We Know the Results (rough, new)

The Super Bowl is Over

and with it, speculation

as pros and amateurs alike

call in to collect their bets.

The Super Bowl is  Over

and we're all a little drunk and

mentioning our friends in Philly

and considering more cocaine

or maybe fighting the bartender.

I need to leave this shouting neighborhood.

The Super Bowl is Over

and there are so many new buildings

beckoning for retail, the suited men

look tired, these streets will not be clean.

the sports bars prepare for another

downturn and hope to live off

these profits at least until Saint Patrick’s day.

The Super Bowl is Over

and it is time to  sort my w2s.

The Super Bowl is Over

and my Dad’s best friend, laid to rest

at the Rainier Beach Mortuary in

a two hour ceremony one hour before

I work. My sister texting tears that

she can’t make it out.

My Mom’s pet dove, family pet for

thirteen years, shivering in it’s blanket

then still.

The Super Bowl is Over

and seriously fuck that one guy,

and his voting record, this can,

or has to, mean something. We

taste  his tears from TV screens.

The Super Bowl is Over

and there are buses I no longer take

pictures I’m wiping from my phone

a Cat I’ll never see again

and a line around the block

for a play I will not see.

The Super Bowl is Over

so no more guesswork. The why

it went the way it did are stories

that will change with tellers. There

will be another one next year

and after that, an occasion

for fundraisers and toy drives
and nachos and puppies

and million dollar commercials.

The Super Bowl is Over

which means there must be winners

but I am more concerned with losses now;

that corner space in the charming building
promised such potential, sits empty.

25/30! Gunmetal Grey!

of the options, black and grey
like a gun, the sales clerk said
seemed least likely to attract
attention or seem gaudy.

I can gaud it up myself with
stickers or dents. The entire
process, from plan cancellation
through code unlocking to
plan downloading

was three hours. the time
I'd planned to pay my healthcare bill,
see about some reimbursment.

but in an offwhite room
with a steady soundtrack of Stone Temple Pilots
where a ponytailed man compared
phones to weapons and used
"rugged" to describe protective cases
I realized the day I signed
this contract

was the first day of this month
I wouldn't be writing
a poem.

#6 Gershwin. I said Gershwin, Dammit.

Goddamn you, Train Nap, all the waking up I did or didn't,
or tried to do, what. It's been easy and uneasy all day
and the pianos I'm dragging behind me have started playing
Aaron Copland melodies like I'm supposed to want to fuck
a field and give birth to a farm, fed only on Mrs. McCready's
afterchurch biscuits.

Goddamn you, Train Nap, like a penny on the tracks,
like a spit in the eye of a deaf librarian. Like a falling balloon,
like a speedboat. No one knows how to steer speedboats,
there are only the lucky ones and the unlucky ones,
it doesn't matter, your license. I am sent now, waving up
on the beaches and children, careening into worker's housing
while the giant soar of americana tries to raise
it's prohibition toast to normalcy and goodness, without
ever defining the terms. There's something lurking behind
the mayor, but I can't see it; I just keep rubbing my eyes.

don't call it an anniversary!

The sheer number of bros, back in the day, who took up the chant "This IS SPARTA," was one of the many factors that played into my never seeing 300. Also, the fact that despite the spectacle and women in leather, Sin City left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

all this is appropos only because this is, in fact, post #300 on this particular corner of the internet. Vast importance. To think, it was a mere five years ago, that, with bitterness in my fingers and bile in my heart, I created a refuge away from prying eyes and lurking lovers, a spot where I could say "whatever the fuck I wanted" and did, sometimes. Of course, over time, this has become a staid affair, as my own interest in my life has waned quite a bit, and many of those whom I'd once sought privacy from found me, either of my own accord or by happenstance, and the reaction from the universe was, as it often is, a resounding "okay," shrug, and wander off to get some pizza.

two photos(koreatrip #6)

we went on a walk up to some buddhist shrines. this is suzanne in a hollowed out log. because of blogger-in-hotel-lobby-shortcomings, this post has taken 20 minutes, and only two pictures instead of like, eight. also, I was posting blind (going only by th ephoto number.)



kids!

A Poem For, But Not About, Breakfast (11/30)

The egg carton is down to three already; the slow pillage has begun.

Ten minutes in any direction from a reliable source of protein,
his car breaks down. A thread from the uphostered ceiling
detatches, grazes his nose. His face salts up the steering wheel while his
stomach pulls uppercuts and starts mocking.

why are you hitting yourself? why are you hitting yourself?

The juice is tasting vinegary, but we are not sure; that may
just be because it is organic.

His phone crunches and buzzes out beneath his boot. Instantly
indistinguishable from the surrounding pebbles and weeds. He
does not regret this destruction of a false hope; relatives did not answer,
the local parish was pre-recorded and AAA is a cruel myth told to children.

They wander around, opening cupboards and closing them
and opening them again just in case. One person takes a dirty spoon
off the counter and thrusts it into an open jar of peanut butter, scraping, digging.

By this time, he thinks, he could have just walked to a store,
but how would he heft the bags, squishing shifting with irritating
plastic sounds, all the way back to the house, what is ten minute drive
in walking time? It is too late now, staring at the ground, driver's side open,
a lone truck passes but does not stop, a lovers-bearing convertible
does the same. Everything he thought he knew about human kindness . . .

Where is he? One of them asks, taking off their shoe? He was supposed
to be back by now. This is not enough eggs. The other smears bacon grease
all up and down the last piece of bread and divides it amongst
us like a miracle. We are far past breakfast time now.

The cars on the highway pass more frequent now, one even stops
but he waves them on. It is too late. His car will rust right there on the
yellow line. He holds his face, even when the state-mandated towers
latch their hooks to the bumper; reckless endangerment and a guilty plea sounding like:

all I wanted
were some real hand-smoked links.
breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know.

focus on the depth that was never there; eliminate what you can't repair.

Top Five Ways I Currently Find Myself Beginning Sentences

So dude, before I leave we have to. . .

Well, I'm going down to the library and then I'm. . .

So dude, Future of the Left put a bunch of new songs up on their myspace and. . .

Well if I knew where I was going to be for the next year or so I'd have sought out a proper publisher, but as is I decided. . .

Seattle, in the U.S., to study Creative and Media Writing down at the Uni. . .

Top Five Ways I Currently Find Myself Ending Sentences

. . . those done and if I have to ship off you'll(/they'll) have all the info to send to London when they need it.

. . . if not, probably by the end of June.

. . . really nice, yeah, the weather is the same and the people are friendly.

. . . maybe after work, if I'm not too tired.

. . . and its just like "DA-NAH-NAH-NAH NAH-WREE!" and I'm like "yeah, this rules." I think you'd really like it.

Seven One-Line Sentences That Make Up Really Frequent Responses, Queries or Admonitions*

I've got no credit on my phone so just call or e-mail me later.

Oh, that's really cool.

Can't, I have to work.

Nope, haven't heard anything yet.

Can't, I'm skint.

Nothing's wrong, I'm just really tired.

Didn't we decide this was a bad idea?

*frequently lies or half-truths to avoid the necessity of longer sentences.

For lack of a better title

Today marks the beginning of Summer '08 Writing Project. In the interest of spurring myself onward I've set myself a few personal goals. Then, in the midst of reflection (some people call it self-berating) I realised how often I lapse on personal goals of all shapes and sizes. So.
I'm making this writing project (semi) open to public scrutiny. It's my goal, over the summer to do the following:
Weekly: one new poem, having undergone at least one revision session. I may take notes or chicken scratchings I've previously done and develop them or I may come up with something new.
I'll be posting the new poems weekly when they've been completed, each Friday or Saturday, along with how many revisions it took, what music I was listening to (if any) what authors I'd been just reading or purposefully aping and any personal notes on the piece.
Occasionally I'll post pieces in various states of completion.

Monthly: Three short stories a month in June, July and August. September I'll use to edit, sort out and lengthen the pieces I want to use for my dissertation. I'll probably not post the short stories here, though I may post synopses, clips or writing notes.

The purpose of this is to formally structure my writing time and to ensure that I'm actually producing content throughout the summer. Part of it's also to keep me in writing poetry-- I like poetry, even if I'm (officially) better at other things.

This blog will still host more typical blog or picture entries, but for the summer it will be largely devoted to "_____kickass title here_____" project. Some of the pieces I'm most happy about I'll post in my poetry myspace blog or maybe even my livejournal.

here's today's poem, unedited so far. On friday you'll see a finished version.

Pieces, directing energy( 6/1/08. poem project #1. music: pickwick.)

the papers, in their cluttered mass
clasp to my ankle and keep me dragging my feet
sometimes I have to walk long enough
away to drink or drag it on out
wake up happy to be
waking up. the pounding voice in
the back of my head saying
“this is the rest of your life right now.”
but it’s hard to re-direct the energy.
to put the pieces in files; instinct
and cliché say writers don’t have to do
that, can keep going on nothing but
heartache and a universal contempt
for formality and normality, embracing
the ankle shackles that famously drag people
off the edges of bridges or into stark, silent
twilights, while people wonder where the
brilliance went, or if it’s all just the way that writers fool us.
So. I’m trying to put things in their place without turning into
an accountant. to take the days and keep them from turning
to waste. upbraid clichés with action.
Let my fingers become a funnel for my mind
avoid high places and sharp objects.

because it is nearing the end of february

That means that if I post my "favorite records of 2007" list, I'll still be ahead of schedule for my stated "you can't really know until June" stance. But the list of '07 releases I want to check out keeps expanding in bands, genres and albums, so it's not going to get any easier. Some of this is a result of de-kneejerking reactions to critically acclaimed bits, some of it's the result of randomly hearing things I haven't had the time to check out yet and some of it has to do with the fact that a lot of albums I would be putting on my list are hard to come by over here and I don't have the quid to do so anyways. Come by them, that is. Yeah. It's been a couple years since I actually wrote a list like this, but it's really fun to do, and especially if you haven't in a while. I'd do one for movies, but I seriously didn't see enough movies to say what was good and what wasn't.

In rough, but by no means any sort of exact order, 2007.

Albums I Overplayed Because it is my Sincere Belief that they are Awesome

Liars-- Liars This is a group I've always enjoyed, but this is the first record I went out and bought, partly because I wanted something to take to Wales that wouldn't remind me of the last six months in Bellingham. It doesn't. The great thing about it isn't the fact that they combine droney drumloop-and-noise numbers with junk-funk, jerky dance rock and even some vaguely elephant-6 sounding pop, it's that they do it in a way that makes sense sonically for one to follow the other.

Future of the Left-- Curses Of course the new record from Andy Falkous (McLusky) is going to be somewhere on this list, but even I couldn't have guessed it'd be so high up. FOTL is less noisy and they bring in some damaged keyboards to replace guitars a few times, but it all works. Falco is still as twisted and brilliant a lyricist as he's ever been and his melodic pallette has expanded as well.

Spoon-- Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Of the Big Indie Rock Albums of '07, this is the only one I can sit through the entirety of without rolling my eyes even once, let alone think every track is killer. Not as flashily catchy or dancy as their last one, but I think it holds up better on repeated listens.

Super Furry Animals-- Hey Venus! Their current respectable U.S. following notwithstanding, I'm convinced that if SFA had Englishy accents that people were used to consuming instead of their very-Welsh lilts, they'd be much bigger. But the Welshness, honestly is part of it in the same way that Blur was so very English. And this record is full of great shimmery pop with humor and heart.

Clockcleaner-- Babylon Rules After writing a sentence like "great shimmery pop with humor and heart" I have to recommend this album, which runs like a smarter version of early Butthole Surfers and perhaps slightly more melodic Scratch Acid and contains lyrics like "when my ship comes in/will you still let me fill you with children?"

Aesop Rock-- None Shall Pass Aesop Rock seems intent on getting more and less accessible at once. Here though, he shifts away from some of the battle-rap affectations of his last record and tells stories, funny, sad and largely surreal narratives; it's only appropriate that John Darnielle (mountain goats) guests on the last track.

Shellac-- An Excellent Italian Greyhound Shellac are one of those bands that people (including myself) tend to pay lip service too more than listen. This album I've listened to a lot, however; maybe I get Albini's humor better now, or maybe the slightly almost pretty bits prove the "spoonful of sugar" theory. Either way, I actually think this record is better than most on my list before it, but in the interest of listening-disclosure I won't pretend I haven't jammed out to FOTL or Liars more.

Black Kids-- Wizard of Ahhhs EP I'm already preparing my backlash rant for when these precocious youngster's Cure-plays-the-oldies schtick can't carry a full album any more than "No Cars Go" could sustain the rest of Neon Bible. But for now, damn.

The White Stripes-- Icky Thump I probably wouldn't have guessed that The White Stripes and Queens of the Stone Age would release albums in the same year and that the Stripes' album would be heavier and trippier.

The National-- Boxer I resisted this record for a long time but discovered it late in the year when it rained for about two months straight and suddenly the acoustic-electric thing wasn't so annoying and hey-- these songs are pretty melodic and hey-- this guy can write lyrics. Really, really understated-but-still devastating lyrics.

Big Business-- Here Come the Waterworks These guys joined the Melvins, and the Melvins made their best album in about fifteen years. Kicker is, Big Business' album is even better. Heavy-approaching-metal, minimalist but melodic, and Phil Ek's production just brings out all the band's strengths. Their first release that equals the sonic gut-punch of their live shows.

Radiohead-- In Rainbows This is at the bottom not because it's not my favorite, but because it almost came out in 2008, really. Either way, I've been listening to this band long enough that they wouldn't have to be at top form for me to enjoy it (as Hail to the Thief proved) but I'd say that right here they're at top form. They're comfortable tweaking their sound instead of re-inventing it, and it's probably the highest concentration of memorable Radiohead songs since OK Computer.


that's the list I allow myself. There were other albums I meant to hear more fully-- Wu Tang, Lupe Fiasco, Cave Singers, AA Bondy, Feist, A Place to Bury Strangers, Andrew Bird, High on Fire, Feral Children, etc-- and so on. I think with moving out of Bellingham* and no longer feeling the compulsion to document or immerse myself in regional sounds it's like my music-radar is beeping full blast again, ironically while I've less means of procuring it.
*The fact that no Bellingham/Seattle bands are included on my list isn't because there was no music from there I listened to, but at some point when your friends make a killer record it's hard to tell if it's rad because it's rad, or because it's your friends. At least for me. Some folks differentiate a lot better. Suffice to say, I did have Police Teeth, Patience Please, The Russians and Cicadas on the long version.
I was gonna do more lists about other things (albums that bummed me out-- two gallants, arcade fire or albums that bummed other people out but I thought were fine-- new pornographers, modest mouse) but I need to go back to writing my short story, which is about a man who decides to live in a tree while continuing to work at an office downtown. There are lots of thoughts that swirl around late at night when I'm blogging and many things I could talk about, but I chose to write about music instead.

story of my life, I guess.