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Wow - I was actually out and about late this morning, into the afternoon.
Got
a few sporadic pics here and there. Eating a very late lunch, and I'll
update soon.
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Let's see... I went to return some movies (and to rent some more) around
11. Walked around the neighborhood some on the way. Here's one that's
near Damen and Wabansia... a tree with a bunch of Christmas lights still
strung all over it.
Afterwards, I ambled down Milwaukee and went inside Filter.
I've gotten a few things from the place off and on, and this was probably
the first time I've gone here alone. Just to sit and read for a bit.
At
first, I was really self-conscious walking in there. I'm not sure why...
maybe this is my whole public/outside issue thing going on. I got a mocha
(love those things) and ended up being 55 cents short. I was a bit embarrassed,
and ended up having to go to a cash machine (across the street) to get
a $20 to cover it. The whole time, I got this impression that everyone
knew one another, that everyone in the place was part of some hipster
group and that I didn't belong. I know - silly, isn't it? But this is
how I felt, from not having enough money to the way the servers were interacting
with me. Which is stupid and completely untrue.
So
I got my drink and, unable to find a table, I settled into a chair near
some couches. I brought a copy of Sharon Olds' The
Dead and the Living to read. I intended to write the poem I owe Matt
here, in public, inside the coffee house.
Only
after about thirty minutes did I finally get comfortable, lose the self-conscious
feeling that had been bugging me, and relaxed fully. And let me tell you
- reading Olds... every few poems, I'd hit one that would hit me back.
Hard. I love her style and I've read this collection several times over.
But every few poems, I'd want to lean over to someone, anyone,
and read the damn thing out loud.
I
want to type in one of her poems, and I'll probably do it in a bit. If
I had my way, and typed in all the poems I liked for you here... I'd be
copying like half this book. Sharon
Olds is someone to check out. I admire her a lot, and her work is
something I recommend. I think that this is why I like Billy
Collins and Sharon Olds so much - I find their writing accessible,
lyrical and descriptive; they write poems that are direct, in a language
that can be understood by everyone... even people who aren't fond of poetry.
I have a dislike for poems that require "outside" knowledge,
and if you are someone who doesn't know Greek mythology... you're not
gonna get this poem because it all hinges on it. Bullshit! Poems are a
form of communication, and I can't stand it when flowery pretentious language
gets in the way of that communication.
*deep
breath*
Ok.
Sorry about that. Sharon
Olds is great. Read
her stuff.
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Working on an idea that I got a while back, when
I went drinking with Justin.
Today,
I think I decided that I'm going to get serious again about writing. I've
been meaning to review the poems I wrote for my thesis while
studying at OSU, and they've just been sitting dormant for about 2
years now. Since Matt and I have started exchanging poems... I've been
slowly getting myself ready to do this shit for real. The past few months
of trading things back and forth has been a good warm up, some good knuckle
cracking, and the seeds for several strong poems.
I
still have that Poets
Market book I purchased, which I have yet to crack open. Holy shit,
has it been since August! Argh!
It's
time to go through things, to target publications and send these poems
out into the world. This is going to mean that I'll be obsessed with the
mail for the next year, and that the mailman is gonna make or break my
day.
I
don't mean for this to sound cocky, but I'm going to have a book of poems
published. It's going to happen. There are few things that I will say
I am good at, out loud. I rarely claim such a thing around other people.
But
for me, I believe that I am a good writer, that I am a strong writer.
I believe in my abilities, but to be more accurate... I believe in my
poems.
If
you've read any part of this blog, or have talked to me in person... you'll
recognize the streak of self-deprecation that frequently occurs. I tend
to undercut my abilities, partly as a joke and partly as a defense mechanism.
So it is a pretty big thing for me to come out and say that I think of
myself as a good writer.
I
may end up at Filter a bit more.
Instead of coming home after work, I may be slipping in for some coffee
and devoting some time, each day, to going over my manuscript. For the
past two years, I got a bit lost in my job, with Flash, with the
wonders of online communities. Two years is a long enough time to
let poems sleep.
Time
to get back to work.
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I
set the camera on the table and took a shot of the room. To the right
of that guy reading is where I was sitting, right before I moved to a
table (so I could write).
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I
used to live on this street, before I moved. I noticed a blue plastic
bag stuck in a tree, pushed there by a really strong breeze. Oddly, I
thought of ActionScript, about programming, and about how randomness often
creates things we don't expect.
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Before
I headed home, I stopped in a Reckless
Records to look for a few things (it's a great place, don't judge
the store by its unfortunately loud rollovers). I got Alien Lanes (Guided
by Voices) and Pink Moon (Nick
Drake). It's been a really long time since I've purchased music. I
tend to listen to the same old things over and over and over... seriously.
It's this odd quirk I have to want to loop shit over and over again. If
I like it, I can listen to it nonstop for, well... a really, really long
time.
I'm
a fan of GBV, although I don't know if you could call me a fan since I
only own one of their albums. I've listened to "Under the Bushes,
Under the Stars" more times than I can count. Jim was the first one
to introduce me to them, and only now... some six years later, am I getting
around to buying another of their albums, even though I love every
single song from "Under the Bushes, Under the Stars."
I
got a few mp3's of Nick Drake and I find myself listening to those three
songs a lot. About time I did some digging into his music.
I
was unable to find two things I was also looking for. The first is the
multimedia CD by röyksopp
that
has that
incredible video to Remind Me. I ordered it at Reckless, and they're
gonna give me a call once it comes in. Hopefully, the CD has the video.
We'll see.
I
was also looking for the Soundtrack to Donnie
Darko. Now keep in mind I'm not one to buy soundtracks to movies (the
last one I really craved was the soundtrack to Drugstore
Cowboy). But the song that's been stuck in my head is
the remake of "Mad World," by Gary
Jules. The other songs in the movie are really well chosen and well-timed.
In fact, I noticed it fairly early in the movie... how strong a role the
music/sound played throughout. Not only appropriate songs, but each one
was timed out perfectly to the scenes.
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Talking
to TS7 today,
he shared a few pics of the weather in his neck of the world (DC). There's
some serious snow going down! I had no idea! Here's a shot of the parking
lot where he lives:
Hahahaha
- this images cracked us both up. You can see the entire thought process
that began with a strong sense of man's ability to overcome adversity...
and ended with an angry resignation where the guy (and it had to
be a guy) walked back inside and just left the damn car where it was.
He
also showed me this
news article, and the headline is pretty hysterical. And this all
started around 9 AM, and they're expecting another solid twenty-four hours
of snow. Jebus!
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I
got a call from Alex, informing me there was a big "feast" underrway
for this evening. When I asked what I should bring, he gave me the task
of getting a small dessert for five or six people. I went back out, stopped
by Sweet
Thang, and grabbed a chocolate mousse cake.
Can't
wait! Going to bring my camera, but I'm not sure if there'll be pics.
We'll see. :)
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TS7
Confesses
TS7:
hahaah, just remembered this, like a month ago, I was trying to
get Google search strings to show up in the usage logs of your site.
I was finding ominous word pairing on various pages of your blog,
like "plotting the murder of Portnoy", and "Portnoy's location and
sniper rifle"
TS7: so, hehehe, ah, if you saw anything
like that, I hope you paid it no mind
TS7: don't know why I just remembered
that now, was gonna tell you about it back then, but I have a short-term
memory
TS7: /Portnoy calls police
Portnoy: ROFL
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The
whole time I was rereading her poems, I would find myself muttering "god
dammit" repeatedly, because I liked the poems so much. When a poet
makes you react out loud, they're definitely doing something right.
The
poem (below) is one that makes me shiver everytime I read it. And each
time I crack open this collection, I try to avoid reading it, because
it's so disturbing. But then I get to it and I read it anyway, and the
ending just leaves me breathless and in awe.
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Things That Are Worse Than Death
by Sharon Olds
(for Margaret Randall)
You are speaking of Chile,
of the woman who was arrested
with her husband and their five-year-old son.
You tell how the guards tortured the woman, the man, the child,
in front of each other,
"as they like to do."
Things that are worse than death.
I can see myself taking my son's ash-blond hair in my fingers,
tilting back his head before he knows what is happening,
slitting his throat, slitting my own throat
to save us that. Things that are worse than death:
this new idea enters my life.
The guard enters my life, the sewage of his body,
"as they like to do." The eyes of the five-year-old boy, Dago,
watching them with his mother. The eyes of his mother
watching them with Dago. And in my living room as a child,
the word, Dago. And nothing I experienced was worse than death,
life was beautiful as our blood on the stone floor
to save us that — my son's eyes on me,
my eyes on my son — the ram-boar on our bodies
making us look at our old enemy and bow in welcome,
gracious and eternal death
who permits departure.
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god
dammit.
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