Monday, April 25, 2011

Now For That Whole Poem, And Then Some

As Houses


in this haze,
summer days
are better off
far away, but
winter without
a trace.

We’re always
seeking escape
from the isolation
we create – the desolation
of your absence
is better off
than our single-celled
seizure together, untenable.

I can entomb
in the cold,
grow old behind
film, reel upon
reel, emotions enacted
from experience, enclosed,

A friend of mine who read this poem told me she felt like killing herself now, thanks. Meanwhile, I didn't feel depressed about it -- 'til she said that. It can be difficult putting yourself out there, though, and paper rejections from magazines are the least of it. Those are impersonal.

In the more personal vein, there's the poetry teacher who waited 'til after I contracted her to offer a critique of my manuscript, American Woman, to inform me how much she dislikes any poetry that rhymes. That's the kind of caveat that puts me on the defensive, an opinion self-elevated to authority, and besides, I only rhyme some of the time, so...wait, why am I defending that? "Take all the rhymes out." That command also strikes me as a tad...ivory. If I was just a bit more neurotic, and sometimes this can be a fine line, I could have developed a complex over it.

Or an alleged friend, writer choosing to stop speaking to me with no explanation right after I gave her my play, Post-Apocalypse, dedicated to my deceased gay boyfriend in Nola, a choice I only found about out when she rejected my facebook request, twice, after I started a page there to help promote the readings I was producing of said play. wakka wakka.

Like that time I got fired by this woman only after my broke poet ass had put the payment down on a new car, something her and her middle-class non-poet minions kept asking me about: "Oh, did you get a new car yet?" Yes, minions, I know I was late once thanks to my Oldsmobile, Regency 98, year 1982, a loyal fortress of a vehicle until it wasn't and black plumes of smoke were blowing out from the tailpipe, after I had scraped and shoveled it out, after a car accident that left me with a kind of excruciating back injury, yes, five minutes late that day. "Oh, did you get a new car yet?" At last: "Yes." Now you can stop bugging me. A few days later, it's "I want to meet with you later." Later, it's "You're fired." double wakka.

The hostile can be so dull, let them have it though: I prefer to be fired.

Heavy Shades, Games Played

-----------------------Skate At Your Own Risk------------------------------

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Outtakes From Seymour Hersh

at The New School, Limiting Knowledge in a Democracy: A Social Research Conference, held in 2010, which I found on a torn-out piece of notebook paper mixed in with my tax papers.

Oh, and as an aside to whatever Tax Act representative was reading the blog: this may seem like an offbeat site to you, based on the snotty tone of the last email from your "help" center, which essentially said I'm a stupid girl who doesn't know how to operate a computer, but I can assure you I am indeed a more traditional journalist in addition to being offbeat, with a lot of contacts, including my fellow journalists and offbeats -- and psst, we talk.

I suggest you spend less time playing D & D, both on and off the clock, and more time reading the actual content of your customers' email inquiries and answering them, rather than sending form letters to avoid having to, shudder, interact with them and rather than blaming this paying, courteous customer for your lack of attention, accuracy or clarity -- including re: the apparent glitch that can occur if Firefox is used to download your program on a p.c. Duh!

Let's all ingest some Sy Hersh and heal:

That's the bureaucracy: It's all mindset.

I won't talk to a source that won't independently verify the information with a fact-checker.

Re: 9/11 "Truther" movement
There's just never been an empirical case.

You never sexually humiliate an Arab. Do you Americans know what you've done?

I don't know any Pakistani who wants to knock down buildings in New York City.

"Hated French" -- you can say that easily

People aren't getting through it; they're not surviving it.

prone or supine