the story of how it is

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 04:28:30 GMT

1. There is a period of time, three summer months in 2003, that my brain returns to, unbidden. If I could stop myself from thinking of this time, I would stop. In college I spent a year and a half writing an 80 page, wholly unpublishable novel-in-verse entirely about those months of 2003. Recently, I've found myself tumbling through those hazy memories again, unsure of what to hold onto, what's real.

2. The word "trauma" came from Greek τραυμα = "a wound." A psychologically traumatizing event overwhelms the individual's ability to cope or integrate the ideas or emotions involved with that experience. It sounds almost romantic. How memory's a wound.

3. Can one be traumatized by their own actions?

4. It's so simple, 2003: I turned 20. I worked in a bar. I lived with 3 gay men whom I loved. I felt alone all the time. The bathroom ceiling collapsed. The phone broke. We sold things to pay rent. I lost my job. We drove to the Indian reservation for cigarettes, to the lake. We waited. We set up a tent in the spare room. We stayed high. I wrote terrible things. I stayed drunk. There are other small details - a gray morning of rain on the highways, mushrooms in a graveyard, Gary's downy hair - but I have to be careful not to fill in the blanks with what I imagine I remember. The mind aches for a narrative.

5. Why that summer? Nothing "bad" happened, I tell myself. Worse has happened. More obvious & exacting trauma has occurred, with all the textbook effects - re-experiencing symptoms as mind & body actively struggle with the experience. This is different. This is something else, where it doesn't feel like my mind & body are struggling - it's something deeper.

Sat, 27 Jun 2009 05:29:03 GMT

news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8121528.stm

I'm more interested in the fact that the house of representatives passed a climate change bill than I am in the death of Michael Jackson. Of course, i will never forget where I was when i heard that he died - sitting in a slowly filling auditorium in Amherst, reading Bruno Schulz, slightly sunburned. The climate change bill just seems, oh, i don't know, like it has an impact that stretches far beyond the confines of any individual's life. This is not to say that Jackson was not, is not, deeply interesting & strange, a genius, a type of monster and certainly, a figure that changed our culture. This is not to say that he wasn't a human who shouldn't be properly mourned. i guess global warming isn't as sudden as human death, and certainly, nobody besides maybe a few thousand scientists and Elizabeth Kolbert are keeping track of how many species are becoming extinct each day. it's been happening for YEARS! No biggie.

My insomnia is rampant. I have been given a biography of Hart Crane. Tomorrow's the last day of Mark Doty's workshop, which has been an incredible gift. Then sunday & back to Pittsburgh, to Bridget to Tait to children to swimming to dance to song. To home to keep what I have learned & no longer comprimise the space that poetry wants within my life.

YEAH !

Wed, 03 Jun 2009 12:54:41 GMT

Wed, 29 Apr 2009 01:48:08 GMT

A True Account of Talking to the Sun on Fire Island

The Sun woke me this morning loud
and clear, saying "Hey! I've been
trying to wake you up for fifteen
minutes. Don't be so rude, you are
only the second poet I've ever chosen
to speak to personally

so why
aren't you more attentive? If I could
burn you through the window I would
to wake you up. I can't hang around
here all day."

"Sorry, Sun, I stayed
up late last night talking to Hal."

"When I woke up Mayakovsky he was
a lot more prompt" the Sun said
petulantly. "Most people are up
already waiting to see if I'm going
to put in an appearance."

I tried
to apologize "I missed you yesterday."
"That's better" he said. "I didn't
know you'd come out." "You may be
wondering why I've come so close?"
"Yes" I said beginning to feel hot
wondering if maybe he wasn't burning me
anyway.

"Frankly I wanted to tell you
I like your poetry. I see a lot
on my rounds and you're okay. You may
not be the greatest thing on earth, but
you're different. Now, I've heard some
say you're crazy, they being excessively
calm themselves to my mind, and other
crazy poets think that you're a boring
reactionary. Not me.

Just keep on
like I do and pay no attention. You'll
find that people always will complain
about the atmosphere, either too hot
or too cold too bright or too dark, days
too short or too long.

If you don't appear
at all one day they think you're lazy
or dead. Just keep right on, I like it.

And don't worry about your lineage
poetic or natural. The Sun shines on
the jungle, you know, on the tundra
the sea, the ghetto. Wherever you were
I knew it and saw you moving. I was waiting
for you to get to work.

And now that you
are making your own days, so to speak,
even if no one reads you but me
you won't be depressed. Not
everyone can look up, even at me. It
hurts their eyes."
"Oh Sun, I'm so grateful to you!"

"Thanks and remember I'm watching. It's
easier for me to speak to you out
here. I don't have to slide down
between buildings to get your ear.
I know you love Manhattan, but
you ought to look up more often.

And
always embrace things, people earth
sky stars, as I do, freely and with
the appropriate sense of space. That
is your inclination, known in the heavens
and you should follow it to hell, if
necessary, which I doubt.

Maybe we'll
speak again in Africa, of which I too
am specially fond. Go back to sleep now
Frank, and I may leave a tiny poem
in that brain of yours as my farewell."

"Sun, don't go!" I was awake
at last. "No, go I must, they're calling
me."
"Who are they?"

Rising he said "Some
day you'll know. They're calling to you
too." Darkly he rose, and then I slept.

-- frank o'hara

Sun, 29 Mar 2009 02:34:00 GMT

i love freddie mercury. freddie young, sans 70's porno mustache. i love his leather, his suspenders his body arching like a matador against the piano. i love that he's from zanzibar. i love the opera of him. if i ever get another little cat i'm going to name him Mister Farenheit (freddie for short) & sing to him CONSTANTLY.

Don't-Touch-Me Day

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 20:27:28 GMT

Annaklahr: i just opened a bank account and the guy accidentally deposited 10K extra in my account

i could have waited until tomorrow and taken it all out and RUN AWAY

i mean, of course, not really, but the htought crossed my mind

the run-away thing

me: i would have done that.

me: i would haveAnnaklahr: yeah i thought of it

Annaklahr: but then i'd be on the run forever

me: if you were on the run in south america it would be great

in the jungle

super

Annaklahr: yeah w/10K you'd be loaded

me: fuck yeah

Annaklahr: could squat in some property in costa rica

if you stay for 6 months undiscovered you OWN it

but then who would walk spanky?

hee

me: that sounds great.

i will be undiscovered

in a hut

in a tree

tree hut

eat fruit

and bark

get thin

run lots

speak wolf

eat monkey

go crazy

be super

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaahahahahhhhhhhhhhhhhahahahahahhahahahahahahahaha

Annaklahr: you wrote a poem

and then lost your fucking mind

me: exactamundo

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 14:22:35 GMT

I noticed the
grass

n

I noticed the hills I noticed the highways I noticed the dirt road I noticed the car rows in the parking lot I noticed the ticket takers noticed the cash and the checks and credit cards I noticed the buses noticed mourners I noticed their children in red dresses I noticed the entrance sign noticed retreat houses noticed blue and yellow flags noticed the devotees, their trucks and buses, guards in khaki uniforms I noticed the crowds noticed misty skies noticed the all pervading smiles and empty eyes I noticed the pillows, coloured red and yellow, square pillows and roundI noticed the Tori gate, passers-through bowing, a parade of men and women in formal dress noticed the procession noticed the bagpipe, drums, horns noticed high silk head crowns and saffron robes noticed the three piece suits I noticed the palanquin, an umbrella, the stupa painted with jewels the colours of the four directions – amber for generosity, green for karmic works noticed the white for Buddha, red for the heart – thirteen worlds on the stupa hat noticed the bell handle and umbrella, the empty head of the cement bell noticed the corpse to be set in the head of the bell noticed the monks chanting, horn plaint in our ears, smoke rising from atop the firebrick empty bells noticed the crowds quiet noticed the chilean poet noticed a rainbow I noticed the guru was dead I noticed his teacher bare breasted watching the corpse burn in the stupa noticed mourning students cross legged before their books, chanting devotional mantras, gesturing mysterious fingers, bells and brass thunderbolts in their hands I noticed flame rising above flags and wires and umbrellas and painted orange poles I noticed the sky noticed the sun, a rainbow around the sun, light misty clouds drifting over the sun I noticed my own heart beating, breath passing through my nostrils, my feet walking, eyes seeing noticing smoke above the corpse-fired monument I noticed the path downhill noticedthe crowd moving toward buses I noticed food, lettuce salad I noticed the teacher was absent I noticed my friends noticed our car the blue Volvo, a young boy held my hand, our key in the motel doornoticed a dark room noticed a dream and forgot noticed oranges lemons and caviar at breakfast I noticed the highway, sleepiness, homework, thoughts, the boy’s nippled chest in the breeze as the cars rolled down hillsides and past green woods to the water I noticedthe houses and the balconies overlooking the misted horizon shore, and old worn rocks and the sand I noticed the sea I noticed the music I wanted to dance

On The Cremation of Chogyam Trungpa Vidyadhara | Allen Ginsberg

from http://gaga.twoday.net/

read by Patti Smith in Dream of Life

Tue, 03 Feb 2009 16:53:20 GMT

Six Degree Reading

featuring:
Michelle Stoner
Sophie Klahr
Jason Kirin
Jerome Crooks
Holly Coleman
Nikki Allen
Renée Alberts

Saturday, February 7th
7:oo pm
Most Wanted Fine Art
5015 Penn Ave
Pittsburgh, PA 15224
http://www.most-wantedfineart.com/
$5
BYOB

!!!!

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 20:47:12 GMT

oh hell yes

Fri, 02 Jan 2009 20:44:47 GMT

SUMMARY 2008

broke my heart, but saved the pieces

learned to dance again

Mon, 15 Dec 2008 18:20:34 GMT

tear it down

we find out the heart only by dismantling what the heart knows.

by redefining the morning, we find a morning that comes just after darkness.

we can break through marriage into marriage.

by insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond affection and wade mouth-deep into love.

we must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.

but going back toward childhood will not help.

the village is not better than pittsburgh.

only pittsburgh is more than pittsburgh.

rome is better than rome in the same way the sound of raccoon tongues licking the inside walls of the garbage tub is more than the stir of them in the muck of the garbage.

love is not enough.

we die and are put into the earth forever. we should insist while there is still time.

we must eat through the wildness of her sweet body already in our bed to reach the body within that body.

(jack gilbert)

Tue, 09 Dec 2008 16:56:03 GMT

gratitude list

+ bridget
+ dorothy
+ anna 1,2 & 3
+ melanie
+ tait
+ bunny
+ mama k
+ bean
+ carolyn
+ bagel
+ jason schwartzman
+ rufus wainwright
+ darling
+ amber
+ justin
+ brendan
+ the boy's club
+ precisely
+ michael
+ missy elliot

Sun, 30 Nov 2008 22:37:26 GMT

gratitude list

+ my family's sense of humor
+ the existence of incredible theatre (the brothers size at the city theatre is FANTASTIC & i can't wait to see it again)
+ quicksand by martha reeves & the vandellas
+ a functional car
+ the kindness of strangers
+ my sister-in-law being pregnant again!
+ sleeping better these days
+ november almost being over. thank god.

Fri, 21 Nov 2008 04:31:16 GMT

in the morning getting dressed for work i stop to take a picture. a mouse hops from the trash, big flakes of snow down the yard. day old coffee nearly re-warmed. a doo-wop on loud, standing up to dim sky. my body in comma , , , , , , , , ,

Mon, 17 Nov 2008 04:31:21 GMT

thank you dear writer friends!

you've given me marvelous calm (not to mention some much-needed perspective).

Hey creative writers, can you help to quell my anxiety?

Thu, 13 Nov 2008 00:32:27 GMT

Have you taken the GREs?

How long did you take to study?

How difficult did you find the actual test?

Mon, 06 Oct 2008 14:36:21 GMT

how ridiculous is this medley? quite. how much do i want to be cher dancing with bowie? so much.

Tue, 30 Sep 2008 03:19:23 GMT

Sat, 20 Sep 2008 15:48:05 GMT

Wed, 10 Sep 2008 02:01:19 GMT

ANI DIFRANCO, I MISSED YOU.

Thu, 04 Sep 2008 00:17:33 GMT

Finale. The rise, flipped stomach at the end of a slide, a high bridge or country hill dip. Cried, crushed, subdued. Undid undoing, became bored; dis-tance, dis-prove, dis-member. Remember? Renew, reuse, recycle. Hike up a little whorishly. Break teeth for god. Goodness me. My goodness. Sleeping more soundly with sleeping more selfish. [....they were two superior eels at the bottom of the tank & they recognized each other like italics] keep your comfort, your leather jacket, your skin, your insubstantial dream. you're not the only one who dreams. you're not the only one who you're not. never the only one.

blah
blah
diddy-blah

watched a documentary on jelly-fish this afternoon. gabriel said, "they move like brEAthing," & lifted his arms to the sky.

Mon, 25 Aug 2008 06:19:39 GMT

old church + poems + dance party. sounds good to me.
see ya there

Thu, 21 Aug 2008 18:58:33 GMT

this completely transports me to Syracuse,NY, hungover, backstage, in 2001.

Thu, 31 Jul 2008 02:26:40 GMT

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane was found in the doorway. The epigraph made me cry :

The heart breaks and breaks
and lives by breaking.
It is necessary to go
through dark and deeper dark
and not to turn.

--from 'The Testing-Tree' by Stanley Kunitz

Giver, thank you. Will you reveal yourself?

Sat, 19 Jul 2008 03:29:14 GMT

the glass path

carrie furnace

tait took me here for a surprise adventure here on thursday. at noon, por supuesto, sweating & smiling. i was entirely giddy at the whole event. apparently, the piles of colored glass that glimmer through the weeds & wildflowers have been there for nearly a century. every so often, i'm reminded of where my aesthetic comes from, that these three rivers run deep my blood.

did a lot of gardening today - staked stowaway tomato plants & pulled up much of the garden for a second round of planting (with the exception of tomatoes, beets & carrots). attacked the weeds choking the lawn, with the help of david bowie & ratatat.

tomorrow - gist street!