3: "set up for failure"30 days/poetry Anthony is wanting to do better — this time, he'll writethe novel, take apart his hand and sell it, two-pace; but who can function as muse, eternally pregnate the idea andwatch it birth — bear with me here, it's some threadim getting from the Romantics. Anthony explains it, long… Continue reading 3: poem: Anthony
Tag: writing
1: poem: catching up
I have never been successful with completing a "thirty day writing challenge," (attempted before on this blog in 2021 and 2023), but even if left uncompleted, the challenges — and the several subpar poems they produce as I get back into writing, again — are successful enough in resetting things that I usually do end… Continue reading 1: poem: catching up
brief review of Brief Interviews with Hideous Men
My through-line "theme" to make sense of David Foster Wallace is sincerity vs. form - or perhaps, sincerity AND form, given the sense of the push-pull relationship between the two. Upon finishing Brief Interviews, have read the majority of his essay on television, and I think it is one of the key essays to making… Continue reading brief review of Brief Interviews with Hideous Men
poem: the ick after “big red son”
in faraway -- two-and-half-highway drive, the Californiaheat de-panels into California porn, sitting in summer lightlace tanktop and gold Cross/Saint medallion, I am kept --meeting the underworld only through the clay feet ofonce glamorous men, now revealed to be down in the moral yuck, he says the sexualization of real life versus actual real life, I… Continue reading poem: the ick after “big red son”
poem: bad riddance
she is beautiful and so I don't believe that shehas suffered. now old memories chase me in suddensmacking throat-openers, like red orangeson a table, in a blue bowl -- as I am between ruins. like an old woman, I pick themapart, blood stains under my tongue. now, writing, nothing comes to me to be described:… Continue reading poem: bad riddance
poem: he likely would have found me by chance and declared me a talented writer
her farce was weirdly unenviable; she said -- this man, he would find little savior/fellow strugglerfellow bearer of what is what isand then (camera wink) isnt it so ironic to askwhat is, when we are standing here, and weknow. he would find this inme. i write my manifesto, i slug along to meetings with nothing… Continue reading poem: he likely would have found me by chance and declared me a talented writer
writing: the narcissism of small footnotes
The images and sonic blur that the book gave her lined up with her ideal place to live: blue-green, pine trees, little pockets of mud and permanent nostalgia so heavy in the air that people were always forming bands to understand the place or they understood it too much and were trying to get the… Continue reading writing: the narcissism of small footnotes
poem: flora/fauna memory
his greens were more blue, the sad sweep of the trees and the pavementrunning to the river; curling around string lights with bleeding paperghosts taped over the bulbs. the brown staleness of becoming yourself, insideyourself and alone, except for the demi-god robots heaving an adolescent gaspthrough the television screen. this is all clunky: to find… Continue reading poem: flora/fauna memory
poem: lately i have been thinking about heat
and the way the desert, as an idea,sits apart and reacts to you. it is watching to see if you will make it out alive. or if you are one of the dead girls strungup first economically and then aggressively or if you arethe red stain left across the hands and thealtar. as long as… Continue reading poem: lately i have been thinking about heat
poem: venus in a dirty bedroom
why is it so hard to sit down & work! but the logician goes mad faster than the poet,the logician wants to fit heaven into his head. i believe i read that on twitter, sitting alsoin a cafe in tight yoga pants. and my cute little ass! can you really call mean incel with an… Continue reading poem: venus in a dirty bedroom
the last pavilion 