half hours and then waking up for a half hour just to repeat the process. It's almost enough sleep to be lulled into slumber but then I get all-Charlie Brown-trying-to-kick-a-football about it and wham, on my back and wide awake. (Lucy runs off laughing, a decent night's sleep tucked under her blue sleeve.) It does mean more time to read, write, and learn Dutch, but it also means my eyes burn and tear at odd times of the day--for example, a client's sister today asked me if I always get emotional when it comes to discussing seedless oranges. . .

Today I worked a 14 hour day:

9-12: Wilkes
12-7: being Mr. Autism Therapist
7-11.30: Wilkes (part 2, Electric Boogaloo)

I met one of the cleaning crew, nice guy--think I startled him a bit. . .

I began my poem cycle about autism (for real) today--I don't know how well it will fly, but I think it will be a good learning experience and pretty damn cathartic at the same time. I probably have more to say that sounds way more profound but right now my mind feels like butterscotch pudding. . .

more later?
I'm Ron Burgandy?

today's soundtrack: Rolling Stones London Singles Collection; Jesse Malin The Fine Art of Self Destruction; Elliot Smith x/o; Tom Waits Mule Variations; Snow Patrol final straw; Josh Rouse Under the Cold Blue Stars; Franz Ferdinand darts of pleasure EP; Ben Fold Five s/t; Tori Amos Crucify EP; A Tribe Called Quest The Low End Theory; Kanye West College Dropout; Elvis Costello Armed Forces; John Lennon Collection; Love Forever Changes; eels Beautiful Freak

if this is about you, sorry

Had a convesation with someone at work today, it went something like this:

co-worker: Hey do you watch One Tree Hill?

jim: no.

c.w.: Oh you should--it's an awesome show--

j: I don't have cable.

c.w.: You don't, what you have direct tv?

j: No. I don't have cable, and I don't really watch--

cw: You don't have cable? Wow, what do you do?

j: Read, write, listen to music.

cw: hmm

j: hack up neighbors, bury them in my cellar

cw:(playing with a pencil--totally oblivious)

cw: Oh, well anyway, One Tree Hill is on the WB so you can still watch it.

j: Oh.

cw: Yeah it's a great show.

Maybe it's because I said "hack up neighbors" so matter of factly, maybe she just waits for a pause in the conversation to continue with her small-talk. . . maybe she's just very open minded about today's serial-killer on the go, regardless this conversation is why I don't have cable. Yeah there are shows I'll watch (Jay and I watch House MD every week and I love Arrested Development and who doesn't love the Simpsons)and I do miss not having the history channel (nerd!) but reading, writing, music and dvd's seem to be more functional forms of entertainment--or how about talking to friends? Having conversations that have nothing to do with electronic transmission of language--you know face time, grabbing a coffee or a beer? And here I am venting on my blog--maybe I'll IM my coworker and she can email me a link to the One Tree Hill website:www.whogivesarat'sass.com.

And if you are reading this, sorry and nothing personal but I really don't watch tv--I got stuff to do.


today's soundtrack: green day american idiot; ryan adams demoliton; bob dylan nashville skyline; arcade fire funeral; gillian welch hell amongst the yearlings; jimmy eat world futures; sonic youth goo; tom waits bone machine; hank williams 24 greatest hits; razorlight up all night; rolling stones goats head soup

DeFord Bailey

He was the defining sound of southern harmonica playing for the better part of the early 20th century. He was a soloist on the Opery stage playing fifteen minute sets, unaccompanied. He was taken on tours to break country artists into mainstream acceptance. He is the only founding member of the Grand Ol' Opery who isn't in the country music hall of fame. He was removed from the stage at the height of his popularity, to spend 25 years shining shoes and playing harp on the streets of Nashville. He was the first black country star, and he was a casualty of his color. . .

I heard DeFord's music tonight for the first time--amazing. He was not the blues, he was the hillbilly sound that defined roots music as much as Bill Monroe, The Carter Family, Lefty Frizzell, or Hank Williams. Yet Nashville has turned their back on his legacy. If you get a chance, check out his documentary: A Legend Lost. It will give you some perspective, to say the least.


pm soundtrack: DeFord Bailey; tom waits real gone; iron & wine our endless numbered days; miles davis bitches brew


PS: Blogspot just changed their policy--now anyone can comment on a post, you don't have to be a member. . . so now you can really abuse me.

a bunch of savages in this town

somebody stole my f&!king garbage can!!!! where the hell am I?

Happy Valentines Day, asshole: enjoy the used trash can!


pm soundtrack: Green Day american idiot; Snow Patrol final straw; REM automatic for the people

digesting broken bottles

my stomach is killing me. i think it's. . .

a) the double bacon cheeseburger from A&W/KFC: always a horrific choice on a sunday night.

b)a stomach bug that seems to be going around at work

c)ulcer!

d)the fifteen pounds of raw cookie dough i ate on a bet today

e)tim mcgraw's performance at the Grammy's

Speaking of Grammy's it was nice to see Green Day drop the f-bomb and not change a word of "American Idiot." I don't care, I will mark out for Green Day--they feel like a band that;s grown up with me--they are the standard bearers of Joe Strumer's torch--a punk band that has trancended the genre. And if you are still one of those "punk purists" who talk smack on Green Day--f$%k off and take your Anti-Nowhere League records with you.

today's soundtrack: rolling stones aftermath; tom waits real gone; spiritualized ladies and gentlemen we are floating in space; massive attack protection; sunny day real estate s/t; arcade fire funeral; bright eyes digital ash in a digital urn; joss stone soul sessions; replacements don't tell a soul; elliot smith figure 8; libertines up the bracket; laura nyro new york tendaberry; van morrison st. dominic's preview

just some place we drown

another bullet fired into the heart of saturday night, saw a lot of lonely faces tonight, asking questions only bottles can answer. . .i was quiet, i learned to stop asking the hard questions if you really don't want to hear the answer. . .of course i have a headfull of answers, open honest and hurtfully realistic--not always good or wanted.

these are the words we chase, they thin the blood and leave you heady--then we act to poison ourselves, to dilute the message behind hang overs and the stagger stroll we take to the empty arms of home. . .

no more excuses, now the alcohol can be honest back-- no more hiding behind the label or the shot or the dizziness. . . this is what sobbering up brings. . .

somedays, when i sit at the end of the bar and watch people around me, i am sorry i left the party--now i'm just a guest, no longer a regular, no longer memorable, and no longer the you they called me.

night soundtrack: elliot smith xo; roxy music avalon; freedy johnston this perfect world; tom waits heartattack and vine; rolling stones let it bleed; stevie wonder talking book

the ocean doesn't want me today

i am sleeping in two hour shifts now. . .have been for the last week or so. . .just got off the phone with a friend of mine--it's amazing I also socialize in shifts--I have compartmentalized friends into day-eve-night-late night-beyond any reasonable hour. the unreasonable hour conversations are great--almost lucid too. . . back to sleep for two more hours. . . got writing @ 7:30 am. . .

more later

late night soundtrack: morphine the night; nick drake time of no reply; tom waits closing time; brad shame; luna penthouse

sweepin up after the party

sometimes i think that the thing i love most is absoluetly bad for me. . . like eating plutonium while chainsmoking uranium rods. . . blah. . . what will happen someday when i'm doing this for a living?



pm soundtrack: elliot smith figure 8

what is with fridays and bad news?

I just got off the phone with Jan Quackenbush--one of the professors for the Masters program (and who is putting together an amazing Vietnam doucmentary told from a unique perspective)and he told me Arthur Miller passed away last night. You can read about it here.

I just watched a program on A&E yesterday about the Peter Reily case in Connecticut--a 1973 case where Reily was convicted of murdering his mother but claimed he was coerced into the confession by the CT police. Through the help of his attorneys and his advocates Reily was granted a retrail that the state subsequently dropped (giving Reily his freedom). One of Reily's biggest advocates was Arthur Miller who's interview was used on the program.

A sad day for drama and literature indeed.

am soundtrack: whiskeytown pneumonia; beth orton trailer park; randy newman 12 songs; kings of leon youth and youngmanhood; singles motion picture soundtrack

spilt, spun, and sore

just tired.
okay just tired and sad.
actually, just tired, and not real sad.
maybe it's like a sort of sad but definately tired.
well the you see, the sad isn't really sad but the tired is definately tired.
in reality the sad is more of an empty but the tired is like needle on E
so the sad maybe more of an extension of a tired that has been legitized by lack of sleep.
bottom line: the sadness is a shadow casted on the long brick wall of tired (which I truly am).


i have no idea, either. . . i'm just going to bed

today's soundtrack: ben folds five s/t; jesse malin the fine art of self-destruction; bright eyes digtal ash in a digital urn; dinosaur jr where you been; scott walker boychild; josh rouse 1972; joni mitchell court and spark; arcade fire funeral; morphine cure for pain; toad the wet sprocket fear

"so what's to become of you my love?"

i feel like tim at this very moment. . .if you don't get the reference, you need to watch THE OFFICE.

sometimes i can't tell if it's the rain, the pipes or my neighbor's headboard. . .i hate insomnia. . .


late night soundtrack: Charlie Parker w/ Strings; Nick Drake Pink Moon

sketch 6a

the tv collects dust
like i collect memories,
like the boy i collected comics.
like the bored i collected time.
like the boring me collects dust.
like the bores collect me,
like the dust collects the boring
like the boy collected dust
like the i dusted the bores
like the memories tv the dusting
like i memoried time
like time dusts the collected boy
like comics bored tv
like memories bored the boy
like bores dust time
like me dusting me
like me collecting me
like me boring me
like me bored me
like time bored time
like tv bored tv
like i bored tv
like i bored memories
like i bored time
like the time dust bored comics
like the boy collecting time
like the boy collecting me

like memory
like comics
like time
like boy
like tv
like i

bored, collected
and
dusted





today's soundtrack: bright eyes digital ash in a digital urn; velvet underground loaded; snow patrol final straw; arcade fire funeral; ray lamontagne trouble; ben kweller on my way; razorlight up all night; rasberries capitol collector's series; soundgarden flower ep

as smooth as dan hagarty's freshly shaven back. . .

I didn't even make it to work this morning without being a f%^k up--wore the better part of my coffee on my shirt. I actually went to the college bookstore and bought a new shirt to wear. . .

-cheap travel mug bought at the Dollar Tree $1.00
-tin of Maxwell House Hazlenet Coffee: $3.69
-a Jansport Wilkes Univ. t-shirt $16.00

Being a clumsy bastard. . .priceless.


today's soundtrack: RAMONES s/t; Joy Divison Closer; Snow Patrol Final Straw; At the Drive-In Vaya; Alice in Chains Jar of Flies; Elliot Smith XO

Sherwood Anderson would understand

When I was in the 6th grade I went out and bought R.E.M. Green. I played it once, probably only until "Stand" and then forgot about the tape. In the summer of my 9th grade year I found the tape stuck in the dark corners of my desk drawer, hidden behind a stack of Captain America and Iron Man comic books. For the next two months, I played that tape until it was stretched, strained and almost unlistenable. At 12, I was just not ready for R.E.M. but by 15, I had enough mileage to make R.E.M. important and special.

Time and maturation means so much to my writing. I have been thinking a lot lately about where I am with my writing currently and for the first time, I am not really thinking about where I "should be." I am where I need to be.

As I am currently rewriting a collection of poetry for publication, I am glad that I have really taken some time with this work. I think I have matured enough over the last year that I can put together a work that I will not be embarrassed by ten years from now. Yeah, it does help that there is an interest in my work from publishers, but more important than that is I am not forcing or rushing myself.

Shit, I'm growing up. . . Well at least artistically. . . I hope. . .

more later

today's soundtrack: lucero Tennessee; josh rouse under the cold blue stars; spoon kill the moonlight; the beatles rubber soul; tom waits real gone; dusty springfield dusty in memphis; booker t & the mg's the best of. . .

make that 25 years. . .

Patriots 24
Eagles 21


another bummer. . .




pm soundtrack: tom waits closing time

haircuts and canes

Did not walk with a cane at all today. . . my knee still hurts but it's a lot more flex. . .

Went home to see my parents this morning. It was nice to go home for a little while. New record: it only took my mom 67 minutes to bring up my hair. You see it is a long convoluted story but basically my mom is never happy with my haircut--too long and I'm a hippy, too short and I look like buddah mixed with eraserhead--very flattering. She means well, though and that makes it alright, I guess. . .

My parents have always supported me in every way possible. I can't complain about my childhood as far as that goes--I was well taken care of and they put me a head of any of their needs. I think they still understand me better than I understand myself. . . go figure.

I love my parents. If I can ever give love or just give of myself a fraction of what my parents have for me, I will have lived a life of purpose. I am not going to go into details (some other time perhaps) but just know that I owe any type of success and happiness in my life to my parents.

And I don't care how lame that sounds.

today's soundtrack: secret machines now here is nowhere; rolling stones aftermath; snow patrol final straw; ted leo and the pharmacists shake the sheets; the langely schools music project innocence and dispair; and you'll know us by the trail of the dead madonna; lucinda williams car wheels on a gravel road; bellvue to be somebody; bright eyes i'm wide awake it's morning; roy orbison mystery girl ; Tom Waits Alice and Mule Variations

a spinal tap moment

Went to the Borders Open Mic reading w/Nigel. . .we were two of three readers. They actually moved us to the "Reference Section" of the store and out of the cafe--we were disrupting too people shopping for books by reading poetry. . .ahem. . .so they liteally put us in an isle of reference books with about nine chairs.
IT WAS LIKE BEING IN SPECIAL ED DURING THE 80'S--THE WHOLE CLASS BY THE BOILERROOM EXPERIENCE!!!

There were actually some people there to listen--about six people, twice the amount of readers (usually this is a good ratio--here less good). . . they were very receptive and supportive, a loyal and good sets of ears. The whole thing was over in about twenty minutes--half hour tops.

Now don't take this the wrong way but F&^K BORDERS. . . well at least the one in our neck of the woods. And this isn't even a corporate store, big business issue--the WB Barnes and Noble goes out of their way to support the writers in the area and as a result their reading is one of the biggest and best local events. They bend over backwards to make sure the reading is advertised, supported, and everyone involved feels like they are involved in something special. They have brought an-indie store vibe to the open reading scene in their store, and it has become the launching pad for the entire writing scene. Without Barnes and Noble, I am not sure the area talent would have coalesced so quickly.

So there is no excuse for Borders. . .they are just lazy and ignorant to the ever-growing writing scene. . . no big deal, we'll find another venue and make twice the noise!

Can I say F=*K BORDERS again? It just sounds right. . .

pm soundtrack: Jeff Buckley Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk; Johnny Thunders So Alone; Husker Du The Living End; Brendan Benson Lapalco

a pioneer passes

Ossie Davis is dead. If you are asking yourself "Who's Ossie Davis?" Check out the story here.

more later

am soundtrack: Marvin Gaye What's Going On; the Replacements Let It Be

more than this. . .

Walked around with a cane for the last half of my day. After of being on the go for 10 hours or so, the knee started to get really stiff. I went to the reading, gimping it up with a cane. I hated it. . .the slow methodical march, the thump-drag-thump, you could hear me before I got to you: not fun.

Keith read really well tonight. I am blown away by the fact that he's only 19. Lots of presence. Impressive.

They actually applauded the fact that I "made it there." F*&king sad. . . like I've said before, at least I don't embaress easily. . .

I kind of watched tonight's gathering disapate, people formed their little groups, commenting on the night. I got all awkward and just left everyone. Sometimes I do shit like that--I think tonight I just felt stupid standing around with a cane. I think I'm just bummed out a little. . . overtired from a long day at work, disappointed in my performance tonight (two brand new untested poems to a very quiet room=golf clap politeness--ARGH!!), and just. . . somedays you wake up with ghost pains. . .

My apartment felt more empty than normal tonight, actually everywhere I walked, it like I was dragging a black hole behind me. When I stopped, the void would wave and motion through me, push past and coat the corner of the room I happened to be standing in--gross detatchment. I guess you have days like that--probably being all gimpy doesn't help the mindset either. And it's not a helpless feeling, it's just an empty one. . . tonight I felt as hollow as the cane that announced my arrival over hardwood floors. . .

Maybe this is the mindset I need to finally set the running order of manuscript. Talk about state dependent memory. . .

more later

night soundtrack: roxy music avalon; jesse malin the heat; bill evens waltz for derby; ryan adams love is hell; wilco summer teeth; nico the marble index

obviously you are not a golfer

Reading tonight:

Wilkes University Manuscript
Kirby Hall Salon
7:30 PM

Featured Reader: Keith Hubbard


I may gimp on over myself. . .


am soundrack: Jesse Malin Fine Art of Self-Destruction

gimpy!

My knee feels a little better today, actually went to work and hobbled around. Tried to stay off of it as much as possible. Getting out of my car was an ordeal--lots of cussin'! I'm too out of it to really have anything to say. . .just going to rest up as much as possible. . .hopefully won't outthink myself tonight--just sleep.


today's soundtrack: quicksand slip; tom waits real gone; ben lee something to remember me by; kings of leon youth and youngmanhood

radiators answer rhetorical questions

is longing the source from which expression draws its drink? laying on a couch for several hours, these kinds of thoughs start rattling around. . . maybe it's the painkillers talking. . . or too much lester bangs. . .maybe i should take a couple more and just pass the hell out. . . it's thinking like this at hours like this that makes me think i'm going to have many more nights like these--bum knee or not. . .

latenight soundtrack: jimmy scott heaven

cabin fever

quick post. . .leg hurts. . .watched three movies tonight: finding forrester, miller's crossing, and insomnia (the original). . .listened to some music and read. . .this is the only time i've been off the couch save paying the delivery guy and to look at the icicle bridge formed between dead trees and the rain gutters of the apartment. . .i get to work from the house tomorrow morning. . . hopefully i will be more mobile.

more later

evening soundtrack: Al Green I Can't Stop

"I hurt myself today. . ."

Slipped on ice. My right knee went in an entirely different direction than the rest of my tubby ass. . . it is now wrapped, elevated, and iced. ouch.

more later


afternoon soundtrack: Johnny Cash The Man Comes Around; Snow Patrol Final Straw; Dusty Springfield Dusty in Memphis