23/30: "Good morning my son! Your Father and I are planning on dying soon."

. . . is what I heard over the Sprint Network

when an idle mention of Life Insurance, and how

they are finally getting On That.

I thought of my Grandpa's funeral, my Aunt's

funeral, my Grandmother's funeral, all

the stacks of paperwork and

runs to party supply stores for ribbons

and picture frames, and the tedium of

memorials I saw the women of the family

execute sharply and how I could barely keep

it together.

". . . so if, you know, The Lord decides to take us

both at once, make it easy on us. . . of course, that'd

be harder on you kids. . ."

That would be consistent with the behavior

of the Lord I've met. First I picture a car accident

something bloody on a bridge, called to

Identify the bodies. . . But no.

This would be more like Enoch, aforementioned

Lord giving the two finger beckon;

both my parents sitting together, holding hands

the way they do, silently when the right

jazz standard, or Beatles song comes

on, in one of the cars they

actually liked, that little yellow one maybe

and they just

drive

away.

Pacific City Has a Newspaper

It is called "The Sun." Today is the last day of a family vacation, about which possibly more will be said, or possibly nothing at all. Liralen is waiting for this computer, which does not recognize her name as a word.

Thanks!*

For: the northwest, and how even when it feels like you're going to die from sprawl (hello, smokey point) the light bursts and you're out in the Middle of Nowhere, in the best way possible. And that my folks live out here, instead of at some enclave on the edge of Kirkland, so they can be close to a megachurch.
that I've got a new place to live. that i've got good enough friends that the last months have been punctuated by stress headaches, rather than been one constant panic attack or a filthy sleep closet in the ID.
not drugs.
the fam.
creative pursuits and the support they've (already) been shown by Seattle's poetry community.

speaking of Creative Efforts. The now-internet-elusive Wood is marketing the following: OK, so this is me self-promoting. The plan is to get my irresponsible, stupid, violent, sexy and ultimately marketable novel finished, and to get funded to do it, so I'm crowdsourcing, with the aim of getting it sorted this week. You can read more about it here.
Pay it forward, people. While I'm sure he's embarked on more "literary" efforts (i've read some, they're good), Wood also chronically underrates his own work, so it's great to see him getting ambitious.

*I know that being Grateful should be a constant concern, and that the History of Thanksgiving is Wrought and Fraught, but that doesn't mean we can't all use a good reminder now and then. Most folks reading blogs, even those in dire straits, have it better than huge chunks of the world. I believe the reaction to that shouldn't be guilt, but gratitude.

News From Home

the t-shirt factory burned down and now he have nothing to wear on the tops of our bodies. your uncle painted his torso with the melted skin of the factory workers. the rest of town saw that and liked it. now we walk around beating our chests and thinking of clever designs. Some of the knitting circle sold their sewing machines to pay for glue. Skin gets flakey. There'd been a plan, approved by the mayor and everything, to boost civic pride by creating apparel based on the sillouhette of the water tower and catfish billboard by city limits. The idea, your cousin tells me, is to sell them to chiseled men and tall women to wear sexily in other
states, but now all our cloth is smoke. No one can put our town on their bodies, the jobs are all grumpy and angry, fruit is sad and wilty and we've been removed from wikipedia. This is what the mayor told us when he visited for dinner. We had my famous lamb-chops and he asked about you, what you're doing, I said I wasn't sure because your letters are so vague. We all had a laugh about that, except
for your aunt, who is not well and refuses to stay awake in church. When you come, bring anynews clippings about your activities, some smelling salts and sweaters. It will be winter by then,
I'm sure.

"This reminds me of bellingham.""this reminds me of ellensburg."

In everett last night I read the following poems in the following order: doot doot de doot(summer)/pink laces and kierkegaard/fear of drowning/genus, species and flavour/bellevue/most important meal/body party/rugby '08/swansea-cardiff (b'ham ed)/story problem
For the record. The open mic was mainly guitar players but there were a couple interesting folks who got up and simply read. The crowd was supportive and I succeeded in feeling okay about the whole thing. Sold some broadsides, but the quagga remain.

It is still weird doing a reading with your folks in the front row.

The drive to and from Everett, what with stopping to get/drop off people/acquire necessary goods was around 3 hours of driving.
I don't hold to the popular-with-some belief that all suburbs are terrible, soul-crushing places, but Lynnwood, Wa., which is pretty much designed to be driven, still saps a whole lot of time getting from one place to the next. Yeesh.

tonight, rachel and i will hope her car doesn't break down when we drive to georgetown with the intention of drinking beer, being in fun places and getting the fuck away from cap hill for a night.

content soon?
content, soon?
maybe.

appropos to Music: I think the Dum Dum Girls are aptly named. I got their doing the Youtube-hop game from Male Bonding, who I think are pretty good.

Also, a Taint Joke In there Somewhere. . .

Oblong table, grandma at one head
and the kids and parents all on Chili
with cheese, theology and consequence
hanging from the chandelier like decorative
eggs, over the spoon-beatings the youngest
gives her beans and meat.
Consequences.
Reactions.
Spirals.
The pull of corrupting influence,
our matriarch nodding about "bad influences
tainting" like sour cream in good chili
or bits of peppers, why are there always
peppers, gross, eventually becoming a
veritable morass that sucks one into it,
such truth.
the family that prays together.
wisdom, generational.
Catching on, in the dining room, not-as-little
sister observes sagely that it's always good to avoid
sucking morasses, if there were a corner, mother's
look says, you'd be standing in it. Grandma
continues, unabated, eating, littlest sister continues
failing to stir. At some point someone says "you guys!"
And the theology still hangs from the chandelier
they put in my alotment of upcoming testaments;
you don't have to carry it with you, but you'll
have to come back and get it some day, this black
and white, bound-by-the-holders of your silverware,
finish the cold chili and face whether this is
the dish you'll serve to your own-- wait, sucking morass
gah, ugh. Duh. So bad.

Trees, family, etc.

. . . like, I don't want to be the "bah, humbug" guy and family is still all warm and fuzzy like baby ducks, but I'm just so tired. sitting in the dining/living room, earmuff-sized headphones on listening to "post-nothing" and wondering if its time I started collecting jazz albums or if I'm safe to wait 'til I'm 30 for that sort of half-pose.
brielle is here. she is tired. lailey is here. natch. kasech and titu and rebka are downstairs and mom and dad went to take ice cream to aunt betty and uncle garon so they can make root beer floats when uncle gordy and aunt beth arrive and i got up at 7 today and will probably get up tommorrow at 8 to go get aunt jaimee and our tree is obviously very fake and the lights are ones we got from the camp.

tonight at the end of the shift I made a "raccoons" reference over the radio, when probably the only two people who'd get it were standing right there. this is probably one of the basic problems with my personality, the fact that I do things like this.

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.

Notes from a Christian Wedding:

Jake: You know, if we go somewhere in town I'd like to get my good clothes on.

Ryan: Jake, you are so ugly that it wouldn't matter what you wear.

Jake: At least people love me and I am worth something, unlike you, who is worthless and the sort of person that people hope to go into a bathroom and find hanging from a belt.

Ryan: I've said it before and I will say it again: you make the rest of humanity look pre-fall.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

it probably didn't beat out Jess and John's for Best. Wedding. E-var. but it was top-five easily. And I've been to lots of weddings and in a few. the huge amounts of protracted, gleeful yet calm happiness in both Isaac and April was ridiculous.

and the camping bit allowed 1) a trip through the hard, throbbing metropolis of Chimacum, 2) actual time spent with groom and bride beyond five-minute "heywhereareyougoingforyourhoneymoonyoulooksoHAPPy" sorts of conversations.
3) opportunity for me to forget to bring a sleeping bag or blanket and get about two hours of sleep (in increments) on a blow up mattress in a drafty tent. oh man. 4) jake-vanquishing via rocks and clapping.

we had more fun.

**** ***** ***** *****

April actually had to ask pastor Pete to move it along. Ha.

_

sunburns hurt. beaches are pretty cool sometimes.
so goes the paradox of modern man.

^= ?

as observed by Gusta, there were a lot of pretty girls there, but as I assumed would be the case, they generally speaking were all married or on a 6 month-2 year plan to be so, with a specific subject.

this is fine; I'm getting confirmed more and more that church-related events are terrible places to meet women, since even a majority of the single ones will just want to know if I'm going to make a really good husband




speaking of terrible places to meet women, Monday I'll be up at Poetry Night for Kate and Elissa's feature.

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.

Five things to consider, one week in:

5) the ever-so-slightly larger scale of everything. not just that cars are bigger, or roads are wider, or houses are spaced out to the degree that I've yet to be in a neighbourhood that strikes me as "poor" or "run down". . . simply because at least everyone has a yard. its sort of like comical movie props designed for a large dwarf or an adolescent whose found themselves thrust into maturity like a bouquet of flowers from an awkward suitor into the face of a confused love interest.

6) dude. pizza. dude. see above comment.

7) my new sisters and the way they sort of laugh at my mom but never leave her side, that its already weird to think of my family without them around.

8) visiting my grandmothers. in case you were considering it, you know, for a laugh, lemme say this: don't. have. a stroke. even a small one.

9) been to seattle properly twice now. the first time i saw one person i'd not expected to see. the second time i saw five. been back what? a week? ridiculous.