Give me another day

On the island.
Will share all my AWP Photos and joys when I get back to the midwest.

Yup.

From the Studio in IL

A plate from the legendary Pokez in Downtown:


The ever-sexy JoeStein, an old friend who is always thinking...even in this photo:


If the writing/teaching thing doesn't work out, my next career is chosen. With the cardigan on, they'll call me "El Professor."


Check out Rudy's latest box at El Cajon and Illinois:


DJ Joemama and I in front of Gallery 3353, my old house, and Joseph's constant home. Before I moved into this place in 2003, he was living in my apartment in 2001. This house has stories galore. Not right now....


It was a great trip to SD. As much as I loved being there, I found myself under the wonderful weather the majority of the time. I think I'm somewhat allergic to vacationing. Luckily, I can go back into my office tomorrow.

Send your love to SD, if you've got any to spare. Some of my best friends over in that corner of the world.

Can I get a "welcome home?"
Thanks!

For a Few Highlights More

Joshua, Alex Boswell and I toast in a new year:


From the City that Always Sleeps:


The Funky J. Godley:

After Drunk Poets Society on Monday, we strolled around the corner to Hodad's. Dig that burger. Dig that wild shake to the left:


The collaborative wonder of DJ Smudge and DJ Joemama, at Free Range last week:


Smudge was practicing for his set tonight at the Make/Out at the Red C Lounge, and gave me a quick lesson on Serato. Pretty much turns any mp3 you have into a piece of vinyl. I'm no expert on the wheels 'o steel, but he let me scratch up a cut for a minute, and it felt right to me. When I return to IL, I've got a few more bits of wax to send this way.

I leave SD tomorrow, arrive back in my studio at some unruly hour of Friday Morning.
Then we mentally prepare for AWP. You'll be there, right?

Some Highlights

Rudy is mostly awake for breakfast in OB:


On the wall at OB:


Have you met Mr. K. Scott Perry? You have now. He approves of the poem dedicated to him.


The canyon 30th St. Crosses between North Park and South Park:


My favorite breakfast burrito in town from Picante's, just around the corner from my old place:

From this Distance

I woke up and ate an orange off the tree next to my friend's balcony.
If you're in the cold, sorry.

Photos will be posted next week when I return to the midwest.

Here's some Big News from Amy.

I'm gonna shower and get a burrito...photos will TOTALLY be posted later.

...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.

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?

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.

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.

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.  

More Summer

I've been woken up at least 5 times in the last month from Mid-West storms, unlike any other rain I've ever seen (except maybe in Nantucket). Beautiful lighting and what not.

Been watching this cat for the last few days while Ms. Lillian is over at Centrum making them all cry. CAT:

Ain't he something? I think he has abnormally short legs, but he's quick. We've been watching movies together. Neither of us like Ghost Rider very much, and he left Marie Antoinette about 10 minutes in to lick himself under the dining room table. He made the right move...I napped at about an hour a half in.

With summer seems to come too much television. With a new roommate until Aug. 1st, we have cable. So I was sucked into the Godfather the other night, and tore myself away kicking and screaming from Godfather II. All the while, they're showing commercials for Goodfellas, and it got me thinking. For years I loved the latter. But a while back I sat down and watched the entire set of the former, and so Goodfellas has been on the wane since.
The thing is, when I watch Hank Hill, Jimmy and Tommy, I know I'm watching a bunch of villans. All violence and what-not aside, I think I'm really bothered by how Hill crosses Paulie, who tells him over and over not to get involved with drugs.
You see, Vito Corleione warned all the bosses in the first one about the dangers of getting involved with narcotics. That's neither here nor there. The point is, I think I find the Godfather to be a better story, simply because I feel like I trust the guys; the only ones who die are the people who cross the family--Carlo sets up Sonny and so is killed in the car; Tessio is killed for trying to set it up so Michael gets killed; Fredo is killed for ratting on this brother to Roth. I'm not saying the violence is good or anything. I'm just saying, I understand. Michael's only intention is to legitimize the Corleione Family Business. Hill's only goal was to keep making money behind the family's back. He had it coming...the rat.

It also dawned on me that my brother's girlfriend looks a lot like Apollonia Vitelli-Corleone, played by Simonetta Stefanelli.

Anyway, it's been on my mind, so I'm just saying.
I'm gonna try to finish the Sean Doughtery book tonight.

Update: didn't finish book, woken by another storm.
Update #2: Dig this interview with Sean Thomas Doughtery at Bookslut.

The Ol' 5 Books-bit

Only because I have a special place in my heart (more like my liver) for Gary, I present the whole you're-stranded-on-an-island-and-that's-all-you've-got jive:

!. The Tunnel by Edson
@. Complete John Milton (Hughes edition)
#. This Big Fake World by Ada Limón
$. The Complete Far Side by Gary Larsen
%. Leaves of Grass by Whitman (Probably the 1855, but if I'm gonna be on that island for a long while, I'll take the '92 simply because it's longer. Realistically, I'd probably take books with titles like How to Build a Boat from Sand or How to Not Starve or Sun-burn While Stranded on a Deserted Island. Maybe I'd take The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, just because I think it would help put things in perspective).

Bonus ^: Blank Sketch Book...I like to doodle. I also can't help but think that a Moss Parts Catalog would do me some good.

I don't tag people. But I care: how's your week/month/summer coming along?
I'm labeling this under "vacation" because I've spent the last few minutes, in my head, on some island some where. It's close enough for me. Thanks, G.

I'm Not in Kansas Anymore

But I was. Left Friday after installing a bracket on the exhaust of Lara's red 1975 MGB, replaced the speakers, hitting the road. She hadn't learned to drive stick yet, so I was at the helm:


As stops for gas (every 175 miles or so because we have to order a fuel sending unit to the gas gauge works properly) I found little things to repair. The top was so tight because of non-use, but we were strong enough to get it snapped down:


Then, of course something had to happen, and we lost power systematically. First not enough fuel at high speeds, then the radio got staticy, the blinkers cut out, you get the idea. I puttered out in a gas station, noticed the fan belt was slacked (and so no power was being generated by the alternator and the battery was wearing down). I pulled the tension as tight as it could go, but we only got another 40 miles between dying again. Someone at some point put a new bracket assembly on the alternator of this car, and that was the culprit.

From 9:15pm to 11:00pm or so, I hunted for a fan belt in rural Columbia, Missouri. Hunted. I had to go "find" a fan belt for a U-Haul truck in northern Florida once about 8 years ago, but that was in the middle of the day, and pre-cell phones. When it's Friday night 120 miles from St. Louis in one direction and 130 miles from Kansas City on Rt. 70, it's some serious shit.

By the grace of the NAMGBR Help Directory & Mickey (of Mickey's Towing and Storage, 110 Route B, Hallsville, MO, 65255. 573-696-3986), we had what we needed. Mickey, in addition to all night towing which we didn't need, also has a small shop out on Route B. If you need towing services out there, I highly recommend him.

But I fixed it. That's what I do:


By 1:30am, I was shot and so decided to teach Lara to drive her car. She got the hang of stick shift pretty quickly. I documented it for you, and then slept for 40 miles:


What should have been 7 hours took 14 with hunting and repairs. Lara will remember it as an Epic Road Trip Adventure; I will regard it as just another long drive in an MGB. I rented this to drive home:


Driving for days and days, occasionally repairing things, takes a toll on the body. Not only am I severely sun-burnt, but my muscles around my left shoulder are so sore that it hurts if I breathe deeply. I'm hoping it gets better in the next day or two.

Meanwhile, it seems I've been tagged to tell you 8 things about myself:

1. I have 4 fairly large tattoos, but I've never colored my hair or had anything pierced.
2. I've lost 3 cork screws, a set of Allen keys and a bike tool to Airport Security.
3. Don't like foreign films; actively and aggressively avoid them--unless they're kung-fu flicks.
4. I couldn't read until I was 8, and didn't actually read for fun until I was 15 or so.
5. Between the ages of 17 and 22 I tried to start smoking cigarettes at least 3 times. I'd buy a pack, run out, and forget for about 3 weeks. Upon remembering, I found it a huge pain in the ass to stop at the store for a pack of cigarettes, and so that's that. I buy a cigar every few months, and really enjoy it.
6. My food shopping list consists of very little more than eggs, apples, cheese, cans of black beans, & either tortillas or bread, and scotch (but a bottle will last me at least a month). I forget to eat dinner at least twice a week. I'd live on pizza and sandwiches if there was a decent deli in this town.
7. I used to know Latin, but have forgotten most of it. I forget a lot of things. I don't hold my memory in high regard, and believe I'm a better person for it.
8. When I am on a long drive, I constantly scan the stations and stop almost only for "Don't Stop Believing," "Time after Time," "Copacabana," or Jackson Browne's "Stay."

Happy 4th Weekend. I might cook a steak.

Back from Ann Arbor

I spent my weekend driving this:


2007 Mustang with less than 5,000 miles on it and a boomin' Sirius sound system. I don't know how long it'll be before I can look my MG in the eye again. I feel like I've cheated. I also can't believe how exhausting it is to drive at an average speed of 94 miles per hour. I had half a mind to drive back to Illinois from Michigan via Canada, but forgot my passport.

I'm sore...spent. It was magical, even though I didn't hear "Don't Stop Believing" at all, my favorite song to drive to. And, not kidding at all, there is a town off the 94 in Michigan called Climax. Just enjoy the puns. The Ann Arbor Book Festival was good to us. Dig Russ:

He's happily showing you the cover of the latest Ninth Letter. Have you picked it up yet?
We loved the town, saw some friends (like RHINO's Mary), and made some new friends (Ms. Ellen & Matt Bell). Always a good time chilling with Aaron, the genius behind "the Burch" (whiskey & Diet Mt. Dew).

It's going to take me a hot minute to get over the Mustang experience (I had to give it back to the rental place earlier this evening). Thanks in advance for your support in this difficult time.

Cincinnati is a Good Cook

Spent the weekend in Cincinnati with my oldest friend, Dr. Ken:

(known him since I was 4 or so. he's got a PhD from Duke for Neuroelectrophysiology or something like that)

Ate wonderful steaks (thank 9L's Amy and see her story in Chicago Noir, where you'll also find work by Andrew Ervin. Behold, Dinner!

(that's sauteed red onion and portabello and gorgonzolla from Finley Market at Over-The-Rhine. And Ken's wife's Nana gave me a recipe for Banana Pudding that destroyed me. If you ask nicely, I'll make some and share it with you.

Yes. I'm gloating about how much I love eating bbqed meat with dear friends with wine and all. But on the 3.5 hour drive back, I thought of more stuff to add to a poem I'm working on. And the car didnt' break down--so I returned the back-up fuel pump I bought on Friday and will use that $55 to renew my membership to the Academy. It all comes back to poetry, ya see?

Check back up on MaxXiantu to hear the 4th installment of the Daily Remix. & Natalie Tjandra is gonna be an Aunt--check her art, and applaud her excitement for family, if you get a chance. Onward toward pudding.

Back Home

I'm back in Urbana, sipping tea and hoping I'm recovered from a fever by tomorrow. Some bits from NY:

They changed the big board in Penn Station while I was gone to this digital thing. It's pretty and all, but you don't hear the slapping sounds of the plates changing when new information comes up. So, not only is everyone just standing there in a giant mob, but they all have to keep their heads tilted upwards. But it looks nice.

When I say sandwiches, this is what I mean:

A Reuben from Boswell's on Oak St. in Hempstead

Chicken Parm from Pizza Kings in East Meadow (Not the best around, but not bad either. I should have gone to Mananaro's--hands-down the best Veal Parm I've ever eaten.


Saw K-dub for a minute. She's very proud of her new hair cut.

It's nice to be home. This is the view out my patio door:

I know I should have better photos, but I'm really bad at keeping my camera handy. Forgive me. I'm gonna go try to stop being sick now.

Comfort is a Warm Metro Card

Spent about 4 hours yesterday mostly kicking back in Union Square, watching a protest organize and little pockets of NYPD collect (and they have a lot of vespas. NYPD-scooters).

Got to Forbidden Planet, always a hot stop for some dope comics, and wouldn't ya know it? Scored a copy of Captain America's assassination. AND a couple of small indy books, including the excellent work of Ben Towle, The Boxing Bucket's Final Round.

Walked across the bridge with the ever-towering Knox, Limón caught up and gave out a new business card that can double as a coaster and triple as a small coffee table...it's that thick. No foolin'. Ate at Snacky:

Snacky
187 Grand Street
Brooklyn, NY 11211
phone: 718.486.4848

That's a plug for them, but more so a reference for me so I don't have to look up the address again. If you're lucky, you'll get your drink served in the belly of a buddha. Delicious.

...meanwhile....