Happy New Year

later tonight i will be so blitzed on beer, tequila, wine and champagne that i will probably be unable to function, let alone post on this blog, for a few days. therefore, i am posting now (before everything begins) and wishing everyone a happy new year!

as i said before, May 2006 be everything 2005 wasn't.

be safe, guys. there are always a lot of psychos and drunks and lunatics out on this night. if you happen to be one of these people, please leave everyone else alone and wallow in your lunacy alone!

indirect rejection?

i received a copy of a journal out of Utah State University called isotope. it bills itself as "A Journal of Literary Nature and Science Writing". i figured why not, since i fancy myself a writer and am a scientist, and often merge the two.

a few days after my submission, i received an email that said:

Thank you for your submission to Isotope! I'm writing in case you don’t know about the contest we are holding during our current reading period (Aug 1-Nov 15). You can find contest guidelines on our website (http://isotope.usu.edu/). You do not need to enter the contest in order for us to consider your work for publication, but there is prize money as well as publication for the winners and all contest entries will be considered for publication. After reading the contest guidelines, if you'd like to enter your submitted work in the contest, you can send along the entry fee (which also gets you a discounted subscription to Isotope) and a cover sheet, otherwise we will process your work as a regular submission.

Thank you for your interest in Isotope!

after reading this, i thought they really liked what i submitted and were being kind enough to let me know of the contest. dumbass me, i sent them the $15. i hadn't heard a thing until today. i received a copy of isotope. i'm not sure if it's the contest issue or not. probably not since there's no mention of it in the pages, but i still haven't heard a thing about my submission. am i to assume this issue is a rejection? or is it just part of my discounted subscription? i never heard about what the discout on the subscription was, nor did i send any extra monies.
i am assuming that this issue is a subtle rejection: sorry, mr. barrett, but your poetry isn't good enough to grace our pages. nor is it good enough to even warrant a real rejection. instead, here is a copy of our journal. peruse it. study it. learn.

the journal features mostly fiction and essays, but there are quite a few poems. most are horrible. truly horrible. a few were good, and one was just amazing. but, my stuff definitely isn't in the genre and style that they like. my poetry is a little too unlyrical and is far too narrative in nature.

anyway, i'm hoping this wasn't meant as a rejection. if so, that's horrible.

new issue of Nerve Cowboy...& Merry Xmas

today, as a nice, early Xmas present, arrived my contributor and subscriber copies of the new Nerve Cowboy (#20, Fall 2005). two of my poems, the ultimate irony of the recently sobered & the geometry of a relationship on the rocks, are featured in this issue. Nerve Cowboy, once again, released an amazing issue. it is the best small press journal of literature out there. since i have two copies, if you're interested in seeing what Nerve Cowboy offers, let me know and i'll send you my extra copy. i'm pretty certain you'll love it and will wind up becoming a subscriber. it's THAT good.
other poets featured in this issue include: Gerald Locklin, Karl Koweski, Kathleen Paul-Flanagan, christopher cunninngham, A.D. Winans and Michael Kriesel.

well, tomorrow is Xmas. unfortunately, and oddly, we've been hit with some kind of freakish warm spell. it's like 50 degrees (Fahrenheit) outside today. no snow, except on the mountains, and plenty of sunshine. it's actually quite nice.

anyway, Merry Xmas folks. i hope you have a beautiful end of the year, and i hope 2006 is everything 2005 wasn't.
for all of us.

RIP

seems i'm not writing on here much anymore. or, at least not as often. seems i'm not writing much of anything anymore. hopefully, that will change. it's just work is a bitch right now. balls to the wall busy. 10 hour days. plus, it's the dead of winter (Happy Winter Solstice!!) and i'm driving to work in the dark and driving home in the dark. never a good thing.

yesterday i received the final issue of Chiron Review (#81). it is an all gay and lesbian literature issue. CR will be greatly missed in the small press world. a rarity, too, being printed on newsprint in a full-size format. i'm proud as hell to have been in a few previous issues of CR, and wish Hathaway (the editor) the best.

i doubt i'll post before xmas, so Merry Xmas to all of you who celebrate it. Happy Chanuka to those who celebrate that. to everyone else...Season's Greetings, i guess.

the poem that started it all for me

when i was in high school, i was not a writer. i was shy, very tall, very skinny and very unpopular. things were compounded when we moved in the midst of my senior year. things turned out well, obviously (especially considering this is where i met my future wife) but it was not an easy go of it to be sure.
anyway, the teacher i was assigned to for English class--one Mrs. Anusavice--was a great teacher. she had this voice that was at once motherly and strong. her diction was clear and her enunciation was immaculate. she was also a lover of poetry, both classic and contemporary. we read a great deal of poetry--from Shakespeare to Byron to Yeats to Strand. and most of it was good.
the best, though, was the day she read the following poem by William J. Harris:

HEY FELLA WOULD YOU MIND HOLDING THIS PIANO A MOMENT

As you are walking
down the street
this guy asks you
to hold his violin.
It’s a Stradivarius.
Soon as it falls
into your hands you start playing like crazy.
The violin
almost plays itself.
Your powerful hands
nearly break the instrument
but the music is gentle and sweet.
You sweep your long artistic hair
out of your face.
Everybody
in the room,
in the bull ring, in the
audience, in the coliseum
starts clapping and shouting “Encore & Wow.”
Everybody whoever thought
that you were
dumb & untalented
goes apeshit
over your hidden genius.
“Gee, I never knew you
played,” says your astonished high school
principal.

William J. Harris

From Hey Fella Would You Mind Holding This Piano A Moment © 1974, William J. Harris

i love this poem. i loved it then, and love it even more now. the absurdity of it all. the flow. everything.
back then, i got a kick out of Mrs. Anusavice saying the word "apeshit" (and, i admit, still giggle a little when i hear now). but now, i love the fact that it is so simple and so irrationally absurd.

well, that poem did it for me. it opened my eyes to what poetry could really be. it showed me that poetry wasn't all meter and rhyme; that it was considerably more than iambic pentameter or villanelles or sonnets; that it could be funny and absurd and plain-spoken. this hit me hard and definitely inspired me to try my hand at laying down the line.

needless to say, i'm glad Mrs. Anusavice read this poem to our class back in '90. i'm glad Mr. Harris wrote back in '74. for without either, i doubt i ever would've found poetry.

i'm sure, though, that there are plenty out there who are silently cursing both Mrs. Anusavice and Mr. Harris for their parts in aiding that discovery.

the rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated (though close)

wrote my first poem in a month? two months? hell, i can't remember how long it's been. and quickly on the heels of that first one, a second one spilled out. it felt good.
i don't think "it" is totally back -- this is going to be a series of fits and starts before i'm back to cruising the poetry highway -- but it's good to know it didn't completely leave me. i've always been afraid that one day it will up and leave me. still might. glad to know that it hasn't happened yet.
i might not be back, but ya'll best watch out. i'll be back in the game before you know it; swinging for the fences; running back punts; pushing the fast break.

workshops revealed

Brian McGettrick (aka bmcg on this blog) sent me a link to an article by Sam Sacks. this article, ostensibly a review of an anthology (Best New American Voices 2006) is really a look at workshops and what they are doing to American literature.
i've never liked the idea of workshops. like Mr. Sacks says, they only dilute the talent pool. they bring down those who are talented (and therefore don't need a workshop) and bring those who are untalented up just enough to not discourage them from writing. he even touches on the publishing trade, and how little it means to be published.
granted, the article is about fiction (short stories, mainly), but i think the sentiment can be applied just as well to poetry. there ARE poetry workshops, and the same drivel Mr. Sacks mentions is being released from these places.
the key sentence in the whole article is: "As for grammar and mechanics, the only aspects of writing actually governed by rules, they are considered beneath the contempt of creative minds and are omitted from study." i find grammar and mechanics woefully lacking in most contemporary literature, and it's even worse in poetry. for some reason people just can't seem to be bothered with learning the proper way to say things. and don't even get me started on spelling.
i also think the fact that poems are shorter, and words in a poem are at even more of a premium, any grammatical or mechanical error is magnified.
these things matter, folks. punctuation matters. spelling matters. grammar matters. it's all part of communicating effectively. it's hard enough getting people to read poems, there's no sense in putting them off even more with hard-to-read, grammatically incorrect, mechanically cumbersome pieces.
that's my $0.02.

good news

chris kornacki (aka chris k. on this blog) informed me (see the comments on the previous post) that trespass magazine updated their website with information about the new issue (#2) and used my poem Midnight Trains as a teaser. that's great news. thanks for passing it along, chris!
and this afternoon, i received my two contributor's copies. another poem, the emptiness of a moonless night, kicks off this issue. trespass is a beautiful magazine that will only get better with time. i'm convinced of it.
other poets in this issue include Glenn W. Cooper, Owen Roberts, john sweet, J.J. Campbell and Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal.
if you're interested in trying to get into the next issue of trespass, they are open for submissions until January 15. i know i will shoot some their way. maybe the ones that were rejected from Poultry Broadside. then again, maybe not. after all, they were only "almost there, but not quite."

insult to injury

in the last post i talked about how my writing has trickled to a near stop. and those few poems that i am able to squeeze out aren't worth much (in my opinion). well, today i received some confirmation of that. i sent three of my recent poems to Poultry Broadside, also mentioned in the last post, and received a reply today that all were rejected. the editor said that they were "almost there, but not quite".
that's the story of my life: almost there, but not quite.
whether i'm trying to write poetry, successfully do my job, pleasure my wife or appear suave, the end result is always the same. almost there, but not quite.
oh well. he did say i could try him again in a few months. but, i'm not sure what makes him think i'll be fully there in a few months.

update on our house

as you may (or may not) be aware, we are currently living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment as a new house we purchased is being built. however, that new house was to have begun back in September but has been indefinitely delayed since. if it was begun on time, it would've been finished sometime around the end of February or the beginning of March. now, who knows.
we just heard word that our house is supposed to begin sometime within the next 45 days. if we go by this, and assume the worst (45 days), that would put the ground breaking at the end of January. six months for construction (at the minimum. more if we have a bad winter), and that puts the finish of our house at the end of July. that's five extra months living in this hellhole. christ!

i suppose it always can be worse.
ignore my complaints. at least the wife and i have our health, and a roof over our heads (which is no small thing when it's ten degree Fahrenheit outside with a skiff of icy snow on the ground).

the only thing about this whole situation, though, as it relates to my poetry, is that i don't feel at all like writing. ever since moving into this miniscule, infernal place, i've felt like all my energy is spent in trying not to get in my wife's way (or in finding a way to get her out of mine) that writing has become secondary or tertiary to that. i've written a few new poems, but nothing worth a damn. my output has dramatically decreased, my apathy about it has increased and the quality of my writing has plummeted. this happens, though. when i get more comfortable, with all my books and typewriters and other accoutrements out of storage; when i can set up my little writing space; when we finally move out of this little place, then it'll all come back.
i hope.

winter is here

it snowed today. big, fat flakes. i work on the benches of the Wasatch Mountains, and it is a good 10 degrees cooler up there than down in the valley (where we live). it was raining down in the valley (until later tonight when it turned to snow), but it was cold enough to snow up where i work. gorgeous. i love snow. i hate driving in it (especially here in Utah where morons in their huge trucks and SUVs think just because they have 4-wheel drive they can drive like maniacs), but i sure do love watching it fall.

today i received a copy of Poultry Broadside #4 from J.J. Campbell. he has two poems in this issue. John Dorsey and Corey Mesler are also featured in this issue. Poultry Broadside is a quarter-sized folded pamphlet published by Gunch Press. check it out.

today

was one of those crisp late autumn days we get out west here; where the temperature hovers right around freezing, the sky is blanketed by high-altitude clouds from a recent cold front, snow dots the ground here and there and the air is so clear you can see forever. it's beautiful. very little wind, the nip in the air just enough for a coat and scarf. maybe a beanie to cover your ears.
it almost makes driving to and from work bearable.

it's been awhile since i've posted anything of value. this is because i was on vacation. the first in a long time. well over a year. it was two weeks long, but still much too short. however, we got to see our two nephews (2 1/2 years old and almost 1 years old) for the entire time. i wished we lived closer to them so i could watch them grow. alas.

i hate traveling. to be more specific, i hate flying. i don't do well in an airplane. this trip, however, was not so bad. our connections were on time, we have minimal layovers. the landing in Atlanta on the way to Florida (our only layover for that particular trip) was scary, though. the pilot came in way too fast and we bounced once, then shimmied. i'm sure it didn't look like much from the ground, but i was certain a wing was going to clip the ground and we would burn to our deaths in a mighty fireball. i'm happy to say that this particular hell did not occur. obviously. the flights back were uneventful and even a little fun (once the plane gets to cruising altitude, i'm fine; it's the takeoffs and landings that kill me).

so, what's new in the world of poetry, as it relates to me? well, while i was away i received my copies of Bathtub Gin #17, where my poem the business trip appears. Bathtub Gin is a great literary journal that is not easy to crack, so i'm proud of this one.
also in my mailbox was a copy of remark. #39. Kat did another great job on this one. it's an autumn-themed issue. job well done, Kat.

that's about it. nothing else new. it's been slow, i suppose. unfortunately, there were no new acceptances of any of my poems, but, on the other hand, there were no rejections, either. no news is good news, i guess.

back

i am back from my two week vacation. we have yet to decompress from the whirlwind it was. i will post more later. suffice it to say, like all vacations it was too short.

a fortnight's rest

we fly out tomorrow morning for our two week vacation to Florida. we'll visit family, participate in the typical Thanksgiving festivities (turkey, stuffing, football, arguments, etc.).
however, as i said earlier, i probably won't be able to access my email, nor post on this blog while there. i might, but i doubt it. so, if this place is as barren as the space between George W. Bush's ears, then you'll know why. and, if i don't return any of your emails (assuming any of you will email me) this will be the reason.

for all of you (in America) who celebrate Thanksgiving, i hope you have a fun, turkey-filled, football-filled holiday. for all of you who do not, then i hope the next two weeks are, at worst, average.

sick as a dog

i came down with something last night. a head cold (dripping, sore throat, etc.). i don't do well as a sick person. i revert to a three year old. my wife hates it, but being the wonderful trooper she is, she takes care of me. i hope i can fight this off before our vacation (which i'm sure i can) and i hope i don't give it to her, because she'll almost definitely have it during then. flying with a head cold is never fun, either.
anyway, i think i'm gonna go lie back down on the couch and whine a little more. maybe mumble some melancholy sounds. and dose up on some over-the-counter cold remedies. medicine head, here i come!

the holidays, and some poetry stuff

we'll be leaving on Tuesday the 15th to fly to Florida to visit family for two weeks for the Thanksgiving holiday. in the six years we've lived in Salt Lake (coincidentally, today is our 6 year anniversary of arriving in SLC), we've not had a holiday with family. so, this will be a nice vacation. plus, we'll get to see my sister's two young children. therefore, i'll probably not get to update this blog during those two weeks, though i will try. we'll see. my parents don't have a computer at their place, so email and such will be lagging.

today i received Issue #38 of remark. Kat did a great job with it. i thought that i would miss being the editor of remark. after i quit and handed the reins over to Kat, but not so much. it's nice to have the extra free time to myself. and with some of the shit Kat has had to deal with concerning primadonna, arrogant, ungrateful poets; i definitely don't miss dealing with that. thanks, Kat, for taking over the editorship of the magazine.

lastly, i received from christopher cunningham a signed copy of his new book, Thru the Heart of This Animal Life A Measure of Impossible Humor, published by Nerve Cowboy. i've said this before on this blog, but i'll say it again right now: christopher cunningham is the greatest living poet in America. it's a bold statement, but one i firmly believe. the dude sweats poetry.

already?

is it really November already? the second week of it, no less? jesus.
it's no revelation that time flies, but here's my theory on that. one day for a one-day old is 100% of that person's life. so, it seems like a lifetime for a one-day old to wait another day. a day for a two-day old, therefore, feels half as long. using this logic, someone at the age of 30 feels one day as roughly 1/11,000th of their life, or 0.009% of their life. nothing. a mere blink of the eye. and someone 60 years old feels a day as even half as long. so, using this rock-solid logic, this is why every year seems to accelerate by at ever increasing speed. obviously the year doesn't actually go by any faster, it's our perception of that year that is changing.
not that this has anything to do with anything. i'm just lamenting the fact that it's already November, the radio stations are already playing xmas music, and i'll be dead before i know it.

the knuckle

i got my subscriber's copy of Naked Knuckle today. if you don't know, NK is a rather new (only on issue #5) poetry journal out of Modesto, CA that says it contains "poetry that'll bust your mind's eye wide open". it's a beautiful, small-format magazine filled with some of the best poetry around. this issue included the ubiquitous Karl Koweski, Christopher Cunningham, Charles Rammelkamp and Raymond Mason, among others. i've had a few poems in previous issues, too. anyway, it's nice to know that there are still journals out there like Naked Knuckle. plus, this issue has a creepy drawing on the cover that looks like Iggy Pop with a broken nose and a droopy right eye. it's weird. if you're interested in checking it out, or submitting, drop me an email and i'll give you the info.

denied

well, it appears my mailbox situation has been rectified. AND, just in time for me to receive a rejection from Cellar Roots out of Eastern Michigan University. i had appeared in three previous issues of Cellar Roots, all themed issues, but wasn't able to make this one. ah well.
it's good though that our bills and letter and even a check we were owed from the electric company were returned to sender, but a rejection gets through. fabulous!

chapbook o' the quarter

the last installment of Bottle of Smoke's Chapbook of the Quarter Club arrived in my mailbox this afternoon. this issue's author is none other than the venerable David Barker. David is a master of the short, witty poem. No one ever said so much using so few words.
the Chapbook of the Quarter Club is a great little thing that Bill at BOSPress started earlier this year. it is a a subscription service only, meaning he will not sell these books outside of the club. to join is just $20 and you'll receive four handsome, letterpressed chapbooks. i'm proud to say my chapbook Liquid Jesus was the club's inaugural chapbook back in the beginning of this year.
i look forward to these little chapbooks and i know you will, too. join the Club. c'mon. all the cool kids are doing it!

trespass

i got an email the other day letting me know that two of my poems, Midnight Trains and the emptiness of a moonless night, have been accepted to appear in the autumn issue (issue #2) of trespass magazine. trespass is a new literary journal with much promise, so i'm excited about this. check out their website and submit some of your own stuff.

i heard this morning that Rosa Parks died last night, at the age of 92. it's weird to think that such a little, old lady could've sparked such a momentous and historic time. i was thinking, too, that most of the people who took up the civil rights movement are now dead. i hope this is a piece of history we aren't doomed to repeat. though, i wouldn't be too damn sure with people like this in the world. eugenics is wrong on so many levels, but if i were to be in charge of implementing it, the parents of these girls certainly would be on the top of the list. as would similar people.
and, just to show i'm not some kind of fascist, #1 to be sterilized would be yours truly.
but, seriously, 50 years later and there's not much different. only we're more jaded and less compassionate and more insular.

the fly that stings

i recently purchased and, today, received a copy of the latest issue (issue 2/volume two) of the stinging fly out of Dublin, Ireland. the reason i bought a copy of this journal is because my buddy, and a contributor to this blog, Brian McGettrick is the Featured Poet for this issue. this is a big time thing as the stinging fly is a major journal of literature. it's a gorgeous thing to behold, too. glossy cover, perfect bound.
congratulations, Brian. the five poems that are featured in this issue, too, are marvelous. you should be proud.
i am mentioning this because i think everyone should pick a copy up. not only to support a poet (which is something we all should do), but because the poetry in this issue is top notch.
again, congratulations, Brian. i'm sure this is the beginning of great things for you.

snail mail

well, we found out what the fucking problem with our mail delivery was. i turns out our moronic mailman decided that we had moved because our box was "overstuffed". apparently, he noted in our record (or in some damn thing) that our box was overstuffed for a few days and therefore we moved and all mail must be returned.
there are two issues at work here. 1) our mail was never "overstuffed". on our trip to Vegas, we were obviously unable to check our mail for a day. ONE day. so, because of this single day of neglecting to get our mail, it was stopped. what the fuck?! 2) if it was shut off and we were not living here, why the hell did we still get mail. granted, we didn't get everything (and it turns out all the important shit was returned (i.e. bills, correspondence, etc.)) but we did get some stuff. so, these dolts at the post office can't do their job AT ALL. first, they jump the gun on "overstuffed" mailboxes; choosing to return mail unnecessarily. and, second, they can't even shut the mail off correctly. if in fact we HAD moved, why the fuck did some of the mail get through. AND, didn't the shitforbrains notice that the mail he had delivered the day before suddenly disappeared the next day? this should've been proof enough that we had in fact NOT moved. jesus christ, the mental defectives are taking over the world.
anyway, our mail problem is now fixed, allegedly. my wife wants me to call the post office tomorrow morning to talk to our carrier. but, what the fuck am i going to say to this mental midget that he'll be able to understand? nothing.
so, if you've sent me something and it came back returned, please be advised that i AM alive, i DO live where you sent it and i WILL now get it if you resend it. i think.

six-pack

based on the title of this post, you'd assume it was alcohol-related (or at least -induced). neither is the case. what this title refers to is the new Bottle of Smoke Press Six-Pack release (#5). if you don't know what Six-Pack is, it is a small package of six tiny broadsides featuring six different poets. it's a fabulous idea. this installment includes poems by Christopher Cunningham, Henry Denander, Nathan Graziano, and this blog's very own C. Allen Rearick. helluva poem, Casey. helluva poem! in fact, all the poems are great.
included in the package was the new broadside by TL Kryss. a beautifully designed broadside with a nice little prose poem inside. the printing is immaculate, and set in a gorgeous typeface. well worth whatever Bill is charging.
check out Bottle of Smoke and dive into any of his offerings. you will, no doubt, find something worth the price he's asking.
again, great job Casey. always good to see your stuff!

quick poetry update

i sent Eric Dejaeger, the bloke in Belgium who translated 18 of my poems into French, a copy of my 12 Gauge Press chapbook, The Magnificent Seven, and some broadsides as thanks for being so kind as to translate the poems and submit them to French-language journals. well, i just received word that Eric found three more poems that he wanted to translate (the last three in The Magnificent Seven chapbook). he sent me the new translations, and it's still a hoot to see my words in French.

anyway, nothing more going on other than that.

oh, wait. we're having issues with our mail delivery, suddenly. apparently, our mailman is rejecting mail that is properly address and sending it back as undeliverable. we called the post office and they said everything is copacetic, but they'll talk to our mailman to make sure nothing is amiss. whatever. he'll probably throw everything away, now. or contract some deadly disease so that he could cough on it, or bleed on it, or something just to spread the contagion to us. if i come down with some exotic, rare disease like Tay-Sachs or SIDS or Tourette's, we'll know who's to blame.

i saw the best minds of my generation...

yesterday marked the 50 year anniversary of the unveiling of Allen Ginsberg's seminal poem (which lucidly and viscereally described a generation) Howl. On October 7, 1955, Ginsberg read his poem to an audience in San Francisco. Howl (and that reading in specific) is given credit for kicking off the Beat movement in modern poetry.

anyway, Howl is still an amazing piece, meant to be heard, not read. i have a recording of Ginsberg reading this poem, and it is simply awesome (in all meaning of the word). i am not a Ginsberg nut, and frankly feel most of his poetry is overrated, but Howl remains one of the greatest poems ever written. and, anybody who can do that deserves to go down in history, and will earn my undying respect. Howl might have been a fluke for Ginsberg (depending upon your feelings of Ginsberg), but what a fluke it was.

read up on Ginsberg and his fight against censorship during the mid-50's McCarthyism. then, read the poem and revel in Ginsberg's images. enjoy the metrical timing and spacing. and celebrate a piece of poetic (and American) history.

the penultimate issue

i received my subscriber's copy of the penultimate issue of Chiron Review today (issue #80). if you are unaware Chiron Review has been at it for some 23 years. they've published just about everyone, and consistently put out powerful issues. the next issue will be their last, and it's a sad day indeed. hundreds upon thousands of small press magazines have spawned and died in the 23 year run that Chiron Review has enjoyed. hundreds upon thousands more will strive to fill its place (though, no doubt, ultimately failing).
Chiron will be missed.

oh, in this issue is a great interview with Edward Field (and another, surreally done by Michael Basinski, with Nathan Graziano), and poetry by A.D. Winans, john sweet, Charles Rammelkamp and a bunch of others.

some poetry news

i received my contributor's copy of the new anthology, Chemical Lust, by Monophonic Press (and the editors of Cherry Bleeds). this is a sex & drugs anthology featuring the work of Karl Koweski, Will Carpenter, Jeffrey S. Taylor and Tony DuShane.
i have two poems featured, anheuser heaven and right here.

i also just received word from Éric Dejaeger, the generous guy who translated 18 of my poems into French, that five of these poems will appear in the January issue of Noveaux Délits. he mentioned that with some appearing in Liqueur 44 and his own mag, Microbe, all 18 should appear in Belgium and/or France by the first half of 2006. this is amazing news. i'm so excited. i get about 18 poems in magazines in a whole year here in America. having 18 in French-language magazines in only half a year is spectacular. for me.

apartment hell, part II

in the last installment, i talked about some ass-hat who parked in my reserved parking spot. bad enough as that is, i've more things to discuss.
take this morning for example. today is Sunday. a day of rest. for me at least. well, this morning (and every fucking Sunday morning since we've lived here) the dipshits upstairs get up at 7 in the morning and make a shitload of noise as they get ready for church (it has to be church. why? because where the fuck else are they going this early EVERY fucking Sunday?) anyway, right on time, they wake up (which means the wife and i wake up) right at 7. FUCK THIS! church can fucking wait. CHRIST! whatever happened to sleeping in Sunday morning. if a god doesn't understand this and to hell with it.

oh, and the very first night we slept at the apartment (a Saturday night as it were) someone had a party.
but first, let me describe the layout complex. our area of this humongous place consists of 3 building arranged like a horseshoe around a central parking area. each building has 24 units, so there are 72 units to this area. there are bound to be a few (even more in an apartment setting) assholes out of 72 families.
anyway, this first night someone had a party. that's fine. i spent a good 50% of my university time at parties in a apartment complex. however, at 2 in the morning we were rudely awoken by some cocksucker yelling across the parking lot about wanting to kick some guys ass. it was loud, but since it was across the parking lot, the voice was muted and echoed.
"you pushed my girlfriend!" he was yelling, his voiced strained from emotion and alcohol. i imagined his face was red and he was sweating. his chest puffed out, his fists in balls.
"you pushed my girlfriend, asshole!" at the top of his lungs.
it died down a few minutes, then RIGHT OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW (we live on the bottom floor) we heard him. it literally sounded as if he was IN OUR ROOM!
"YOU PUSHED MY GIRLFRIEND!"
then the voice of a young girl, equally drenched in emotion and alcohol, pleading with her boyfriend to leave.
"PLEASE, JORDAN, I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!"
"DON'T FIGHT HIM, JORDAN, LET'S JUST GO!
"PPPLLLLLLLEEEEEEEAAAAASSE!"
yes, Jordan, i thought. listen to your girlfriend and GO THE FUCK HOME!
"YOU PUSHED MY GIRLFRIEND. I'M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!"
just then, a deep, booming voice from across the complex yells, "shut the fuck up!" you could tell this dude was big. pissed. and ready to roll. i was only two of the three, but lacking the most important part (namely, being "big") i try not to get myself into compromising circumstances, lest i get my ass handed to me.
anyway, the emotion finally drained, the alcohol was absorbed and Jordan apparently listened to his girlfriend.
then, of course, the scrotum-lickers upstairs woke up at 7 so they could kneel before the power and glory of their lord. FUCKING FABULOUS!

lastly, our apartment complex allows pets (which is an rarity here in Utah) so there are TONS of pets around. this is also the reason we chose this place. anyway, there is a leash requirement because of there being so many dogs and so much uncertainty when dogs get together. well, apparently this leash requirement doesn't apply to everyone. and from my quick and dirty calculation, it only applies to about half of us. we're supposed to rat on those who don't use leashes, and if we do we get a cut in our rent. it's tempting. especially when you see some punk cocksucker walking around with his dog without a leash (the dog is, of course, always either a boxer, pitbull, rottweiler or a doberman pinscher) and the dude is wearing a tank top and has a barbed wire tatto armband, or a Yosemite Sam on his bicep or something equally lame. it's hard not ratting on them. it's hard not walking up to them and just slugging them in the side of the head.

anyway, this place sucks, but i know it's no worse than the millions of similar apartment complexes across America (and probably across the world). these places suck. they harbor the lowest of human filth and do nothing more than make me appreciate the fact that i've accomplished enough with my life that this stint is only temporary.

gators

well, my vaunted Fightin' Gators of the University of Florida got annihilated by the Crimson Tide of the University of Alabama. 31-3. it wasn't even that close. i'm sad.

this apartment life

we've been in this apartment about a month now and i've come to realize how good we had it at our house. i've forgotten just how shitty it is to be renting an apartment; living with all these other assholes, renting their apartments.
at this particular apartment complex each unit is given one covered parking space. it's nothing more than a flimsy corrugated sheet of tin propped up by poles. but, it does help keep the rain, sun and (in the winter) snow off the cars. my wife has to park in an uncovered spot (and it's not some chauvinistic thing, it's just that my care is newer and hers isn't, in case you were wondering).
anyway, upon arriving home from work today some cocksucker was parked in my parking spot. i saw a bunch of assholes and dick-knuckles loitering around my stairwell. i pulled right up behind the car and honked my horn four times. they looked over and didn't move, or act like anything they should be concerned about was going down. so, i found an uncovered parking spot, wrote a nasty little note on a slip of scrap paper that i always keep with me (just in case the muse strikes, you know?) and slipped it under the windshield wiper on my way in.
i watched out my window, about 15 minutes later, when two of the cocksuckers (one asshole and one dick-knucle, as it turned out) walked up to the offending car, got in and pulled out. what fucking gall. what moxy. jesus. well, the didn't see the note until they were almost out of the driveway, but i saw them grab it and read it. they laughed, then both stuck their hands out of their respective windows and flipped (i suppose me) off. real fucking funny, asswhipes. i hope it happens again. i'm pretty sure i can take them one at a time. first the asshole, then the dick-knuckle.

on the door of our apartment, too, was a notice from UPS saying they delivered a package for us to the office (a decent feature, I suppose). well, upon arriving at the fucking office, to pick up my package, the shitheads closed a few hours early. GREAT! this package contained my 401(k) rollover information from my previous company. i need to sign the document they are trying to send me and fax it to them by Monday. well, i could've had it all done today if it weren't for these piss-ants.

goddamn, i love living in this hellhole. i CANNOT wait for our house to be done. then we can leave this beloved apartment complex for all the assholes, dick-knuckles, pig-fuckers and cocksuckers to inhabit.

i guess i'm writing this to vent a little, but also because they say the pen is mightier than the sword. i don't agree, though. i sure would've liked to have taken a razor-sharp sword to the two punks and their piece of shit car. what the hell can my pen do? give them an ink stain? maybe write offensive words on their skin and clothing? fuck it. give me the sword.

this animal life

waiting in my mailbox when i arrived home from work today was none other than Christopher Cunningham's newest collection, the winner of the 2005 Nerve Cowboy Chapbook Contest, Thru the Heart of This Animal Life, A Measure of Impossible Humor. if you don't know, yet, Cunningham is one of the best living poets in America today. that's a bold statement, i know, but i will back it up.
how? well, my Hemispherical Press will be releasing Cunningham's next book, Upright Against the Savage Heavens, in the first half of 2006. so, if you buy Cunningham's current book from Nerve Cowboy, and you don't like it, i'll give you a copy of Upright. i am THAT convinced that you'll dig his stuff. so, go to Nerve Cowboy's website, get the address and send them the $6 for the book.
you can thank me later, with a beer, if we ever meet (or if we've already met, when we meet again).

speaking of poetry books, i bought two collections of Billy Collins's work -- Nine Horses and Sailing Alone Around the Room -- the other night. they are pretty good; rife with great images and those ironic twists that i'm fond of. it's amazing this guy was our Poet Laureate considering his style of writing. gives me hope that one of our brethren (or sistren?) will make it big. but, i wonder what Collins has that some of us don't? an academic pedigree? maybe. good friends in high places? perhaps. it certainly isn't talent. there are a bunch of poets struggling in the small (and unknown) press with just as much talent as Mr. Collins. either way, they're good collections.

in the end, though, i'll take This Animal Life and Upright any day of the everloving week.

are you serious?

so, our great and prescient president sees that his constituents are grumbling about the long-rising gas prices (which have only gotten worse due to the two recent hurricanes that have ravaged the south in the past month), so he suggests that we drive our cars less.
wow, what a brilliant idea. only, it won't work. a lot of us NEED to drive our cars. with the public transit system being as horrendously inadequate as it is in much of America, driving is the only choice.
so, the genius in DC tells us to drive less. not that he wants improvements to the gas efficiency of current combustion engine technology; not that he's willing to spend money on fuel cells and other alternative fuels; not that he's looking into improving the public transit infrastructure in every major and minor city in the US. nope. we are to stop driving our damn cars. what the hell?
moron.

now, how exactly did this dolt get elected into office for a second term?

been awhile

it's been awhile since my last post. it's a pretty slow period in life right now. i'm still struggling to figure things out at the new job, waiting in the tiny apartment for our new house to be built, writing absolutely NOTHING in the interim.

one poetry-related thing: i did receive my copy of remark. #37. it's a fine issue with poetry by the likes of ron lucas, Brian McGettrick, William Taylor, Jr., Chris Kornacki, J.J. Campbell and Glenn W. Cooper, among others. check it out!

i hope to have more things to update about in the near future.

back

well, we're back from housesitting for our friend. it's nice to be back. the best is going to be sleeping in our own bed, but a close second is being able to have consistent access to the internet.

the wife is working late tonight. sucks, but it happens. hell, i'll be working late nights in the coming weeks for sure. i've only been at work three weeks an i'm already swamped with so much work. it's ridiculous how busy and understaffed they are. ah hell.

i got a postcard from my buddy Henry Denander today announcing that he and another friend, Adrian Manning, will have a book out together for Art Bureau's Highball Reading Series. the book is titled Bring Down the Sun. i'm happy for them and look forward to seeing the new book. don't forget folks, if you like the poetry of any small press writers, you MUST support the small press by purchasing subscriptions to journals and purchasing chapbooks. without support it will die.

anyway, it's good to be back.

got a few seconds

well, i was able to steal away for a few seconds. thought i'd post a little news.
i received my contributor's copy of Main Channel Voices, where my poem the relationship archaeologist is featured. Main Channel Voices bills itself as a "Dam Fine" journal of poetry, and it IS awfully "dam" good.

we're still at our friend's house, but we'll be back at our place Thursday night.

Lastly, i should mention that i'm reeling with joy from my Florida Gators' win against their vaunted rival the Tennessee Volunteers. What a great game and what a great feeling. i hope there are more wins to come.

away

we interrupt this program for a announcement from our sponsor:

we have been house (and pet) sitting since last Thursday, and will be for a week (until next Thursday) and unfortunately i have limited access to the internet, so if i owe you an email i promise to reply Thursday or shortly after.

we now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

hookt on phonicks workt for me

it's about that time, again kids:
a third installment of

justin.barrett's simple rules of English

calendar --
the word is not spelled any of the following ways:
calander
calandar
calender
callander
it's not that hard. c-a-l-e-n-d-a-r. also, a collander is a strainer used to drain water from spaghetti or potatoes or other boiled foods.

cemetery --
the word is not spelled c-e-m-e-t-a-r-y. there are no a's in a cemetery.

alter/altar --
alter means to change something. an altar is a bench that is used to pray over.

personal/personnel --
personnel are people of a company. personal is how a person away from their job lives.

exorcise/exercise --
if you mean a workout, then use the word exercise. if you mean to remove a demon from someone's soul, then exorcise is right.
one question i have is why neither of these words follows the typical American English convention of ending -ise and -yse words in -ize and -yze (realize, analyze, capitalize, organize, etc.). weird.

eminent/imminent/immanent --
if you mean something is pressing and just about to happen, it is imminent. if you are talking about someone being famous or prominent, then you are describing someone who is eminent. immanent is very rare and means inherent or present throughout the universe. if you don't know the difference between these three words, then you are most likely not meaning immanent.
by the way, it's "eminent domain" not "imminent domain".

elicit/illicit --
illicit means illegal (illicit drugs). elicit is always a verb and means to draw forth a confession or comment.

skittish --
the correct spelling of this word is s-k-i-t-t-i-s-h. it is not:
skiddish
skidish
skitish
the difficulty some people have with spelling this one baffles me.

embarrass --
this one is ironic. people continually embarrass themselves by spelling this word wrong. it is not spelled in any of the following ways:
embaras
embarass
embarras
embarress
there are two r's and two s's. don't embarrass yourself and remember how spell this one.

complement/compliment --
this one can be difficult, though you should be able to get it with a little thought. if you mean a nicety said to another, you are talking about a compliment. if you mean something that pairs well with something else, you are talking about a complement.

alright. that's the end of this installment. hope you enjoyed it. let me know if you have any other spelling or grammar errors that you consistently see, which annoy you. there are hundreds out there, no doubt.

alive and well

we made it back from Las Vegas in one piece. it’s a six-hour drive from Salt Lake City, which isn’t too bad unless you’ve slept a sum total of five hours in the two days you were down there (like we did) and drank much more during the waking hours than you should have (ditto) and drove home by instinct alone (again, ditto). anyway, we made it back alive and well.
i’d like to say it’s good to be back, but it’s not. at all.

our friend’s wedding was beautiful. he rented out a cute, little chapel in the Bellagio and the bride looked stunning. and, our friend cleaned up nicely. he’s a lucky guy. the wedding was short and sweet and not one of those long, drawn-out affairs where everyone wants to fall asleep and ends up wishing the newly-married couple a lifetime of hell and horror.
the reception was held at the MGM Grand, in a suite on the 21st floor with a balcony overlooking the Strip. it was stunning. an acoustic guitarist strummed soft songs on the balcony, the alcohol flowed freely and the food was top-notch.
and, we were sufficiently inebriated: our emotions well lubed, our stress and worries melted and pooled at the bottom of our psyche, good friends nearby to bullshit with. it was a perfect evening. my wife even mentioned to me that she wished that night would never end (and she didn’t even say that on our wedding night). granted, this probably had more to do with the fact that we were in Vegas, not working, and enjoying a fabulous celebration. back when we got married we had less stress in our lives, weren’t in Vegas and the celebration was less fabulous.

we gambled a little bit while we were there, of course. (we gamboled a little, too, but we were drunk and that’s another story for a later time.) a few slots here and there, some video poker, but we did the best playing live poker at the Aladdin. we played 1-3 limit Hold ‘Em the first night we got there. the wife and i bought in for $40 each and walked away with $130 total ($50 profit; she won $19 and i $31) after playing for over four hours (until five in the morning). nothing world-killing, but still pretty good considering two of the friends who accompanied us on the trip played as well and lost their buy-ins; and people all over the room were busting out. it was a good time, all around. we didn’t get a chance to play again on this trip, though we desperately wanted to. oh well.
so far, we’ve never had a losing session at a poker table in a casino. hopefully, we can keep that streak going for when we return to Vegas (which we are planning to do sometime early next year).

now, it’s all about trying to get our circadian rhythms back to some semblance of normalcy. so far, no dice. i need sleep.

Las Vegas

well, we leave for Las Vegas tomorrow after work. it's only a six-hour drive from SLC to LV, so it won't be too bad. one of our friends, who no longer lives in Utah, is getting married down there, so it should be fun.
i won't be posting while down there, obviously, but i do have plans to post, however, a third installment "hooked on phonics worked for me" when i get back. it's been a while since the last part, and i have some things that need to be talked about.
until then.

necessary like a revolution

i received a letter today from one of the best living poets. his name is Chris Cunningham and odds are pretty good, sadly, that you don't know of him. this will change soon as he has two books coming out in the next six or seven months. he is amazing. his poems are brilliant like ignited magnesium, painful like a lost dog, necessary like a revolution.
Chris's letters, too, burn. his words are such that i don't know whether to cry or rise up in anger and take on the world. crying is easier.
anyway, i just wanted to mention him because Hemispherical Press will be releasing one of his books early next year. it will be a MUST read. also, he was the winner of the most recent Nerve Cowboy Chapbook Contest, and the winning manuscript will be released in the very near future. look for it. it, too, is a monster and will be the best thing Liquid Paper Press (Nerve Cowboy's imprint) has ever done. PERIOD!

back to the grind. the three day weekend, as usual, was too short. i don't think i'll ever see retirement, but jesus i hope i do.

poetic injustice?

well, what do you know? in today's Salt Lake Tribune, on the front page of The Arts section, an article titled Poetic Injustice? is featured.
the article discusses whether or not "accessible" poetry (or "approachable" poetry) cheapens poetry. it's a ridiculous notion, in my mind, but the article is well-written and includes the thoughts of Billy Collins (ex-Poet Laureate) and a number of local Utah academic poets.
as you'd expect, the academics/teachers argued that "accessible" poetry (i.e. poetry that can be understood) is "lesser" poetry; not as "poetic" as the more academic, unapproachable style that pervades the academic journals.
Billy Collins had a great line about why teachers feel this way: "Teachers tend to present poetry in the classroom that is difficult to understand, and they do it to protect their jobs, because only difficult poems need a teacher to help explain them." now, that's beautiful. Mr. Collins also said he gets a lot of flak, and is a sitting-duck, because he sells more books than most of the inaccessible/academic poets, and also because he doesn't have a tortured, misery-ridden persona, which seems to be a prerequisite for much of poetry.
he did say (and this is something i agree with even more), "I think more people should be reading it but maybe fewer people should be writing it."
amen.
read the article. it's pretty good and is pretty damn typical when it comes to what the academics think about poetry of non-academics. the fact that Billy Collins was ever Poet Laureate is rather amazing, if you think about the style and voice and "accessibility" of his poems.

i received the 18 poems that Eric Dejaeger of Belgium translated into French. it's pretty wild to see your own words in another language. he said some will be published in his journal Microbe and others will likely appear in other French-language journals in France and Belgium. what's even cooler is that i will receive a copy of each journal and magazine in which one of these translations appears. man, this is so exciting.

i love this time of year

college football is here, and happier i could not be. i love it. plus, my beloved Florida Gators won today against a game Wyoming Cowboys team. the wife and i both get so hyped up during this time of year. each Saturday is devoted to nothing but football. and, this year will be no different. my Gators have a brand new coach and everything points to a us having a great season. i certainly hope so.

i've been getting a few calls recently from some people at my old job with problems and issues they need help with. i told them to call me if anything were to come up, and i meant it. i cared a lot for the people i was in charge of and with whom i worked directly, but all of these calls only let me know that i made the right decision to leave.

Monday is Labor Day and i don't have to go to work. hopefully, the rest of you (in America) have the day off as well. enjoy yourselves!

the move, the job, the new apartment

i neglected to mention how the move to the new apartment went. well, it went about as well as could be expected. the chest freezer i was so worried about turned out to be easier than i thought. with a little ingenuity, some muscle and some luck, it zipped up the tiny staircase and right out into the Budget rental truck.
the thing that nearly killed us was this huge and tall (nearly 7-foot) armoire we had in our bedroom. it had to weigh well over 750 pounds. we had two other people helping us, and with all four of us we still struggled. the armoire got some wall paint marks on it, some scratches on the side and bottom, but all is good and we survived with no fatalities.

the apartment we moved into is tiny. a small one-bedroom with a little kitchen, a small (barely existent) dining room, decent-sized living room and bathrooms and wee little laundry/utility room. it'll do for the next 6-8 months as our house is being built, but it's certainly not something i'd want to live in for too long.

the new job.
ah, the new job. well, the new job is a new job. it's slow now, as i learn my way around the building and laboratories; as i learn my way around the regulations and protocols; as i learn my way around the personalities, office culture and unspoken mores.
i can't wait until the Training Department considers me fully trained so i can jump in and get to work, but until then i can do nothing but sit around, read procedures and slowly get trained.

i'm baaack

it's been a week since my last post. and, oh, how things have changed.
we've moved to a new place; a small one-bedroom apartment. the computer i am typing on is on the dining room table, most of our stuff is packed away into a storage shed, and the dog and cat are constantly fighting because they've no room to escape from each other (i'm sure the wife and i will end up in a similar fate before long).
i also have a new job. things are going well, so far. i've only been there 3 days, and it's been nothing but reading of SOPs and testing methods, but this is typical for a new job in this industry. it's only a matter of time before i get fully trained and can begin doing real work again.

i have some good pieces of poetry news to report, and one bad.
first the bad: i received a rejection from The Great American Poetry Show. this is an anthology in its second volume. i might try with more pieces. it would be a great anthology to get into.
now, the good:
1) i received my contributor's copy of The Flatlands #2. it's a nice-looking (albeit thin) journal out of Ohio. i have two poems in this issue. other contributors include Owen Roberts, John Sweet, William Taylor, Jr. and Christopher Robin.
2) i received an acceptance from Main Channel Voices for a poem to appear in their Fall 2005 issue.
and lastly (something i'm most excited about)
3) i've received a solicitation from Eric Dejaeger out of Belgium to translate some of my poems into French to be published in Belgian and French poetry journals. this is so freaking cool. it'll be neat to see my poems in French.

last thing. when i moved i had to convert my internet account to another account and for some reason my email abilities were turned off. therefore, any emails any of you might have been trying to send me since Friday have been lost. i'm sorry. please resend any emails you might have tried to send me. everything is copacetic now.

remarkable

i received the latest issue of remark. (#36) in the mail today. for those who might not know, remark. was an online journal of poetry i started back in 1998. i recently (late last year) decided to retire from being editor and handed over the reins to Kat. Kat has since turned the online journal into a print one. she's also done a great job, i think. i just hope she doesn't get as burnt out on it as i.
this issue included three of my own poems: 11.03.04 or the day after, eating mangoes, and of snowmen and hot chocolate. other poets include Chris Cefalu, Brian McGettrick, Michael Estabrook and Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal. this issue also includes a neat broadside/postcard of a Michael Estabrook poem.

last day and closing

today was the last day at my job. it was a bittersweet day as i will miss many of the people with whom i worked. there are, of course, a number of people who will not be missed at all. but, i will never have to worry about that place again, and that's a great feeling.

today was also the closing of the sale of our house. it's a good feeling. once the buyers' loan funds, which should be Friday, we'll have our money in the bank and this chapter of our lives will be complete.

i wrote a little today. probably just a release from all the stress i've been keeping pent up the last six or seven months. an exhale of creativity.

only thing left, now, is the moving of all of our crap this weekend.
i will be without internet service from this Friday until the following Wednesday evening. this obviously means no updates here, but also no emails; so, if you don't hear from me in that time period it probably means i'm not ignoring you (though, that necessarily can't be discounted), and will get back with you once i get back online.

and life continues on...

well, i've calmed down a bit since yesterday evening's post. i had a few emails from some of you either wanting to know who the person was (and making some guesses of your own) or related some of your own "humans are the worst" stories. thank you for those.

but, life continues on...

the electrician came today to fix the electrical issue our swamp cooler was experiencing. well, being the non-technical, handi-less dolt that i am, it was nothing more than a simple blown fuse. you know, those old screw in kind that look like little light bulbs? hell, i didn't even know there was a fuse box in the basement. i only knew of the circuit breaker we have mounted to our outside wall. well, i felt like a moron; but the guy was nice enough. apparently, the motor in the swamp cooler is fried, and the electricity overloaded trying to make it work, thereby blowing the fuse. so, now the damn swamp cooler guy has to come back and replace the pump. lord have mercy! this BETTER be the end of it all.

tomorrow is a big day for yours truly. the buyers are having a final walk-through of the house. i hope they are ready to see a humongous mess: boxes stacked and scattered everywhere, in various states of filled; bags of junk and clothes and other crap piled everywhere; a broken, half-ripped-out ceiling fan; disassembled furniture. i hope they don't freak out.
then, tomorrow is my last day at my current job, the place i call Techson Medical Supply. it'll be a bittersweet departure: sad because i'll miss the people, but happy because i won't ever have to deal with the bullshit again. at least not at this place. i'm sure my new place has it's own brand of bullshit. but, new bullshit is better than old bullshit any day!
lastly, the closing of the sale of our house is tomorrow afternoon. a busy, busy day. after the closing, this are pretty much over. we just finish up with the repairs and packing and moving.

one good thing in my life is the impending, and quickly approaching, start to college football. have i mentioned i'm a football freak? well, i am. college football, in general, is my favorite. i can't wait. those Saturdays will make all the stress and anxiety be quickly forgotten.

what is wrong with humans?

i know this is a ridiculous question, because the answer probably leans towards "what ISN'T wrong with humans?" but, my god.
i just had another falling out with another goddamn writer. the fourth in the last few years. why, you ask? too many fucking people with too much ego. too many people saying shit to me that they don't think i'll call them on, then when i do they get pissed. too many people not willing to admit to themselves that they AREN'T the most important thing in everybody else's lives. whatever.

i won't mention who the person is, but he'll read this (i'm certain of it, even though he said he would end all correspondence (ironically, in his penultimate email to me); his last email was 12 hours later that consisted of a poem of nothing more than my quotes on what i thought of him spliced together).
what precipitated the fall out, you ask? he made mention of the fact that he was looking to shop a new manuscript around. i said he should wait while his most recent one runs its course, get the most mileage out of his books, you know? he got pissed and said, "If you're not interested in publishing me, why should you care if someone else might be interested?"
i took that as a slam against my rejecting him in the past. then he said, "I guess you're not going to help out a friend, much like I have kept you in mind for things. I Gotta (sic) stop being so generous."

!!! oh, i don't think so, hombre!
that sure as hell put me in a rage. so, all the time he kept me in mind for things (which amounted to emails about possible anthologies and magazines) were only so that i might repay him by publishing him? oh no, i don't think so. fuck that.

well, i called him on it: "you are so damn self-absorbed. you helped me with some anthology outlets, so i'm supposed to spend my money to publish you?! get bent!"
that shit doesn't fly with me. you call me out, you better expect me to respond. this is the fourth fucking person to do this to me, in one way or another. and the fourth to get pissed after i called them on their comments. and you know what? my life has been easier with the other three out of my life.

he responded (in his email where he said he wouldn't talk to me anymore) that he wasn't self-absorbed. that he does all these nice things out of the kindness of his heart (despite what he said (and implied) in his email). yeah, sure. you're a fucking martyr.
further proof of his self-absorbed, drama-queen, prima donna attitude is the fact that he sent me an email (out of the blue) saying that he hates his life and he wants to die. oh, give me a fucking break. what the shit am i supposed to do with that? this is ultimate proof of the fact that he thinks the world revolves around him. oh no, poor little guy hates his life and instead of doing something about it, would rather email a person halfway across the country that he wants to kill himself. please!

now, i understand that everyone, ultimately, is selfish and self-absorbed. altruism is NOT a way to live. i don't expect him (or anyone) to do me favors, nor should anyone expect me to do favors for them. i understand this, but to say that you want to kill yourself (to someone you've never met, no less) is ultimately selfish (if not crazy).

anyway, fuck it. humans are too much to deal with. all i want to do is write and live my life, until i can do neither. i don't have the time, or empathy, to deal with this kind of bullshit. go find someone who gives a damn.

late night post

it's late. can't sleep. ulcer raging in my stomach.
everytime i lie down, the damn thing flares up. it feels like burning. very much like heartburn, but instead of a mild burning sensation it feels like a white-hot sword cauterizing the inside of my stomach.

i can't concentrate long enough to write, either. if it's not the pain, it's my mind wandering through the hundreds of things we still need to do, and still need to get fixed, or the myriad of problems that could go wrong.

i packed up most of my basement writing room earlier this evening. it was nice going through all the shit i had saved up. i went through everything i've had published, and it turns out i am missing something. if any of you have an extra copy of the small matchbook-sized broadside from 24th Street Irregular Press, titled fuck you, tom brokaw, would you be willing to part with it? i don't own one and would really like to. if you want to hold it ransom, we can talk trade.
anyway, it was nice looking through the heft stack of rejections, the various magazines and chapbooks and other poetry paraphrenalia i've accumulated over the last 12 years.

now, all that's left is for me to do is fall asleep. if this keeps up a nervous breakdown can't be too far away.

sweet jesus murphy

well, $89 is down the tubes. the fucking swamp cooler broke again. this time, it's kaput for good. and, to just rub it all in, our living room ceiling fan stopped working. what the fuck?! nothing breaks down in the three and a half years we live in the house, then two things break in the last two weeks we own the damn thing.
well, my wife is out purchasing a new ceiling fan, that i will be installing (somehow, as i've never installed one before) this weekend. the same guy who came out two days ago will be visiting our house again tomorrow to check out the swamp cooler. this one will probably cost us over $200. if the whole unit needs to be replaced we're looking at at least a grand. FUCK!

oh, and we called the damn home warranty company, again, and found out, again, that goddamn ceiling fans aren't covered, either. what the fuck?! what the hell is covered in this everloving home warranty? any and everything that doesn't break, apparently. once it breaks, it is no longer covered. that's just great!

i don't know if i can make it through this. i suppose i have no choice, but my god. i have three days left at work and, if the past week is any indication, they will be the busiest three days of my life. shit is going on the blink left and right, we aren't even fully packed, yet; and i'm still worried about moving all these heavy things out of our house. to top it all off, i start a new job in a week and a half. lord, this is way too much.

speaking of the heavy things, the thing i'm most worried about is a chest freezer we have in the basement. our basement is tiny, with five and a half foot high ceilings. i'm six and a half feet tall. we already have a problem. plus, this chest freezer is HEAVY! the two guys who moved it down to the basement for us (who delivered it from where we purchased it) were giant, mutant humans (they towered over me and were built like dump trucks). and they struggled mightily bringing it down the stairs. i have no idea how i (skinny, weak and built like a hand truck) and my friend (ditto) are going to haul this monstrosity up the stairs. i fear for our lives.

anyway, it's hotter than Hades in here right now and, without the benefit of any air circulation, it's stagnant and i'm beginning to give off a fetid stench. i need a shower and a new life.

let there be...cool air

well, we got the damn swamp cooler fixed. apparently, the stupid motor wasn't properly oiled (go figure, since i've never oiled it), and that was all that was needed. $89 just for that. christ! but, who cares. at least it's fixed and we've got that blessed cold air blowing through the house. finally, i'll be able to not sleep in comfort, once again.

i received two books in the last two days. the first is Nathan Graziano's latest chapbook from sunnyoutside, Honey, I'm Home. it's a great chapbook about domesticity: marriage, children and all the rest. a bit of a departure from Nate's other stuff, but his wry humor and biting wit is ever present.
the second book i received is David Barker's Too Much Me, published by Concrete Meat Press. David is a fabulous poet and a master of the short poem. this latest chapbook features only short poems. the usual Barker subjects abound: work, family, aging. and the best part is the dry wit that separates David from the rest of the pack.

both books are highly recommended.

back from Ely

well, we made it back in one piece. and, it's hotter than hell in this house. a guy's going to come out on Tuesday to check the swamp cooler, so in the meantime we just have to suffer. brutal!

the trip was very nice. much better than i anticipated. the drive there was long, and felt every bit of the four hours it took us. Ely is a small (very small) mining town in the middle of nowhere, at the junction of Highways 50 and 93 (incidentally, Highway 50 is also known as The Loneliest Road in the America). there's not much to do there, but that was just fine with us as we could use the break from doing too much.
we went to Garnet Hill, but didn't find anything worth a damn. we then went to the Liberty Pit overlook to see the largest open pit copper mine in Nevada. the damn thing is humongous. that was pretty cool. we stopped on the side of the road a few times, so i could take some pictures of the dilapidated and rotting buildings and mine adits that abound.
on both Friday and Saturday night, the wife and i played poker in the Hotel Nevada live gaming room (the only live gaming casino in Ely) and walked away as winners on both nights. wish we could play every night!
and, lest we forget the purpose of the trip, on Saturday evening we took the Nevada Northern Railway for their Wine Train excursion. the wine was fabulous, the food was superb and we met a great couple who shared our table and with whom we talked the night away. it was a great night. the sunset over the east mountains, igniting the low-lying clouds, capped the perfect evening.
all in all, it was a great trip. we even made the drive back in just under three and a half hours. it was much needed, especially with all the stress that's coming up: the closing date on the sale of this house, moving into an apartment, starting a new job.

also, as if all of this was enough, i had ideas for three new poems, and am excited to get some time to myself (maybe later this week) to work them out of their concrete enclosure. it's been a long time since i was relaxed enough to allow the muse time to do her work.

murphy and his law

of course. that's the only thing i can say.
our swamp cooler, mentioned in a post a few weeks ago, broke today. the fan seized up, or something. i don't know much about how to work them, nor am i mechanically inclined in the least, so i can't fix it.
but, luckily, we got a free home warranty from the real estate agents when we signed with them. i called the home warranty company, but it turns out that air conditioners AND swamp coolers are not covered. OF COURSE!
and, the temperatures are hovering just below 100 degrees Fahrenheit (about 36 degree Celsius for you foreigners). with this sickening heat, i can't imagine i'll get too much sleep tonight.

well, we're leaving for the weekend tomorrow afternoon. so, we won't be home. this is both good AND bad, as we'll be out of the hot house, but we won't be home so that it can be repaired.
and, to come to think of it, i don't even know IF it can be repaired. hell, it might need to be replaced, which would be the worst kind of luck. those things cost a pretty penny.

anyway, we're out of town this weekend. we're going toa little town called Ely, Nevada for a little weekend jaunt. we're taking a quaint little mining train ride where a wine tasting will take place. and, we're staying at a cool hotel called the Hotel Nevada. the trip is much needed with all the stress we are experiencing right now.

i just hope this fucking swamp cooler thing doesn't cost us an arm and leg. one or the other would be fine, but not both!

aftermath

i turned in my resignation and two weeks notice today. and the fallout wasn't all that bad. people were upset, obviously, and disappointed, but understood that this is a great opportunity for me. i was happy about that. i will miss these guys, for sure.

now, i'm starting to get a bit nervous about starting the new job. if i'm not worried about one thing, it's another. damn.

starting a new chapter in the novel of our lives is always stressful. i'm sure i can manage.

the resignation

i just got finished writing my resignation letter.
man, this is difficult.

i suppose you can infer from my first two sentences that i've decided to accept the offer to work for the other company i mentioned yesterday. i took today off from work in order to take my drug test and call the HR representative from the company and discuss some matters. i got satisfactory answers and accepted the offer.
now, the real difficulty begins. i have to tender my resignation with my current company, which will be no easy matter. i've been with the company nearly 6 years and have so inured myself within the grout that holds all the departmental tiles together that my leaving very likely will cause some tiles to come loose. in other words, this will cause some anguish and stress for many, and very likely will lead to a few more defections in the coming weeks. this is really tough to take. i just hope they (the company and the employees i'm leaving behind) will be okay. i'm the fourth person in my department (of eight) to put in their notice, or leave, in the last 3 weeks. wow! i'm pretty sure some heads will roll because of this.

it's kind of scary and kind of serene, this decision. starting a new job is always scary, but having finally made this difficult decision causes me to feel peace and serenity. i know this is the right choice for me, i'm just worried about the others who will be left behind, most of whom i truly care about and like.

i have no idea what to expect at work tomorrow. i am anticipating some shock, some fear in the form of anger, some fear in the form of joking (my favorite manifestation of fear), some anger in the form of real, red-faced anger, and some crying. and, the last two weeks will be difficult having to face these people, all of us knowing full well what situation my decision has caused for them.

the day off was kind of nice: slept in a little, peed in a cup and accidently got it on my hands; kind of like it was a Saturday instead of a Monday.

ekphrasis or the offer letter

in yesterday's mail was my contributor's copy of the new issue of Cellar Roots, ekphrasis, the third in a series of three themed issues. i have three poems in this issue, and had poems featured in each of the other two, Metropolyesterday and Incendiary. Cellar Roots is the literary journal of Eastern Michigan University, and have been very good to me. i have recently submitted to their new anthology, MultiCulturalDiversity, and, of course, hope to get a few in this publication as well.
the contributor's copy also came with two bookmarks that feature one of my poems, each bookmark featuring a different poem. this is one of the cool things Cellar Roots does. not only do they produce a nice, glossy journal, but they make little extras, like the bookmarks, and send a copy to the author. i don't know for sure, but i assume these bookmarks are passed out with the journals, or given out at Eastern Michigan University campus. either way, it's pretty cool and the bookmarks are handsomely produced.

incidentally, ekphrasis means "poetry that describes art, or is overly visual." basically, all the poems in this issue speak to art, or poetry itself. most of the poems, mine included, are self-referential, which is something i've always had a liking for. it's actually a pretty good anthology.

well, i finally received an offer from the company i had been interviewing with, and of which i have spoken about in previous posts. the offer was for more money, and the job will be less stress, but leaving my current job will put many people under extra stress and undo hardship, so i have some serious decisions to make this weekend. i will be calling to negotiate some things on the offer letter, and will be making my decision within the next two days. it's all so nerve-wracking, but at least i'll be getting a raise out of the whole thing (if i decide to stay at my current job, i'm quite confident they'll match the offer of this new company). i'll keep you posted on my decision and the resultant consequences or fallout, if any.

TGIF

god, i hate that acronym and it's expanded saying. there's even a fucking restaurant named after it (and one so derivative and annoying what with the kitsch and overjoyed servers; i'd rather puke than eat there). and, to make it even worse, some fundamentalists deemed Thank God It's Friday too sacreligious, so they changed it to Thank Goodness It's Friday. the ultimate sign of stupidity is taking a lame idiom and making it even lamer. god damn. but, it IS friday and if there were a god i'd certainly thank it. this week was long.

i need to conduct 5 interviews next week, so maybe i can find some qualified people and quickly fill these open spots. we need the help. we are barely keeping our heads above water, and that's only because someone in my department has cashed in their savings of luck thereby allowing the volume of tests in our department to suddenly shrink. if they build back up again, which they inevitably will, we are in dire straits. i fear this.

plans this weekend: clean out my basement writing room, finally. box up all my shit, finally. finish the minor repairs the house needs, finally. find time in all of that to relax, finally. worry, more and continued.

gyro breath

one thing i'll miss when we move to our new house, out in the boondocks, is this great Greek restaurant called Mad Greek Too. it's a second restaurant owned by the people who own Mad Greek. anyway, their gyros are amazing. it comes with a small salad (with 1000 islands dressing, which no salad would be complete without!) and a heap of basmati rice that tastes like heaven (if one actually existed).
well, my wife picked up some Mad Greek on her way home today and got me a gyro. oooh, doggy. the only drawback, for my wife, not me, is the horrible, garlicky, oniony, lamby gyro breath that i will be sporting all night. no amount of brushing or mouthwash will remove it, either. and, the only worse is about 3 hours from now when the gyro burps start working their way out. that's when the room clears.
but, it's oh so worth it.

well, just when i thought things were getting better at work, i lost my second employee in as many weeks. and, we were already down two people. so, the three remaining employees i have, plus me, will have to cover for seven people. this is an impossible task, and i imagine the defections will ripple on down until it's just me; curled up in the corner, in a fetal position, crying.
i have some interviews set up next week to fill the spots, but it'll take time to get them in, trained and ready to go. maybe i should jump ship while some of it is still above water? i don't know. it's all just so damn overwhelming.

oops! or eating crow

well, my buddy Glenn W. Cooper has informed me that i made a rather glaring (and embarrassing) grammar error in a previous post written on July 31. the error was in the sentence:

"...the assholes that took the couch and chair just inconsiderately dumped..."

please forgive me my trespass. obviously, the sentence should have read:

"...the assholes who took the couch and chair just inconsiderately dumped..."

what's even more embarrassing is that Glenn has corrected me on more than one occasion about this very error in a number of my poems. for some reason i have a horrible that/who agreement issue, THAT no amount of correcting or humiliating can correct.

not to self: it's WHO when referring to a person or persons; THAT when referring to a thing!

well, i suppose i can take heart of the fact that none of us are perfect. my problem just resides in the fact that i think i am.


now, onto poetic matters. i received word today that two of my poems will be featured in the new issue of The Flatlands due out at the end of this month. it was a nice surprise after a busy day at work.

remarkable

i received issue #35 of remark., the old online poetry journal i started and edited until just recently, when i handed over the reigns to Kat. anyway, she did a great job with this issue. my review of Glenn W. Cooper's first chapbook, First Touch, from Bottle of Smoke Press appears in this issue. also included are some great poems by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, Charles Nevsimal and Nescher Pyscher.
i also received a book from my friend, the aforementioned Glenn W. Cooper. he is a big fan of Muhammad Ali and knows that i am as well. he accidently ended up with two copies of a biography of him, The Tao of Muhhamad Ali, and was kind enough to send me one of the copies. thank you, Glenn. i look forward to reading it. it is going in the pile of books i mentioned below that will be accompanying me to my apartment. i've a great assortment of books of varying genres to keep me busy until my house is built.

off with his hair

nothing really new today. lazy Sunday. we packed up some more of our shit, segregated more things, threw more things out. we're trying to take things slow so that we don't get too stressed out. so far, so good.

we took time out to get haircuts, too. i always look like a goofball after a haircut. some people look their best right after a haircut. me, i look best about a week later. so, right now, i look like some super-coiffured idiot. next week, though, i'll be at my best.

one more story about the pile of garbage on our curbside. it has now been whittled down to no more than a tenth of what it was. we had an old, torn and overused couch and chair out there, on top of which were piled most of our junk. on our way back home from our friends' house for dinner, we noticed that they were both gone. we figured they would be. BUT, the assholes that took the couch and chair just inconsiderately dumped all the shit onto the parking strip and crushed the bushes and flowers my wife spent a long time planting. ASSHOLES! man, i wish we were there when it happened and my wife could've gotten hold of them. one thing, all. DO NOT fuck with my wife. the fiery Italian in her flares up and you will be sorry. oh, that would've been so great. but, as it is, we had to clean it up and luckily the plants were unharmed.

distilling our lives

our community has a neighborhood trash pickup once a year. this year, it's set for August 8. we can put anything out on the curb, and on the 8th sanitation workers will haul it off in a gigantic garbage truck. this is perfect timing for our big move, so we put out all of our shit today. our curbside is literally piled four feet high with junk. we are distilling down our lives to the barest necessities.
one of the strangest things about this annual ritual is the picking through of our stuff that occurs. unending streams of people (on foot, in trucks, on bicycle) stop by the various piles and pilfer anything worth anything. even while we were piling our lives by the curb, people stopped by to pillage it.
a neighbor even took one of my wife's old high school yearbooks. this freaked her out. it is strange. i don't even want to know what the hell this guy is going to do with her yearbook.
anyway, it's amazing how much shit we've accumulated over the years. how much of it is unnecessary and superfluous. but, even more amazing, is how much shit we've deemed necessary to our lives.

garage sale, part two

just a quick update:
the Feel Free Press broadside listed in the previous post is no longer available. it has been purchased.

also, i neglected to mention the fact that anything you order will be personally inscribed by me to you. this might or might not sweeten the deal. no, i'm quite certain it doesn't, but it's true nonetheless.

a bit of good news (for me, though maybe not for you): i have two poems percolating in my skull. these are the first two things i will have written (once i finally sit down and do it) in approximately 3 months. the drought just before this one lasted over 6 months. not good. anyway, maybe this is the beginning of a wellspring of inspiration and creativity. then again, maybe it's just two unrelated and rare burbles that escaped from the dam.

garage sale

well, i'm very happy with all the responses and comments i've received lately. especially, the book-related comments. it's nice to know that others are crazy about reading, though i suspected you'd all be like me. and it's cool to read which books everyone loved. it has definitely given me some ideas for future reading lists.

i was going through the crap in my little writing room in my basement (which i will be posting pictures of sometime later, before we move), and i found some of my publications i thought i'd put up for sale. i have:
* one (1) booger broadside published by Bottle of Smoke Press (w/ felt wrappers. included with lettered copies of i was a third grade genius...) -- $2.00
* one (1) Feel Free Press pocket broadside #15 (2 poems) -- $1.00
* three (3) Chapbook of the Month Club #1, liquid jesus, by Bottle of Smoke Press (white paper overwraps) -- $2.00
* two (2) sunnyoutside broadside - the president, a criminal and a chimpanzee walk into a bar... (numbered copies, w/ illustrations by David Woodson) -- $5.00
* seven (7) broadsides of the poem spark from Six-Pack #2 by Bottle of Smoke Press -- $1.00
* four (4) Bottle of Smoke Postcard #1 broadsides of the poem the van gogh of poetry or on the right track -- $1.00
* three (3) broadsides of the poem six-pack from Bottle #2 by Bottle of Smoke Press -- $1.00
* twelve (12) broadsides of the poem 4 a.m. and drunk again from Bottle #3 by Bottle of Smoke Press -- $1.00
* five (5) copies of flight 451 broadside (no imprint) -- $1.00
* twenty (20) copies of checklist broadside by Bottle of Smoke Press (a checklist of my publications, included with first 50 copies of 25 Best-Loved Poems of the Future) -- $1.00
* twelve (12) copies of a self-produced (via Eat Shit Press) chapbook titled, Abnormal Psych -- $2.00
* twenty nine (29) copies of 12-Gauge Press chapbook The Magnificent Seven -- $6.00
* fourteen (14) copies of Bottle of Smoke Press chapbook 25 Best-Loved Poems of the Future -- $5.00

(a lot of stuff from Bottle of Smoke, eh? mostly, it's because Bill gives his writers so many author copies that i don't know enough people to give them all to.)

if you are interested in any of the above products, let me know. all prices include postage. also, if you don't have it already, i am giving away my very first chapbook (an electronic chapbook from Spent Angel Press), Techson Medical Supply, for free with every order. if you already have this e-book, sorry. maybe, we can work something else out then.
anyway, let me know. i need to unload some of this stuff.

logistics

with so many things happening so fast, vis-à-vis the sale of our house and moving into an apartment then a few months later moving into our new home, the wife and i have been segregating out things as we pack.
since the apartment we are getting is rather tiny and only one bedroom, we are going to also rent a portable storage unit to keep all of our big furniture pieces and other things (books, movies, most of our wardrobes, etc.). we're putting aside all the things we'll think we need in the 6 or 7 months we'll be at the apartment. the most important thing (for me) was putting aside enough books to keep me occupied. there were a few that i had been meaning to read for a couple of years now, but had never gotten to, that i think would be perfect for this interim period. i put aside five books for the apartment:

* Hunger by Knut Hamsun (it's been nearly 10 years since i last read it)
* The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky (i love Russian writers, especially Dostoevsky)
* Blood and Grits by Harry Crews (one of the most underrated writers in America)
* Messiah by Andrei Codrescu (was recommended to me)
* The Stones of Summer by Dow Mossman (subject of the great documentary The Stone Reader)

i almost took 1984 by George Orwell, but decided i would save that for later. not sure why i didn't take it, but i didn't.
i'm a slow reader, so these five books should be plenty to keep me occupied. and, it's an eclectic enough list that i won't get too full of one genre or style.
i'm almost done with the book i am currently reading and i think i'm going to start reading Messiah next. i never know until i start the book which one i'm going to read. if you're really interested, you'll be able to tell from the column on the right.

next, we'll have to decide which clothes to bring. since we're moving in the summer and staying until well into winter, we'll need to bring a wide range of clothing options. we'll have to pare it down as much as possible, though, in order to prevent the little apartment from getting too cluttered. i only hope we don't forget anything too big, because we'll be forced to purchase it as the portable storage unit will not be accessible.
so much hassle for just purchasing a new home. oh well, it'll be worth it.