...Be Forgot

I was trying to think of a way to sum up the year, but Lillian does the job. Check. (and I'm not even posting that because there are a lot of me in there, because there aren't.  But lots of beauty).

Meanwhile, I don't think I've ever slept as well, pre-day-of-travel as I did last night.  I wanted to post a photo from the last time I was in SD (Feb. 2004), but most of those are actual photographs that aren't scanned into the computer.  Ah.  Memory, and it's selective reliability.

I'll be in San Diego until the 10th.  I'll be crashing mostly in the window behind me and Vannoy in the photo above.  If you're out there, give a call.  Or find me in OB. or North Park. Or at a reading.

Kiss 2007 goodbye safely.  

I've got to pack a case.

Get Your Mag On!

The new Hobart came today! More importantly, the Hobart wall calendar came in today! I had promised Editor-'n-Chieftain Aaron Burch I'd hang it in the bathroom, but I didn't like the way it looked. Plus, I didn't want it to curl from my shower-steam. Besides, doesn't it look good next to Gary Snyder's mug? You'll also notice it is set just above the percolator, so when I grind and brew, I'll be fully aware of what day it is. THANKS HOBART!

And, if you're wondering where that skillet has been, know that this delicious breakfast was prepared in it just this morning:



That's a ricotta, onion and pressed garlic omelet with hot pastrami and fresh baguette. Yum.

Strangely Hobart #8 arrived today along with the new Poetry. The All-Fiction journal I subscribe to and the All-Poetry, on the same day. Huh. But I'm sure it happened to you to. No?

Well then, click over to at least Hobart's site, and give them your money!

Speaking of my loves

New Painted Bride Quarterly is up.
Clickity-click.

Edit

(photo taken in around '04)

Upon a little reflection, I know I'm not getting rid of my car. In fact, the idea of parting with my MG kinda up sets me. I'm way too attached to the thing. I know this.

But, here's the thing. A new car means a car that's new to me, which means used and, most likely, buying a whole new set of problems and projects. That's all, really.

You'll also notice that yesterday I wrote "another car." Not "an other." So, here's the plan:
- Get a job. Someplace warm.
- Get a garage with an apartment on top. I would buy this house.
- Have the MG and cb650 in the garage.
- Drive them.
- Save some scratch.
- Get a hybrid. Park it outside the garage.

See? The MG doesn't have to go anywhere. I'm going to drive that car until the day it dies and I can't bring it back.

Got the tank back from the shop. It's hot. Photos to come.

Running Again

The new solution:


I plugged that little guy in, and was testing it with a bottle of gasoline and electrical jumpers to make sure it was working first, and it ticktickticked, but nothing was coming out the other end. I scratched my head, felt a bit of an I-can't-figure-this-out panic coming on. In that panic, I got suspicious of my little set up. The electrical had to be working because there was the ticking. The bottle was, in fact, holding the fuel. I took the 5 inches of hose I was using as my jump, and check it out:


Yeah. I got 4 feet of hose, and cut a length that just happened to have a blockage. Ain't that something?!

Once I took a knife to that punk, it all worked out:


Running.
Speaking of it, I'll be getting my gas tank for the bike back today. Can't really fill it up because some sealant inside is going to be curing until around 3pm. Plus, I don't have a working petcock for it yet. Yes, that's what the valve is called. I know it's a funny word.

More running? I have a new reading list. These are the places my head will be for the next few weeks:


The year ends any day now. I like 8s better than 7s, I think.

-I'm thinking 2008 might be the year to get another car.
-I've promised myself an iphone when I get a job for the fall--and when they come out with the next version, because apple's funny like that.
-Debating whether or not I like the kindle from amazon. I don't think I like that it's called "kindle" as in to set on fire. Like we're setting the paper books on fire. But maybe amazon's going for the "arouse or inspire" metaphor of fire. Or maybe they're suggesting reading a book on the kindle has something to do with the act of a rabbit giving birth. I don't know. Any thoughts?

Not One Thing, but the Other

The MG's been getting pretty lousy milage lately. I'm not really sure why, so I figured this was a good time to check it out. The first idea was to make sure the fload in the weber carb was closing the flow properly, but there was a snag.

The weber I installed last year has an electronic choke, which gets in the way of removing the top plate on the carb to get to the float bowl. Thought I could get around it by removing the flap (below) and then sliding out that pin, but those screws you see there are brass. Brass is soft and takes a beating from too much messin' with.


Not having a rebuild kit on hand, and not wanting to really kill this whole thing, I moved on the fuel pump, which has had a bit of a temper in the last 6 months anyway. Well...


I tried installing my back up (that cylindrical thing), but it didn't work.


I didn't discover that it didn't work until I had it all rigged up behind the tired and everything. See that clamp thing? Not even close to standard.


Mid-day, I quit for a while, and made a pastrami sandwich with swiss and spicy mustard:


You might notice there's a lot of floor space behind the sandwhich. That's because I sold my rocking chair, giving myself room to do yoga without having to move anything. This morning, I got up, and I did me some yoga. Yup.

After the sandwich, of course, I tried installing another pump. That one didn't work either. I'll be heading back to the store today to exchange it, then coming home to bench-test it before I install it. Pop says that if the pump is working, I should clean the plugs, and there's a chance the mechanism that goes into the tank is busted. This is exactly what I need, right?

So, I've got a car and a motorcycle, both with fuel delivery problems at the moment. I want the car running by the time I leave for SD. There are bright sides to all of this: a)keeps me from getting lazy with the car stuff; and b) After I brake my ass working under a car all day, a shower and dinner are better than any other I can imagine. I cooked chicken last night. I didn't take a photo--there was no vegetable, and I wasn't proud of that.

We'll see if this project ends today. If not, it'll have to wait until next year.

If You Happen Through Colorado

(Vannoy and I in 2003 at Sunset cliffs)

I've decided to get rid of my rocking chair so that I have more space in the studio to do yoga. This isn't a "new years resolution" thing. More of a "I'm moving in 6-8 months anyway, and know I'm not going to bring the chair with me, so I might as well get rid of it now" things. Also opens the place up a bit, a little more comfortable for my end-of-07 reading. Like this. and This. A little bit of this.

Which leads me to this: Mary, who taught me yoga a couple of summers ago, has a new website. It's over here. It'll keep you informed, if that's how you like to be. I'll throw it over to the right, in case you want to find her later.

The question I have for the day: What is the best translation of Rimbaud? I like the one I have, but I'm pretty wary of translators who aren't Stephen Mitchell or Ken Krabbenhauf.

Where are you doing New Years?
Maybe I'll see you at Vannoy's place? Maybe?


PS - Looky what Max's been up to!

Another Holy Day

What a great comic. You can read it daily here.

Though it's Christmas Eve, I've jumped the gun on my syllabus for next semester. It's gonna be hot. I blame the books I'm assigning (which I'll tell you about later).

I'm going to the office soon.

I'm sort of mentally skipping out on Christmas this year, what with the family being all spread out this year. The prospect of having to go to MLA has got to mess with a lot of people's holiday plans. Now, I'm not going, but gathering my strength for San Diego. In a week I'll be in the air when the ball drops in 4 time zones, but I'll land just a little less than an hour before midnight PST. Isn't time-travel fun?

If I don't catch you, Merry Christmas.

A poem for you, by Srikanth Reddy's Facts for Visitors.

Sundial

In the hanging gardens of sleep,

they dismantle my sleep

singing from cages at daybreak.

So I entered the gardens of care,

where a boy carved in stone

kept watch on a broken stone

sundial. Care told me his story.

Had it ended sooner,

it all could have ended.

I'd have forgiven you

turning to stone without me.

When I blink, I see the blank

I carry inside me no matter

how long I keep watch.


Meanwhile,
"amok" they say.

Here and there for the Holidays

A few photos recently taken:

From the train getting into St. Louis:

KC's Union Station is a strange place.  A very large area, empty with small lights.  It's like a haunted ballroom.  I did not linger long:

Stairwell near ticket counter:

I'm told there are bullet holes in the station from the Kansas City Massacre, but I didn't find them.  I didn't really look.  Something to look forward to next time.

I got a little shopping in, thanks to a few bucks tossed to the midwest by my folks.  While I was out, I got to thinking about my bathrobe, which I got way back when I started college.  For a number of years, I didn't wear it much, but that's changed.  Thing it, it was was never, EVER really comfortable.  It kept me from being cold, but something about the fabric made it exceptionally not cozy.  

No more.  Off to Good Will it goes, along with other clothes that I just don't need in the closet.  I suppose it's something like a little holiday ritual.   

Comfort doesn't take much.  I'm comfortable with no walls and a robe.  And that about sums up the beginning of the holiday for me.  What you got going on over there?

Happy Birthday, Frank

It's Zappa's birthday.  Here's a transcript from his talk with Congress in 1985. 

I'm home.  I'm running into the office to be a productive member of my department.  Seriously, if I don't make it to the office by 9:30 every morning (except weekends), I feel a little strange.  I like waking up and going to work.  I like coming home from work.  

I'll REALLY like coming home today if there's a delivery of a cb650 gas tank I've been jonesing to show you all about.

Anyone else going to be in San Diego in 10 days?

When I Leave Town, I Got To The Movies

In case you were wondering, I checked it out: it's good the second time around too.

Let's also give a happy birthday to the official title of Poet Laureate, born this day in 1985.  More information on that can be found at the library.  

Look at me, I'm Hunter Thompson!

Only I've got more hair, no shades or cigarette-holder-held cigarettes.  Anyway.

The details that bring one to holding a Jim Beam and a shotgun while wearing pajama's in a kitchen in Kansas City are for the  meta-physicisists to decided.  Know this: the shells were else where in the house.  

I'll be home tomorrow.

Greg's on Verse Daily

Check out Greg Rappleye's poem "Blackbirds" up at Verse Daily.  It's from his new book Figured Dark.  I haven't read it yet, but every intention is there...

He'll clear up a typo over at his blog.

!

Monday is Knox's Day

Jennifer Knox says:

That's right, I am! for the anthology,
Great American Prose Poems
along with some other very cool poets.

Like Mark Bibbins, Charles Bernstein, Jenny Boully,
Mark Strand, Paul Violi, Susan Wheeler, and others.

At the KGB Bar
7 p.m.
85 West 4th St NYC 10003

It would be awesome to see your friendly,
or short of that, familiar face.

*  

It would be awesome to have my friendly face seen in NY, but I'm hiding out in Kansas City for a few days.  Woot.

Yup.

Go See Ada Read. I'm not even kidding.

She says:

Picture this: It's warm inside on a snowy Sunday afternoon.
You're enjoying a little cocktail, or hot chocolate, or green tea.
You're enjoying the fact that we've all won the fellowship
that supports you for the rest of your life and we're all looking
real good wearing our genuis grants as clothing,
petting our unicorns, and saving the world.

Then some poetry happens.

Sounds lovely no?

Venue: Bowery Poetry Club
Price; $7
Times: Next Sunday, Dec 16 1:30pm
Address: 308 Bowery between Bleecker and Houston Sts East Village
Phone:212-614-0505
Travel: Subway: B, D, F, V to Broadway–Lafayette St; 6 to Bleecker St
Website: bowerypoetry.com

Three poets share the bill at today’s gathering—Aracelis Girmay (Teeth), Ada Limon (Lucky Wreck, This Big Fake World) and Susan Brennan. (Abraham Smith had a family emergency and our poor dear won't be joining us.)

One more thing...

First, a quick summer memory to warm you up:

Laurel Snyder's got a new site.

Lil (photographed the above) has gone and updated hers.  I hear she's available for bio photos and crime scene documentation. 

I've got a secret, but if you want me to tell you, you're going to have to come over here....

Grades Have Been Entered

It's James Wright's Birthday.  Was just talking with a student yesterday about the guy.  I really love it when students I had over a year ago come in to talk about poems they're working on now.  I think you'll be hearing about at least one of them, one of these days.

Steve Davenport and Juan Sanchez did a reading at the Hyde Park Arts Center the other night.  Podcast to come...but it was really something else.  I think you'll dig it.  

How's your grading going?  

What else is happening?

A poem by Maurice Manning's Bucolics:

XXXI

did you teach the woodpecker how

to knock its head against the wood

of hollow trees did you say this

is how you do it Boss then knock

your own boss head so hard into 

the tree it made a rattle clap

I'm thinking nine is the number of times

the bird must knock the three to make

it rattle right does that sounds right

to you is nine the number Boss

to make a rattle clap it sounds 

all right to me the number sounds

just right inside the rattle Boss

did you teach birds to count did you 

teach me to count what counts beyond

the numbers up above them Boss

are you a number or a sound

or something else I can't learn how

to think about your birdbrain Boss

you rattle me you knock me down

Smarty Pants!

You like books, right?  And writing about books and ideas and stuff?

Well.

I've got my first critical book review in the latest Rain Taxi.  They even pull out a quote from me and make it all big in the middle of the page.  If you're not feeling what I have to say about Poetry and Pedagogy:The challenge of the contemporary by Joan Retallack and Juliana Spahr, and the ideas I present about teaching and the avant-garde, there's a whole bunch of other smart stuff in the issue.  But I hope you like it.  

399 Years, but not a day over 39.

Good bio and poem over at The Writer's Almanac.  

I happen to love Milton.  Saw an original pamphlet of Areopagitica at the rare book library at UI Bloomington, and thought of a quick smash-n-grab.  My Complete Works is doubled in weight by all the post-its and book marks sticking out of it.  I can't seem to go more than a couple of months without pulling it off the shelf and reading sections of essays and PL.

I remember, from the class I took with one of the greatest professors ever, the conversation about the connection between "When I Consider..." (the poem in the Writers Almanac, which isn't actually called "On His Blindness," so I don't now why they use that) and "How Soon Hath Time," written 20 years prior.  It's like he knew what was coming...or maybe he was just lamenting his consistent not-getting-any.  

How  Soon Hath Time

How soon hat Time, the subtle thief of youth, 

  Stol'n on his wing my three and twentieth year!

  My hasting days fly on with full career,

  But my late spring no bud or blossom show'th.

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,

  That I to manhood am arriv'd so near,

  And inward ripeness doth much less appear,

  That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.  

Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,

  It shall be still in strictest measure ev'n,

  To that same lot, however mean or high,

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heav'n; 

  All is, if I have my graces to use it so,

  As Ever in my great task-Master's eye.  

*

Oh.  Oh.  There's an event tonight:

Venue: Bowery Poetry Club
Price; $7
Times: Next Sunday, Dec 16 1:30pm
Address: 308 Bowery between Bleecker and Houston Sts East Village
Phone:212-614-0505
Travel: Subway: B, D, F, V to Broadway–Lafayette St; 6 to Bleecker St
Website: bowerypoetry.com

Three poets share the bill at today’s gathering—Aracelis Girmay (Teeth), Ada Limon (Lucky Wreck, This Big Fake World) and Abraham Smith (9L contributor & the forthcoming Whim Man Mammon).

Shut In

There's a bunch of freeze and snow outside. I believe I'll stay in and read stacks of student papers today.  Just because I'm in, doesn't mean you have to be.  Two killer events in Brooklyn tonight:

Matt Henriksen, Oni Buchanan, and Adam Clay
Pete's Candy Store
709 Lorimer Street
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
(718) 203-3770
Friday, December 7, 7pm

&!

Jennifer Knox, Jared Hohl and Mary Jo Bang
Friday, December 7, 7:30
For The Agriculture Reader

Plus a music/theater performance of
"A Kind of Madness" by Aaron Petrovich
and Chris Forsyth.

At Stain Bar
766 Grand Street, Brooklyn
L train to Grand Street, 1 block west
http://www.booklyn.org/agriculture.html
http://www.stainbar.com/

If you're not doing anything...but if it snowed here last night, it shouldn't be long before it gets to New York.  

But why would I want to leave the studio today?  I do believe there's a gas tank for a 1982 cb650 showing up today.  The gas cap came yesterday, the one I ordered before I realized that it didn't have a key; as it happens the key that already starts my bike JUST HAPPENS to open the lock.  This might not seem nearly as exciting to you as it is for me, but trust me.  It's freakin' cool.  

Trust me.

Now, let's make some coffee.

Snow

First, Danielle Pafunda is featured today (Wednesday) on Verse Daily.  She's got a collection called My Zorba coming from Bloof in the Spring.  Yup.

Ada Limón has some new work up at La Fovea.  I'd never seen this journal before, but I'm really digging how it works.  Pretty interesting and fun-sounding editorial process.

I believe the hunt for the gas tank for my 1982 Honda cb650 has ended.  Parts are moving across the ground via trucks as we speak...or as I type and as you read, whoever you are.  I spoke with a guy in Kansas at a junk yard who told me that if he had the tank it would be dinged and dented and rusted and he's charge me around $450 because it's a really difficult tank to find because it was only used on three years of bikes, and that one model (the cb650 or the cb650 Custom).  Of course, there will be photographs.  

This morning has Urbana's first real serious dusting of snow.  It's kinda nice.  We'll see how much I like it when I have to walk in it.  

Claude McKay's The White City   

I will not toy with it nor bend an inch.

Deep in the secret chambers of my heart

I muse my life-long hate, and without flinch

I bear it nobly as I live my part.

My being would be a skeleton, a shell,

If this dark Passion that fills my every mood,

And makes my heaven in the white world's hell, 

Did not forever feed me vital blood.

I see the mighty city through a mist--

The strident trains that speed the goaded mass,

The poles and spires and towers vapor-kissed,

The fortressed port through which the great ships pass,

The tides, the wharves, the dens I contemplate,

Are sweet like wanton loves because I hate.  

*

Makes me think of Milton.  Anyway.

The Big Chill

I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm absolutely captivated by the Writer's Strike business.  All sorts of banter and info and videos at the union's site, UnitedHollywood.com.  Thing is, I'm finding the videos they're making while not making tv shows to be way more entertaining than anything I've seen on TV for a while.

In other news, no foolin', I saw a commercial on Fox for a new show that hooks people up to a polygraph test, where they're asked personal questions for money.  My brain went so dead, I missed 4 and a half minutes of the football game I was tuned into.  Luckily, all I missed was Eli Manning not being Payton Manning.  He tries hard, but....well....  Apparently that show is called "Nothing but the Truth."  I"m not going to link to it because I love your brain cells too much.

Meanwhile, I got myself a new swanky bag: an attempt to look more respectable than my canvas paratrooper bag with the button that reads "Poetry Tool."  Days later, I've just sold my old Sector 9 flexdeck longboard for just about the same amount of dough as I dropped on the bag.  IN my head, I've traded my longboard for a briefcase.  Straight up.  Just sayin'....

There's a new DJ Chris Cutz Mixtape up at SGM.  And if you dig house, there's Frankie M--I found it pretty easy to work and chill to on Saturday morning.  Give it a taste.

Mangia!

Welcome to Adam's Bed & Breakfast Studio.

Dr. Jim's in town.  Him momma asked me to make sure he eats well.

Eggs served on a bed of shredded cheddar and mexican parmesan, side of spinach in olive oil and balsamic vinegar, slices of 9-grain made this morning at the bakery and just  a spatter of smoked hot sauce: 

For dinner, I experimented with pasta alfredo.

Grated ball of mozzarella, fresh minced garlic and a few basil leaves I shredded with my bare hands because I once heard that the flavor comes out better that way, no knife:

Cut a little onion and put the garlic into a couple of tablespoons of melted butter:

Eventually add the heavy cream, cheeses, and keep stirring it until the pasta's al dente: 

Have your house guest cut up some of that fresh 9-grain:

Serve.  Enjoy.

When you're done, maybe eat a little dark chocolate that your friend Lillian got in Prague the week before.  If you're into that sort of thing....

A Full Pots a brewin'

This dude was slinking around me at the bus stop when I was bringing home a pizza a couple of weeks go.  I think they like pizza.  

Apparently this is the shape of the love the Rambler leaves in every space it parks.  Those are not my feet.

There's a severe weather advisory for the area today.  I've made my dash to the bakery and back while it's dry and only really really cold.  I'm gonna read Alex Lemon's new chapbook in the latest Black Warrior Review, and drink my coffee.  

Saw a bald man driving a Rolls Royce this morning with the top down.  He didn't look cold.

And finally, it might just be "American's Finest News Source"...

Where's my Mail Lady?

I'm tellin' you.  I got this habit of moving into places with late-in-the-day mail delivery.  Even the UPS dude's showing up at like 6 at night.  

You got some time to kill?  Listen to Jennifer Knox's reading from FSU.  It's almost like being there, only without the humidity.

Lately, when people ask what I've been doing all day, I say "reading."  But the truth is that most of this reading has been the final couple of years of the Far Side.  I think I'm gonna finish it off...like, right now.

In the meanwhile, Adam Clay's got a new look....

Another Literary Day!

It's William Blake's 250th Birthday!  I do believe I'm gonna make some punch.

Here's my favorite part of The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.  

A Memorable Fancy [plates 22-24]

     Once I saw a Devil in a flame of fire, who arose before an Angel that sat on a cloud, and the Devil utter'd these words.
     "The worship of God is: Honouring his gifts in other men, each according to his genius, and loving the greatest men best: those who envy or calumniate great men hate God: for there is no other God."
     The Angel hearing this became almost blue; but mastering himself he grew yellow, & at last white, pink, & smiling, and then replied, 

     "Thou Idolater! is not God One? & is not he visible in Jesus Christ? and has not Jesus Christ given his sanction to the law of ten commandments? and are not all other men fools, sinners, & nothings?"
     The Devil answer'd: "bray a fool in a morter with wheat, yet shall not his folly be beaten out of him; if Jesus Christ is the greatest man, you ought to love him in the greatest degree; now hear how he has given his sanction to the law of ten commandments: did he not mock at the sabbath, and so mock the sabbath's God? murder those who were murder'd because of him? turn away the law from the woman taken in adultery? steal the labor of others to support him? bear false witness when he omitted making a defence before Pilate? covet when he pray'd for his disciples, and when he bid them shake off the dust of their feet against such as refused to lodge them? I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments; Jesus was all virtue, and acted from impulse, not from rules."
     When he had so spoken, I beheld the Angel, who stretched out his arms, embracing the flame of fire, & he was consumed and arose as Elijah.
     Note: This Angel, who is now become a Devil, is my particular friend; we often read the Bible together in its infernal or diabolical sense, which the world shall have if they behave well.
     I have also: The Bible of Hell, which the world shall have whether they will or no.

One Law for the Lion & Ox is Oppression.

*

To celebrate, I'm gonna jones for a really hot Vespa with a sidecar I found on craigslist. Because I need another project, right?  There are also a number of hot bikes for sale in San Diego for not so much dough.  Like this one.

If you happen to be in San Diego, by the by, and you're cruising El Cajon Blvd. on Saturday, keep and eye out for Rudy the G, who'll be out there painting John Kennedy on an electrical box somewhere between City Heights and North Park.  

In a related not, my ticket's booked, and I'm out there Dec 31st to January 10th.  

Enjoy Blake's day.  Have a vision if you can.

Coolest Thing I've Seen All Day

Get Your Pollack On! Check it out!

Thanks you, Mr.Xiantu!

And, We're Back

First, there's a new journal: Pistola.  Two poems by Diana Delgado. Two by Alex Lemon.  A lot more great stuff.

Today we're going to talk about food.  More specifically, how when I buy large amounts of meat, I kinda wanna cook it all at once, then eat it over the next few days.  Yesterday was the first time I've ever been to the store and not found a giant brisket on the shelves of meat.  But I did find 2.46 pounds of chicken cutlets.

So I browned them in olive oil:

Put 'em in the crockpot with what was left in a jar of sauce, a can of crushed tomatoes, can of paste, and some very finely chopped up garlic:

Load on to bread with cheese already in it.  Put the bread in the oven for a couple of minutes to give it a little toast, melt some cheese.  Open, and drink, a good bottle of Spanish wine:

Best part is that the one I make tomorrow will be after the sauce has cooled and thickened.  You can come over for dinner if you'd like.  I have enough.

Sandwich not doing it for you?  Check out this neat bit of cool!

Home Again

If you look closely, you can see there's snow on the roofs and a little in the grass.  It all melted an hour or two later, but it's the first I've seen all year.  That's Dr. Ken's back yard. 

Spent the weekend mostly eating thanksgivingy foods, watching reruns of shows on various cable marathons (got in like a year's worth of tv!), and watched a couple of Bond flicks.  You Only Live Twice is one of my favorites.  Most the weekend, I had this little back cocker spaniel eyeing me; apparently, I was in his seat most of of the time.  So, we put a silly hat on him:

He kicked it off shortly after the photograph. 

Eduardo posted up this link.  Good cause; fun game.  Don't know why they can't just send a whole bunch of rice, but whatever.  I didn't read the mission statement yet.

In other news, David Cross should just become Allen Ginsberg.  And Kate Blanchett might want to consider a life as a younger lime-lit Dylan. Saw it.  See it.

 

I like being back in my apartment.  And, make no mistake, I am thankful for it, and for my percolator.  I've been drinking mud from a little 4 cup drip thing for the last few days, and that's just plain silly.  

Excuse me while I grind....

Before I Go...

I'd like to say that I have a million things to do before I get out of here and get to Cincinnati for the weekend, but that's a bold-face lie.  As we speak, a fresh copy of Bowie's Hunky Dory/Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust is burning for the drive.  That was the priority for the day.  They happen to fit on one CD if you cut out the alternate takes and tracks that they play on the radio too much, which also happen to be the weaker parts of the albums.  I say.

But you want substance.  Ok.  Ada's got readings galore on the menu:

First one:

Tuesday, November 27th
6PM Sharp.ACA Galleries
529 W.20th St., 5th Flr.
d.a levy lives: Big Game Books reading with Shafer Hall, Sandra Beasley, Ada Limón, & Logan Ryan Smith with music from Alex Battles

Then Next:

12/16 I'm reading at the Bowery Poetry Club with Amazing Abraham Smith
1/28 I'm reading for St. Marks Poetry Project with Jee Leong Koh
1/31 I'm reading for Barrelhouse at KGB Bar
2/29 I'm reading on Leap Year at Pete's Candy Store in Williamsburg Brooklyn with Amazing Abraham Smith and his NEW BOOK

Right?  Makes me long a little for New York.  See you in January!

Meanwhile, ordered Ross Gay's Against Which.  I've borrowed a copy for the weekend, and the first poem has me pretty stoked.  I've also dug his stuff over at fishouse.  Have you?

Max Xiantu has given you a new place to chill.  Swing by.  Check it out.  Chat him up.

I'm taking my quest for a gas tank for the cb650 with me.  That's not to say that if you come across a good gas tank for a 1980-82 Honda cb650, you should give me a holler right away.  And I know there are two on ebay, but one is a bit of a dog while the other doesn't positively go to my bike, and I'm not making that mistake again!  Before I got this morning, I'll be putting an additive into the bike as it stands to keep it all healthy if the cold strikes.

A warm blanket?  Arriving in the mail?  Why yes, it did, in the form of a response from one of my applications.  It wasn't calling me for an interview, but only telling me that all my stuff got there. However, the cozy part was how they began the message with "Dear Professor Deutsch."  A. That's some unexpected but welcome class, not grinding at distinctions between "instructor," "lecturer" and "Professor;" B. I'm just gonna look at it as foreshadowing.  If you read this, find it engaging enough that you've determined the plot arc of more narrative qualities of life, feel free to see it the same way.

Happy Thanksgiving!

See you in a few days!

Here's a poem for it.  From Jennifer L. Knox's first book, A Gringo Like Me, available from Bloof!

The Best Thanksgiving Ever

After the meal, Sandy decided we should spice up charades

by slapping the loser's butt with a ping-pong paddle.

Whenever Ed got slapped, he farted because he was so nervous.

The ladies won, slapped all the men's butts, but then what to do?

"Take off your clothes!" I told Sean, who didn't seem like the kind

of guy who'd do such a thing--but he was, and he did.  Then Jim

took off his clothes.  and then John.  Then the other Jim

who brought all the lovely bottles of wine.  And finally Ed.

Deb came out of the bathroom and saw five big men naked in the kitchen.

They screamed, "Take off your clothes!" We all figured she would,

and she did.  Then Sandy the Slapmaster, then me, then Tomoko

who kept her glasses on.  We walked around the house naked,

talking about how it was to be naked with other naked people,

how none of the guys had boners, and how cold it was out in the garage.

Somebody found a big bottle of vodka.  We made a no-hugging rule.

John kept trying to open the curtains and show the neighbors

what they were missing.  Ded thought an orgy was imminent,

but since we'd all spent a lot of time in Iowa, I didn't think it would fly.

Jim passed out.  Ed put a robe on.  I passed out.  We woke up

the next morning in T-shirts, ate bagels from Bagel Land, and said,

"We all got naked last night." That afternoon, on our way

to the Walt Whitman Mall, the ladies gave each other nicknames

ending with the word Bitch.  Deb was Shy Bitch,

Sandy was Gentle Bitch, Tomoko was Slutty Bitch and I was Silent Bitch.

All the bitches agreed that slapping people's butts with a paddle

was something we needed to do every weekend, that this was the best

Thanksgiving ever, and that Ed had the biggest dick we'd ever seen.  

I'll tell you one thing...

The Far Side comics of the first half of 1991 are extra thick-n-rich in their consistency of hilarity.  I've got half a mind to track down Gary Larson and give him a hug.  Or invite him to breakfast with Russell Edson and sit back while the Universe explodes into a more obvious splendid wonder.  Rye toast, please.

 AND ANOTHER THING!

As you might be aware, I gave a little talk at Winter Wheat last week about the mechanical aspects of poems--mechanical as in literally, as in small pieces making an engine and internal combustion, etc.  If you're a regular reader here, you might have figure out that that is how I think.  ANYWAY, the sharp Michele Yanga was in attendance and talked to me about the Haibun form.  Very interesting (and, frankly, exactly what I kinda want all prose poems to be, at least my own, as far as the expansion of perception that a haiku hopefully achieves only in a much larger space).  Anyway, the form is on display over at Simply Haiku.  Michele has her own vision of one Haibun up there.  I'm super interested.

Oh. Oh.

Katie has a book coming out on So New!  Amy Guth is the editor.  I don't think I have to remind you how much I like the people over at So New Media, simply for maximizing what postage allows.  If I do, it's right here.

Finally,

I broke a promise to myself this week; said I wasn't going to work on any car.  Ended up replacing a dude's serpentine belt on his 2001 Saturn.  Man, oh man.  May I find employment in a place affordable enough to invest in a living space with a garage.  Do you think I haven't thought about getting another motorcycle and putting outside the bathroom door of my studio apartment?  

Indy and Back

Gave Lil a lift to Indy yesterday, where Matt (coming along for the ride) and I decided that we needed to eat.  Exit 66 on the 74 in Indiana is a small oasis of fast food not found in Champaign-Urbana.  Not that I like fast food, but I feel better with options around.  

Fact: I have not eaten these little burgers (the ancestors of the now-hip "slider" popping up on menus all over) probably since High School.  Actually, I believe it was the spring of 1997 in the passenger side of a guy named Lou's Monte Carlo; I remember this event because I tossed a bit of the belly-bomber out the passenger window, and a sparrow refused it.  Or ate it and exploded 8 seconds later.  The memory gets sort of fuzzy.  Note the tiny burgers juxtaposed next to that "small" shake:

This was not all it was cracked up to be.  I will wait another 10 years.  However, I like photos of food, even if it's sort of gross.  In it's defense, I was not hungry for the rest of the day--but those fries weren't mind. Just the little boxes.  And the shake.

Meanwhile, I got my Happy Mediums yesterday.  Big Game is awesome--and I'm not just saying that because my work is to come in the tinyside series.  

In mechanical news, the auction on the cb750K tank, star of last week's fiasco, ends today.  In a perfect world, I get some decent scratch to buy a tank I can actually use.  In a perfect world, there's not anywhere I have to go, any commerce, and no winter...well.

If you're in Chicago (some of you've got to be), here's your plan for tonight:

Says Guth:
"The Fixx Reading for this month has been thoughtfully moved forward as to not get lost in the shuffle. So, that means that you can get your lit fixx this Thursday, November 15th @ 7:30pm with this month's guests: John Sheppard author of Small Town Punk and Renee Rosen author of Every Crooked Pot


The Fixx Coffee Bar
3053 N Sheffield Ave.
Chicago, IL


Please note that due to various winter holidays, there will be no reading in December but a stunningly awesome January event, to be sure."

Yup.

Tastes of Sights and Sounds

The beautiful hand on the needle-gun that's decorated every one of my limbs has a new website.  Check out Sunday at her new site (and we'll see if my body makes that gallery too).  

A new collaborative Mixtape is up at SGM.  

I spent a relatively long portion of the day with this song in my head yesterday.  Sorry.  Unless you're Jodee, it's probably in your head now too.

There's something rumbling out there.  It might be the garbage truck emptying the dumpsters down the block.  It might be an onslaught of mail from colleges all over the country.  Suppose I'll let you know....

Return from Winter Wheat

It's a fact: Mary and I DO have the same camera:

The thing about the Winter Wheat Book Fair is that it's not very big.  But who doesn't know the old "How many lit mags does it take to make a fair" bit?  This year it was us, RHINO, MAR, Wick, Hobart and the event table where they were selling books by those giving readings at the conference.  There is  banter.  There is Russ with his feet up, and Mary applying lotion hourly.  In the second half of the day, she gets a little loopy:

The talk I gave went fairly well, if the measure of a good talk is having everyone stay for the entire thing, and we fill the entire time with on-point discussion.  At the least, I learned a few things, what it feels like to give a talk (much like teaching) and a little about the Haibun.  Definitely interesting.  Like I told the writers who showed up for the talk, if nothing else they learned about how a car works a little better.  

When in Bowling Green, do hit the town; if possible, in the company of NEO MFA folks including Mary and Sara, and don't go anywhere without Aaron from Hobart.  He assured me that when my run with Ninth Letter comes to an end this summer, I could take up working for Hobart AND get the same salary he pays himself--which means I'd owe him a thousand bucks.  We'll work out the details at the Fixx in February.  Or AWP in January.  Whatever.  Dude knows all the official rules to shuffle board.  He and NEO MFA's Frank beat out Russ and Eric.

Meanwhile, real-life conversation with people usually only on blogs and emails is neat.

Though not more photos were taken, there were other good people, including Mr. Sean Thomas Dougherty who's been busy doing readings like crazy.  Not only do I love his book, but he's a super nice guy.  High energy and a whole lotta honesty in his conversations.  

I love these things: change of scene, good company, exposure to new work.  Here's hoping the next job somehow keeps me in literary publishing. I was at Mary's talk.  I got the bullet points covered and everything.  

In an unrelated story, I feel like I got punched in the jaw--this might partially because I watched the Godfather last night, but I doubt it (In which, I couldn't help but notice, a baby is crying very loudly only in scenes where Vito's successor is present--when all the son's are with Vito when he returns from the hospital, in Sonny's apartment, and when he gets the call from Connie just before getting killed at the toll booth; the last crying baby is when Michael is at the baptism.  It seems to be a symbol for the instability of the family in the absence of Vito as head.  ANYWAY!  I think my body has a negative response to driving weak rental cars for an extended period of time.  My whole body is on the sore side for no good reason.  I think I get to take this week off from any major car or motorcycle work.  

Plans for the week include the VOICE reading and guests from SIUE. 

Welcome home.

Shhhh...People are still sleeping...

In Bowling Green for Winter Wheat.

Will eat at greasy spoon soon, set up at book fair after that, and my talk is at one.

...

I'll let you know how it goes.

Later.

Go back to sleep.

Shhhh. 

Cats Everywhere

After I quoted Hipolito (el gato), Lil' sent me this picture of him in the closet.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again: dude's got really short legs.  

Meanwhile, Kdub has done it again over on her new blog.  She makes me look at my arms and legs and consider a career change.  The details are over there.

There's a new addition to my window sil.  A real, genuine healthy aloe plant.  It's healthy for now.  If it dies, I'm blaming Ted's cat who knocked it over twice in as many days.  He's kind of a jerk some times.  The cat.  Jack.  

I'm heading to Winter Wheat tomorrow via a very fast car.  But I'm gonna take my time.  When I get there, I'm chilling with the Gary M[a]c.  He's know what I'm saying.  If you won't be there,  but you're in New York, click over to Bloof for details on the party where everything's happening.

I think I'm using this book next semester in the section I'm teaching.  Has anyone used this in a non-workshop class?  I know a few people who read this blog teach, so don't squirm out.

Morning of Mechanical Miscalculation

HI!
New gas tank arrived last night:


Ain't it pretty? Unfortunately, it's too long to fit on my bike--which seemed weird until I brought it to the shop where they informed me that it is not for an 1980-82 CB650, but rather belongs on a 1979 CB750K Special Edition.

A bunch of other things were attempted to make it fit, but they didn't work. I think the guys I got it from on ebay are going to let me send it back, and return my dough. But I learned a few things about my bike. And when isn't it about learning, right?

Because my motorcycle work was stilted, I took an exceptional amount of care constructing my lunch. Behold:


Was tasty. I'm gonna go to my real job now.
Peace.

"I love you and you're dirty so I'm cleaning you"...

...says Lil's cat when he wakes her up at 4:30 am.  That's the word on the street, anyways.

Roy Kesey's in town today.  I defer you to BK or 9L for more info on that.

Christine made some dinner last night that was sock-rockin'.  If knitting and crafts with a slight dusting of poetry is what you're into, you can get into her blog.  Lots of knitting with that girl. 

 

Big *Game* Books is peddling swag, and you KNOW how much I love supporting the small press. While we're at it, let's shell out a Lincoln for the Happy Mediums.

Steve Schroeder's got a new project, Anti-.  According to the marble notebook of Where My Poems Are, I should be getting a few things back anytime now, so I'm gonna sling 'em straight over.

I spent a good portion of the time between 6:25 and 6:31 this morning checking out the specs on the Pontiac G6.  If I have things my way, I'll be at the helm of one of 'em on Friday Morning aimed at Winter Wheat.  

Watch out this week for a hot new tank for the bike and other fantastic news I've yet to learn.

Taking Saturday and Running

As it happens, a hacksaw will do little more than move the grease around on a U-joint. Pretty discouraging.  Further, the keys for the car were left in a purse in an apartment in campus.  

Now, I don't like to quit, especially on something mechanical, but if the '75 MGB doesn't do what it's supposed to when I get this thing back in, I've got to back off and put it in the hands of the pros.  As much as I avoid mechanics, it's nice to have one in town I know I can trust when the job just gets to be too much.  Besides, it ain't my car.

But at least the chickens were out at the farm yesterday. Ain't they cute?

Ba-gock.

I spend a lot of time working on cars that aren't mine.  I think I'm gonna knock that off for a while.  

If I could, I'd be at this event:

Did you remember to set your clocks back?