Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
sent over from poland
[urban history is the first. otherness is the second.]
**grzegorz wroblewski has some new paintings up at "the new post-literate gallery of asemic writing" & sent the link over this morning for me to see new work.
very interesting.
since i had such a vague concept of what "asemic writing" is, i thought you might too. so here's good wiki:
Asemic writing is a wordless open semantic form of writing. The word asemic means "having no specific semantic content".[1] With the nonspecificity of asemic writing there comes a vacuum of meaning which is left for the reader to fill in and interpret. All of this is similar to the way one would deduce meaning from an abstract work of art. The open nature of asemic works allows for meaning to occur trans-linguistically; an asemic text may be "read" in a similar fashion regardless of the reader's natural language. Multiple meanings for the same symbolism are another possibility for an asemic work.
--------------
**I just read & presented on dear Rhys Sargasso yesterday in class. Been thinking about the station of being female in writing. Also thinking on station of "liminal" within one's writing. Liminal. I love that word. I love ls.
It's a beautiful windy day in Tucson & my last day of work just got postponed to later this week. I'm hanging in today. And of course eating a lot.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
oh jujubee my heart
tyra sanchez wins rupaul's drag race season 2. raven gets second. my jujubee gets third.
Monday, April 26, 2010
oh how very nifty!
Everyday Genius, curated by Blake Butler during April, recently published this Kate Zambreno piece that I just love...
I am reading Sargasso Sea right this moment & have to present on it tomorrow to my friction class. Think I'll bring in your piece, Kate, to share. Kate's blog is one of my favs--http://francesfarmerismysister.blogspot.com.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Kate Zambreno
From Monkey's Notebook
(excerpt from novel-in-progress Under the Shadow of My Roof)
i would love to have a drink with jean rhys. she’d have a fine. i don’t know what the fuck that is i think its whisky. i would love to have a drink with old drunken jean rhys, the one who was holed up in cornwall, screaming at her neighbors and picking fights, writing wide sargasso sea for like ever, and everyone thought she was dead. i really identify with this because everyone thinks i’m dead as well since im trapped in the cellar as my father’s whore.
all of a sudden there she is, in the cellar, dressed very properly, with gloves on and everything. she is trembling probably because she needs a drink. so i fix jean rhys a good stiff drink. thank you, my dear, she says. i sit and stare at her. she is such a pretty lady still, even if she’s old, such big childlike eyes, like a lemur. i decide to interview her. like we’re on terry-grossy.
monkey: do you think you’re a masochist?
jeanrhys: i’m not sure i know what you mean.
monkey: i mean all these men treated you like shit!
jeanrhys: a woman needed a man in those days. how else would one live? i never was very good at living.
monkey: wow. i’m glad I live in a really independent age now. women can do anything now! we’ve come a long way, baby.
jeanrhys: oh, I would hate to be an independent woman! (shivers)
monkey: why? you don’t want to be free?
jeanrhys: i like men. i’m not a Lesbian. although i met gertrude stein once.
monkey: but you just let all these men destroy you.
jeanrhys: i always loved so intensely.
monkey: yeah. i get that. so are you saying that the female condition is to be a masochist? cuz we’re all passive and fall in love and let it totally destroy us?
jeanrhys: i don’t know if that’s what i’m saying.
monkey: do you think simone de b is right, we allow ourselves to be completely passive, and are like doomed to immanence?
jeanrhys: you mean the one who fucked sartre?
monkey: yeah you bring up a good point. simone de b allowed herself to be dominated by men as well. so what was it like to fuck ford maddox ford?
jeanrhys: umm. sweaty.
monkey: yeah. that’s what i pictured. were you in love with him?
jeanrhys: i suppose…i suppose i was in love with all of them. i don’t know. what is love? i was always under the wing of some man or another. did i love them or did i convince myself i did because i had no choice?
monkey: everything. you’re. fucking. saying. it’s like an echo in my mind.
jeanrhys: you remind me of the girls i was in the chorus with.
monkey: like in voyage in the dark? (quoting): “i know it's about a tart. i think it's disgusting. i bet you a man writing a book about a tart tells a lot of lies one way and another.” fucking love that.
jeanrhys: thank you.
monkey: i like how all your women, well they’re you, aren’t they, i love how they’re all in exile, they’re like gregor samsas with old furs and clown make-up, it’s very, like, existential.
jeanrhys: i just wrote my own truth.
monkey: yeah, but you know what really saves your writing from being total victim-lit, is the absolutely ecstasy of the fucking language...
jeanrhys: i thank you.
monkey: i’m sensing you don’t want to talk about the books.
jeanrhys: they are not the entirety of my life. yes, i wrote them, and they were painful to write, and freeing to write, like an exorcism of a sort understand?
monkey (enthralled): totally.
jeanrhys: although of course i edited. i painstakingly edited. (she holds her glass out, gives it a little shake, monkey refills.)
monkey: i know.
jeanrhys: writing can’t just be excretion.
monkey: yeah. yeah. i know. i know. (defensively) so, um, i’m a writer. (jean rhys’ eyes start to glaze over) no, it’s boring, i don’t want to talk about it, but i want to write at least, and when I read good morning midnight i want to fucking stab myself in the chest over and over again it’s so fucking good.
jeanrhys: i thank you. (stiffly)
monkey: don’t you enjoy being an important writer?
jeanrhys: (shrugs) no one gave a shit about me for years. and then I’m old, and everyone wanted a piece of me to put me on the radio and give me prizes all for the fucking bronte book.
monkey: yeah, that sucks.
jeanrhys: but at the end i did get to go partying in london, with my blue wig and was able to afford the good booze.
monkey: wait are you dead now?
jeanrhys: yes, i suppose so.
monkey: so, like, you’re a zombie?
jeanrhys: I don’t know.
monkey: this is way meta. because the whole idea of the obeah in wide sargasso sea.
jeanrhys: i think i’m more of an apparition of your fantasy life than a zombie.
monkey: (quoting) si vous êtes pris dans le rêve de l'autre, vous êtes foutu.
jeanrhys: i like that.
monkey: so did you ever really hook?
jeanrhys: did I...what?
monkey: were you ever a prostitute? did you ever sell yourself, for realz? i mean i know you allude to it.
jeanrhys (stiffly): i did what i had to do to survive.
monkey: sorry don’t get touchy. hey, I’ll paint your nails. i got a pretty red. OPI ladies of the night. pressy for sticking my tongue in my father’s pie-hole.
jeanrhys (eyes brighten): okay.
________________________________________________________________________________
Kate Zambreno's novel O Fallen Angel won Chiasmus Press' "Undoing the Novel" contest and was published this April. A collection of essays, inspired by her blog Frances Farmer Is My Sister (http://francesfarmerismysister.blogspot.com) will be published by Semiotext(e)'s Active Agents series in Fall 2011. She is the prose editor at Nightboat Books.
I am reading Sargasso Sea right this moment & have to present on it tomorrow to my friction class. Think I'll bring in your piece, Kate, to share. Kate's blog is one of my favs--http://francesfarmerismysister.blogspot.com.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Kate Zambreno
From Monkey's Notebook
(excerpt from novel-in-progress Under the Shadow of My Roof)
i would love to have a drink with jean rhys. she’d have a fine. i don’t know what the fuck that is i think its whisky. i would love to have a drink with old drunken jean rhys, the one who was holed up in cornwall, screaming at her neighbors and picking fights, writing wide sargasso sea for like ever, and everyone thought she was dead. i really identify with this because everyone thinks i’m dead as well since im trapped in the cellar as my father’s whore.
all of a sudden there she is, in the cellar, dressed very properly, with gloves on and everything. she is trembling probably because she needs a drink. so i fix jean rhys a good stiff drink. thank you, my dear, she says. i sit and stare at her. she is such a pretty lady still, even if she’s old, such big childlike eyes, like a lemur. i decide to interview her. like we’re on terry-grossy.
monkey: do you think you’re a masochist?
jeanrhys: i’m not sure i know what you mean.
monkey: i mean all these men treated you like shit!
jeanrhys: a woman needed a man in those days. how else would one live? i never was very good at living.
monkey: wow. i’m glad I live in a really independent age now. women can do anything now! we’ve come a long way, baby.
jeanrhys: oh, I would hate to be an independent woman! (shivers)
monkey: why? you don’t want to be free?
jeanrhys: i like men. i’m not a Lesbian. although i met gertrude stein once.
monkey: but you just let all these men destroy you.
jeanrhys: i always loved so intensely.
monkey: yeah. i get that. so are you saying that the female condition is to be a masochist? cuz we’re all passive and fall in love and let it totally destroy us?
jeanrhys: i don’t know if that’s what i’m saying.
monkey: do you think simone de b is right, we allow ourselves to be completely passive, and are like doomed to immanence?
jeanrhys: you mean the one who fucked sartre?
monkey: yeah you bring up a good point. simone de b allowed herself to be dominated by men as well. so what was it like to fuck ford maddox ford?
jeanrhys: umm. sweaty.
monkey: yeah. that’s what i pictured. were you in love with him?
jeanrhys: i suppose…i suppose i was in love with all of them. i don’t know. what is love? i was always under the wing of some man or another. did i love them or did i convince myself i did because i had no choice?
monkey: everything. you’re. fucking. saying. it’s like an echo in my mind.
jeanrhys: you remind me of the girls i was in the chorus with.
monkey: like in voyage in the dark? (quoting): “i know it's about a tart. i think it's disgusting. i bet you a man writing a book about a tart tells a lot of lies one way and another.” fucking love that.
jeanrhys: thank you.
monkey: i like how all your women, well they’re you, aren’t they, i love how they’re all in exile, they’re like gregor samsas with old furs and clown make-up, it’s very, like, existential.
jeanrhys: i just wrote my own truth.
monkey: yeah, but you know what really saves your writing from being total victim-lit, is the absolutely ecstasy of the fucking language...
jeanrhys: i thank you.
monkey: i’m sensing you don’t want to talk about the books.
jeanrhys: they are not the entirety of my life. yes, i wrote them, and they were painful to write, and freeing to write, like an exorcism of a sort understand?
monkey (enthralled): totally.
jeanrhys: although of course i edited. i painstakingly edited. (she holds her glass out, gives it a little shake, monkey refills.)
monkey: i know.
jeanrhys: writing can’t just be excretion.
monkey: yeah. yeah. i know. i know. (defensively) so, um, i’m a writer. (jean rhys’ eyes start to glaze over) no, it’s boring, i don’t want to talk about it, but i want to write at least, and when I read good morning midnight i want to fucking stab myself in the chest over and over again it’s so fucking good.
jeanrhys: i thank you. (stiffly)
monkey: don’t you enjoy being an important writer?
jeanrhys: (shrugs) no one gave a shit about me for years. and then I’m old, and everyone wanted a piece of me to put me on the radio and give me prizes all for the fucking bronte book.
monkey: yeah, that sucks.
jeanrhys: but at the end i did get to go partying in london, with my blue wig and was able to afford the good booze.
monkey: wait are you dead now?
jeanrhys: yes, i suppose so.
monkey: so, like, you’re a zombie?
jeanrhys: I don’t know.
monkey: this is way meta. because the whole idea of the obeah in wide sargasso sea.
jeanrhys: i think i’m more of an apparition of your fantasy life than a zombie.
monkey: (quoting) si vous êtes pris dans le rêve de l'autre, vous êtes foutu.
jeanrhys: i like that.
monkey: so did you ever really hook?
jeanrhys: did I...what?
monkey: were you ever a prostitute? did you ever sell yourself, for realz? i mean i know you allude to it.
jeanrhys (stiffly): i did what i had to do to survive.
monkey: sorry don’t get touchy. hey, I’ll paint your nails. i got a pretty red. OPI ladies of the night. pressy for sticking my tongue in my father’s pie-hole.
jeanrhys (eyes brighten): okay.
________________________________________________________________________________
Kate Zambreno's novel O Fallen Angel won Chiasmus Press' "Undoing the Novel" contest and was published this April. A collection of essays, inspired by her blog Frances Farmer Is My Sister (http://francesfarmerismysister.blogspot.com) will be published by Semiotext(e)'s Active Agents series in Fall 2011. She is the prose editor at Nightboat Books.
your mind and you are our sargasso sea
back writing i am wondering about why i like most writers i like. the one conclusive thing i can admit to is i am amazed by the risks taken, across the board--texture, density, language, sound, spare, over-wrought, imaginative, content material--
i get to wondering if i too risk enough like my writing heroes & the writing i enjoy... so many!
sitting at the tarp sky table at awp, andrew zornoza & i were talking about gordon massman, who was sitting to my left--whom i just adore as poet & person--about how amazing his work is, etc. andrew said gordon's work makes him feel he isn't risking enough or something like that--& i had never thought about writing like that before which now seems funny to me. i guess i feel i've always just put it out there for better or worse--but, i do agree with andrew & feel much the same way. am i doing enough?
so thank you awp. thats the best thing you couldve left me with. i mean hello, new book was pretty damn superb & hello, nerve-wracking readings were okay-this is doable--but now back writing i want to do more by way of putting it all out there. ive started seeing poems in my head all day again, for the first time in awhile. it feels good.
~
Gordon Massman
1154
And this little piggy squealed "no, no, no, no," all the way home.
And then all the toes were accounted for: the big, the middle, the
nondescript, nondescript's neighbor to the East, the itty-bitty
which made baby laugh like a nautilus. And then the toes blinked
out like a disappearing photograph, and baby went on a minia-
ture vacation to Puerto Vallarta where a lion almost devoured
him like a fortune cookie, but he escaped and wind rattled the
blinds like dangling bones, and he whimpered and whispered a
prayer-precursor to the Divine Death Overture, something about
soft protrusions and blue rain. And baby Carroll decided he
was having none of it and shattered two panes in the living
room belonging to Daddy and his entourage one of whom played
the Ace of Spades and raked in the kitty while on the artery a
flying mechanical scream engulfed horizontal human moans
in a white steel cube smudged with a red intersection and far,
far away two events happened simultaneously: an imaginary
Holstein jumped over an idiot moon keeping constant vigil on
the continuous catastrophe, and in the silo accompanied by
secret platoons of yellow anthropods Jack finally found Jill's
gooey ooze representing nucleic acid's undeniable invincibility.
~
Trickhouse #5 Interview:
GORDON MASSMAN: I believe the great nerve-work and fiery forge within each one of us almost godly in its omniscience and powers of perception. I believe you, [...], are murderer, industrialist, mendicant, spiritualist, rapist, whore, misogynist, and lover. I believe you are all human permutations from Hitler to Gandhi. When a man is nailed to a tree for his sexuality or ethnicity, I believe you are both the nailer and the appalled. You both refuse slavery and smoke crack alone in dingy rooms. You are God and The Devil.
I throw as best I can, as believably as I can, the billion colors of human existence through the prism of myself. Over long and intense personal interior struggles I have unearthed my otherwise unspeakable capabilities and visceral dark emotions: rage’s boiling mud, shame’s hot cauldron, the alligators of self-loathing. Not only am I a beautiful child, I am a hideous monster.
Like us all.
Therefore, the person in my body and the person in my text are one in the same. He is me, and I am flinging from my deepest core—making visible—what is universal, I believe, in every male human being. I want my work to spark if not an already conscious embracing, then some subterranean dreamlike ghostly recognition of who you, my reader, are. I want to insist that my sometimes disturbing visions are more or less within everyone, with slight variations. Hasn’t every father fantasized infanticide? Doesn’t every husband want to binge on lovers. Doesn’t murder and suicide lurk in every man?
I subscribe to Eric Fromm’s concept of the word “love” (in The Art of Loving). Loving is an art to be practiced and mastered. To succeed one must make it his or her highest priority. Most fail. Most flounder in passive pools. I believe that, at sixty, after dozens of attempts, I have learned to love, passably, acceptably, maybe even beautifully. I do believe that loving is human beings’ most divine calling. It’s just infernally hard.
i get to wondering if i too risk enough like my writing heroes & the writing i enjoy... so many!
sitting at the tarp sky table at awp, andrew zornoza & i were talking about gordon massman, who was sitting to my left--whom i just adore as poet & person--about how amazing his work is, etc. andrew said gordon's work makes him feel he isn't risking enough or something like that--& i had never thought about writing like that before which now seems funny to me. i guess i feel i've always just put it out there for better or worse--but, i do agree with andrew & feel much the same way. am i doing enough?
so thank you awp. thats the best thing you couldve left me with. i mean hello, new book was pretty damn superb & hello, nerve-wracking readings were okay-this is doable--but now back writing i want to do more by way of putting it all out there. ive started seeing poems in my head all day again, for the first time in awhile. it feels good.
~
Gordon Massman
1154
And this little piggy squealed "no, no, no, no," all the way home.
And then all the toes were accounted for: the big, the middle, the
nondescript, nondescript's neighbor to the East, the itty-bitty
which made baby laugh like a nautilus. And then the toes blinked
out like a disappearing photograph, and baby went on a minia-
ture vacation to Puerto Vallarta where a lion almost devoured
him like a fortune cookie, but he escaped and wind rattled the
blinds like dangling bones, and he whimpered and whispered a
prayer-precursor to the Divine Death Overture, something about
soft protrusions and blue rain. And baby Carroll decided he
was having none of it and shattered two panes in the living
room belonging to Daddy and his entourage one of whom played
the Ace of Spades and raked in the kitty while on the artery a
flying mechanical scream engulfed horizontal human moans
in a white steel cube smudged with a red intersection and far,
far away two events happened simultaneously: an imaginary
Holstein jumped over an idiot moon keeping constant vigil on
the continuous catastrophe, and in the silo accompanied by
secret platoons of yellow anthropods Jack finally found Jill's
gooey ooze representing nucleic acid's undeniable invincibility.
~
Trickhouse #5 Interview:
GORDON MASSMAN: I believe the great nerve-work and fiery forge within each one of us almost godly in its omniscience and powers of perception. I believe you, [...], are murderer, industrialist, mendicant, spiritualist, rapist, whore, misogynist, and lover. I believe you are all human permutations from Hitler to Gandhi. When a man is nailed to a tree for his sexuality or ethnicity, I believe you are both the nailer and the appalled. You both refuse slavery and smoke crack alone in dingy rooms. You are God and The Devil.
I throw as best I can, as believably as I can, the billion colors of human existence through the prism of myself. Over long and intense personal interior struggles I have unearthed my otherwise unspeakable capabilities and visceral dark emotions: rage’s boiling mud, shame’s hot cauldron, the alligators of self-loathing. Not only am I a beautiful child, I am a hideous monster.
Like us all.
Therefore, the person in my body and the person in my text are one in the same. He is me, and I am flinging from my deepest core—making visible—what is universal, I believe, in every male human being. I want my work to spark if not an already conscious embracing, then some subterranean dreamlike ghostly recognition of who you, my reader, are. I want to insist that my sometimes disturbing visions are more or less within everyone, with slight variations. Hasn’t every father fantasized infanticide? Doesn’t every husband want to binge on lovers. Doesn’t murder and suicide lurk in every man?
I subscribe to Eric Fromm’s concept of the word “love” (in The Art of Loving). Loving is an art to be practiced and mastered. To succeed one must make it his or her highest priority. Most fail. Most flounder in passive pools. I believe that, at sixty, after dozens of attempts, I have learned to love, passably, acceptably, maybe even beautifully. I do believe that loving is human beings’ most divine calling. It’s just infernally hard.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
i been a lil under weather therefore i stay in / write poem
cold sore belly full i marrys me some wonton some soup tip five dollars the driver & scold the paper out the shell hull of the cookie thing nasty on the tongue but im wishful tucson whip hurl end of april april does her beats on the backyard mequite i think she tries to keep me in under the worse has come to worst but im not under the worse i quit my job down at the bar last day wednesday april ive been so tired you keep me rippled where i don’t remember what fashion is what some site says military jackets in i say april noooooo its spring 2010 atleast not florals I guess i tie grannys tablecloth around my waist for an apron theyre in just as is cooking women as is burning the hushpuppies for the havarti grits cause the grease is relentless but we make the wheel rest round spandex bras who cares i have always
Friday, April 23, 2010
drew had a birthday
meaning we watched every leslie & the lys video & talked good southern things...
happy bday drew! love you!
happy bday drew! love you!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
tucson wtf?
Weather right now in Tucson:
46° F
Feels Like: 40° F
Wind: From W at 13mph gusting to 23mph
~
Apocalyptic weather for Earth Day? Me likes it! Just not the cold. Ew. I still have weeding in the front yard to do.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Bubba we'll miss you
bubba was an electrician, a very good one who was around my parent's plumbing & electrical supply store since i was a little girl, hellfast rollerskating through the warehouse. bubba was sweet & kind & a unique person in his friendliness & humor. bubba'd been dealing with cancer for a long time now & on this very day, he passed on. we all love you, bubba, & we'll never forget you.
~
im bout 50 or so pages into this novel im writing. it's very post-post-love, harrowing women/mothers who are all eternally fifteen years old in their brains & though from altogether different histories, are looking for the exact same thing, & in each other. perhaps we never grow up or believe in love.
~
i gotta work murs tonight. murs, underground rap/hiphop.
~
when the dawn began a beckon beckon
said come here grl, when youre silent
at the beginning so too will
be the end. the neighbors flowers.
~
van gogh said--"if one hasnt a horse, one is one's own horse." hows that for a large scale back tattoo?
~
im bout 50 or so pages into this novel im writing. it's very post-post-love, harrowing women/mothers who are all eternally fifteen years old in their brains & though from altogether different histories, are looking for the exact same thing, & in each other. perhaps we never grow up or believe in love.
~
i gotta work murs tonight. murs, underground rap/hiphop.
~
when the dawn began a beckon beckon
said come here grl, when youre silent
at the beginning so too will
be the end. the neighbors flowers.
~
van gogh said--"if one hasnt a horse, one is one's own horse." hows that for a large scale back tattoo?
Sunday, April 18, 2010
club crawl was a giant-scale
in the ass.
good news: it's sunday! & after all that hard work im gonna do some bigtime eatin & chillin w/ mm & drew.
mm & i went to see the play--"the second city does arizona" on thurs at the temple of music & art & it was hilarious. recommend to all tucsonans needing laughs.
be well, everyone, i am sending out good sundays to all. xo--
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Thursday
got thru wed & now im reading:
Kim Gek Lin Short--The Bugging Watch & Other Exhibits
Dessa--Spiral Bound--(thank you Nick)
Abraham Smith--Whim Man Mammon
& im also watching my new sunflowers grow, the las, & have (most of) the yard weeded. joy!
life forward me & i will write again.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
MY FIRST REVIEW!
Co-Editor-in-Chief of the lovely Sonora Review, Jake Levine, a man after my very heart, just posted the first ever review of my book Black-Eyed Heifer just out from Tarpaulin Sky Press.
Go to www.sonorareview.com & read it up!
It's beautifully written & I am just honored honored honored!
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
SAT
Possess Nothing: a small press event
“There is poetry as soon as we realize that we possess nothing.”
– John Cage
A small press event featuring writers from Action Books, Apostrophe Books, Black Ocean, Slope Editions and Tarpaulin Sky Press.
Date & time: Saturday, April 10th, 7:00 PM
Location: Plus Gallery, located at 2501 Larimer Street, directly east of the Benjamin Moore Paint Factory Lofts and five blocks north of Lodo
Action Books: Lara Glenum, Sandy Florian, Abraham Smith
Apostrophe Books: Johannes Goransson, Jessica Baran, Amy Wright, Paul Foster Johnson
Black Ocean: Zachary Schomburg, Julie Doxsee, Joe Hall
Slope Editions: Lucy Ives, Crystal Curry
Tarpaulin Sky Press: Gordon Massman, Shelly Taylor
More info: www.apostrophebooks.org and www.plusgallery.com/events/
Monday, April 5, 2010
Monday
there is a big wind in tucson today. i'm going to lay out by the pool! my legs are so dread white it's impossible to think about wearing shorts.
yesterday i made my famous casserole to take to work at the bar & it got rave reviews...of course! work was fine, i made it through though it's difficult for me right now slingin drinks & being around so many intoxicated people, esp men who say ridiculous things. i've always been able to be impervious to that sort of thing--unphased in a way--this is just a job that i do--but it's becoming harder to separate it out. it feels as if it's taking too much from me.
~
After a month of interior weeping
it occurred to me in times like these
I have nothing to fall back on
except the sun and moon and earth.
I dress in camouflage and crawl
around in swamps and forest, seeing
the bitch coyote five times but never
before she sees me. Her look
is curious, almost a smile.
The days are stacked against
what we think we are:
it is nearly impossible
to surprise ourselves.
I will never wake up
able to play the piano.
~
We are seeking genuine change, not denial. No one is the sole cause or to blame.
Real generosity toward the future consists in giving all to what is present. -Camus
yesterday i made my famous casserole to take to work at the bar & it got rave reviews...of course! work was fine, i made it through though it's difficult for me right now slingin drinks & being around so many intoxicated people, esp men who say ridiculous things. i've always been able to be impervious to that sort of thing--unphased in a way--this is just a job that i do--but it's becoming harder to separate it out. it feels as if it's taking too much from me.
~
After a month of interior weeping
it occurred to me in times like these
I have nothing to fall back on
except the sun and moon and earth.
I dress in camouflage and crawl
around in swamps and forest, seeing
the bitch coyote five times but never
before she sees me. Her look
is curious, almost a smile.
The days are stacked against
what we think we are:
it is nearly impossible
to surprise ourselves.
I will never wake up
able to play the piano.
~
We are seeking genuine change, not denial. No one is the sole cause or to blame.
Real generosity toward the future consists in giving all to what is present. -Camus
Sunday, April 4, 2010
it's sunday; it's easter
i have to work tonight in the taproom--tap 1 goes to a girl? what? okay, yes, i'll be there, by my lonesome, so come on down & have drinks with (or i suppose by) me. i'm in need of cash so i'm hoping i make a pile--enough to put toward bills, enough to buy me something to wear at awp. two readings = two good outfits. i got one down, though mary martha thinks i should drop the shoes as they look too "domino" for a poet. by "domino" she means dominatrix & said she would have to lend me one of the indian whips down off her house wall. ha! that would be funny. i would scare people. they're really just my new velvet angel shoes but i guess they do look a little daunting. laura informed me yesterday she bought a high-waisted leather skirt which sounds hot, so i must also buy something hot/smart/both, something.
yesterday about broke my ass. today will be better.
my folks just got this beach place & i've been seriously thinking about moving there for awhile just to get a tucson break. just put my stuff into storage & go live by the shore a couple months, get healthy, etc. so, yes, mama, i'm just now taking the offer seriously & it sounds pretty good to me right now. get up, jog on the beach, layout, cook a lot of fish, write belen, & maybe shake drinks at the ritz, who knows.
happy easter everyone. love--
yesterday about broke my ass. today will be better.
my folks just got this beach place & i've been seriously thinking about moving there for awhile just to get a tucson break. just put my stuff into storage & go live by the shore a couple months, get healthy, etc. so, yes, mama, i'm just now taking the offer seriously & it sounds pretty good to me right now. get up, jog on the beach, layout, cook a lot of fish, write belen, & maybe shake drinks at the ritz, who knows.
happy easter everyone. love--
Saturday, April 3, 2010
gone for so long now gotta get back to her somehow
/>lyla g ate her first food today--she looks the way she's supposed to look, i imagine, delighted. i wish her culinary curiosity & a lifetime of good food. once she gets past all the mushed carrots, etc.
i been thinking about getting myself a dog. lately's been tough. when i get home, when i wake up, there are the lalas but there is no milo, no murderface. i told murderface to stay a bulldog. i told milo he's a bee. lil m' keeps trying to drag me to the pound to look at dogs & i want to go, but maybe i'll wait awhile. it would be awful hard to have a horse & a dog & two cats. i'm banking on the horse. it'll happen.
today's saturday. laundry, emails, cleaning, watering my sunflowers which are popping up despite murderface's digging the hell out of my flower beds & that big old innocent muddy face of his. forgivable, yes.
Friday, April 2, 2010
I slept 12 hours last night--was amazing!
And now I'm up & completely refreshed.
So, AWP is this coming weekend. My best girl Laura Little & I will be infiltrating the event full-form, two crazy single southern ladies on a vacation which means some damn FUN! I'm giving two readings--one Friday, one Saturday--see details below. I look forward to seeing everyone there & meeting new people!
7:30PM Switchback Books hosts Artifice Mag, Coconut, and Tarpaulin Sky Press
Location: Delaney's Bar/Celtic Tavern, 1801 Blake St.
Website: http://www.celtictavern.com/modules/wfchannel/
Readings by Simone Muench, Monica de la Torre, Kathleen Rooney, Gina Myers, Davis Schneiderman, Marisa Crawford, Kim Gek Lin Short, Andrew Farkas, Shelly Taylor, David Welch, Tim Jones-Yelvington, Kimiko Hahn, Bruce Covey, Jen Tynes, and Amber Nelson.
$3 beer specials and 17 beers on tap.
****
7:00PM A Reading Hosted by Apostrophe Books with Action Books, Black Ocean Press, Slope Editions and Tarpaulin Sky Press
Location: Plus Gallery, located at 2501 Larimer Street, directly east of the Benjamin Moore Paint Factory Lofts and five blocks north of Lodo (About 18 blocks from the Convention Center).
Website: http://www.apostrophebooks.org & http://www.plusgallery.com/events/
A small press reading featuring Johannes Göransson, Zachary Schomburg, Catherine Meng, Joe Hall, Paul Foster Johnson, Julie Doxsee, and many others….
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)