It's my thought that years, like decades, are best reviewed with a bit of hindsight. Just like 2010 felt like the last year of the '00s, despite the regenerative rituals and retrospectives, Januaries often feel like the long walk out of the last year.
Any sort of accurate hindsight doesn't tend to start for me until March or April, at which point the full stuff of current years renders reflection superfluous. Still, in the interest of head-clearing, communication, and a throwback to the days when transparency meant connection instead of liability, I always feel compelled to year-in-review.
So. 2015.
A) "A tough year of hard decisions that ultimately has spurred a lot of personal growth and has me set up for much more."
B) "If I could pay to watch 2015 die in a fire, I would."
Depending on my mood.
Let's start with the good, the potentially exciting, or the highlights:
Soliana Monillas: The day before 2015 ended, my Uncle Status was upped by one, as Amara had Soliana Brynn Isaac Monillas. Zion is stoked to be a big brother, and I'm stoked for more Uncle Time. Any year that neds this way has lots of good to recommend it.
ZAPP. So I'd already started to re-acquaint myself with the Zine Archive And Publishing Project, attended some meetings, helped recruit some writers and readers for the Xenographic series, and become loosely re-involved.
This year, however, both Emily Van Der Harten and Kathryn Higgins, who'd been largely steering ZAPP's fundraising/space-finding/still existing efforts both stepped back for various reasons. After talking to them both, doing some soul-searching and self-assessment, I decided to step into the position of Managing Director (informally, I prefer "Team Captain") of the Zine Archive and Publishing Project.I'm working with some great people and the hope and plan is to get ZAPP into a new permanent physical space this year.
I may write more about this later, but on a personal level, I am very excited- and challenged- by this. It will be a better use of my organizational/curatorial skills than co-running 2-3 literature events at a time to no particular end. It'll also help me build new skills in the non-profit field.
Freeway Park. In 2014, we played our first handful of shows, had fun and started to coalesce our sound. In 2015 we got tighter, wrote better songs and played shows in Bellingham, Olympia and San Francisco as well as Seattle nearly monthly. The Makeshift show in Bellingham, Charlie's birthday show at Rendezvous, San Francisco, and the gig at the Highline were particular highlights. Right now we're working on our first official recordings, which we hope to have out first half of 2016. Personally am working on being able to harness the shots-fueled, beer-fist swinging energy of live performances into a bit less comic (or booze-dependent) intensity.
And I really want to sell you a "People in Seattle Love It When You Travel." t-shirt.
Writing. I've been back writing for Nadamucho, I had a goal to write six short stories and have them all submitted out by the end of the year and that didn't happen. But I did write a few that I think have promise. And in addition to having The Third Best of All Possible Outcomes come out on Shotgun Wedding, the newer poems and writing are things I'm pretty happy with. But such things are ephemeral, we'll see how I feel when I check back on them. Either way I'm stoked to have some stuff to work with.
2015 was also the year that Graham got an I-phone. That is neither here nor there, but it's definitely a thing.
Okay. The rough chuckles.
There were plenty of them in 2015. From the supersweet pest invasion that marked the beginning of the year in my apartment (at a time when Rachel was dependent on the space for her air b'n'b biz) to my friend and Co-worker Beau Martin's suffering a stroke that will take a long time for him to recover from (it's going pretty well, he'll be home with his folks soon) to multiple of my friends and family spending time in the hospital for various reasons, there was a reason that my motto for 2015 became let the bad times roll. . .because at some point, that's just what seemed to happen. This at least gained some catharsis in the event Bummed Out, which could be accurately described as my first time curating a "club night." It struck a chord with a few people, and may go quarterly.
Which would be a weird "making a shitty year into art" move, but I'm rarely opposed to such moves.
The roughest for me personally was ending my 4.5 year relationship with my girlfriend in June.
The reasons for this, and subsequent social fallout, is best left off social media both for our privacy, and desires to move forward. I'm sure if you're curious and haven't had one or both of us give our interpretation of events, you know where to find us. I believe I made the right decision, that it's already better for both of us, but that doesn't mean it was easy, or casual or didn't make me incredibly fucking sad.
The one other thing I will say, is that in the event of such a momentous life change it's really easy to take a long view (especially when said event occurs mid-year) that places every event in the context of The One Event. Everything that happens being somehow related, directly, or indirectly, to The Thing and How It Was Handled. where the first half of the year was all building up to this, every argument or bad day was another brick in the wall, that subsequently every instance of progress, (or regress) was a direct result of said thing. Which is reductive and stupid; while there was a lot in the first half of the year (and last half of 2014) that played into things, there were also lots of decent-to-great times. Likewise, while the remainder of the year can sometimes feel like aftermath-and-regrouping, there's also lots of stuff, good or bad, that would have happened either way.
I guess what I'm saying is that I'm also trying to be a bit less dramatic in my self-narrative.
Well.
That's a lot. If you made it this far, congrats. You get a cookie, the metaphorical salutation kind, not the actual, delicious kind.
In short, yes: 2015 has been hard. I got lots to work on, both internally and externally in 2016, but I can say with cautious confidence, that I'm starting '16 way better than I started '15, and hope to be able to say the same next year.
And hope that for you as well.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Tuesday, 5 January 2016
Tuesday, 29 October 2013
Forward/Backward.
So Shane Guthrie first appeared in my life when I was about 15, he a couple years older, as part of a teen writer's group. The first thing I heard of his was a poem that scanned both backwards. He had pieces that proposed a viewpoint one way, and an opposite viewpoint the other (Christian/Atheist being my favorite, natch). For the Filthy Jerry kickstarter, he demanded a forward/backwards piece from me. It's taken me this long to write it, with some false starts and scrapped efforts (I decided it didn't need to present opposing viewpoints, but should attempt some sort of sense) and I do some fiddling with the punctuation from one version to the next. But this is the first piece of this type I've completed.
Tasty! (maybe inspired by politics. Or not.)
Tasty! (maybe inspired by politics. Or not.)
Saintly ,again, disappearing into water.
Turning expectations, repasting billboards
All good deeds, all charity drives, all blessed returns.
Saintly, again, rewritten histories.
Bodies, bulldozers, cremations, buyoffs.
Pitchshifted. Rebeats. Chopped, screwed.
Again, Saintliness as moving goalposts.
Stories fit headlines. Splashed page full.
Halos glowing shinier, for flashbulbs.
Searching, a finished writeup, new review.
Again, bowing. Saved great act for last.
_____--____
Last for act. Great. Saved, bowing again.
Review new writeup, finished a searching.
Flashbulbs for shinier glowing halos.
Full page splashed headlines fit stories.
Goalposts moving as Saintliness, again,
Screwed, chopped. Rebeats. Pitchshifted.
Buyoffs, cremations, bulldozers, bodies.
Histories rewritten again, Saintly.
Returns blessed all, drives charity all, deeds good all
Billboards repasting expectations, turning
Water into disappearing again, Saintly.
Tuesday, 23 April 2013
#23: A Clean, Well Lit Place
After the takeover I felt far less hostile,
arranged my goldfish by seniority
along the edges of the windowsill,
sprung for the gourmet fish flakes.
Put on a soothing Whale Songs ep,
and cracked every single one of
my toes. To win, I'll begin my memoir--
tomorrow-- requires a certain clenching
of one's balls. Tough, when one has
Balls of Steel, but that brings me to my
Second Magnificent Feature: ingenuity.
These words came to me in the bath
the day before the Swordfish Scandal
and the leverage it provided the company,
I'd always been a company man. It is
a cold swing in a dark golf course what happened next
--let's just say there weren't many stops for
tea and it took all eight of my magnificent features
not to cave at the inquiry, not to drown in Drug River
and not to show mercy when The Office At the End
became the Hall of Swords. In retrospect,
maybe the Purge of Fire wasn't entirely necessary
and the tension in my elbows seems to be permanent.
This room is quiet, but I need my music to drown
the sort of bubbling gasps I keep on hearing.
Still, now, I have plenty of time to write
and even the mistresses are terrified to enter
so I hope someone buys this book.
arranged my goldfish by seniority
along the edges of the windowsill,
sprung for the gourmet fish flakes.
Put on a soothing Whale Songs ep,
and cracked every single one of
my toes. To win, I'll begin my memoir--
tomorrow-- requires a certain clenching
of one's balls. Tough, when one has
Balls of Steel, but that brings me to my
Second Magnificent Feature: ingenuity.
These words came to me in the bath
the day before the Swordfish Scandal
and the leverage it provided the company,
I'd always been a company man. It is
a cold swing in a dark golf course what happened next
--let's just say there weren't many stops for
tea and it took all eight of my magnificent features
not to cave at the inquiry, not to drown in Drug River
and not to show mercy when The Office At the End
became the Hall of Swords. In retrospect,
maybe the Purge of Fire wasn't entirely necessary
and the tension in my elbows seems to be permanent.
This room is quiet, but I need my music to drown
the sort of bubbling gasps I keep on hearing.
Still, now, I have plenty of time to write
and even the mistresses are terrified to enter
so I hope someone buys this book.
Thursday, 3 January 2013
Craft and Inspiration
My fingers are splitting open,
oiled and pasted and drugged
and re-taped, my fingers
are seaming apart, bits of lemon
juice traveling into and under
skin that refuses itself.
At the table I read a new novel,
and think about sex. The novel
is not about sex, but sex, or something,
is inescapable these days with all these
pictures everywhere, all the reminders
everyone having these legs and torsos.
I have had sex everyday this year
but haven't written a thing.*
the walls are huge and blank
except the parts with pastel flowers
and warping and splitting,
like my fingers or the back of my neck
that she massages together every night
when two officers of the law, booted
and uniformed walk in and stroll about
the cafe. another one enters and I read
and read and read and don't look at
them or think about anything except
for craft and professionalism and
inspiration. definitely not about
unraveling, unfunctioning, jittering apart
or the fourth and fifth officers, two female,**
three male, all white except one guy
who looks hispanic, scratching their chins
and making crisp talk with the girl at the
counter whose lip rings avoid suspicion
because she is employed. In this moment
I'm glad to be reading, not writing,
because that is still less suspicious
and my hands are really starting to shake
and the novel is pretty good,
so far.
*not complaining. or bragging.
**when approached by a female police officer, it is an excellent idea to consistently mention her gender when addressing her directly. If she is at all attractive-- and they often are-- be sure to mention that, too. They love that and will probably let you off with a warning. Also, if you've ever seen a movie with a ladycop, bring that up, possibly ask if she starred in it. There is no way that could go wrong, like joking about the handcuffs.
oiled and pasted and drugged
and re-taped, my fingers
are seaming apart, bits of lemon
juice traveling into and under
skin that refuses itself.
At the table I read a new novel,
and think about sex. The novel
is not about sex, but sex, or something,
is inescapable these days with all these
pictures everywhere, all the reminders
everyone having these legs and torsos.
I have had sex everyday this year
but haven't written a thing.*
the walls are huge and blank
except the parts with pastel flowers
and warping and splitting,
like my fingers or the back of my neck
that she massages together every night
when two officers of the law, booted
and uniformed walk in and stroll about
the cafe. another one enters and I read
and read and read and don't look at
them or think about anything except
for craft and professionalism and
inspiration. definitely not about
unraveling, unfunctioning, jittering apart
or the fourth and fifth officers, two female,**
three male, all white except one guy
who looks hispanic, scratching their chins
and making crisp talk with the girl at the
counter whose lip rings avoid suspicion
because she is employed. In this moment
I'm glad to be reading, not writing,
because that is still less suspicious
and my hands are really starting to shake
and the novel is pretty good,
so far.
*not complaining. or bragging.
**when approached by a female police officer, it is an excellent idea to consistently mention her gender when addressing her directly. If she is at all attractive-- and they often are-- be sure to mention that, too. They love that and will probably let you off with a warning. Also, if you've ever seen a movie with a ladycop, bring that up, possibly ask if she starred in it. There is no way that could go wrong, like joking about the handcuffs.
Monday, 9 May 2011
Meeting Neighborhood Needs
it's commonly agreed that knife-throwing
is a good reason to end a relationship,
or a good way to end a relationship,
all the helping idea books say so.
it's with this in mind that there are such large
magnets overhead,to keep the hand-holding
and quicking kissing going.
as the tourists or townspeople walk through
this district, staring at tea-shop windows
or contemplating vintage autos,
all the knives are sucked from their pockets.
the money, too, but no one ends
relationships over that, the helping books
advise that there are deeper and greater
rewards than pennies flying out of pants.
it's with this in mind that the following district
is furnished with gorgeous apartments
for people to have sex in public places
in which to loudly discuss the length and curve
of pubic hairs and then laugh and
say "oh, you're so bad," because this is part
of an open society and plus, what else will people do
once their wallet has been stolen by sky-magnet;
can't get back-- one needs money for the trolley.
is a good reason to end a relationship,
or a good way to end a relationship,
all the helping idea books say so.
it's with this in mind that there are such large
magnets overhead,to keep the hand-holding
and quicking kissing going.
as the tourists or townspeople walk through
this district, staring at tea-shop windows
or contemplating vintage autos,
all the knives are sucked from their pockets.
the money, too, but no one ends
relationships over that, the helping books
advise that there are deeper and greater
rewards than pennies flying out of pants.
it's with this in mind that the following district
is furnished with gorgeous apartments
for people to have sex in public places
in which to loudly discuss the length and curve
of pubic hairs and then laugh and
say "oh, you're so bad," because this is part
of an open society and plus, what else will people do
once their wallet has been stolen by sky-magnet;
can't get back-- one needs money for the trolley.
Sunday, 10 April 2011
ginsbergia (9/30)
Last night, after a day of weariness and ping-pongy feelings (some other time, k?) I stopped in around midnight at SPLAB's Allen Ginsberg Poetry Marathon. It is a yearly thing they do, seeing how long they can keep people doing Ginsbergy stuff (reading responses, reading his work, watching films related to the beats movement, etc.) I guess this year they broke the record with something like 11 hours straight. I was only there for about an hour and a half of it and I started falling asleep (check the sweet picture of me looking half-dead) but it was a great time while I was awake and the new SPLAB (Spoken Word Lab) room in Columbia City is really warm and home-y feeling. For as much as I liked the Columbia City Cinema, this new room is way inviting. I started this piece there and have finished it just now. The last couple days I have been writing, but more of a journal-ish feel about the last couple of weeks' ups and downs (again, some other time) but this one is an actual poem, at least.
ginsbergia
the corpses go by so fast,
all exquisite, just in time
to start the film about poems
and men who write them
and women who love them
and also write, with splayed-fingered
gestures into microphones.
the room around us, draped
in a history of education and
host to ghost mice, amputee moths
and cold pizza, admiration,
adoration skate the hand-rail border
of literal, spiritual worship,
if it were possible to worship
half-sprawled off a couch.
the men with the poems
and the women with the poems
and the men with the women
with the men with the poems
and the lateness of the night
and brown warmth of the
room helped our own words,
scattered and mashed in a blind flail,
resonate as some sort of knotted rope
tossed from past traditions
into the near future
lined, wrinkled, blessed with ink.
I like Ginsberg, but don't hold him (or the beats in general) in the same regard as many people do. I wanted that to communicate without it seeming like I was making fun of anyone. Probably a blog/essay about the Weight of the Beats has already been written, but I've got enough thoughts about it I may toss that up here sometime.
ginsbergia
the corpses go by so fast,
all exquisite, just in time
to start the film about poems
and men who write them
and women who love them
and also write, with splayed-fingered
gestures into microphones.
the room around us, draped
in a history of education and
host to ghost mice, amputee moths
and cold pizza, admiration,
adoration skate the hand-rail border
of literal, spiritual worship,
if it were possible to worship
half-sprawled off a couch.
the men with the poems
and the women with the poems
and the men with the women
with the men with the poems
and the lateness of the night
and brown warmth of the
room helped our own words,
scattered and mashed in a blind flail,
resonate as some sort of knotted rope
tossed from past traditions
into the near future
lined, wrinkled, blessed with ink.
I like Ginsberg, but don't hold him (or the beats in general) in the same regard as many people do. I wanted that to communicate without it seeming like I was making fun of anyone. Probably a blog/essay about the Weight of the Beats has already been written, but I've got enough thoughts about it I may toss that up here sometime.
Saturday, 30 October 2010
JCMSUP, a couple of shows, a Saturday night with no set plans but to have no set plans.
Yesterday I observed in an e-mail to Gusta that I "am so tired it's like being jetlagged." this was doubtless partially just in anticipation of November 17-23rds complete whirlwind, but also a pretty accurate look at how time has been moving for me as of late. Even after my Big Art Show-- which was just two weeks ago-- I've done two readings, sat in on some crucial communications-policy meetings with Vera, begun my exit proceedings and been working my regular shifts at the Cafe and Loft. So even without my ZAPP hours, I'm still going at least six days a week. Even the most mellow-day three-hour cafe shifts still take a round trip of at least two hours on our city's beleagured Public Transit system. but yes. build a new deep-bore tunnel . . .
Civic politics ASIDE. . .
Jesus Christ Made Seattle Under Protest went really well. We had about 90 people through in three hours; I don't know if that's a ZAPP-at-artwalk record, but it was enough to get some nods. Wanted to post some pictures up here but still don't have a working computer and while I'm sure there is an equivalent of the "right-click" function on a mac, I dunno what it is.
Plus, right now there aren't a lot of pics of the artwork itself. A bunch of people standing looking at walls is not a great rep of an installation.
The following week I did a spoken word gig at the Rendezvous with Police Teeth, Connecticut 4, Garden Variety Tsar and the Mill Kids. The usual MC with a piece or two between each band. Katrina Miller bought me inappropriate amounts of whisky for a weeknight and I pulled out a few pieces I hadn't done in guite some time. It was a good good-bye for Keenan, who I'm coming up on 10 years of friendyness with and she and her fiance are heading to Athens, Ga.
Setlist
Rock Radio
___
Little Red Corvette
My Emergency's About to End*
___
When Saying Mean Things About Strangers
Like Taking Communion
___
Sex Standing Up*
Get Smart!
*It is amazing to me how many times I edited this one back in the day and how LONG it still is and not in a way that is particularly great.
*Debut. I got a lot of laughs and I think I made people uncomfortable. Which is what you want from Sex Standing Up? Heyo!
Then on Sunday I went with Brielle, Emily W, Elissa W up to B'ham for a Your Hands Your Mouth reading. There were lots of readers so my set looked like this:
What Reunions Are Often For
Tunnels
Extra Wide Bathtubs
Flicking Ash
In two weeks there's a reading here for YHYM; the last one here at the house was one of the highlight memories of this year that didn't involve being out of Washington State. I'll be probably busting out a rehearsal set for my Nov. 18th set at the Crunch, which I'm pretty excited about.
Now if I could just write some new stuff. . .
Civic politics ASIDE. . .
Jesus Christ Made Seattle Under Protest went really well. We had about 90 people through in three hours; I don't know if that's a ZAPP-at-artwalk record, but it was enough to get some nods. Wanted to post some pictures up here but still don't have a working computer and while I'm sure there is an equivalent of the "right-click" function on a mac, I dunno what it is.
Plus, right now there aren't a lot of pics of the artwork itself. A bunch of people standing looking at walls is not a great rep of an installation.
The following week I did a spoken word gig at the Rendezvous with Police Teeth, Connecticut 4, Garden Variety Tsar and the Mill Kids. The usual MC with a piece or two between each band. Katrina Miller bought me inappropriate amounts of whisky for a weeknight and I pulled out a few pieces I hadn't done in guite some time. It was a good good-bye for Keenan, who I'm coming up on 10 years of friendyness with and she and her fiance are heading to Athens, Ga.
Setlist
Rock Radio
___
Little Red Corvette
My Emergency's About to End*
___
When Saying Mean Things About Strangers
Like Taking Communion
___
Sex Standing Up*
Get Smart!
*It is amazing to me how many times I edited this one back in the day and how LONG it still is and not in a way that is particularly great.
*Debut. I got a lot of laughs and I think I made people uncomfortable. Which is what you want from Sex Standing Up? Heyo!
Then on Sunday I went with Brielle, Emily W, Elissa W up to B'ham for a Your Hands Your Mouth reading. There were lots of readers so my set looked like this:
What Reunions Are Often For
Tunnels
Extra Wide Bathtubs
Flicking Ash
In two weeks there's a reading here for YHYM; the last one here at the house was one of the highlight memories of this year that didn't involve being out of Washington State. I'll be probably busting out a rehearsal set for my Nov. 18th set at the Crunch, which I'm pretty excited about.
Now if I could just write some new stuff. . .
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
". . . but those first two novels were just so. . . so. . . icky."
Tonight I had a free ticket to see Jonathan Franzen, whom Time Magazine calls the "Great American Novelist" or whatever, speak at Benaroya Hall.
He was smart and funny and very human, talking about the necessity of personal growth to continued relevance, the difficulty of humanity in literary fiction and things like that. I decided to take it as a good thing that many of the things one of the most successful/respected modern american writers said resonated, rather than dwell on *which* particular parts of the talk were hitting home and why.
(i mean, i noted those in the graham-needs-a-life-coach section, not graham-is-a-writer section, though the two are not separate)
also: knew I would be an Uncle by early next year. Now I know I will have a Nephew.
He was smart and funny and very human, talking about the necessity of personal growth to continued relevance, the difficulty of humanity in literary fiction and things like that. I decided to take it as a good thing that many of the things one of the most successful/respected modern american writers said resonated, rather than dwell on *which* particular parts of the talk were hitting home and why.
(i mean, i noted those in the graham-needs-a-life-coach section, not graham-is-a-writer section, though the two are not separate)
also: knew I would be an Uncle by early next year. Now I know I will have a Nephew.
Monday, 19 July 2010
"You shouldn't be so self-deprecating! You should just be awesome."-- a girl named Stephanie, on Saturday
Saturday I read at a salon-style reading at Josie Davis' house wherein there was pie and wine and ipa and Paul Nelson and Anastacia Tolbert and they were both excellent and I felt like my stuff was well-received. I read:
Little Fear of Drowning
Not Like a Gas Stove At All
Lake City
Swansea-Cardiff Blues(Bellingham Edition)
Feel the Buzz(Cardiff Edition)
Ambition is Critical(Swansea Edition)
God Delegates
Extra Wide Bathtubs
Genus, Species and Flavour
incidentally, it was the 1-year anniversary of my return to the USA; hence reading the Welsh Trilogy in complete, in order. The first time I've done that. I still love those pieces, but lately have been feeling an itch to get a more complete round up of new, post-SMCD in tip-top reading shape. Lake City tends to go over real well. At least in Seattle.
other news: Shane will have 2(!) new books out soon, which I helped in selecting/editing pieces for. Have applied for a micro-residency at Pilot Books and have a gig in Portland at the end of August. Writers group is going well. I have about four pieces on the tip of my pen, just waiting to get good.
there are other things in my life that occur, but this was gonna be an "artistic" update anyway.
Little Fear of Drowning
Not Like a Gas Stove At All
Lake City
Swansea-Cardiff Blues(Bellingham Edition)
Feel the Buzz(Cardiff Edition)
Ambition is Critical(Swansea Edition)
God Delegates
Extra Wide Bathtubs
Genus, Species and Flavour
incidentally, it was the 1-year anniversary of my return to the USA; hence reading the Welsh Trilogy in complete, in order. The first time I've done that. I still love those pieces, but lately have been feeling an itch to get a more complete round up of new, post-SMCD in tip-top reading shape. Lake City tends to go over real well. At least in Seattle.
other news: Shane will have 2(!) new books out soon, which I helped in selecting/editing pieces for. Have applied for a micro-residency at Pilot Books and have a gig in Portland at the end of August. Writers group is going well. I have about four pieces on the tip of my pen, just waiting to get good.
there are other things in my life that occur, but this was gonna be an "artistic" update anyway.
Monday, 5 July 2010
material referencing material.
. . . of being pure at heart
and in the video there was a girl eating elephant ears
and the band played in a basement
until it got too sunny
and it was a field then, in Scotland near a pond
and the girl was trying on blue shirts
and I could relate to the words better than the pictures
and could see how this would be something to lay me out for a while
like someone once had a similar shaped back yard they never wanted to leave.
and in the video there was a girl eating elephant ears
and the band played in a basement
until it got too sunny
and it was a field then, in Scotland near a pond
and the girl was trying on blue shirts
and I could relate to the words better than the pictures
and could see how this would be something to lay me out for a while
like someone once had a similar shaped back yard they never wanted to leave.
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
Catcher
God wants you to read Catcher in the Rye out loud.
He's thinking of a rehabilitation program; maybe Satan is just a Holden Caulfield-type who never got the attention he deserved during his career as the Morningstar.
You ask if He's read it before and He has in that Omniscent-omnipresent way, but frankly, at any given time he's moving on people to avoid genocides in Siberia, South Asia and Your Backyard.
God wants you to read Catcher in the Rye, out loud, in heaven, to an audience of saints and angels; let the sinless vaccuum breathe a little bit, maybe you're going to convince him of a couple things.
If it goes well he’ll start a book club and policy board; next up is The Satanic Verses.
This thought mats your hair down with sweat, beads up your eyes and gulps your throat and you suddenly wish you were Catholic and had some sort of tradition to deal with all of this. You're not sure why God asked or why he needs you to read it aloud, when he knows you have a fear of public speaking.
Jesus shoos away some orphans he's playing with-- he's always fucking playing with orphans-- and takes you aside. “Could you do this for him? I mean, I'm not sure exactly what he's thinking with this one; if not for him, for me.”
Your eyebrows and jawdrop do the talking. What would your pastor think? Like he could hear you, Jesus shakes his head, fingers his wrists with what almost looks like a sneer.
“You know how well I get on with Pastors. No, no, you're right, I mean, sure, after all, what did I ever do for you?”
good to know he still has the sharp tongue that got him strung up there in the first place.
He's thinking of a rehabilitation program; maybe Satan is just a Holden Caulfield-type who never got the attention he deserved during his career as the Morningstar.
You ask if He's read it before and He has in that Omniscent-omnipresent way, but frankly, at any given time he's moving on people to avoid genocides in Siberia, South Asia and Your Backyard.
God wants you to read Catcher in the Rye, out loud, in heaven, to an audience of saints and angels; let the sinless vaccuum breathe a little bit, maybe you're going to convince him of a couple things.
If it goes well he’ll start a book club and policy board; next up is The Satanic Verses.
This thought mats your hair down with sweat, beads up your eyes and gulps your throat and you suddenly wish you were Catholic and had some sort of tradition to deal with all of this. You're not sure why God asked or why he needs you to read it aloud, when he knows you have a fear of public speaking.
Jesus shoos away some orphans he's playing with-- he's always fucking playing with orphans-- and takes you aside. “Could you do this for him? I mean, I'm not sure exactly what he's thinking with this one; if not for him, for me.”
Your eyebrows and jawdrop do the talking. What would your pastor think? Like he could hear you, Jesus shakes his head, fingers his wrists with what almost looks like a sneer.
“You know how well I get on with Pastors. No, no, you're right, I mean, sure, after all, what did I ever do for you?”
good to know he still has the sharp tongue that got him strung up there in the first place.
Monday, 2 November 2009
new writing project:
I'm trying my fingers at Nanowrimo.
So far I have half a page. If this is the pace I keep up, I will have a long short story by the end of the month, about a guy with a toothache who lives in the second tallest apartment building in the world that has a window in the bathroom but its okay because the building is so tall, but his head hurts and he is waiting to die.
don't everyone jump up to publish at once.
So far I have half a page. If this is the pace I keep up, I will have a long short story by the end of the month, about a guy with a toothache who lives in the second tallest apartment building in the world that has a window in the bathroom but its okay because the building is so tall, but his head hurts and he is waiting to die.
don't everyone jump up to publish at once.
Saturday, 17 October 2009
No longer Pumps and Grinds
So today after helping 20 fifteen year olds take down some tents* in the pouring rain and after driving around 25 minutes in order to find a two minute parking spot to verify things with Bronwyn and being late to my volunteer shift at the Hugo House and leaving early to get Bronwyn and a very scenic if rainy trip out to Duvall, I did my first feature reading back in the United States of America.
Setlist
Flicking Ash
Swansea-Cardiff Blues (Bham Ed.)
Isolation Therapy
Cavities
Zombies and Paint Thinner
A Little Fear of Drowning
Missing Every Day
Rucksacks
Tall Drink of Water
Genus, Species and Flavour
Get Smart!
__(end of night encore)__>Story Problem
Thats a lot of poems, over half the book. Which is funny because two nights ago I was looking over it and thinking man, I don't likeany of these. I'd already decided I wanted my first reading back in the states to be all stuff from Swansea Morning Coming Down. Plus, while I've got a good chunk of new stuff, the amount of it I feel anywhere in the neighbourhood of "finished" with is not high.
Anyway. It went really well. Good reactions and sold a few books. The owners of the Duvall Coffeehouse asked if they could display SWMOCODO (nifty, huh?) on the "local authors" shelf.
Duvall is not close to anywhere in Washington (except Carnation, natch) and a lot of folks showed up from all over, including a majority of my in-state family. It felt really right that Duvall be where I step back into reading in the States. I'll do one in Everett in November probably and B'ham in February (I think; by which time I may have made at least a mini-book of new stuff) but I'm glad I started with Katherine and my family and a rainy night in Duvall, Washington.
Now I am back at Warm Beach Swamp Ground, Brielle is here and we are listening to Tom Waits' Alice and waiting for Mom and Dad to return with the three youngest sisters.
Setlist
Flicking Ash
Swansea-Cardiff Blues (Bham Ed.)
Isolation Therapy
Cavities
Zombies and Paint Thinner
A Little Fear of Drowning
Missing Every Day
Rucksacks
Tall Drink of Water
Genus, Species and Flavour
Get Smart!
__(end of night encore)__>Story Problem
Thats a lot of poems, over half the book. Which is funny because two nights ago I was looking over it and thinking man, I don't likeany of these. I'd already decided I wanted my first reading back in the states to be all stuff from Swansea Morning Coming Down. Plus, while I've got a good chunk of new stuff, the amount of it I feel anywhere in the neighbourhood of "finished" with is not high.
Anyway. It went really well. Good reactions and sold a few books. The owners of the Duvall Coffeehouse asked if they could display SWMOCODO (nifty, huh?) on the "local authors" shelf.
Duvall is not close to anywhere in Washington (except Carnation, natch) and a lot of folks showed up from all over, including a majority of my in-state family. It felt really right that Duvall be where I step back into reading in the States. I'll do one in Everett in November probably and B'ham in February (I think; by which time I may have made at least a mini-book of new stuff) but I'm glad I started with Katherine and my family and a rainy night in Duvall, Washington.
Now I am back at Warm Beach Swamp Ground, Brielle is here and we are listening to Tom Waits' Alice and waiting for Mom and Dad to return with the three youngest sisters.
Wednesday, 30 September 2009
Also, I'll Have Rabies
In three days
when they've put the raptors back in their cages
and catalogued all their favourite magazines
now used to paper prison roofs
I will drink coffee still
shaking and dressed in newspapers
as I walk blind to my job at the morgue
where I will daydream of shoe polish
and proper sausage preparation
while outside the drums keep going
and my one half-dead co-worker
says nothing except
how different things were
just three days ago.
when they've put the raptors back in their cages
and catalogued all their favourite magazines
now used to paper prison roofs
I will drink coffee still
shaking and dressed in newspapers
as I walk blind to my job at the morgue
where I will daydream of shoe polish
and proper sausage preparation
while outside the drums keep going
and my one half-dead co-worker
says nothing except
how different things were
just three days ago.
Monday, 14 September 2009
One (-is the loneliest?) (-21 Guns?)(-more time?)
{jake tucker, who makes promises he cannot keep, has, in the utmost hypocrisy, bugged ME to write something. yes. JAKE bugged ME. we won't speak of recent events, we will simply move forward with grace and style}
Mixtape Piece # 1 out of 734
Female voice through the speakers on a tuesday afternoon,
over sharp, loping guitars, a narrative style to kill for
laced with snarky affection
and I, sitting on my bed,
trying to eek out something on my
sketchpad, I think
"man, if a girl ever put this on a mix for me
well, that would be the day--"
then I remembered
I didn't make this mix, you did.
as the song ended
i realised this is possibly
as good as it gets.
Mixtape Piece # 1 out of 734
Female voice through the speakers on a tuesday afternoon,
over sharp, loping guitars, a narrative style to kill for
laced with snarky affection
and I, sitting on my bed,
trying to eek out something on my
sketchpad, I think
"man, if a girl ever put this on a mix for me
well, that would be the day--"
then I remembered
I didn't make this mix, you did.
as the song ended
i realised this is possibly
as good as it gets.
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
Site vs. Site vs. Graham's Swirling Brain
So now I wasn't going to post about the Pitchfork 500-Song list, largely because well, geez. I've found the site's resources useful over the years, especially in the last few as there's been more on-site mp3s and video (allowing the reader to decide for themselves the merits of a particular track or video) and I've gotten into some good bands via the 'fork.
But when one the arguably most influential music publications of our time puts out it's Best of the 00s lists and a lot if it is, well, confounding, I sort of shake my head. Now tastes are tastes and theirs aren't mine, but there were a few things that bugged me about the list beyond a "Oh, dude, I TOTALLY don't agree with that, laaame" way.
I was talking with Aaron about it recently, and he sort of agreed.
Now, enter site # 2. Buddyhead is a site I wrote for a few times about a year and a half ago and stopped for a few reasons, mainly previously-mentioned reasons about how after a while, music-writing bums me out. Also because Buddyhead's dude-slang approach to music writing can be good for calling bullshit, but as an overall style-guide, it hurts my brain just as much as the 'forkians who can't write looking up 5-syllable synonyms for "pretty" to describe the Best New Music.
but sometimes, you answer a fool according to his folly and sometimes, you just call bullshit.
The article is long, and has a few eye-rolling moments, but it gets at some of the things that bug me not just about the list, but about 'fork's narcissism; its consistent priveleging of groups or artists that the site was instrumental in breaking, the complete lack of perspective, the song-list probably took a while to compile, meaning you have artists and songs on the list (as high as like, no. 8) that haven't existed for more than three months, the near-complete lack of any country music on the list, the complete lack of any music that responded to the political situations in the world and what seems like a total lack of depth or discretion in dealing with hip hop and r & b.
a few gems from the buddyhead article, in case you didn't feel like reading the whole thing:
Of course, Schreiber’s site is his own, and he can pick the hits any way he pleases (and he’ll tell you when you’ve had enough LCD Soundsystem). . . the nerds might have retained a little dignity had they allowed the 2000s to actually, you know, finish, before revising its musical legacy into the soundtrack of a rich, white kid’s gay bar cocaine-binge. A little distance, perhaps even six months, might have given them better perspective.
Because we still remember the 2000s.
And Vampire Weekend is not better than Pulp.
About 499, I’d say.
For instance, ask yourself this for a moment: just how many Eminem singles were better, or more historically significant, than one of Johnny Cash’s last?
Could the answer truly be all of them?
Rankings mean something. “Best of” lists are explicit judgments about both aesthetic value and historical context, and Pitchfork seems to have disregarded both.
there's more, that's just from the beginning, but it's a pretty good read, if for nothing else, the rapper-beef vibe of it. While I wouldn't say Buddyhead has completely "put them in their place," there's a good lot there that's hard to dismiss.
I mean, seriously, Kelly Clarkson?
But when one the arguably most influential music publications of our time puts out it's Best of the 00s lists and a lot if it is, well, confounding, I sort of shake my head. Now tastes are tastes and theirs aren't mine, but there were a few things that bugged me about the list beyond a "Oh, dude, I TOTALLY don't agree with that, laaame" way.
I was talking with Aaron about it recently, and he sort of agreed.
Now, enter site # 2. Buddyhead is a site I wrote for a few times about a year and a half ago and stopped for a few reasons, mainly previously-mentioned reasons about how after a while, music-writing bums me out. Also because Buddyhead's dude-slang approach to music writing can be good for calling bullshit, but as an overall style-guide, it hurts my brain just as much as the 'forkians who can't write looking up 5-syllable synonyms for "pretty" to describe the Best New Music.
but sometimes, you answer a fool according to his folly and sometimes, you just call bullshit.
The article is long, and has a few eye-rolling moments, but it gets at some of the things that bug me not just about the list, but about 'fork's narcissism; its consistent priveleging of groups or artists that the site was instrumental in breaking, the complete lack of perspective, the song-list probably took a while to compile, meaning you have artists and songs on the list (as high as like, no. 8) that haven't existed for more than three months, the near-complete lack of any country music on the list, the complete lack of any music that responded to the political situations in the world and what seems like a total lack of depth or discretion in dealing with hip hop and r & b.
a few gems from the buddyhead article, in case you didn't feel like reading the whole thing:
Of course, Schreiber’s site is his own, and he can pick the hits any way he pleases (and he’ll tell you when you’ve had enough LCD Soundsystem). . . the nerds might have retained a little dignity had they allowed the 2000s to actually, you know, finish, before revising its musical legacy into the soundtrack of a rich, white kid’s gay bar cocaine-binge. A little distance, perhaps even six months, might have given them better perspective.
Because we still remember the 2000s.
And Vampire Weekend is not better than Pulp.
About 499, I’d say.
For instance, ask yourself this for a moment: just how many Eminem singles were better, or more historically significant, than one of Johnny Cash’s last?
Could the answer truly be all of them?
Rankings mean something. “Best of” lists are explicit judgments about both aesthetic value and historical context, and Pitchfork seems to have disregarded both.
there's more, that's just from the beginning, but it's a pretty good read, if for nothing else, the rapper-beef vibe of it. While I wouldn't say Buddyhead has completely "put them in their place," there's a good lot there that's hard to dismiss.
I mean, seriously, Kelly Clarkson?
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
Back at the 'rents
what’d they say to the dove in the cage
the first time they put the blanket over the bars
for the night, turned the light out
and went to bed?
Its not a bad life, food, water, mandatory sleeping hours.
Some never get enough of any,
And damned if I’m going to turn this
Into some sort of metaphor for peace or freedom.
Sometimes I get awakened by hammers
At eight in the morning, the deck my parents
have been waiting for for years finally
getting its nails in.
I think brief thoughts about dutch-protestant
work ethic and the value of patience
as I pull a pillow over my head
And wait until they’re done
To coffee and jobsearch, unshaven.
There are rot-blackened bananas hanging from
the fruithook and I think my sisters did not eat
all their oatmeal. This could be something about waste
But I predict banana bread.
the first time they put the blanket over the bars
for the night, turned the light out
and went to bed?
Its not a bad life, food, water, mandatory sleeping hours.
Some never get enough of any,
And damned if I’m going to turn this
Into some sort of metaphor for peace or freedom.
Sometimes I get awakened by hammers
At eight in the morning, the deck my parents
have been waiting for for years finally
getting its nails in.
I think brief thoughts about dutch-protestant
work ethic and the value of patience
as I pull a pillow over my head
And wait until they’re done
To coffee and jobsearch, unshaven.
There are rot-blackened bananas hanging from
the fruithook and I think my sisters did not eat
all their oatmeal. This could be something about waste
But I predict banana bread.
Monday, 30 March 2009
Doombar!
Friday morning at 6:15am I was rubbing sleep out my eyes and walking up High Street to the train station. After some unsuccessful attempts to withdraw money from a hole-in-the-wall (apparently £50 at 6am registers as suspicious for someone who usually only gets up to £20, and usually around 7pm) I got the London Paddington Train for 6:29. Or so I thought. Apparently that one left early, so I sat, half-awake, on a still train until 6:59.
I did a bit of editing on Ambition is Critical and then slept most of the way between Bridgend and Reading.
Ultimately, I made my way via tube to the Southbank Centre. I was a bit concerned about finding it in time, but luckily for me, most things with names like "The Royal Festival Hall" have huge-ass signs on the side of their buildings. This was no exception. As I was walking through the door to Function Room 3 I got a call from Lucy, the organiser asking if I'd made it okay. Movie-style timing.
I was there for the Pilot Meeting of the Global Poetry System. What is that? That's what I was there to find out. Long and short of it-- it'll be a web-based interactive poetry project. Sort of like Google Maps but with poetry. Perhaps a bit of Wiki thrown in. So, say you scroll over Swansea on the map and there are balloons that pop up with links to found poetry, videos of events, reader's musings on historical Swansea Poets. For example.
The project is very open ended and the brainchild of Southbank Centre Artist in Residence Lemn Sissay, who was incredibly warm and more than that, was able to talk about Poetry as a Vastly Important Part of Daily and Spiritual Life without sounding like a Big Fucking Hippie.
Which is very hard to do.
The enthusiasm was infectious and though the rest of the day was largely brainstorming with the other Project Partners from all over the UK, it felt just as much like some sort of odd mini-summercamp. The project is very adaptable; I feel it'll be important for Swansea to emphasize new events and generating new material; the guy from Abergavenny is planning his end around one particular poet of local renown, one of the Edinburgh ladies is specifically interested in upping visitorship and readership of libraries, Will from London is looking towards youth work and performance.
So what the Global Poetry System is will obviously evolve with time; but I find it exciting to be working with such a variety of people who are also excited about words and also excited about their own communities. It's huge.
Afters I checked out the Saison Poetry Library and I was supposed to meet Will (london) and Ryan (Scotland via Connecticut) at the bar at the British Film Institute, but I had to hit up a bank first. When I got back they weren't there; either they'd each shown up on their own when the others weren't there, thought "fuck it" and left (entirely possible) or I'd found the wrong British Film Institute bar (also possible.) As was, I sat outside drinking a pint of a cornish ale called Doombar (it was pretty good) and watched the Thames.
It was good. The part about not getting to meet up with anyone in London ended up okay; I caught the train back and read the first fifty pages of Infinite Jest, showed up at Rhod and Guppy's where the whole crew was watching a pirated version of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
It was alright.
I did a bit of editing on Ambition is Critical and then slept most of the way between Bridgend and Reading.
Ultimately, I made my way via tube to the Southbank Centre. I was a bit concerned about finding it in time, but luckily for me, most things with names like "The Royal Festival Hall" have huge-ass signs on the side of their buildings. This was no exception. As I was walking through the door to Function Room 3 I got a call from Lucy, the organiser asking if I'd made it okay. Movie-style timing.
I was there for the Pilot Meeting of the Global Poetry System. What is that? That's what I was there to find out. Long and short of it-- it'll be a web-based interactive poetry project. Sort of like Google Maps but with poetry. Perhaps a bit of Wiki thrown in. So, say you scroll over Swansea on the map and there are balloons that pop up with links to found poetry, videos of events, reader's musings on historical Swansea Poets. For example.
The project is very open ended and the brainchild of Southbank Centre Artist in Residence Lemn Sissay, who was incredibly warm and more than that, was able to talk about Poetry as a Vastly Important Part of Daily and Spiritual Life without sounding like a Big Fucking Hippie.
Which is very hard to do.
The enthusiasm was infectious and though the rest of the day was largely brainstorming with the other Project Partners from all over the UK, it felt just as much like some sort of odd mini-summercamp. The project is very adaptable; I feel it'll be important for Swansea to emphasize new events and generating new material; the guy from Abergavenny is planning his end around one particular poet of local renown, one of the Edinburgh ladies is specifically interested in upping visitorship and readership of libraries, Will from London is looking towards youth work and performance.
So what the Global Poetry System is will obviously evolve with time; but I find it exciting to be working with such a variety of people who are also excited about words and also excited about their own communities. It's huge.
Afters I checked out the Saison Poetry Library and I was supposed to meet Will (london) and Ryan (Scotland via Connecticut) at the bar at the British Film Institute, but I had to hit up a bank first. When I got back they weren't there; either they'd each shown up on their own when the others weren't there, thought "fuck it" and left (entirely possible) or I'd found the wrong British Film Institute bar (also possible.) As was, I sat outside drinking a pint of a cornish ale called Doombar (it was pretty good) and watched the Thames.
It was good. The part about not getting to meet up with anyone in London ended up okay; I caught the train back and read the first fifty pages of Infinite Jest, showed up at Rhod and Guppy's where the whole crew was watching a pirated version of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
It was alright.
Thursday, 26 March 2009
Chapbook update, travel plans, etc
So I've been oscillating on whether the chapbbok should be 1) a bunch of unrelated poems people will like or 2) a themed batch of connected poems written since I've come to Swansea.
Plus side of 1: Easy and fun to perform. Quick. Versatile to different audiences.
Plus side of 2: Relevant. Challenging. A more rewarding read.
Thinking it over and getting feedback from folks both side of the pond it seems folks are veering towards 2-- but really want both. And so do I, really. I'd like to produce a book I can read from when I don't feel like talking about Wales, but I want the cohesiveness that comes from a theme. So the next week will be polishing and finishing a few pieces I put on the back burner in an attempt to walk the tightrope.
because why do anything easy?
speaking of, tommorrow at 555am I take a train to London for the Southbank Centre's workshop/orientation for all the partners in the Global Poetry System. I don't have a place to stay or much money, but hey-- flexibility. go see some art galleries and shit, come back with a GPS Plan of Attack.
Plus side of 1: Easy and fun to perform. Quick. Versatile to different audiences.
Plus side of 2: Relevant. Challenging. A more rewarding read.
Thinking it over and getting feedback from folks both side of the pond it seems folks are veering towards 2-- but really want both. And so do I, really. I'd like to produce a book I can read from when I don't feel like talking about Wales, but I want the cohesiveness that comes from a theme. So the next week will be polishing and finishing a few pieces I put on the back burner in an attempt to walk the tightrope.
because why do anything easy?
speaking of, tommorrow at 555am I take a train to London for the Southbank Centre's workshop/orientation for all the partners in the Global Poetry System. I don't have a place to stay or much money, but hey-- flexibility. go see some art galleries and shit, come back with a GPS Plan of Attack.
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
It's like the Awesome Nameless Summer Poetry Project, but will probably get a title soon. Part 1.
Today I got an e-mail from GPS with a contract and everything. Something about invoicing them. I've never "invoiced" anyone before; largely because I'm usually on the other end of that equation and because most of my dealings are with friends. This, however, is with a large, poetry-based corporation.
More on that later. With regards to the Other End of my cash-acquisition, I'm currently working on a new Chapbook to complete in time for a top-secret lock-in fundraiser at Lewis' band's practice space beginning of April.
Yeah, I know.
Something about a "top-secret fundraiser" sounds eight ways to dodgy, but still. . . I like reading in cramped, poorly lit spaces. If my words don't hit people, specks of saliva will.
So I'm currently going through a list of potential poems for this book. I want it to largely consist of pieces I've written (or heavily edited and completed) here in Swansea, I want it to have a strong Sense of Place, but I don't want it to read like a poetry-based laundry list of images and places; I find that heavily themed works get real stale real fast.
So. I've got a list of titles here, some with links to them, others you can easily find on this blog, others are yet unseen in online form and we'll let that stay the case.
First off, the Poems I Wrote Pre-Wales, that for whatever reason I Feel Strongly Enough About to consider including
Story Problem
Zombies and Paint Thinner
Dinner For One
Watching Films About Death
Little Red Corvette
Cavities
Caleb Barber Loses His Teeth to Meth
Everyone Has Something
Murder Ballads
Poems I've Written in Swansea, More or Less About Swansea or Places in It or about General 'Welshness'-->(*Marks one that needs a good bit of work)
Beneath the Cathedral
Paintings of Famous Satanists
Rugby '08
Rugby '09*
Rucksacks*
The Cafe Across From the Train Station
Glasgow Weather and Inappropriate Footwear
Carmarthen Train #1
Its What We Writers Do (For Jen)
Christmas Light Gallows*
Tall Drink of Water
Black Pudding*
Isolation Therapy
At the Chip Shop
Beck House D 3.1*
Ambition is Critical*
Swansea-Cardiff Blues (Bellngham Edition)*
Earl Grey
All My Friend Back Home (Start a band about this one)*
Tired Eyes
And These Are About Girls or Concepts or came from Ryan's prompts and aren't necessarily tied to Wales
Ellie
Donkey Kong Country
New Poem For Old Plasters
We Laughed at the Same Thing (M4W)
Clippers! Clippers! Clippers!
A Little Fear of Drowning
Flicking Ash
24th Ave, NE*
Cities that Exist in Movies*
Children Go Missing Every Day
Context and Subtext
Ways In Which Gloriana Flotsam McGrew Will Probably Die, Since It's Always So Fucking Glamourous With Her (addressed to the subject)
Pigeon Bait
Children Go Missing Every Day
Forward Thinking
Boyz*
Three Counts of Public Urination
Enough With the Cape Already*
Genus, Species and Flavour
I am the tired orphan*
yeah. So about 15-20 poems out of those. Plus a few that are very much in my head but not on paper yet. Some are shoe-ins, but it really depends what sort of thing I want to make and what purpose I want it to serve for me and how long. Which I'll talk about later. I've tagged a lot of places you can find some of the mentioned poems.
More on that later. With regards to the Other End of my cash-acquisition, I'm currently working on a new Chapbook to complete in time for a top-secret lock-in fundraiser at Lewis' band's practice space beginning of April.
Yeah, I know.
Something about a "top-secret fundraiser" sounds eight ways to dodgy, but still. . . I like reading in cramped, poorly lit spaces. If my words don't hit people, specks of saliva will.
So I'm currently going through a list of potential poems for this book. I want it to largely consist of pieces I've written (or heavily edited and completed) here in Swansea, I want it to have a strong Sense of Place, but I don't want it to read like a poetry-based laundry list of images and places; I find that heavily themed works get real stale real fast.
So. I've got a list of titles here, some with links to them, others you can easily find on this blog, others are yet unseen in online form and we'll let that stay the case.
First off, the Poems I Wrote Pre-Wales, that for whatever reason I Feel Strongly Enough About to consider including
Story Problem
Zombies and Paint Thinner
Dinner For One
Watching Films About Death
Little Red Corvette
Cavities
Caleb Barber Loses His Teeth to Meth
Everyone Has Something
Murder Ballads
Poems I've Written in Swansea, More or Less About Swansea or Places in It or about General 'Welshness'-->(*Marks one that needs a good bit of work)
Beneath the Cathedral
Paintings of Famous Satanists
Rugby '08
Rugby '09*
Rucksacks*
The Cafe Across From the Train Station
Glasgow Weather and Inappropriate Footwear
Carmarthen Train #1
Its What We Writers Do (For Jen)
Christmas Light Gallows*
Tall Drink of Water
Black Pudding*
Isolation Therapy
At the Chip Shop
Beck House D 3.1*
Ambition is Critical*
Swansea-Cardiff Blues (Bellngham Edition)*
Earl Grey
All My Friend Back Home (Start a band about this one)*
Tired Eyes
And These Are About Girls or Concepts or came from Ryan's prompts and aren't necessarily tied to Wales
Ellie
Donkey Kong Country
New Poem For Old Plasters
We Laughed at the Same Thing (M4W)
Clippers! Clippers! Clippers!
A Little Fear of Drowning
Flicking Ash
24th Ave, NE*
Cities that Exist in Movies*
Children Go Missing Every Day
Context and Subtext
Ways In Which Gloriana Flotsam McGrew Will Probably Die, Since It's Always So Fucking Glamourous With Her (addressed to the subject)
Pigeon Bait
Children Go Missing Every Day
Forward Thinking
Boyz*
Three Counts of Public Urination
Enough With the Cape Already*
Genus, Species and Flavour
I am the tired orphan*
yeah. So about 15-20 poems out of those. Plus a few that are very much in my head but not on paper yet. Some are shoe-ins, but it really depends what sort of thing I want to make and what purpose I want it to serve for me and how long. Which I'll talk about later. I've tagged a lot of places you can find some of the mentioned poems.
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