birthday gift

we are moved.
the impossible or the seemingly impossible finally occurred. we moved.

we are slowly making our way through endless boxes of shit. tossing that which we don't need, or won't fit or we have two of, and finding a place for the rest. my new writing room is partially set up (a desk with my computer and typewriter, so far) and the rest in boxes waiting for me to muster the energy to got through it.

and, there is no better birthday gift i can think of than to be moved in, set up and ready to continue on with the rest of our miserable lives.

now, if i can just figure out what the hell this switch does.

there are only so many of us...

I am sitting here drinking cold coffee in the oppressive Georgia heat. the crickets are a staccato chorus outside my broken windowpanes, their chatter vibrating thru my heavy mind. I press the cracked skin of my fingers against my red eyes. no relief from any of it.

I need to say a few things. the world is a terrible place, mostly, filled with venom and ugliness, laden with burden after impossible burden, there is never any mercy for any of us really. there are only moments of no struggle, no screaming, moments where we can catch our breath and try to find the reason to go on, try to find the reason to keep swinging even as we realize the futility of fighting.

in a world like that it makes no sense to do deliberate harm to another human being who is really alive, one who burns with the fire, one who truly believes that it is possible to find a way thru the madness and grief. and that is what I've done, in my exchange with Owen. I gave over to the miserable, basest portion of my Sicilian nature, and instead of accepting the opinion of another as something different from mine, yet still valid, and moving on with my life, I chose to be a smarmy, smartassed prick. no matter what theeffects said to me in regards to my letter/post, I responded poorly.

so: first and foremost, I do not think that Owen Roberts is a hack. I do not think him to be in any way shape or form a bad writer. rather, I think his poetry is strong, honest, and very real. and most of all, I raise my glass to any motherfucker with the GUTS to write poetry in such a vapid place as America Version 2006. theeffects has the guts and the will to keep standing up again each time the poem calls, and he does it as well as anyone, and better than most.

it is wrong of me to provoke someone, which is exactly what I did. I knew I was pushing buttons, and then when I got the response I sought, I acted even more snarky. I misunderstood theeffects "threat" of "kicking my ass," and reacted as I would had a real threat been made against me, as I'm sure anyone would in a similar circumstance. so there is no need for any "law" nor any "ass kicking." instead, I propose that I be LESS INCLINED TO FREAK OUT IN THE FUTURE in all situations. hopefully a deep breath, a cup of coffee and a smoke (h/t to Kat), and a more calm rational assesment of the actual nature of the problem at hand will yield more productive results for this high-strung poet.

okay. I've been "long winded" again (sorry, Owen) but felt this needed to be said. I was wrong for my part in this, I overreacted, and I never wanted to disparage ANYONE who faces the misery and pain of this savage life with the aplomb necessary to turn it into poetry. and that is what we are about here, all of us.

and on a personal note to theeffects: "what? are you kidding? we got ourselves a family here..." and I hope this little corner of the small press can continue its bold assault on the ranks of REAL HACKS and ACADEMIC FRAUDS and those too afraid to live, too afraid to burn.

thanks for reading.

**cross posted at Upright Against the Savage Heavens**

explanation...

I would like to take a moment to apologize to readers of j.b's blog. some of you may have read the exchange between theeffects and myself. it turned ugly. so I deleted the posts and the ugly childish comments being bandied about.

this place is about poetry and communication. I apologize for posting the bitchy letter that started the whole thing.

that's it. talk amongst yourselves, folks.

mediation

i am writing this via email from my cellphone. i am standing in my new house, waiting for the movers to arrive. i checked this blog and have read through the comments. i feel impelled to take a few minutes out of my already busy day to respond to what is being bandied about by the two verbal pugilists who've taken to sparring on here recently.

i am friends with both Christopher Cunnungham and the man who calls himself "theeffects". i've known both for a number of years, correspond with both frequently and regularly, and consider both great poets and friends.

i know both to be steadfastly stubborn in their beliefs and philosophies (as they should be), with no qualms about voicing their opinion.

i also feel both are honest and possess much integrity. therefore, it is difficult for me to read all the snarky comments, vicious insults and unnecessary "calling outs" being vollied across the bow of the ship i call "this poet's life".

i am not attempting to make peace between you two -- CC & theeffects -- but it would seem superficial and counterproductive (in this already superficial and counterproductive world) to argue and backbite when there is already so much of that going on in this small press.

i am also NOT here to take sides, but if someone -- especially someone with the integrity and honesty of CC or Luis -- tells me they do something in a way completely opposite the way i do it (no matter how unbelievable TO ME it seems) i must take them for their word.

i have no fucking how anybody else in this world writes. all i know is how i do it. and for all i know, i could be writing in a way that is totally unbelievable -- and most editors would agree TOTALLY WRONG -- to most people.

all that matters is that you do it. that we do it your way, or in a way that works for you; allowing you to scribble the truth in the margins of our otherwise banal, painful lives.

that is all.
both men touch gloves and go back to your corners.

::DING::
ROUND TWO!
--j

we interrupt our regularly scheduled flame war...

...with the announcement that everything went smoothly today (shockingly) and we will be moving into our new house tomorrow morning. the cable company won't be coming by until Friday (sometime between 6 a.m. and 9 p.m.) to hook up our t.v. and -- most importantly -- our internet, so i will be without internet access until at least Friday.

this means that i will be unable to answer any of your emails (assuming any of you want to send me one), and unable to post on here. also, if i haven't sent you my new mail address -- and you really want it -- let me know and i'll get it to you. i think i got everyone, but i'm running on fumes right now.

lastly, if any of you want to create posts on here, feel free. Cunningham, i am putting the place in your hands. i trust you will do right by it. :)

we return to FLAME WARS, starring CC and theeffects....

and so continues the saga

we received a call from the mortgage company saying the would need to bump the closing to later in the day, today. so, we bumped it to 5:30. shortly after the first call, we got another that said we needed to move it to tomorrow.
apparently, they (the title company) didn't get a certain piece of paperwork (the addendum for the garage door opener) until earlier today and it takes--allegedly--a full fucking day to get it added to the paper.
what the fuck is wrong with this world? where are the people who care? where are the hard workers who give a fuck?
the wife and i juggled our already tight schedules so that we could close today. we don't have much vacation time or PTO saved and can't afford to take days off. it appears we have to because we are closing tomorrow at 11 a.m.
or, at least, this is the new date and time until something else comes along.

also, tomorrow at 9 a.m. i will be having our final walkthrough of the house. everything is done. i will be filling out the punch list to have errors fixed. there will always be errors on new homes, mostly minor ones, and the punch list will capture those so that the builder knows what needs to be fixed within 30 days to get it to the condition we agreed upon in the contract.

i have 2 hours to do a complete and thorough walkthrough and punchlist fill-out, then head over to close, then to work for half a day (or more).

jesus, those fuckers at the title company really fucked us over. half a day of work time lost, more aggravation, and to top it off, the fucking smarmy, little, dipshit mortgage officer we are dealing with had the NERVE to be curt and borderline angry with my wife when she voiced her anger at their delay. oh, that midget cocksucker ain't seen nothing yet. i can't wait to see him tomorrow. he'll have his hands full with me and Julee. oh, he'll most definitely have his hands full.

the end of a saga

today, at 4 p.m., we will be closing on our new house. this is a saga 13 months in the making; and the end of it seems surreal. or too real. it feels something queer, that's for sure. we are bracing for more bullshit, but desperately hoping for the best.

we move all our shit on Thursday, and i get the pleasure of seeing all of the crap we had in storage for over a year, again.
o, what wonders i'll find!
the two things i care about getting back most are my typewriter and mounds of books. jesus, i miss that stuff.

things will be hairy in the next few days. i'll do my best to update if anything comes up. if not, check out Upright Against The Savage Heavens on Sunday (or anytime, for that matter) for the next installment of Background Noise.

slipping in unnoticed for a quick word...

and then slipping out the back door before the homeowner returns, I just wanted to let j.b's readers know that Hosho McCreesh has posted his first column over at UPRIGHT.

check it out, it'll blow you away.

**vanishes into the night**

rejected

i just received a rejection from Rattle. second attempt, 5 years apart, same result. at least i'm consistent.

on the bright side, i now have 5 poems available for rejection someplace else.