so sick of reading about suicide

So, its just a coincidence that I should be reading Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath the same week we read John Berryman. Its also a coincidence that a friend of mine would try to commit suicide in the same week. I would never choose to do it this way. Because I don't like to read about suicide. I don't like to be around crazy people. It makes me feel like I am teetering on the edge of the portal to hell.

I can tell that I like Dream Songs, but I am not enjoying it. Will I ever enjoy poetry again?

I want to read about something that is happening right now and therefore cannot be quantified. Will someone please right me this poem?

i have an intense desire to share all my passwords

But I won't. I really need to spruce up this blog. For my readership, you know. Find things that are visually stimulating. Can I add music too? Maybe a little ditty from the Four Seasons or some other heavily commercialized piece. Something that would really class up whatever joint whoever is reading this is sitting in.

I read in the paper that in Germany or France or somewhere in Europe there is now a limit on the volume at which an orchestra can play. This came about because some opera singer was going through a dress rehearsal in a park and a monkey in the nearby zoo had a heart attack during her aria. I'm not sure how to feel about this.

Something else I am not sure how to feel about: Loserpalooza. Or Looserpalooza as it was advertised. We played. With wind and dirt in our faces. Ben the Drunken Poet performed while we were setting up. He shotguns beers inbetween his poems. His poems were about drinking and doing drugs and having sex and pirates and angels. He vomited on the microphone after his second poem. This created a problem for me, but I was able to locate another mic before we went on.

Another funny story about poets: I was working on writing comments for workshop when one of my coworkers who fancies herself a poet walked by. She said, "I wish I was in your poetry class. I would win." I said, "Win what?" She wasn't sure, but she knew that her work would blow us all away.

Her work can be read on the comment spaces of the new girlfriends of her exboyfriends on myspace.

charles olson, i know you can hear me

And I am starting to get really pissed off. That you should have a gift for words and write about so many things that don't lie anywhere near my heart is unforgivable.

still plotting revenge

I am starting to feel less angry about the major letdown before our Monday night show. This is happening for two reasons: 1. I wrote a poem while I was angry and it took the intensity out of my chest. 2. We played another show, nice and slow, for ourselves. So, I feel purged, but am still plotting revenge.

Karaoke also saved my life again last night. And now I am under the weather and, being as I actually have the time, I think I will sit on my couch and read some Charles Olson. I am hoping its the best way to read Charles Olson. I read on the back of the book, that the poems follow the story of a journey. I wish that were true. I would love to go on a journey right now. Or maybe it is true, but it's not the kind of journey I enjoy. I wanted Walden and shit. Oh, well.

on fire.

But in an uncomfortable way. I learned three things 1. Our songs don't mean the same thing when they are sped up. 2. The band cannot recover in time to play well at a show minutes after crushingly bad news. 3. The audience will love us anyway.

Playing in a theater was so quiet. Narrow stage. Awkward hands. Lots of love. I will never trust another collaborator.

Also, I deserve college credit for my crash course in video production.

Text message read: "Oops, I have the DVDs at my house. They finished burning if the band still wants them."

Oops. Really.

i wish book club could go on forever

I wanted to talk about the book more because it really was one of the most enjoyable books I have ever enjoyed. So sunny and deep. And I liked all of the chaotic emotions of the characters that I hardly got to know at all. This was a great departure from the last book I read, Pride and Prejudice, where every character was so carefully dissected, from a social standpoint. Adverbs is very social to, but in the way that people are bound to one another through crazy events. I bet I am the first person in the history of ever to compare Pride and Prejudice with Adverbs. And probably the last.

I still have to named the last song we wrote. All the names I've come up with sound sappy. So, maybe it will just have to be called #12578. Or how about "Glass Onion." Pretty catchy, eh?

I will now relate to you the palpable tension between myself and "stage presence."
















We aren't talking right now. I hope the show goes well on Monday, anyhow.