The show went well last week, probably my best reading yet! As promised I delivered a full set of working class poems, including a brand spanking new piece straight from my notebooks entitled ‘Every Day Is Labor Day’. It was great, I was fired up, the crowd was fired up, the ghost of Karl Marx reared his head!
What the hell, for better or worse I finally put together a chap, Broken Zen, a collection of previously published and unpublished poems, it’s available now for a mere five bucks.
Next Wordcore show is tomorrow night, hope to see some of you there for my post labor day set.
I haven’t been on here on awhile, or much of anywhere else for that matter.
I’ve been pretty much dried up. Too much work, too much real life, I think it was all finally starting to win. But there is always this tiny spark burning inside that can never quite go out. The writing is coming again, the submissions are going out again. I haven’t felt like this in quite a long time.
Been reading a lot of Ryoken this weekend:
“Who says my poems are poems?
These poems are not poems.
When you can understand this,
then we can begin to speak of poetry”
Labor Day is this Monday, drink a beer for me and remember all the faceless proletariats putting on steel toed boots before dawn, but more so remember all the people for which there is no labor day from sweat shops in the third world to the fast food dives of America. Wordcore is Friday, I’ll be reading an “industrial” set for all of you!
The work week is over, I have clocked out and left that factory far behind me.
But I close my eyes and I still see that cancerous blemish on Whitmans America.
In my ears it’s still the cacophony of commerce, the shaking hiss clanking of metal on metal.
Here I go again bitching and pouting. They say you become what you hate, I don’t know about all that although I am as daft and repetitive as that factory….. that factory makes money and that lets me out, all I’m making is a deep grave.
I’ve birthed to many poems due to that factory, and I’m working on one more. An epic one, a big bang, a poem made of blood and sweat, a poem for the nameless proletariats of America to the children in third world sweat shops.
For now, a drink for you.
Sometimes the words just dry up, or the feelings you have to get out just can’t be expressed with words. Rather than give in and watch “must see t.v.” I use this time to paint, or record, or daydream (which is vastly underrated). This is beer and loafing after all, and ennui leads to great things. It’s been a long time since I had a noise freak out.
By the way, the little hand in the second picture belongs to my little girl Zoe, the coolest poetry writing, noise making four year old in the world!
Maybe we’ll see another noise show again soon, but until then I’ll see you locals this Friday for Wordcore!
Haven’t been on here or much of anywhere this week, I find myself saying goodbye to my grandfather, who passed away earlier this week. With him being the very last grandparent, a door to an entire generation has closed and all the sudden makes me feel all too mortal. But that generation still echoes in my heart and resonates a more simple time when I was a child playing at my grandparents house on a Saturday afternoon. The world then wasn’t harsh and cruel, and death was so far away.
I’ll be back soon, coherent and ready to go.
It’s been awhile since I’ve been on here, and that’s because there has been truly nothing goin on around here but beer and working. Until now…
First off, I’ve finally got off my apathetic ass and put together a chapbook of poems, Broken Zen. This collection features twenty-one poems, some previously published, some previously unpublished. A decent collection I think. My first real attempt at making a chap, so I’m a little nervous. But fuck it, the poems are out there now, and that is all that matters.
In my daily internet surfing of all the usual lit blogs and sites I discovered this,
The Guerrilla Poetics Project. Check it out and support it, the world needs this right now! With all the pure madness and lack of simple human compassion, all the war, and not to mention the state of mainstream publishing, this project is very exciting and very needed. The poets behind the project are top notch, and I’m proud to be a part now.
Lastly a note for the locals, Platform Florida is looking for slam poets for their next event. I would love to book slammers right here in our own city before heading to O-town, if you are interested drop me a line and tell me a little about yourself. I’ve never been affiliated with Platform before now (I’ve never even been to an event)but I will support anyone bringing poetry in any form to this area.
Must to think about and much to do, Monday is hours away…..