Blog
Just a Nastey Journal

This weekend became a very personal, very emotional, very intense exploration of poetry, family and self. I wasn't at all expecting that.

The first thing that leapt out at me about these people is the tremendous appreciation they all had for eachother. We talked endlessly about Calooh, Brent, Alcuin, Derma and Leanne. Their names danced on our lips, and flooded out of our hearts the entire time.

We all had this feeling like, we were a family, and we were missing our brothers and sister. It felt incomplete in that way. LIke we needed them. We talked endlessly about those that are on the site, and those that we've published. We celebrated our shared love of language, our comittment to the magazine, and friendship.

We shared stories, food, drink, poetry, and hugs. We laughed. and we laughed. and we laughed. and we loved.

There were times when we talked about Alcuin and Derma that it felt like they were in the room with us.

I did not know how much I needed this. I needed to meet Tracey, Laurie, Julie, Colleen and Jasmine.  Now I know I need to meet Derma, Alcuin, Brent and Ruth just as much. Within the next 12 months, I am going to make a concerted effort to do that.

Poetry is about connections. The use of words to open minds and connect thoughts and thinkers. Amidst the buzz of Regie and Martin, Rhina and Pinsky -- amidst the raucous joy of Phebo and Patrick, we found the sublime joy of connecting bodies to the souls we know so intimately.

I imagine, this was a little bit of a sneak preview of the feelings of new arrivals to heaven.

Fondly, stephan

I am ok. My life is super-duper fantastic.

I have no right whatsoever to complain about anything. I have been blessed in life more than anyone who ever lived -- so it really behooves me to drink a big cup of shut the fuck up whenever I am tempted to whine.

I'm not kidding.

Seriously. In the history of the world, no one has ever been given more than me. It's THAT extreme. I am that kind of lucky.

I should just remember that every minute of the day. I should enjoy all these good times which I do not deserve but have anyway due only to the grace of God and the random chance of monkeys at a typewriter.

I should.

But of course, I won't. I'm human. Human's are remarkably unappreciative of everything from opposable thumbs to the beauty of a properly heaved curveball.

It seems to me that we all live blind. Seeing only what we want or expect to see. The world is an amazing place - in fact, the most amazing place for billions of miles (that's 1.6 x billions of miles to translate that into kilometers), and yet most of us just see day to day normal nothing.

I realize artists will, from time to time, notice a passing butterfly, or a well placed pair of scissors, sometimes even an electric can opener or a squid, but they miss the smell of onions more often than naught. They pass on the elegant beauty of dust motes and maggots. They skip right over the sublime perfection of boogers.

They see what they want how they want when they want - and I would have it no other way. Yet. Still.

The eyes lie.

The ears are deaf.

The tongue only tastes what it tastes: the bitter, the sour, the acrid, the sweet and the sublime.

But there is always more. There are always the things that I miss. There is always gray... brown.... and of course phlegm green.

There is always the taste of exasperation. The color of turtle's breath. The smell of singing frisbees.

It seems sad to me, when I think about it, that I miss all that because I'm so wrapped up in the problems of the most boring man who ever lived. Why would anyone, especially me who knows me so well, waste even a nanosecond on the contemplation of me.

Oh to enjoy a well shaped spleen, puerile little pancreas or well made tuna salad on rye -- that is where it's at, my friends. That is where it's at.

Oh, and by the way ... Eric Gagne - good.

Utilize is a stupid word. I hate it. It has no use whatsoever. It's just a word for pompous people.

Irregardless isn't even a word. It barely makes it in the dictionary as non-standard usage.

Like has it's uses, like in a simile, but i wish to God my kids would stop using it to start every sentence.Like, that really pisses me off.

And finally, Luminous Light -- please... don't do that.

She looks like such a demure little thing, but alas, she snores like a mac truck (or is that a Mac Lori? I don't know!) It's almsot as if the entire pacific ocean is rattling.

Last night i was sitting on the couch watching Heroes, and it suddenly occurred to me how incredibly wasteful that is -- watching TV. Life is about connections... and Television does not connect us to anything. It disconnects us. How sad is that?

I was a bit unable to write last night, not due to writer's block, which i dont' believe in too much,b ut instead because my head was splitting in two and I physically had trouble thinking and seeing. 

That's why I didnt' get to that poem last night. I'll start working on it now.

The entirety of West Street in Boston is about 150 yards. My office is about 2/3rds of the way down the street from the Common and takes about a minute to walk.

It is important to understand how short the block is, and how inconsequential the time to walk it is. I walk it every day, several times usually, and most often do not even notice that I'm doing it.

This morning, however, I did notice.

There was no reason to, except that there was. I was passing the "Bridge over troubled water "  when i noticed a shiny navy blue Toyota Camry pull up to the curb, a fairly pretty Hispanic woman kiss a lanky disheveled white man in the front seat, opened the door, and then for the briefest instant we both saw each other. Not some sort of weird sexual look, just the look of two random strangers walking by.

The moment was trivial.

It has no meaning beyond this: Every second of each of our lives are connected.

There is now, and will forever be, that one instant where that woman and I saw each other. If she becomes famous or I do, there'll be a vague recollection of familiarity  

I was fascinated by the way everything slowed in that second, and I noticed everything about it. The taste of the air, the smell of the sunlight, the color of the slapping footsteps of strangers feet on the pavement. 

Then, as quickly as  I noticed it, it was gone forever. The who of her doesn't matter, but the who of me after her -- what of that?

Who am I now that life paused then went on?