Wednesday, August 27, 2008

I'm on the internet

making use of the internet

help friends

I've said yes to everything. Three chapbook-sized projects of my own. I herewith announce the printing of at least four of the TAXT upcoming chapbooks (so if you're writing one, FINISH UP). I am going to send work to every magazine and journal and blog who ever asked (thank you). I am going to finish the book THAT PARTICULARLY GREAT and infinitely patient PRESS is still waiting for. I am going to drag my weary ass to New York and give "a reading". All by the end of the year. Finally. I say this on the internet so you can shame me if I fuck up and spend the next four months cleaning my apartment or forget to get a plane ticket or plug in the printer or whatever.

Words of support, words of kindness, words of money, ass-kicking, cheerleading, massage, likker, lakewalks, did I say massage? all welcome/required. Honey you know I give it all back to you in spades.

Also I am going to do all this while tending the giant man-eating drooling motherfucking cute ass baby-monster my job is.

I love you, I love poetry, puppy pile it on me.


Thursday, August 14, 2008

Sunday, August 10, 2008


I'm in bed with books and movies of a hot August sunday. The Lake today abundantly Oakland/Lake Merritt-like. I woke up thinking, what's the opposite of absence makes the heart grow fonder? Familiarity breeds Contempt. I felt some of that in a sequence of recent hours.

The books I'm in bed with: The Golden Bowl, Alcools, Donald Judd's Complete Writings, Marxism & Poetry, The Voice Impersonator. The movies are The Pianist, Andrei Rublev, The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant. I'd rather have the first few episodes of Weeds, but this is what Netflix has deemed for my hot August-in-Sunday. The windows are open. Once I was diagnosed with an 18th c. malaise, Exhaustion, and sentenced to my bed for five days no leaving. Elise Ficarra brought me fruit. This afternoon I am self-sentencing: of the bed, and no leaving.

I read about the 700 pound man who was once the 1200 pound man; he has recently taken a vacation.

Someday a church more massive than the Vatican. I've been to the top of St. Peter's, friends.