Sunday, November 23, 2008

Sunday Funnies

The Jets destroyed the Titan's undefeated status.  Woot!  

Jennifer Michael Hecht had a poem from Funny up at the Writer's Almanac today.  If you can, read it, and maybe wish her a happy birthday.  I love her work.  I just wish she'd read in a town near me...though it would help if I'd stop moving around so much.

Max's normally fantastic blog did something new today.  Made me chuckle a lot.  That counts too.

That's Sunday, baby.
I'm hoping blogging at a more regular pace resumes when I have a window near a desk I'm using.  This is not nearly as far away as it seems.  Stay tuned for a new place, new tools, finished projects, and some links to poems coming out when those editors feel like it.  

Which reminds me...Slurve Magazine's taking submissions.  I like them.  As it happens, they like me.  Maybe you can send some stuff in, then when I chill with them, I can call you and we can all chill together.  

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

As it gets cold...

Who says you can't put a 2x4 on the front steps and roll a motorcycle into a living room?

It's easier to work in a warm house.

It's easy to stash it in the room off the living room before Manny's family gets home.  If I'm not subbing tomorrow, this '76 cb550 will be running by 3pm: my goal.

Update: It would have started, but the wiring behind the kill switch at the throttle is gross.  All the pieces matter.  

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Vote Again!

Hey homies,

Please support The Deacon in the Roots Criminal Remix Contest.  He's already at 55th, so click the link, and help a brotha out.


Saturday, November 15, 2008

While "Ain't She Sweet" is playing on the radio

Ravi Shankar has an essay over at Contemporary Poetry Review.  This is exactly the kind of writing I'd like to see more of out there.  This is what I'm thinking when I think Critical Prose.

By that by, if you were near BGSU, The Winter Wheat Festival just happened.  I should have mentioned it sooner.  Sorry.  If you were there, did you get to see Mary and other Barn Owl folks?  I miss events like that.

Check out the next Copper Nickel for 2 poems by Matt Minicucci.  He rocks socks.

Thursday, November 13, 2008


Jennifer Michael Hecht is posting at Best American Poetry.

Bloof is on the road again to Atlanta.  

Max has perfect timing with things like this.

It's getting cold in New York.  The kind of cold that makes working on the Vespa sorta painful.  Fingers, and all.  You know how it goes.  The project is on hold until we pack up and take it to a warmer climate.  

We are resolved in packing up and going to a warmer climate. 

Thursday, November 6, 2008

If you have a minute...

Have you pre-ordered Sandra Simonds' Warsaw Bikini from Bloof Books?

Have you taken a moment to remember Jimmy Carl Black?  (He was the indian of the group.)

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

A Long Day of City

If you celebrate via gear, Justin Bua's still got Obama shirts.  If today ain't your day, sorry.  I don't know any artists making McCain art at the moment.  But I'll keep an eye open for it.  

Greg tipped us off to the Milton Exhibition at the Morgan last month, and I finally got to take it in yesterday.  Small, but pretty fantastic, including original editions of the 10 book version, and a later copy of the 12.  Also on display is a small watercolor by Blake.  Absolutely worth heading there for, but I was more blown away by Morgan's study--could you write in walls lined by red sink?  Thanks, Greg!

When a greasy spoon dies and goes to Heaven, I believe it becomes a counter in Grand Central's Oyster Bar.  Totally worth the atmosphere.  Courtesy of brother Roger Aplon.  

All kinds of new Mixtapes and sounds at Sleeping Giant Music.  Enough to force me to set up the backup hard drive.  I love these maniacs.  

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Right: Easy :: Perfect: Mediocre

Content: now that the Vespa runs, the initially over looked electrical system is a bloody mess.  The "easy" thing to do is check some continuity and wire it up "good enough."  The harness has been messed/butchered with sometime in the last 49 years, but could probably be salvaged.

Context: Max is exploring revising the process, returning to basic techniques, easily dismissed, but always necessary at any skill level.  The two of us were talking last week about a body of work (poems/tunes) vs. a collection work.  The easy thing to do is mash 70 minutes of sounds/ 50 pages together, and call it an album/book.  We couldn't help but agree, dancing around the linear/nonlinear bits of both mediums, that the easy way is lame.  Hence crappy books/weak albums.  

These things should take time, and the time always seems to yield much more quality.  And it's hardly ever done the same way twice.  The value of process, etc.

It sounds like more work, but pulling all the old wires out, replacing them with a brand new harness that we're POSITIVE has exactly the connections needed is the right way to do it.  All and all, if it takes less than three hours, it's less time and perfect.

A friend told me that her original draft and the Book eventually published has 4 poems in common.  FOUR!  Max will delete 90% of the music he makes this week.  And then again next week, etc.  

How many pages can you surrender to progress?
How many new tricks are replacing the old devotion?

from Szymborska

Nothing Twice

Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice. 

Even if there is no one dumber,
if you're the planet's biggest dunce,
you can't repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.

No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with exactly the same kisses.

One day, perhaps, some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.

The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?

Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.

With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.

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