I am sitting in a bald-cap with the grossest chinbeard in a while, as Jess blow-dries Jen's hair in what has to be the calmest pre-wedding living room ever.
I flew into Reykjavik then London, then coached to Swansea. Punk John joined me in Cardiff and we pulled in behind the Swansea Tesco where a clean-sober Dave Beer drove us to the Brunswick, thereby joining Keiran's in-progress stag do.
"I feel like I'm in Minor Threat."-- Dave, on drinking a coke in a pub.
There were a lot of quotes. lots of "bloody hell, didn't expect to see you." After a while we moved to the Potter's Wheel where Keiran ordered many pitchers of a green cocktail made with Monster. Yeah. I had one. fuck you, jetlag. So the night carried on and after a trip to Vice we finished off at Mozarts where Adam's brother was amused/annoyed at us, but he was getting paid to be there.
Also: Swansea punks still love their John Reis/Rick Folberg. This makes me happy.
_________________________
Yesterday I secured my costume. Wandered the downtown with Keiran. A few places have painted their walls. There's an H & M now. The giant BBC Screen in Castle Square still broadcasts nothingness to no one.
Did my reading at The Crunch. Adam has really gotten into his role as a host, and Wood and Becky's help in organizing is evident. Got to see a lot of people and readers I hadn't in a couple years.
Felt fairly jetgovered, but powered through. The set looked like this:
A Brief Thanks for the Diners
You, In Your Heyday
Paintings of Famous Satanists
Explorer
Zombies and Paint Thinner
When Saying Mean Things About Strangers
Tunnels
Extra Wide Bathtubs
Rules for Riding the King County Metro
____encore__
Ambition is Critical
Story Problem
basically, overwhelmed by love and support. mainly new stuff, which I'm feeling more and more confident in both as text and performance.
soon I'll be standing by Keiran's side at possibly the casualest wedding ever, best man dressed as a mad scientist from a cartoon we watched so many hours of.
Friday, 19 November 2010
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
Monday, 8 November 2010
Napowrimo continues as I split time. . .
. . . between new stuff and edits. Witness.
Sitting at Goth Night with Punk John
In a tin can with blacked-off windows, raccoon-eyed girls dance,
backs of hands-to foreheads. the music distorts with volume.
boys from the role-player's club lead each other around
on leashes. The next track, from an '80s movie about
Doomed Teenage Love, gets spliced under with a steady industrial thud.
We share an eye-roll.
Where some trot out the old
"they think they're soooo different . . .”
and less patient friends threaten to chuck a chair
into the crowded dancefloor, we just grin.
In this-- like nightslugging 12-ers of John Smiths up the hill,
Replacements-soundtracked chili-feeds-- there is comraderie.
"You know, if you're a math whiz from the valleys
this might be the most punk rock thing you can do."
Eventually, and against most bets, we dance.
Maybe a cut we both know. Maybe a girlfriend-pacifying measure.
Maybe
maybe a whole-table migration, a sudden swirl of energy, or
perhhaps simply non-involvement fatigue.
In this-- like the room itself--
there is community.
_______________________________
A Brief Thanks For The Diners that Understand
The world today is an old fisherman's cringing face.
This entire district is so hungover they can feel it
in their shoulders and knees are a challenge.
On the kinsey scale of practical worthlessness
I am at least a 7.
It is with this in mind that the lights are low,
even over breakfast burritos. The waiter also has
deep grey bags under his eyes but moves with calm
precision, is reassuringly rugged but not threateningly
handsome and everyone manages a wan smile.
Let the fog take downtown and emergencies crack
the last ditch efforts of men in important buildings.
I will take this corner booth
for as long as it will have me
in another little victory.
Sitting at Goth Night with Punk John
In a tin can with blacked-off windows, raccoon-eyed girls dance,
backs of hands-to foreheads. the music distorts with volume.
boys from the role-player's club lead each other around
on leashes. The next track, from an '80s movie about
Doomed Teenage Love, gets spliced under with a steady industrial thud.
We share an eye-roll.
Where some trot out the old
"they think they're soooo different . . .”
and less patient friends threaten to chuck a chair
into the crowded dancefloor, we just grin.
In this-- like nightslugging 12-ers of John Smiths up the hill,
Replacements-soundtracked chili-feeds-- there is comraderie.
"You know, if you're a math whiz from the valleys
this might be the most punk rock thing you can do."
Eventually, and against most bets, we dance.
Maybe a cut we both know. Maybe a girlfriend-pacifying measure.
Maybe
maybe a whole-table migration, a sudden swirl of energy, or
perhhaps simply non-involvement fatigue.
In this-- like the room itself--
there is community.
_______________________________
A Brief Thanks For The Diners that Understand
The world today is an old fisherman's cringing face.
This entire district is so hungover they can feel it
in their shoulders and knees are a challenge.
On the kinsey scale of practical worthlessness
I am at least a 7.
It is with this in mind that the lights are low,
even over breakfast burritos. The waiter also has
deep grey bags under his eyes but moves with calm
precision, is reassuringly rugged but not threateningly
handsome and everyone manages a wan smile.
Let the fog take downtown and emergencies crack
the last ditch efforts of men in important buildings.
I will take this corner booth
for as long as it will have me
in another little victory.
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Riffing on familiar themes.
napowrimos 2 & 3:
Election Night Blues
when the whole county switched to mail-in
while I was switching addresses every six months
I was rendered someone who, by default
could not complete his civic duty and therefore,
practical wisdom says, can't complain.
bullshit.
like a studio gangsta dialing 911 during a break-in
or a non-praying Christian who feels
"so disconnected from God lately," I can say whatever
the hell I want,
for all the difference it makes.
the news feeds are incrementally creeping percentages.
the social feeds are lined with friends' increasingly
anxious screen-refreshers, the occasional gloat.
longtime friends who disagree trying to out-civil each other.
I will find out soon enough just how bad it is and for whom.
Recall the Goldman quote I don't entirely agree with
but can't help, after the shrug and the sigh-- a smirk.
The hard work will be here either way. Cynicism rolls back in.
This afternoon I watched an episode of Venture Bros
and thought about how some things,
you know
don't change.
_____________________________________________________________
Where It Really Feels Like a City
Dragged past the gum-stains and the huge billboards
for made-up neighborhoods, alleys full of needles and cats
and quick high-fives, you can look up on either
side and see curtained windows, the posterchild for
changing demographics and lots and lots of people
quickly sliding down stairwells to restaurants and
offices and back again.
You have to see these things time and again
in case everything starts seeming too cute.
In case you forget that crime still happens
on blocks with dog parks.
There won't be a reckoning, there won't be
a toppling, you'll never get your art-space back,
those seedy, beer-bearded merchants
you iconify in the black-and-white photobooks
of Old Seattle, they have found new haunts
and you're not invited. The great glass
sheen of downtown on one side,
the postcard view on the other, duck
in for sushi at a well-groomed restaurant,
stop for pizza where everyone eats loudly,
constantly darting their heads back
every time the door opens.
Election Night Blues
when the whole county switched to mail-in
while I was switching addresses every six months
I was rendered someone who, by default
could not complete his civic duty and therefore,
practical wisdom says, can't complain.
bullshit.
like a studio gangsta dialing 911 during a break-in
or a non-praying Christian who feels
"so disconnected from God lately," I can say whatever
the hell I want,
for all the difference it makes.
the news feeds are incrementally creeping percentages.
the social feeds are lined with friends' increasingly
anxious screen-refreshers, the occasional gloat.
longtime friends who disagree trying to out-civil each other.
I will find out soon enough just how bad it is and for whom.
Recall the Goldman quote I don't entirely agree with
but can't help, after the shrug and the sigh-- a smirk.
The hard work will be here either way. Cynicism rolls back in.
This afternoon I watched an episode of Venture Bros
and thought about how some things,
you know
don't change.
_____________________________________________________________
Where It Really Feels Like a City
Dragged past the gum-stains and the huge billboards
for made-up neighborhoods, alleys full of needles and cats
and quick high-fives, you can look up on either
side and see curtained windows, the posterchild for
changing demographics and lots and lots of people
quickly sliding down stairwells to restaurants and
offices and back again.
You have to see these things time and again
in case everything starts seeming too cute.
In case you forget that crime still happens
on blocks with dog parks.
There won't be a reckoning, there won't be
a toppling, you'll never get your art-space back,
those seedy, beer-bearded merchants
you iconify in the black-and-white photobooks
of Old Seattle, they have found new haunts
and you're not invited. The great glass
sheen of downtown on one side,
the postcard view on the other, duck
in for sushi at a well-groomed restaurant,
stop for pizza where everyone eats loudly,
constantly darting their heads back
every time the door opens.
Tuesday, 2 November 2010
A Heated Conversation About Steampunk
Its like all these people put on their grandpa's peacoats
and have suddenly conjured a culture that doesn't really exist
Likewhat? saywhat? Youyouyouyoudontevenknow!
how can you say tell me the 5,000+ crammed into
top hats and convention centers
don't exist. This is about a past-future that never really was.
just ask the world's major religions.
just ask the north renton ghost society.
just ask the 53 year old woman who went
as slutty hermione for halloween.
(just because it's not pretty
just because it's not your scene--
this is the future we're talking about.
this is culture we're talking about.
this is the future of culture we're talking
about
--where things happen instantly!
all bolts and gears and buildings creaking
to life fired by boys with bangs
shoveling coal into ovens)
just ask the 15 Seattle-area entertainment magazine writers
getting paychecks from inventing and dismantling Zeitgeists.
You can't say that when the hats are so cute.
IT'S TOTALLY SEXY!
ten thousand elvis impersonators, drunk off prohibition cocktails,
dancing in a circle around brand new anachronisms.
Ten thousand others taking notes and shaking heads.
Complete rolling blackouts.
__________________________________________
this month is Nanowrimo. Instead of trying to squeeze in a Novel in my spare time I want to 1) write a new poem a day or 2) edit existing pieces or pieces of pieces. I think I can do this, even while I'm in the UK. The above needs some editing but it doesn't feel like a rehash of other things I've done, so I'm happy about that.
in other news, I'm getting rid of my mattress. wanna know why? last owner had cats. THAT. MIGHT. EXPLAIN. A LOT.
and have suddenly conjured a culture that doesn't really exist
Likewhat? saywhat? Youyouyouyoudontevenknow!
how can you say tell me the 5,000+ crammed into
top hats and convention centers
don't exist. This is about a past-future that never really was.
just ask the world's major religions.
just ask the north renton ghost society.
just ask the 53 year old woman who went
as slutty hermione for halloween.
(just because it's not pretty
just because it's not your scene--
this is the future we're talking about.
this is culture we're talking about.
this is the future of culture we're talking
about
--where things happen instantly!
all bolts and gears and buildings creaking
to life fired by boys with bangs
shoveling coal into ovens)
just ask the 15 Seattle-area entertainment magazine writers
getting paychecks from inventing and dismantling Zeitgeists.
You can't say that when the hats are so cute.
IT'S TOTALLY SEXY!
ten thousand elvis impersonators, drunk off prohibition cocktails,
dancing in a circle around brand new anachronisms.
Ten thousand others taking notes and shaking heads.
Complete rolling blackouts.
__________________________________________
this month is Nanowrimo. Instead of trying to squeeze in a Novel in my spare time I want to 1) write a new poem a day or 2) edit existing pieces or pieces of pieces. I think I can do this, even while I'm in the UK. The above needs some editing but it doesn't feel like a rehash of other things I've done, so I'm happy about that.
in other news, I'm getting rid of my mattress. wanna know why? last owner had cats. THAT. MIGHT. EXPLAIN. A LOT.
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. . .
Monday, 4 October 2010
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