For the first time since starting this blog

Somewhereincolorado will actually BE somewhere in colorado!

I'm reading in Boulder on Thursday night. Then I'll hang there, or in Denver with Elyse and Chris, and just sorta see what's up for a couple days, and come back to seattle in time for Runoff!

I had been to Co. before this, back in 2001, in Manitou Springs, mainly. But that's another story for another time.

trains and tall buildings # 1. Intro.

I walk out of my apartment building every day, cross the street to a bus island and walk alongside the tunnel for the Great Northern Railroad.

Some days, given the right weather, mood and amount of time, it feels like I've moved not just neighborhoods, but cities entirely. Today is not quite one of those, but it comes close. Lately I've been trying to measure the ways that moving to the I.D./Pioneer Square has affected my life, mood and living style. I've been here for almost five months and it's felt five months; it feels almost like more. I'm going to start recording my thoughts on this (and other Seattle/City/"urban living" *blech*/sorts of thoughts) blog under the Trains and Tall Buildings tags. If you're one of the eight people who come here for poems, or one of the five-to-ten who are looking for general life updates, this will definitely not be a place for the former, and only questionably a place for the latter, as "how I'm doing here near downtown and what" will slide quite nicely alongside me talking about things like the shape of buildings or use of public space. 

So if you're interested in these things, yay. If not, you aren't alone.
One thing that is true about my life now is that I cannot simply walk out of my house at 6:42 to get to work by 6:58. I must go catch a train to avoid the shame of tardiness.

which is why this was largely just an intro, devoid of any real ideas or content. and I got you to read it!

Hat Trick

Curtains and tights.

Doves and canes.
Caps, cufflinks, gloves,
shining.
We were that joke about
the truck, who turned into
a cornfield.
                                                  HEY ravens! HEY crows! these stalks aren’t for ignoring.

Pendants and saws.
Repurposed coffins.
Lights so bright or
none at all.

                                                  (crystal, but with a joke about balls. A twitch and a wink)

Capes, capes, capes.
This knife can cut through an
ordinary leather sofa in
ten minutes. Think what
the whole set could do.
These shoes were the finest
taps in all the land, we
can be your cobbler.
Keep in mind, we used to
be people who used to be
a truck.
                                                      HEY! Rally, motorcycles! HEY!
                                                      Rally, flamethrowers! Rally, chrome-                                                                                                                    winged-donkeys.
it is so unfair that these
things repeat themselves.
Nonetheless, we were velvet curtains,
waxed goatee, blazer. Twirling
a rabbit on our finger, blowing
a kiss in sparkling blue pastel,
what they wanted to see,
harsh realities not withstanding.

                                                (this knife cuts through cob)
                                                                                           WHEELWHEELWHEEL!

2 of 4.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day! Listen to this Irish Music:

here's some new stuff, with the addendums to follow:

Lord and Savor

Tell me about this weird moment, he said, chewing an elongated piece of intestine. He gnawed and gnawed. Tell me about this epiphaaaneeeee smack smack smack smack gulp, this new revelation that you—spit—know. I love beef jerky. I love it. I suspect, however, that much of it is actually pork.
The ceiling fan continued its one-per-minute rotation.
But tell me, young sir, young miss, youngling, what is this thing that happened in a second and is now gone but has changed the way you feel about everything? Tell me, and talk into this tape recorder, then we will let your parents go. It is the plan.

The sun was grey and dusty and the two stared out the county courthouse windows for a long time. The child also chewed a stick of jerky, and eventually said that it was when he saw the ponys, he knew he wanted to be a cowboy, and the man knew that this meant absolutely nothing, and that he was not, in fact “the one” by any stretch, the prophecy would have none of him, just some fucking kid, and his parents had been beheaded for nothing.

Sword and Labor

We unfolded the sign over the bridge over the freeway near the university and the residentials. “FUCK YOUR WAR” it said. The anticipated military parade didn’t arrive. The city council members who’d voted to fire on Everett did not pass by. They were in a hotel talking tunnels.

But everyone has their war. We hadn’t taken into account the use of metaphor in self help books. The passing subarus became alcoholics, the passing jeeps filled with self doubt. At some point a Dairigold tanker crashed into the Betty Paige house and everyone fighting a war against sexual repression just lost, all at once. We were trying to roll the sign up again once we saw what was happening but it turned out that our war was with prudent withdrawal, which was also why the walls of so many vaginas collapsed and we had nothing warm to soften us. Also, the bridge. They warned us this could happen.

ZAPP as connector

the Zine Archive and Publishing Project is moving out of the Richard Hugo House. This is huge. For near-on ten years now, that's been a goal of ZAPP's, at times a casual, "wouldn't it be nice", at others a more pressing concern, but due to a variety of issues, resets, and general struggle I won't get into here (but may later) it hasn't happened til now.

This. Is. Huge.

It is not overestimating it to say that ZAPP has likely been the most important of places in my re-entry into Seattle. In 2009 I started volunteering weekly, while I was still living in Stanwood, working hanging Christmas Lights, at ZAPP's open hours. In 2010 I accepted an internship writing PR (which went through Hugo House) and helping co-ordinate volunteers. This culminated in my Internship Show, Jesus Christ Made Seattle Under Protest, which re-sparked my interest in visual art (an interest that goes through it's own series of languishes and resets.) Many of the new, lasting friendships, artistic collaborations and  I've made have been through ZAPP-- I met Bryan Edenfield, without whom there'd be no book of Filthy Jerry Poems at ZAPP. I was in a writer's group with him, Rainey Warren, and Emily Wittenhagen the latter of whom gave me a job at the Hugo House Bar, which in turn helped me to get my foot in the door in Seattle's bar scene (From the OTHER side of the bar. please.) It's where I met Lindsey Tibbot, who'd go on to marry David Stone (both of whom put me up when a spot I was going to live fell through at the last minute.)If you factor in that employment as an outgrowth of ZAPP, I also met Marty, Brian McGuigan, Paul Nelson and many others not-too-indirectly, through ZAPP.

I'm super stoked to be reading at their Release Party. I'd say more but the Library is closing.