that's a bit personal, isn't it?

i've been thinking about posting on this for awhile, now.
so here goes:

as you may or may not know, the wife and i live in Utah. and, as you may or may not know, Utah is a VERY child-rich state (meaning there are more children than adults). i believe the average age in Utah is 26, and this isn't due to the fact that there are no old people. it's due to the fact that most of our population is under the age of 15 (i'm serious).
anyway, the wife and i (as you may or may...) also have decided to NOT have children. there are various and numerous reasons for this, but they are personal. who's business is it, anyways, if we're going to have children or not. but, for some reason, there seems to be certain things -- personal things -- that aren't personal, or at least people think shouldn't be personal; things that can be asked about out in the open. our breeding status happens to be one of them, apparently.

the moment someone hears that we've decided not to have children they are impelled to ask us why. "Oh, why? Why aren't you going to have children?" they say; almost as if we MUST have children to validate the fact that they did. or as if we're out of our fucking minds for not wanting kids. either way, too fucking bad. we're not here to validate your bad decisions, nor are we here to defend any of ours.

"Oh, why? Why wouldn't you want children?"
i gotta tell you, i am so tempted to look at the questioner's umpteen kids -- invariably running amok and causing havoc -- point at them and say, "That's why!"
but the thing is, it's no one's goddamn business WHY we've decided to not have kids. i don't go up to people and ask them WHY they had theirs. i don't go up to an ugly couple, their 6 obese, ugly kids eating dirt and dismembering each other, and say, "Why in all that is holy did YOU TWO decide to have kids?" but, whenever anyone sees a 30-something, married couple without kids, they MUST ask. and by asking they are implying that there is something wrong with us.

and so fucking what if there were? so what? that's our business. some things are personal, and should remain so.

but the worst is when they condescend to us and tell us that "we'll change our minds"; as if we're some fucking immature teenagers who don't know any better, who aren't capable of making a right decision for themselves. "Oh, you'll change your mind as you get older." like our lives will suddenly become meaningless without precious fucking kids in our lives. NEWSFLASH, asshole -- we didn't just come up with this plan on a whim, while drunk one night:

"You know what, honey *burp* i don't think i want any kids."
"That's a marvelous idea. *hiccup* pass me another beer wouldja?"

so, if it's not prying into our personal lives, it's a patronizing tone about how we're obviously mistaken about our choices and will soon come to our senses.
*warning, sarcasm ahead*
oh man, i hope the wife and i snap out of this immature phase we're in. and before it's too late and we end up regretting our entire lives.
*end sarcasm*
FUCK YOU and your fucking condescension!

NOTE TO ASSHOLES: if you really want to know the real reason we don't want to have kids, it's because we grew up with you halfwits, went to school with you, watched you proliferate and breed, even become managers and bosses and we really don't want any of our offspring to have to grow up in a world that allows such injustice, and then go to school and socialize with your serial-killers-in-the-making spawn.

just kidding; you're not all halfwits.
some of you are considerably less witted than half.

creeeeeeeepy

new website

i'm working diligently on the new Guerilla Poetics Project website. i've got 90% of it done. only thing left is to add the distilled manifesto and the rest of the biographies of the participating poets.

check it out and let me know what you think.

also, the first 4 poems have been chosen for the GPP, and I'm proud to say one of mine was in that 4. my poem "like fireworks" will be GPP Broadside #001, and is currently being worked on by Bill Roberts. hopefully, it'll be in the hands of the GPP Operatives shortly. the other 3 poems chosen were by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, Hosho McCreesh and Karl Koweski. congrats, guys, and i'm itching to get all of them out into the paperbacks!

check out the GPP blog to see the final results of the first voting process.

rant about the house and a pleasant surprise

i walked down into the basement, to go through a few of our boxes looking for some books that i had misplaced (which i thankfully found elsewhere) and what do i find? well, a great big fucking puddle covering 1/4 of the basement, soaking through one of our area rugs we've got rolled up down there is what. i looks as if it came through the hole drilled into the wall where the water main enters the house. we had a terrific and horrible rainstorm earlier today. one of those odd high-desert ones where membranes of rain thoroughly soak everything for a couple of hours and then the sun comes out as if nothing ever happened.
it appears there's a pretty impressive leak somewhere. just great!

well, in today's mail was a beautiful "pick-me-up": a copy of Christopher Cunningham's newest book and still the night left to go by Bottle of Smoke Press. it's a two-book collection of poems and letters; and it's fucking magnificent. beautiful. i'm sure you already know my feelings about Cunningham's poetry. but, his letters. my god, his letters. and there are 11 in the collection to read to poets and editors and publishers -- including, i am proud to say, one that was written to yours truly.
it's a beautiful fucking collection. a work of art. mine came with a brilliant watercolor of a typewriter and glass of wine, as if something important is looming. and for $10, it's a steal.
pick a copy up right now, okay, fucker?

Orwellian rules to writing better prose

i just finished reading a great essay by George Orwell on the death of effective and beautiful prose in the English language.

The essay culminates in a list of five rules for prose writing:

1. Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.
2. Never use a long word where a short one will do.
3. If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.
4. Never use the passive where you can use the active.
5. Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.
6. Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

if you've ever read anything by Orwell, you know he is one of the all-time great writers, and a master at non-fiction, biographical/historical works (Homage to Catalonia and Down and Out in Paris and London are masterpieces).

i think most (if not all) of these rules apply just as well to poetry. and are often the main reasons bad poetry is bad. Rules 2, 3, 4 and 5 seem the most important to me. Simplicity, beauty and originality is the name of the game.

and i suppose Rule 6 is what we call "poetic license." just don't make use of that license too much or it could end up being revoked.

another rejection

i received a rejection in today's mail from Ireland, for a submission i sent over 6 months ago to The Stinging Fly. denied from yet another country.

and i'm of Irish descent, too. my own people don't even want me. ah well.
at least the poems i sent them were stronger than the ones i sent Nerve Cowboy (see two posts down). i thought they were pretty damn good, even.

another country down, another 190 or so to go.

good news and a heart fed to the wind

i received word today that my poem Of An Otherwise Stark, Rural Highway will appear in Naked Knuckle #7. I had some poems in earlier issues, but have been goose-egged since. I'm happy to crack it again. I'll update when it appears.

Also in the mail today was a copy of Michael Kriesel's new chapbook Feeding My Heart to the Wind -- Selected Short Poems 1999-2005, published by sunnyoutside. Kriesel is one of the best out there with dictating a specific mood in 12 words or less. masterful.
i look forward to devouring it.

rejected

i received a rejection from Nerve Cowboy today. upon reading the poems they sent back, i realized i'd made a grave error in having written them in the first place; nevermind sending the damn things out as a submission.
i forgave myself this once, though. i was a bit rusty in my selection process as this was the first submission i'd made after my extended hiatus.

really, though. the poems sucked. it's kind of embarrassing knowing i sent them the poems.
i have another submission out to them (i hedged my bets and sent another, stronger stack of poems), and i'll update on the verdict when it arrives.

background noise and guerilla publishing

read my latest Background Noise post on Christopher Cunningham's Upright Against The Savage Heavens. a little elucidation into why we are taking it upon ourselves to ambush the reading American public.

Guerilla Poetics Project. Not Just A Movement, A Way Of Life.

keep posted here and on the GPP blog for more information. if you're interested in participating, or helping out, let me know.

the Guerilla Poetics Project's Manifesto..

okay. we are moving along quickly with this idea, go here and read where we are at.

it's gonna be sweet...

writing related sites and posts

i know the previous post was somewhat vague. don't worry. it'll all come to light soon enough.

but, to keep you heathens busy, here are some links:

Everything you Need to Know to Write Successfully -- In Ten Minutes by Stephen King

and

Improving Your Writing c/o PigPog

go at it, my fellow writers. scribble the new mythologies. scrawl for the next generation.

the poetic revolution

it is coming.

and it will rock your fucking world.

Guerilla Poetry.

You cannot hide!

random thoughts...

it must be Tour-de-motherfucking-France time. jesus, there are more fucking bicyclists out there than i can ever remember; all of them wearing their goofy-ass, skin-tight spandex like THEY'RE in the goddamn race. the worst is the fat dudes who do that. and, is it required to wear those stupid jerseys and shorts? i own a bike and i don't wear them when i go riding. it's like a bunch of guys playing flag football and one guy shows up in full pads. whatever. just get out of my way, Lance, as you're waddling your ten-speed down the road.

i saw that the FDA approved a new birth control the other day. all this really means is they approved another birth control that pharmacists have the right not to dispense. don't pharmacists have to take the Hippocratic Oath? oh, they don't? it must be the hippocritic oath. you know what a person does when he flunks out of medical school (or isn't smart enough to get into it in the first place)?
he becomes a pharmacist. or a chiropractor.
anyway, it's complete bullshit to me that someone can be in charge of DISPENSING drugs that a REAL DOCTOR prescribed (because, oh i don't know, it is legal and NEEDED) who then has the power to OVERRIDE that doctor's diagnosis by NOT dispensing the drug. can they do this for any drug? like, say, if grandma has arthritis and they decide they just don't FEEL comfortable with dispensing pain medication to her?
it doesn't make sense. what gives this person the right? because they are spiritually uncomfortable with it? fuck that. become a goddamn preacher, then, asshole. you became a pharmacist to give me drugs. i'm pretty damn sure your job can be automated quite easily. take off your fucking white lab-coat (as IF you're actually MIXING the drugs yourself back there), wipe off that fucking smarmy grin and fill my fucking prescription, dickhead.
and there are times (e.g. endometriosis) when a woman is prescribed birth control pills NOT for preventing a birth but for health issues (regulating menstruation, lessening cramps, menorrhagia, cancer, etc.). but, this is a man's world and we (men) have utter control over everything (ESPECIALLY a woman's body). so-fucking-what if some women have to suffer (or even die) in order to prevent someone else from preventing a pregnancy. we'll be good goddamned (and we are) if someone thinks they can fornicate at will without sufficient and vengeful repercussions.

i received word from this poet's life contributor Kat that another this poet's life contributor (and all-around punk), C. Allen Rearick, will guest-edit a future issue of remark.
it will probably end in a major crash and burn, and turn out horrifically bad; but we should all humor Mr. Rearick and submit to him our best work (or worst, if you're so inclined in giving him a hard time). good luck, Casey. you're gonna need it! o_O
i've got a submission of 50+ poems coming your way. and they're all shitty! i dare you to get through them all without a) killing yourself, b) killing me and c) both a and b! muhahaha.

lastly, i'm tired. plain and simply tired. i need sleep.
end of rant.

and breathe...

the first commute after the move has been completed. not so bad. 45 minutes. i was expecting an hour, so it was a pleasant surprise. i'm wondering, though, if it had to do with how early i left (6:30) and if it would've been much worse if i left later. i'm guessing yes.

we are just about done unpacking (or, umpacking for you in the know). the wife stayed home today, with her mother, to get some final things done before she gets back to work herself.

and it's almost surreal, being in the house finally, after so long a wait and after so many tribulations. it's a strange feeling. very anticlimactic. but, obviously, still nice. it beats the tiny apartment any day, even though my lazy, out-of-shape ass is already tired of walking up the modest flight of stairs.

and our boy, Rufus, is glad as can be with the new place.

nothing poetic to speak of recently. i have some submissions out there that i should be hearing about soon. i'll update when they return.

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.