Every day is labor day!

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.

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Saturday Night Noise

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!

R.I.P.

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.

Misc. Debris

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 This collection features twenty-one poems, some previously published, some previously unpublished.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…..

Saturday morning rambling

The Wordcore poetry reading went well the other night and the project seems to be picking up some steam. The poets were great, the poetry diverse. I was even satisfied with the turnout, which wasn’t huge…. but for a poetry reading on a Wednesday night in Lakeland, it was good.

For the sake of anyone reading this who isn’t from around here, let me digress. Lakeland has always been simply known as that city between Tampa and Orlando, and it has been long accepted by the locals that if you want real culture that you must make the drive to one of the surrounding cities. In the last few years though our little city has slowly began coming into its own, particularly via the music scene. The sleepy downtown is starting to wake up with more places to hang out and more venues which in turn is leading to a million and one bands coming out of the woodworks. The local art scene is starting to thrive, but of course I as a writer sit back and watch literature once again being left behind. That was one of the primary motivations for starting this whole Wordcore thing from the start. It hasn’t been easy, club owners aren’t exactly eager to book poetry, and it’s really sad a mainstream chain bookstore gave us a home when homegrown local establishments (who will remain nameless) refuse to show any support for a local poetics movement.

But now with the word spreading and poets and poetry fans coming out, and this thing only getting bigger it only goes to support what I knew all along. There is a scene here for literary art, people want it, they are hungry for it, and that message will be sent to the local anti-poetic establishment of Lakeland.

Dependence Day

Happy 4th everyone! In a few hours the sky will be ablaze with fireworks, and I will be in here with beer in hand and the shades drawn. Outside will be a potpourri of sound, thunder of explosives, people hooting and hollering, police sirens and general mayhem.

Then eventually the smoke will dissipate, I’ll be out of beer and we’ll all go to bed feeling empty and getting ready of the belated work week to begin. Empty because the ideals we just finished celebrating are but a dreamy utopia so far from where we are as a country right now, but that’s a conversation for another day.

Truth is I love this holiday for the same reason I love all the other holidays, it’s a day off work.

A quick note

Cloes to getting to bed to head out of town tomorrow for a little relief from the machine around me. I just wanted to remind everyone to check out the new issue of the online zine Underground Voices. I have one poem featured, “Corner of Cadiz And Menendez”, which is ironically the location of the motel I am heading to in a few hours.

Goodnight!