The good thing about rats is they don’t lie. Cross a gecko with a mussel and what you have is a new kind of adhesive tape.
Michael Gizzi, New Depths of Deadpan, (via)
Category: general
poet robert bly returns to his home in minnesota…
life is too short to live without poetry…
“go moan for man, go moan, go groan… [open] up inward toward the lord”
kerouac reading visions of cody & on the road to steve allen’s jazz piano
(Source: http://www.youtube.com/)
Here’s the official Flood Gallery press release:
Matt Mulder will be offering a second series of workshops. They will run through October, into November. Please contact Matt at… » read more
Omnis voluntarius et prono animo offerat eas Domino
yes, it’s sunday morning… last night’s bonfire was brilliant, the moon bright white… still not enough coffee open my eyes…
the great harvest moon rises tonight… it’s time for a bonfire under the red oak tree… i can’t recall the last time i say a full moon, let alone the harvest moon, on this date… think i’ll celebrate by composing sutras with fire…
she was going to take me to raleigh for the u2 concert & then we found out how much tickets & hotel & kidlinger-care will cost… i think we’ll be real extravagant & celebrate at dunkin doughnuts…
We don’t take [poets] seriously; we don’t think that poetry can move people to do passionate things. But poets did. Poets could change cultures. Before there was so much contest for people’s attention, poets were the ones who literally brought the news from one place to another, walking from town to town, which is how we got everything to be iambic and memorable and rhymed and metered, because the tradition was oral before it was literary.
these sketchbooks were unearthed not long ago while i was looking for a poetry book by robert pinsky. i used to carry these sketchbooks around everywhere & drew constantly.
listening to an excellent recording of fierrabras, an opera by schubert
the cupboards are empty. the only thing for breakfast is oatmeal. i’m not complaining. could be worse… could be that the only thing left is grits…
woke up this morning with the alice in chains song man in the box running through my head & the memory of loading an alice in chains cd into a denon dual drive dj cd player at wtpt on a sunday morning… that was a long time ago in a city far, far away…
restaurant hostess: hey, there.
me: afternoon…
restaurant hostess: wanna booth?
me: yes, please… for one.
restaurant hostess: will a booth in the back work? i know you usually sit over there. (sho points to a section just off stage right.)
me: a booth in the back will do.
restaurant hostess: it’s always nice to eat at a place where every one knows ya, isn’t it?
(i smile & almost make a reference to cheers but stop — i realize that the hostess was probably born when woody harrelson joined the cast.)
there must be some benefit to taking lunch at 2 pm… but i haven’t found it yet…
dear city of asheville,
thank you for finally letting me out of my own driveway this morning. you can go back to paving the road now.
yeah, it’s after midnight… time to stop designing schtuff & get some analog sleep…
why won’t illustrator cs3 do what i told it to? i said do it 3d not flat. great, now i’m talking to a piece a software… <quietly leaves the room & looks for a yuengling>
‘it’s my execution…’ listenin to ye ole grammatrain while designin some schtuff fer someone…
um, i guess it’s closing time… thanks for turning off all the lights… now where did i put my maglite so i can crawl out of this audio bunker…
while reviewing audio i recorded earlier this week, i realized only i will notice small details… like the fact that i had a bit of hay fever due to the windy monday weather & i pronounced ‘slash’ with a bit too much snot & the that sneeze i edited out of the final cut seemed to leave the residue of a hasty 10-second spot that was actually supposed to be 15-seconds. but these are all things unnoticeable to the average listener.
People go out to look at sunrises and sunsets who do not recognize their own, quietly and happily, but know that it is foreign to them. As they do by books, so they quote the sunset and the star, and do not make them theirs. Worse yet, they live as foreigners in a world of truth, and quote thoughts, and thus disown them. Quotation confesses inferiority.
Ralph Waldo Emerson – Letters and Social Aims 1876 (via 52books)
one of these days i’ll actually attend the poets forum, but not this year…
Coffeehouse Junkie 