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The catch-all for items related to and/or inspired by the music that shaped me. |
Music has played a role in nearly every situation of my life. This is where I'll be collecting items inspired by those moments- poems, lyrics, blog entries- the soundtrack of me. ![]() ![]() I may also contribute blog-style entries here from time to time:
And this month, I've decided to take part in... |
Yes yes y'all!! I'm reappearing from my self-induced semi-popularity outside of WDC to address a prompt that has hit me deep down...one that has provided me some instant form of response. I'm down with Lyn's a Witchy Woman ![]() ![]() "No" ![]() "No lightweight bouts up in the air, shoot outs and no sellouts! No Negroes with egos, no mo' shows callin' women bitches and hoes. No thoughtless flows, no woes. No singin' voices, no Rolls Royces, no wack choices." Sorry/Not Sorry...it's the first song that came to mind. Full disclosure: I'm a straight white male. I wouldn't say I work in publishing, but I do tend to promote a lot on a basic level. And yeah, I did some stuff to help get Eliezer Tristan Publishing ![]() ETP is run and staffed by women. Straight up. Their main focus is on Mental Health and stories of resilience. Essays, bios, poems...that's the gig. That's the input/output. Erasing the stigma around Mental Illnesses, which has no boundaries and knows no color, size, personality, achievements, goals, race, creed, financial status, community involvement, and/or cultural fluency. Sorry to go so longform on you there. But it's true. And don't get me started on the statistics that prove 1 out of 4 of us are inflicted in some way with things like depression, anxiety, schizophrenia, and other illnesses. ![]() ![]() Me as the straight single white guy, an LGBTQ woman, a Muslim, a married witchy white lady, a Jew, and a zealot walk into a bookstore... And what do many of us who are high-functioning despite our diagnoses do? We write. Writing was my way out of depression when I first joined WDC, and was also my savior during some of my worst moments. But I'm getting off-point here. Sure, many major publishing houses are bound by their own self-imposed standards of race- and gender-inequality. I cannot dispute that. Like any other predominately-male industry, I suppose...CEOs, CFOs, the dude who runs the pizza place by your house, etc. But fuck that...women are making noise and breaking barriers. Probably the biggest influence on me in the last year or so as far as writing my own poetry goes has been several of the Button Poetry ![]() What I'm sayin' is...seek out what you like, and support the indie authors who make it happen for you. They're out there. They're not making thousands a month off their name...they're bustin' their asses promoting themselves. I've had a book out for six months now through ETP and I'm still more famous on WDC than I am in both Cortland and my hometown, even though I've sold a bunch of books. These are the people you need to be reading- the ones you do the work in researching for- and not what some publication (which is an offshoot of a big magazine corporation) says is "happening now" or recommends for you. Do the work; get the real rewards. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Ok ladies and gentlemen, this was my January return to blogging and no, it isn't gonna become a habit as far as I can tell going into the rest of the month, but who knows? All I know is I need to get some food in me and then take a nap. Support your local authors. Go to Open Mic Nights. Spread the word like you would a common cold. That's the bulk of all we've got, most of the time...you. Thanks. Peace, no east coast/west coast beefs, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
"Choose a Famous Birthday ![]() Yo yo yo!! What's up y'all! This blog is telling me I haven't posted an entry since March 12th...and most of y'all know life's been crazy on this end since then a few months after then. I could sit here and talk all day about how my first WDC Give it 100! attempt became a published book, but that's not what I'm here for and I'm getting enough social media promotion now that I'm worried about Norb fatigue. So, what am I doing here? I have had the urge to write for the last couple days now, but not in my Wordpress blog or in my poetry notebooks (although I have recently posted some old and new ones in "World By Design" ![]() ![]() Today I'm going with a television legend and a comedic icon, or a television icon and comedic legend, Johnny Carson ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() When I filled up my first or second blog (I can't remember) and I was writing for different blogging groups (many times both in the same day), and I was accepting that people liked and enjoyed what I wrote, I made a powerful decision that impacted what I did and how I went about blogging... I wanted to be the Johnny Carson of blogging. No bullshit...I'd seen so many of his shows and how his predecessors and his influences operated, and I wanted to bring that feeling into my world with what I was doing. And you can see that in "Who do I still think I am??" ![]() ![]() I can't tell you how many times I've been asked "What makes a good blog entry?" The question stumps me...the winner of several "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() ![]() ![]() For real though...Johnny Carson is a legit influence on my life. I remember falling asleep to his show on a tiny b/w tv with foil on the rabbit ears after homework and a little studying in high school, like many people. It remains the best way to end my day...falling asleep to late-nite talk shows (or cartoons, depending on the time...but I try to time my bedtime so I can at least catch the Seth Meyers desk monologue and A Closer Look ![]() With all that said, my friends...this isn't my typical blog entry. Just wanted to give y'all an update and share some thoughts with my people. Thanks to Emily ![]() ![]() ![]() This is what the best WDC blog comment sections should look like. |
![]() What's up you guys? Double-banger today, as I try to finagle a "Pursue the Horizon - Open for Signups" ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() The whole idea of me doing this came together when a Gord Downie tribute account on Twitter posted a screenshot of the singer kicked back on the lake, napping with a book. After reading the thread, I learned the pic came from the video for "Chancellor", off his first solo album. Initial pressings of that album were accompanied by a poetry book bearing the same title, Coke Machine Glow ![]() ![]() Anyway, while there aren't many obvious love songs in Das Hips catalogue, Gord's solo work definitely contains a few with slightly less-veiled references...and really, writing a decent love poem nowadays (in my opinion) involves quite a bit of veils (not the matrimonial kind) and finding the right balance of obscurity in the metaphors (but not too much, because no one gets all the inside jokes that might go into the meat of the wordplay). The music accompanying the words is also a stark contrast...your basic blues-rock band that doesn't often steer too far from the middle of the road, versus tamer (and often acoustic) settings scaled back with the gentlest of sometimes awkward touches. "Chancellor" ![]() "I'm discovering uses for you I thought I'd never find. I could've made chancellor without you on my mind." Are there better songs on the album (and better poems in the book)? Sure, but don't ask me about them right now...this is what I came here for today, so this is what you're getting ![]() ![]() I knew I liked the slow, smooth mellowness when I first heard this, and probably had thoughts on the lyrics too...but that was practically a generation ago. I do, however, remember walking to one of the local grocery stores last spring after coming home from a week of cleaning out my brother's bedroom- where he'd had hidden away approximately half of my cd collection (including all my Hip/Gord discs) out of spite for grabbing as much of my shit as he could from the house my ex and I shared- and this song came on the trusty ol' iPod for the first time. I should've been pissed that he lied to me when I'd asked him if he was sure my cds were gone, but no...caught up in the wave of way too many other things still in processing, I focused in on rediscovering what I thought might've been lost forever. At a first glance or listen, the lyrics might lead you to the sacrifices (no matter how big or small) we make for others, especially those we're in the tightest quarters with physically and/or emotionally. I mean, I could probably annotate this song (and many of Gord's lyrics) with personal anecdotes that don't, in his words, "serve the song" ![]() Seconds from pajamas I must First open all the doors and the windows And invite the vampire in to be one of us Then in the guise of cool air In the softer hours he's there Sitting talking in the voice of your mother About leaving one good party for another And the night of a thousand missteps And the loss that made him dogged Or it could have been the doggedness That caused the loss in the first place I guess I'm discovering uses for you I thought I'd never find I could've made chancellor without you on my mind Crazy daisies and wooden stars The threat of oxygen on Mars Marching armies in the night Smiling strangers riding by on bikes Children smoking, sloganeers on mics Just a few things most vampires don't like I'm discovering uses for you I thought I'd never find I could've made chancellor without you on my mind Before the dawning's first light I must First close up all the doors and the windows And try to trap that cool air in to be one with us I'm discovering uses for you I thought I'd never find I could've made chancellor without you on my mind But in repeated readings, you see things in yourself and in others that get lost in the idea of sacrificing. Sure, there's the idea of "someone else keeping you from being something you could've been, but you're ok with that because the greater goal together is bigger than your grand plans" and in some respects that's pretty sweet and romantic. Deeper in though, especially the second verse, you're confronted with the reality of everything you're letting in when one door closes and another opens. People like to call that "opportunity" in their favorite workspeak jargon, but no one ever really talks about the downside of what's behind that new door when one's been slammed behind you. In fact, no one talks about what kinds of houses all these doors are opening and closing on people are like...which is bullshit, and people need to stop talking about other peoples' houses in such general, garbage terms ![]() For about two or three months before my brother died, I'd been taking some online classes through the local career center. They were boring but it was alright, and I was disciplined enough to complete some Office Management requirements, but the process wasn't going to get me as far as completing it in part because the local liaison for the program loved to pretend she gave a shit about my concerns. Still, I was rollin' right along until we lost Doug. After coming back from my mom's and getting resettled for a bit before going back for Christmas, it was just hard recapturing my discipline and dedication to the courses. My ability to pay attention had waned, drastically. There was no focus left...and with that went my ability to pursue a renewal of the software license I had once it expired, without the help of the same liaison between the employment center and the software company. She wasn't easy to deal with...in part because her job involves setting people up for this program- that the center pays for- who wind up ditching. I tried to keep in touch with her, but it wasn't enough. I got my dates wrong and had to rely on her, even after getting her word that I'd been doing so well from the get-go. I thought she had my back and became more understanding than she was, but that's on me for trusting her...although what was I supposed to say? In retrospect I should've advocated for myself better and been up-front with why I'd missed classes and deadlines...but I also didn't want that to be dismissed, as if I were searching for any ol' excuse this lady had likely heard a boatload of times already (making her job and therefore her own miserable-ass self more miserable in the process). I tried, but it was some "too little, too late" shit on my end (thanks, anxiety ![]() What a fucking mess of a left turn this entry took, huh.. Wasn't even gonna mention my brother. Or my little-known third collegiate failure (my second was kinda a big deal especially to me, but that's around the time Cinn ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() And sometimes, when the light clicks on you just gotta open up and roll with it ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Thanks for putting up with me today! I've had a day besides all this wordiage, so it's great you came. Hope all y'all are swell...peace, it could have been the doggedness, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |
Hey friends! Well, I've sufficiently been inspired enough to convince myself that today's as good as any to add another poem to my "Pursue the Horizon - Open for Signups" ![]() ![]() I don't remember if I'm allowed to say this or not, but a few years ago after going on a Saul Williams-related diatribe in another blog, my wonderful friend Lyn's a Witchy Woman ![]() ![]() Nope. They're a graphic designer's dream I guess (especially , said the shotgun to the head ![]() And here's me, bored with the idea of reading right now ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() i presented my feminine side with flowers she cut the stems and placed them gently down my throat and these tu lips might soon eclipse your brightest hopes Even without the context of the poetry leading up to or following this bit, there's a lot going on in these nine scant, precise lines. Every woman likes flowers, until you meet one who doesn't (and suspects you did something wrong upon receiving them, rather than appreciating a nice romantic gesture from out of nowhere). Women like sensitive men...until you date one who doesn't understand why certain songs can make you cry. And everyone involved in a relationship wants the same good things from that unification...but then roles become more defined, and attitudes develop and change with circumstances, and reality overtakes and diminishes the aura of happiness in favor of but now this. Without question. And you know this, man ![]() People say things like "Most relationships fail because of arguments over money" or "You need to have the same backgrounds for things to work" and I say that's all bullshit (but what do I know man...my life's roadmap is dotted with questionable relationships attempted and failed). I think power is an often overlooked and definitely underrated cause of failure, because too many people value it for some sort of unrelated validation. Showing someone something that can be mistaken as or perceived as weakness can get you eaten up alive, especially if the other person is coming at you from a position of "I need to make this work for me" before saying "We need to make this work for both of us". Might sound like some lame-ass bullshit Dr. Phil routine, but you know it's true, especially if it's happened to you (and maybe to a lesser extent if you're a narcissistic twat-waffle playin' cuz she don't get played...annnnnd I'mma reel this back in before my entry turns into an episode of Jerry Springer ![]() Anyway, back to Saul Williams...his books are captivating. If there's such a category in all of literature as "poetic page-turners that you can't wait to see how they end, just like novels, but it's poems! ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() BAHAHAHAHAHA nope. I do not feel bad for this asshole one bit. I try not to let my personal feelings intrude upon the 30DBC prompts I send out too often, but sometimes it's hard not to. And really, I'm sorry to have to say this, but if you think he deserves an ounce of compassion then maybe you're reading the wrong blog and kinda maybe go rot in his jail cell with him. Pisses me off that he didn't go to jail for raising the costs of a pill that is meant to be a part of giving people who are suffering from an incurable disease a better life, but that he misled investors...basically, he fucked old rich white dudes outta money and that's why he got stuck with seven years, while the sick and poor they all profited off of got dicked hard into the fire. Who needs a Hippocratic Oath anyway when it's the banks and insurers and shady-ass investors deciding on who gets to live or die? I'm not one to wish death or harm upon anyone (I believe strongly against it, actually), but I hope this asshole gets gang-raped in jail and they can't figure out who gave him any number of infections and STDs. To paraphrase multiple Twitter commentariats on the topic over the last coupla days, I hope someone bottles his tears and tries to sell them at a 5000% markup. Dunno what they'd be good for, because they won't cure AIDS. Or prison overpopulation. Or the healthcare industry. Gambling is fun, I guess...for those who're into it. Wanna try your casino hands at the stock market? Sure...good luck homie. But the marriage of corporations and health is just flat-fuck wrong, yo. You're gambling on people getting sick and dying (or barely keeping them alive) just to make money in the long run. I don't think you need me to tell you how sick and twisted that is. Sure, doctors and nurses need patients to have jobs, but it's not like people are gonna stop getting sick or hurting themselves. No matter how many times you ram into someone's brain activity all the various thinkpieces around "Don't drink and drive!", "See this dying smoker's lungs!", or "Fast food is bad for you...like, really bad!" ![]() ![]() Yeah, investing in businesses that may or may not last is one thing. Turning quality healthcare into a roulette table isn't cool or funny or, like, a good look...even if your brand is basically you just being a dick. Search Martin Shkreli on YouYube, and then watch any of Ghostface Killah's videos responding to his bullshit...be it the price of HIV pills or the mysterious single-copy $2 million Wu-tang album. Don't tell me Martin doesn't look like someone you'd punch in the face after about 20 seconds of conversation...I don't think you even need to hear him speak to make that judgement. I do not feel sorry for him at all. And I'm not in the business of telling people what to think or holding their views against them, but if you have any shred of forgiveness toward him, I'm gonna hafta feel a lotta shame toward you and for all the right reasons. If you're in an industry that relies on making life harder for people who cannot afford quality medication, you should promptly get fucked. Don't try to moralize money with me, and don't bring up right-wing hypocrisy nonsense either...summa y'all dorks with that noise will trip over your own dicks defending some pretty crazy bullshit in the name of nothing that'll stand for you or matters to you when your own life matters. You need to learn how to play for different teams in different sports during the proper seasons, and that's all I'm gonna say about that besides ...something I knew I wanted to add but got distracted and now can't remember ![]() ![]() ![]() It's Sunday, which means it's a good enough time for me to share another Saul Williams project here with you that I've prolly copy/pasted a buncha times before...from the album he put out with Trent Reznor (of Nine Inch Nails, as the producer) is this gritty and slightly bombastic U2 cover, complete with a spoken-word interpretation at the end. The visuals can be stark and antagonistic at times (but isn't that the point of poetry?), and when you wonder why a lot of great poets your mind likes don't read in public often or record themselves, you have to consider if it's because things like this make them think they're not as capable. Hell, I already know half the time saying out loud some of the things I write is almost impossible ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Some notes while waiting for the weekend to end, ushering in the arrival of cool new things, and...oh wait: ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Alright you people- all of you- I have food to make and a nap to take and I'm done with this and you for a little while ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |
'Sup yo? Back for another foray into "Pursue the Horizon - Open for Signups" ![]() But first, some background (even though I've probably already talked about this/him several times before). Between 1997 and 2002 I was gainfully employed by a local electronics retailer based in Western NY, Stereo Advantage ![]() During my time at the now-shuttered 5195 Main St. store, I got to know and become friends with a lot of the staff...prior to that, as a co-manager of one of the area mall stores, I was only required to be there for one shift and one meeting (maybe two) a week, so I didn't really have much pull in the building until I moved over to there full-time. For some reason, being a regular part of the staff at 5195 usually carried more weight everywhere than being a manager of one of the offshoots. But whatever. One of the guys I got to know well was Bink. He was the brother of the manager and ran the Audio department...and on the side he was a drummer in a local band. When I slid over to my demotion/not-demotion at 5195, we'd hang out sometimes. When I needed a ride to work, he'd swing by on his way if we were working the same day. And if we closed the store on the same nights, sometimes we'd head out for beers if he wasn't playin' a show. We'd go to this little local mainstay down the street, Loughran's ![]() ![]() And so in the course of one of our many conversations, it came out that I wrote poetry. He asked me who I'd read, and at that point the list was very small. I was maybe 25 or 26 by then, but hadn't accumulated enough knowledge outside of my own works to speak of besides the basics that most everyone who writes has read by then...Kerouac, Poe, whatever nonsense junior high crammed down your throat, etc. He suggested Brautigan to me and showed up the next day with...somethin', but I don't remember what. Might've been his copy of Trout Fishing in America/The Pill versus the Springhill Mine Disaster/In Watermelon Sugar ![]() ![]() All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace I like to think (and the sooner the better!) of a cybernetic meadow where mammals and computers live together in mutually programming harmony like pure water touching clear sky. I like to think (right now, please!) of a cybernetic forest filled with pines and electronics where deer stroll peacefully past computers as if they were flowers with spinning blossoms. I like to think (it has to be!) of a cybernetic ecology where we are free of our labors and joined back to nature, returned to our mammal brothers and sisters, and all watched over by machines of loving grace. For being basically a bitter, womanizing drunk-turned-hermit more or less, he was ahead of his time. Not in the way he turned plain stuff into fantastical re-imaginings. Not because he invented some crazy form of poetry or adhered to certain values in the name of something sacred. Not because his curiosity turned him into something of a strange-famous hybrid. The Pill was published in 1968...computers were still in a prolonged infancy, and the connectivity we've come to associate with them wasn't even a slobber-drop of dollar signs in the eyes of a Jobs, Gates, or Zuckerberg yet. Like, yo...Brautigan called it here (and if you need further proof, one read of In Watermelon Sugar is all you need to convince you, being that it revolves around a place known as iDeath...long before there was an i-anything). The self-deprecating optimism is trademark Brautigan, evident in most of his work in one way or another. He doesn't take himself too seriously, but he knows he's gotta be on to something here. Whatever the reasons the internet as we know it as was created for- and in part it was meant to resemble something like his description, at its basics- it's a true shame he wasn't around long enough to witness the rise of online dating, cat gifs, and porn websites. As traveled as he was, he woulda loved that shit. And I would also be interested to know his thoughts on all of it...or what a 21st Century Brautigan has in his/her omniscient mind for the 22nd. Hey, if you can wonder what so-and-so or such-and-such in your hero world of choice would do in this day and age as opposed to the setting they were scripted into, it's fair to let me have this. Let me have this!! ![]() I will readily admit that there are times when my opinion on something overshadows the very reason why I formed it...but I also think that's natural. Opinions are like assholes, everyone's got one over time turn into our own little facts...the very facts that make us who we are. And sometimes those opinions were forged from facts...hopefully. Debunking a childhood myth isn't a great experience, for example. It can leave you cold and untrusting for awhile, but you've lived your life for so long believing something and living a certain way because of an opinion that it's become your truth...be it about you or pertaining to your personal history, or Santa Claus, or speculation over whether or not a fictional character in something written hundreds of years ago is gay. And some are easy to move on from with new knowledge in the back pocket, while other times it shakes you to a death of sorts in the core of who you were up to now. I have opinions, because I'm like a grown-up age. These are facts. And I try to base my opinions on facts, because that is crucial currency when it comes to things like personal integrity and another thing I can't think of the word for but there's a word I wanted to use, believe me. Guess that's the thing I'll wake up to well before I'm sposta tomorrow morning ![]() Truth is, most times the convictions (hold up...that might've been the word ![]() ![]() Nietzsche is alright with me, if only because I see his name and think of an old football player of the same last name, and anyone who says that name like "Nee-chee" and not "Nitch-ski" gets props, especially if I'm totally butchering it based on personal preferences. I forget what I was goin' for here...musta been sidetracked. It happens. I guess, the facts that wreck us also shape us, and it's good to keep them in a card catalog of sorts that gets sniffed on occasionally. Being required to always know the whys of something I feel strongly about would send me into crippling panics, and I'm not that adult yet where I can absolutely defend stupid decisions from years past without caring about consequences or doubts. Opinions are kind of our "this is where we are right now" statements. Sometimes we care enough to school/get schooled, and change them to fit our current needs/wants/haves. Sometimes we grow out of them only to remember why we have them years later. Life moves at rates too intermittent to be held into one opinion for so long, especially when you're finding yourself on the wrong side of history (past or present). If you educate yourself on the opinion in question, taking into account information from sources who won't always tell you just what you wanna hear, you'll be alright in the end...when you've got the credible info (fuck...that might also have been the word I was looking for earlier in this entry ![]() ![]() ![]() To tie this entry into a big fat bow, Bink also got me somewhat into The Flaming Lips (part of working for The Advantage was that we all had nicknames; mine was Bert because it was short for my full name and apparently much cooler than my real name). He threw some songs at me and while I'd already known they were interesting in a way, I just never had anything else to go by (again, back in the prehistoric Internet ages). "All We Have Is Now" ![]() "As logic stands, you couldn't meet a man who's from the future. But logic broke; as he appeared, he spoke about the future. 'We're not going to make it;' he explained how the end will come, 'you and me were never meant to be part of the future.'" It's habit for me to think of Bink when I do anything Brautigan or Flaming Lips. Like, that's my center in those Venn Diagram circles. Great guy and one of a few I truly love and miss from that era of my life. ![]() ![]() While wondering why a bus can smell so amazing and disturbing at the same time... ![]() ![]() Speaking of which, it's well-past dinner time here and I need to get me some...food. From my fridge. Smartly, so's I don't feel like a rock the rest of the night. Boring day otherwise, best believe that. Peace, all we've ever had was now, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! The sounds alone seem to mean we're doomed... just as nature intended. |
What's up you guys! Welcome to, like, my annual "Pursue the Horizon - Open for Signups" ![]() ![]() ![]() But I wanna feel like I'm participating somewhat. At any given time I've always got a couple books out from the library...usually a poetry collection, something non-fictiony of some sort of specific personal interest, maybe a fun-looking graphic novel, and randomly a biography or fiction work that catches my eye while I'm comin' through. I've been slowly making my way into Ted Kooser's Flying At Night ![]() ![]() So I'm probably about three-quarters through this, and so far it's pretty meh...unless you like poems about old people living out their last days in rough shape, or barns. Either I'm not reading this well enough, or I'm not that smart (very possible), or he's just not for me (very likely). He's not terrible; I'm just not relating to them very well. And sometimes he's just really simplistic...to the point that it falls flat against my dead ears screaming to see something vibrant and the dying space between them. I'm sure he had reasons for writing his poems, and how I'd react to them was the least of his concerns...until I read "A Buffalo Skull" this morning, and finally found my mind wandering inwardly because of the poem and not outwardly away from it. A Buffalo Skull No fine white bone-sheen now; a hundred hard years have worn it away, this stump washed up on a bar in the river, its horns like broken roots, its muzzle filled with sand and the thin gray breath of spider webs. Once, they covered the grasslands like the shadows of clouds, and now the river gives up just one skull, a hive of bone like a fallen wasp’s nest, heavy, empty, and full of the whine of the wind and old thunder. And I know what he's referring to really isn't what it evokes in my head upon reading it...I'm making it into something probably far too literal for my own good. But just as we often want to see what really isn't there when we read a poem or hear a song, the same can work in reverse or something. Which is probably a garbage way of me trying to analogize what I read, but you'll have that with me. Every few months when I hop on the ol' Greyhound to visit my mom, the station closest to her is in the heart of downtown Buffalo. Fields eventually turned into a one-time mid-major metropolis, if you will, that has seen various stages of decline and reconstruction of many fashions over the subsequent years. The city's highlights- the shopping centers, theater districts, entertainment options- run through their useful life cycles, sit in abandonment afterward for well past their "Serve By:" dates, and then another generation comes along to reshape the landscapes back into fruition of a different flavor. I think because I'm not seeing them as often in person anymore, it's almost easier to picture what used to be in some of the dilapidated neighborhoods than if I'd been there to watch them wither on a daily or weekly basis. Your memory can plug back in the functional past after prolonged absences, because it's not rewriting a film in real time. I'm well aware that this isn't some phenomenon that's exclusive to Buffalo or some crazy new concept. In the five-and-a-half years I've been in Cortland, their downtown district (albeit a paltry maybe five or six blocks in comparison) has undergone many changes...including the loss of several multi-generational businesses that made visiting Main St. worthwhile. And most of them are still vacant, months and years later, waiting for their rebirth. The animal is dead; long live the animal! The surrounding neighborhoods- the whine of the wind that made the distinct sections of Buffalo what they were when they served as home bases to the families that worked in the steel mills, auditoriums, and malls- remain largely untouched by the hands that served to populate and/or give life to the industries that moved on. A few blocks off the NFTA bus schedule maps in any direction from your attraction of choice probably isn't somewhere you'd care to visit unless you've been there before...the way nighttime makes even the most idyllic surroundings appear sinister to the uninitiated, and their inhabitants just stumps washed up at favorite corner bars since the fancy newfangled places uptown have priced them out with wasps' nests of greed and spider webs of local wannabe hipsters. Yet it's home, even if I don't live there anymore and it's not the same home to the people who still do...and that's where this particular Kooser poem took me more than any of his others I've read up to that point. That perhaps it's us who are the skulls, living with memories of places time has moved on from. ![]() ![]() It was early in the day for me- maybe 10am-ish- when I'd read "A Buffalo Skull" and thought to myself "Well, maybe I can pull something out of that for "Pursue the Horizon - Open for Signups" ![]() ![]() ![]() "I Cut Like A Buffalo" ![]() "You should try to take it easy on me 'cause I don't know how to take it." ![]() ![]() A few personal notes while I ponder why I don't do this so much anymore and why I should... ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Alright well, now that I'm about over food making my body feel terrible I suppose it's time to jam more food into it and see what happens. It was nice visiting you all again but unless you're gonna take your shoes off first let's not make this a habit (especially if you're gonna get all pissy about me not taking my shoes off ![]() I hope none of these people survived the Blizzard Of '85. ![]() ![]() |
![]() What's good, people? I'm afraid I'm taking the easy way out today, and forming my observations into the shape of a blog entry, for simplicity's sake. Which doesn't sound very interesting, but I'll try anyway. I had an appointment this afternoon with my Mental Health doctor. No biggie; just a checkup regarding a med change from last month. This was the second time I've seen her; my previous doc left this office because he wanted to work closer to home and took a position making more money. Good for him...I got along really well with him, I trusted him, and I felt comfortable talking to him and listening to him. This lady? She's nice and all. Certainly means well, I think. But she's...a little dippy? Can I say that about someone? I said it so whatever. I can overlook certain things about people given their situations, and she's been overbooked because Cortland County didn't really give a shit about filling the vacant MH doc's position for months on end. And she's more of a Nurse Practitioner, trying to figure out why my previous doctor has prescribed this or that and what for. My medical history is slightly complicated I guess, but I'm fairly open-minded so I'm willing to see things through with her for the time being. I waited a half-hour past my scheduled appointment time. It's bad enough I get anxiety about waiting around all morning for these things and I usually show up early because I hope that means it's the start of the whole process ending. I'm glad I didn't show up early today. She comes out and meets me in the waiting room, squinting down at a piece of paper going "Robert? Robert, right?" Those of you who know me know that is not my name. I politely corrected her because my only other default setting might have been nervous assassination on the spot. We proceeded to go upstairs to her office, and along the way she began introducing herself and why she was there in a manner that suggests she's never seen me before. No less than twice did I tell her we met last month. Nervousness and annoyance is not a pleasurable cocktail, my friends...but I'm keeping it together because otherwise I'm gonna get shouty and stupid real fast, and I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt. My main reason for being there? I needed one of my insomnia meds refilled. I placed an order through the online patient portal a couple days ago, and now I'm totally out. Otherwise, I may have just cancelled the appointment because my anxiety has been making me fucking trip lately and I was in no mood to put on a performance for anyone...I was content to just wallow. But let's not worry about me...this is about her. After about ten minutes of jibber-jabber and her asking me if I remembered why she cut my Ritalin dose in half and me fucking panicking out of not remembering right away why, she finally snapped and was like "Ohhhh, now I remember you!" ![]() ![]() Why is this an issue? Because I truly believe this fucking woman has no clue how any kind of technology works. She hasn't looked at my chart or file or whatever because I don't think she wants to admit that she can't use a computer. Half of my two appointments with her have consisted of her seriously mock-typing on her keyboard like a Muppet and then muttering how there's "something wrong with the system" and it's not "letting her in", but she "probably saw my request and probably approved it earlier"...which is bullshit because "the system" alerts me when the request I make is sent to prescriber and when prescriber has sent request to pharmacy. And actually, this is a step up from the last visit, when she looked at me like I was asking her to shove the business end of a hammer up her ass upon my mentioning that I use the office's patient portal for medication refills. Don't fucking ask me what that is, lady, when there are signs all over the doors and reception area touting the portal. To recap: this woman, who isn't even really maybe not quite my mom's age, doesn't remember me and is technologically deficient...and also, I had kinda no reason to be there when I especially didn't wanna be there but kinda needed to go anyway. And thank fuck I did, or else I probably wouldn't have had much to go on regarding observations for this entry. Also, still no confirmation from the clinic or the pharmacy that I'll have one of my insomnia meds refilled by the next time I'll need to take it. Sweet ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() I ask because I'm curious, and I know that to probably most of us blogging is a side-hustle when we're not writing stories or poems or drawing or taking pictures. And like most athletes have certain brands of gear they prefer or carpenters stick with a specific tool-maker, so do we have our own things we like to keep around when we're doing this thing. Awhile back some of us participated in a WDC Live ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() These are great pens from Staples (they're a big-box office supply store in the US, for the unfamiliar). Nice grip, writes smooth. I'm pissed cuz the Staples in Cortland closed, and I don't remember if the one in Ithaca is still open but at least we pass by it on the way back from my mom's. I'm probably not gonna be pleased if I have to resort to buying them online once I go through my current stash. Then ya got notebooks...looking around, I see at least four different notebooks and notepads within five feet of where I'm sitting. One's the hard copy of "World By Design" ![]() ![]() Haven't gotten a desk yet- not sure how that's gonna fit in the apartment- so for now I've got my laptop on one tray table and notebooks and various crap on another off to the opposite side of me. Works for now, so there's no urgency in finding a better solution. When I wanna do this blog thing, I open up all the tabs I'll need in the order I plan to use them...almost as if it were an outline. I get it...it sounds weird and maybe some of you just sorta fly by the seat of your pants and answer the prompt with whatever comes up because that's what works for you, but I can't do that because I forget things and need to be organized and that's my preferred way of doing it. And even then, in the course of my own pants-seat flying, I'll think of like six different other things I wanna throw in, and then I've gotta work those in. I've got two YouTube tabs at minimum up, the Genius.com tab for song lyrics, the Daily Box Score stuff no one reads, plus all the WDC stuff I'll need for an entry. I don't fuck around ![]() Otherwise, nothing fancy over here ![]() ![]() ![]()
![]() Sorta the same with ideas and options. Don't wanna have too many, because "no limit" is often limiting at times. I find it not always easy to concentrate when I'm not organized and have too many things to work from. Sometimes scaling down the ambition is the best thing you can do...whether you're writing a novel or a poem, choosing what to wear for the day, or going on a bank-robbing spree. "Fell In Love With A Girl/Little Room" ![]() "Well, you're sittin' in your little room, and you're working on something good. But if it's really good, you're gonna need a bigger room. And when you're in the bigger room, you might not know what to do. You might have to think of how you got started sitting in your little room." ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Done here. Done with you guys today. Tired as fuck. Body feels dead, and it's not the usual dead arms; it's everything. You people are wearing me out ![]() |
![]() ![]() 'Sup you guys? I love it when two prompts can kinda be tied together into one seamless entry. Let's see how coherently I can do this ![]() I have an admission to make...I like David Bowie just fine and all, but a lot of his songs just don't really resonate with me emotionally. By no means is that a knock on him; he's got an immensely enjoyable and deep catalog...it's just that outside of "I'm Afraid Of Americans" ![]() ![]() I don't think it's a stretch to say everyone has their demons, even on simple levels and terms. Creative types especially. Bowie had his, I have mine, and you know you've got some (whether you choose to acknowledge them or not). He spent the majority of the 70's skiing Cocaine Mountain like it was his own personal theme park. I've got Severe Depressive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety, a difficult-to-tame insomnia streak, and a dramatic off-again/on-again love affair with cheap beer. Maybe yours is chocolating yourself to excess, or your folks left you in a supermarket, forgotten and alone, for an entire afternoon. Demons are part of who we are; the key to taming them is figuring out how to use them to our advantage. That's why we write/sing/paint, or eat 'til we can't feel feelings, or push strangers in front of moving buses. Humans are fun and complex like that. Putting our demons on display only works if we know what we're after and why we're doing it. Are we asking for help or change that we can't finagle on our own? Are we trying to acknowledge something that plain rational thought can't, in order to shame ourselves back into a correction we're unsure of the way toward? Is "putting them out there" a means letting people know you've got some things you need to work through? There are more reasons for them than demons themselves...no shame in that. There are probably thousands of think-pieces out there as to why Bowie came up with the Ziggy Stardust persona, and if I've read or seen any interviews he gave on the subject unfortunately anything he imparted hasn't stuck with me. I'm sure he wanted to create something he thought his audience would dig. He sold millions of records, so he did something right whether his audience knew it or were considered as part of the creative process. And much of what I'm trying to work out about myself is hopefully going to be reflected in my current work-in-progress, "World By Design" ![]() ![]() ![]() Writing is one way I have to make sense of what's in my head while trying to reconcile it with my life experiences. I need to know that I'll be able to live with and stand by the things I say/said before I can put them in front of people. I've found that only time offers the greatest sense of detachment for me...that's why it's taken me years and sometimes over a decade before I'll feel comfortable adding certain poems or collections to my WDC port. I often have to be emotionally ok that my demons won't terrorize you as much as they have me, while also not reliving that same terror myself years after the fact. ![]() ![]()
"Modern Love" ![]() "It's not really work. It's just the power to charm. I'm still standing in the wind, but I never wave bye-bye. But I try...I try." ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Ok...time for a snack-turned-into-a-meal maybe, a shame nap if that's the case, and then I'm off to see what y'all have been up to. Peace, things don't really change, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! ![]() ![]() |
![]() ![]() ![]() Your job today is defending this decision by giving your potential readers the story behind it." What's up you guys? Ok, lemme get this out of the way...sometimes coming up with prompts is hard even though I've got a cache of them the size of War And Peace. And then, other times I come up with a good prompt and it's not the right time for one reason or another to drop it on the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() ![]() ![]() And here again is another example of the creative power the members of WDC share with each other...I don't remember where exactly I saw it (or else I'd cite the source), but there was a thread of convo between I believe Cinn ![]() ![]() That is, of course, until I came across the pic you all see at the top...and then the wheels started turnin' and the black smoke began to billow from the chimney of whatever decayed remains in my mind ignited, enough so that there was gonna be a poem for this picture/prompt. Wanna hear it? Here it goes: The 14th Fuck We don't talk enough about how important the 14th fuck is. It's unlucky to get stuck on 13 for too long, and we all know each given fuck isn't created equal. There really isn't a roadmap for it, but is that necessary? You're only using landmarks anyway, like a Patron Saint Fucks-Giving Fairy whose wings you ride to rid the burdens of irritation from your damned soul. -"The 14th Fuck" ![]() ![]() Also, I've come to the realization that I don't use enough image prompts...so be prepared, if you are or become a regular of the 30DBC. You will likely see this prompt again (maybe not in the same round), but with a different picture. I hate that it's taken me this long to figure out that Image Prompts and Creation Saturday were made for each other ![]() ![]() ![]()
"Man Of War" ![]() "When you come home, I’ll bake you a cake...made of all their eyes. I wish you could see me, dressed for the kill." ![]() ![]() ![]() Extended snippets of this song showed up in the 1998 documentary Meeting People Is Easy ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Whew...ok guys, I'm done here. About an hour to go before the NFL Playoffs start, which gives me time to not do anything before I sit in front of the tv, doing nothing ![]() ![]() ![]() |
![]() Today is straight trash, homie. People in charge of things not directly involving words shouldn't also be in charge of naming the things they're good at. Like, meteorologists. Apparently, I live in the area that has been targeted by a "cyclone bomb", which is terrifying enough given that I heard that term around the same time Trump was tweeting about "having a bigger button" and taunting North Korea again, but it turns out it's just a name the National Weather Service gave to a pattern of snow brewing over the northeast this week. And I woke up today to find the bomb has been dropped (and is still dropping). No lie: I'd rather be hit every surrounding building in my neighborhood's fallout from an actual nuclear strike than have to go out into a snowstorm. But nope...shittiest, snowiest day of the week and I've gotta go places. The bank...ok, that's around the corner. Coulda done that anytime over the past couple days, but nope...Greyhound has to start sending the guilting emails that I haven't booked my trip yet that I've been looking at and they're threatening me with the "you're not gonna have a seat" tone. I was low on smokes, so the little bodega I get 'em from is around the corner from there. Fine. And the therapist is just down the street...so everything's kinda in like a three-block radius. Which is fine, were it not for this "bomb cyclone" or whatever other bullshit they're calling it ("snow genesis" is another term I came across)...why does shit have to be like this? When I was a kid and a young adult all we had were blizzards. This is a fucking blizzard. Not an apocalypse. Not twenty fucking adjectives greater than the sum of their parts combined into three words to make all the old ladies believe this is the worst thing they'll ever see in their lives. They'll truck out to the convenience stores, buy up all the bread and milk and toilet paper, crank their heat up to 85°, and go back to watching Murder, She Wrote for the eighteen-evelenty-hundredth time without a hint of panic...weather reports are their Pavlovian bells. Meanwhile I'm over here like "Does my therapist deliver?" ![]() Winter is bullshit. If my biggest fear is slipping in the shower, cracking my head on a grab-bar, and bleeding out while simultaneously drowning, #2 on my list has to be slipping on the sidewalk that maybe was shoveled/maybe it wasn't an hour ago during a snowstorm, smashing my dome on a fire hydrant, and bleeding out while simultaneously asphyxiating on the snow forcefully being blown all up into the nostrils and gasping maw. I hope everyone who's dying to tell me they miss snow gets punched in the face by several thousands of 1,000-lb. snowflakes the size of nickels, and no one stops to help them up cuz it's too windy out to get out of their cars. ![]() Ya know what? Call me crazy (it's ok), but I'm down with brainwashing. Only for legit, moral purposes though...I swear, I wouldn't use it to my supreme advantage or anything, like convincing some actress on a tabloid cover who's dying to have a baby that I should father it by initial actions only, or throwing sporting events so I can wager on them and win a metric fuck-ton of money. As fun as having that power would be, the guilty conscience I should be continuously medicated for wouldn't allow for that. Instead, I'd like to offer these, because it's bullet point time! ![]() ![]() ![]() And that's just the start of things. I probably have mentioned a slew of other ideas here and there in other various "King Me!" types of prompts, but the reality is I just don't want the job, and don't punish me for not taking it by giving it to someone gross above me instead. You can fault an "either/or" system as the problem, but really it's because any other third party never has its shit together enough to make any sustainable difference for the better and ends up splintering to appease their desired masses. So it is; so it shall be. When the bright light shuts off, I'll snap my fingers and you'll be the bestest version of you you ever imagined, only it'll be the same one everyone wants you to be too in accordance with the common goal of Don't be a dick. ![]() ![]()
"Live And Let Die" ![]() "You used to say live and let live (you know you did, you know you did, you know you did). But if this ever changing world in which we're living makes you give in and cry, say live and let die." Truth. Call me whatever you want (I don't care at this point); if you can't let people live the lives they want to live, then you gotta go. And chances are, the only ones who'll miss you will be the first ones following you out, if ya know what I'm sayin' ![]() I've loved a lot of people in my life- friends and family alike- for various reasons...but wasn't it the late, great Maya Angelou who one said "When someone shows you who they are, believe them"? And yes, I know full well it goes both ways and I've said/done things to people who loved me unconditionally that made them question it, but in the end everyone does what they think is best for them. That's why people stick with like-minded others over blood relatives, for good and/or nefarious reasons. That's why you can still love people who hate your insomnia, and hate the person who feels like your only friend because he steals your insomnia meds (true story for another time, although I've probably mentioned it once or twice years ago and don't feel like looking those entries up right now). It's easy to say "live and let live" when you're young and optimistic and the world hasn't ruined you yet. I believe in the good of all people...but I don't let people get close to me often enough anymore to prove to me they're good or bad; usually they do it on their own (either way). I want everyone to be happy and comfortable, and I'll surround myself with those who want to do the same; I'll align myself accordingly, with as little judgement as possible...but when the judgements start taking on lives of their own and keep piling up and pulling me apart by internal organs dragged by horses, I will cut ties. And I don't cut them with scissors. I will bail strong, hard, fast, and with no sentiment or worry that you'll ever creep back in. When I'm gone, you're dead to me. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
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![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Alright you sad clowns ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |