Zero Bldg.
I'm finally coming out on the other end of this whole moving bidness. I'm sitting at my desk in my new room, all comfy and cosy and back to the important work of updating this web log. Look ye mighty and despair.
Went to two shows in the last two weeks that were very great. I don't really have to energy to go into great detail about either of them, but I will list acts:
Feb 18 @ the EARL
Phosphorescent - A humble little act from Athens in the vein of the Elephant 6 crew. Folk songs, keyboard and horns. Nice.
Rosebuds - Pop trio, new to
Merge. Very pretty keyboardist, very dancy songs. Almost early-Beatles-ish in a weird way.
The Mountain Goats - The Reason for the Evening. Unexpected intensity, voracious energy in the room. Standount songs of the night include (but are in no way limited to) "Cubs at Five," "No Children" (which is actually capo-ed up towards the fifth or sixth fret. Didn't know that). Experienced a strange euphoria during "Linda Blair Was Born Innocent." Not even sure why. I think it was just the absolute joy in the air that night. Uncontrollable grin crept from one cheek to the other then started tickling. By the time he hit that line, "You may not agree with Tate's methods, but you gotta admit she's a real nice kid," I had my face covered with one hand, just laughing. Just laughing. Good show.
Feb. 25 @ Echo Lounge
Twittering Machine - Just a joy to listen to. Made me want vodka and a dance partner real bad.
Faun Fables - Doom folk duo. Featured singer from...
Sleepytime Gorilla Museum - Holy shit. All you fucks who backed out of attendance really missed out. Just for starters, the singer is almost a
basso profundo; second, he was wearing a sheep costume and a bonnet (mind the blacked-out teeth); third, their second percussionist plays an arrangement of industrial trash interspersed with actual percussion instruments; fourthly, their violinist is cute as hell, and oh yeah, they fucking rock in a variety of time signatures. The drive home was hellish, but hail and wind is a small price to pay for a couple hours of having my mind blown.
Right. I'll be around more in the coming weeks.
What I Did on my President's Day Off:
Woke up.
Went downtown to see if Soulshine had sold any of my chapbooks (nope).
Applied first layer of paint (Dijon mustard-color) to my new bedroom.
Ate turkey sandwich that Melissa made for me (it was good).
Wandered around while cable guy gave me an internet.
Gave cable guy $25 to go away.
Applied second layer of paint (regular mustard-color) to new bedroom.
Returned to old apt. to find pre-eviction notice stuck in front door.
Packed up CDs, movies, books.
Ate week-old leftover fried rice and Tortuga rum cake.
Moved furniture that once held CDs, movies, books (two trips).
Untangled, fed Fenres.
Updated weblog.
It's Miller time.
What's Getting Me By Today:
Television -
Marquee Moon
French bread dipped in this olive oil/seed/spice concoction that my mom's been putting out before meals.
The Dave Brubeck Quartet
Showers
My dog Maude
Some peace and fucking quiet for once.
The view of Lake Capri from my and my Lola's houses.
Most Extreme Elimination Challenge!
Updating my web log with pointless stuff.
Saw my old friend, Rhiannon, at church today. It's her twenty first birthday. She looked really good. I guess that could go on the list too.
If all goes well tomorrow, I should be repainting my bedroom at the new house (Bess had it all done up in pink w/ pinker trim. Could almost be funny to leave as is, but I couldn't sleep in there) and getting the cable connected. We'll see how all that goes. I'll talk to you guys later. Thanks for reading.
Hey faithful readers...both you you *rimshot* ZING! I'm in the process of moving, so my internet connection has been shut off and will be moved along with me. Until I'm settled in, updates will be sparse. I'm at home in Conyers right now and the post that follows was typed up and saved to Notepad yesterday. Hope everyone had a good Valentine's Day.
Things are, indeed, bigger in Texas
In this week alone, the futility Watch as risen to 4, with Third Coast and Borderlands bookending an already difficult, painful week with more irony-masked disappointment.
As some of you already know, Susan Atefat-Peckham and her youngest son died last Sunday in a car wreck in Jordan. She was a friend and mentor that I held very dear. I wouldn't be writing poetry if it wasn't for her and her husband Joel's guidance and encouragement.
More will be written on that later, trust me. Updates to follow for the rest of my life. But for now, that's not what I came here to write about. I came to write about rejection.
Third Coast arrived on Monday. So far the largest of the letters, it was a third of a sheet. This time, there were traces of human contact! Actual pen-to-paper contact had been made as the generic "Dear Writer" was crossed out and replaced with "Mr. Johns." I suppose I'm not a writer in that case, just Mr. Johns. Then again beside "The Editors" there is a signature that I cannot read.
Today, Friday, the letter from Borderlands, the Texas Poetry Review, arrived--mysteriously postmarked "Seattle WA." Good gracious! A whole sheet of 8 1/2 X 11, 20# white, trifolded in my sealed SASE. They encouraged me to check out their
website for "current information about the journal, upcoming events, and ongoing community projects." Great. It is better than rejecting my work and asking me to subscribe I suppose.
Four down, and one SASE looms large on the horizon. If after all this, Quarter After Eight accepts me (unlikely), I'm going to yelp like a schoolgirl.
Here, like last time, is one of the rejected poems. If you like it, I still have a few chapbooks available for a very reasonable two dollars. If you plan on ripping me off, please
let me know.
Cross Pollination
Winter had not been hard
enough on nature. So in
spring, when the trees came
they were all too ready
for the love that loves everything
alkaline yellow.
Forty feet up, a bridge spans
this neighborhood and a man
finished
releases himself to the gravity
of a wire necktie.
In that moment of consciousness
after the mind goes freelance
there was an exponent of terror, sure, but
just maybe
there was vindication in proving
which was really the messier
of two ends. A burst of seed
for fertile purchase versus
thin gauge razoring through the neck.
Seconds before impact, I know
his body swept through treeline.
Small yellow life
whipped from his path before
crowding the street. And
that is how they found him.
Headless and surrounded
by children who stared as if
some tree had really messed up.
To everything
there is a season.
Trees know this
and the head that authorities had
to search for knew it too.
There are, indeed, seasons
but autumn is just another word
for fall and
spring is simply
wire, coiled.
(Oh, and I added a Comment feature. Come in and harass!)
There is not a happy hour on Tuesday.
Okay,, first of all,
this is brilliant.
Second of all, I'm a bit drunk. I've decided to go the Kerouack route and not revise any of this (no, not even spell check , that's cheating) for fear that I'd be sensoring my most animal , pure thoughts. I'm even trying to stay way from the backspace key, but that's proing difficult.
Shit yo, I feel ike derick varn.
Anyway, I was thinking about Paul Simon's
Graceland todcay at work, thinking I was going to write this very in depth essay about how Simn headed to the heart of africa to make an album that essentially (if not in title) is about New york city in the late '70s. That the first two thirsd of the album is compirised ocf songs regarding divorce ("Gracelant"), the folley of opulence ("Diamonds on th Soles of her Shoes"), and cocktail parties ("Call Me Al"). That some may call the album brilian t in it's unifying disparate tropes (folk-rock/African tribal music), others might label it typicak boujwaa (godamnit, why even attempt that word now?) claptrap.
I was going to write about that, but that was a couple pitchers ago. Now all I can really say is Poppycock!
Graceland is totaly fucking awasome! but that type of critisicm doesn't do anyone any good.
But I awas only thinking about that album today. In truth, I haven't actually listened to it lin like a month. What I have lisented to today is, aoddly enough,
Elvis Costello and
Shellac's first albums. I needend something to cheer me up this morning cos I really didn't want to go to work and "WElcome To The Working Week" did just that. Later on, "My Black Ass" performed similar stunts after all the stress of a working day was ready to go the fuck away.
Aw jesus, who am I kidding, ? I can't do this. I can barely d othis sober. I'll talk to y'all later.
