Always Already…

Recently I submitted a few poems to Always Already, a new literary web zine. It was released today and has come together nicely. Make sure to check it out.

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New Dwelling (some poems)

2005 worries:
I will travel from Roanoke
to Houston and
at my friend’s house
be in nearly perfect health
yet when we move again
it’s all lost
and I’m sneezing
and I’m coughing
and I’m wheezing
and I’m cussing
and I’m wide awake
all night

. . .

downstairs is the tile layout
hard and easily
cleaned with
broom mop
downstairs where
I come in
after a long day
the cats greet me
I sit in the red chair
recline in the red chair
before the TV
or have it off
read something
and at the table
at the back of the kitchen
we talk light philosophy
about our lives
and even the
words coming out of my mouth
as I speak them
are misspelled
but the food is good

and up
up the stairs
begins the grey carpeting
soft to the step
that top step slightly crooked
but we love it
because it’s ours

two rooms
we get to turn them into
anything we want
throw down the mattress
yes we sleep
so close
to the floor

I now have an office
the bookshelves
the desk
all of it has me jumping
up and down in celebration

a door closed
I imagine and imitate
a hermit’s seclusion
flip the switch on and off
as I choose
until I’m really old
then it’s just broken

two decks of tarot cards
old photographs
an old friend gets in touch

moving is horrendous
but moving-in…

moving-in
is brilliant

. . .

cats scream at night
I mean
they really scream

at
four
o’
clock
in the
morning

a stranger cat
makes it over
onto our balcony
and ours
our little one
has spidey senses
she goes up
to the window

freaks
the fuck out

and it
is
four
o’
clock
in the
morning

god

damn

it

a fight with
the window pane commences
oh, you wish ill
on the kitty
opposite you?
sweetheart
you scream like
you need an exorcism

please keep it down
rather, please
go to sleep
sleep while we sleep
it wasn’t easy
after all
for me to…

what do cats
know of
the politics
of asthmatics?

Six Feet Under

In case anyone is wondering what I thought of the last season and last episode of Six Feet Under, I cannot review it at length because, for now, I don’t think I would do it much justice. It’s something you would have to see for yourself to really understand. And each person really “gets it” in their own way.

With that aside, I will just say I was absolutely blown away. The last episode hit me this past Friday evening. I started crying about half way into it and did not stop until about three hours later. I cried and cried. I cried myself sick. I killed my immune system for the entire weekend. Ask anyone. Well, ask Casey and the cats – they’re the ones…

. . .

Keith and David’s relationship I thought was beautiful, especially since they adopted and virtually saved those two boys, and how they gradually adjusted and all became accepting of one another, attached, proud – a family, a real one.

The conversation between Ruth and Brenda on the stairs…

Having seriously identified with Nate’s character, naturally I was attached, and mournful of his death in a few episodes back. Cried all into Entourage; had to watch a later airing.

Ruth’s letting go of Claire…

And we talked about this: David wound up being the most tragic character. He lost so much. He lost his dad, his brother, and later, Keith. Just before David passed, somewhere in a park, he had the most desolate look on his face, as if nothing in the world mattered anymore.

. . .

In Roanoke, I had two friends across the hall and introduced them to this show. As glad as they were to discover it, I was delighted to “give” it to them.

. . .

You pay attention to something deeply enough, to something as beautiful as this – it can change your life. I know it did mine.

Thank you, Alan Ball.

The move went well and we’re really enjoying unpacking everything in our new apartment. Exhausted to the point of near-collapse. As if someone has taken a large hammer to all vital organs. This has triggered old asthma wheezing and shortness of breath, probably from unloading dusty books onto their shelves – which should not last long.

Today our A/C went out for several hours but was fixed fast at the breaker box. And a new TV, Samsung. Simple 20″, but flat, modern, great for DVDs. Yeah! Netflix! Watched the first disc of The Office (English version). Brilliant.

Brilliant brutal heat. Tapioca. Tadpoles sucked through a straw. Wi-fi, cold air conditioning, soreness, jubilation, jazz symbols, jazz drum solos.

Traffic is hellish around this time, so when I get off work I head around the corner to the little wi-fi shop and drink tapioca juice. Had to have a talk with my boss today about my troublesome production manager. She is constantly out of line. Thought he should know. The good thing is, it seems like they really need me. I told him it’s like she’s making deliberate digs at me, almost trying to sabotage my jobs, and so on. Poison association. Association. There’s a word. Remember that back in the day? “So ‘n so is ‘bad association.'”

So that’s my day so far. Went into work, started immediately on calibrating the machine and queueing up negs to run. And had some good talks with a fellow employee about the inner workings of the office.

Well, enough of all that. I don’t wanna write too much about work; it can be boring as hell. Though if I don’t talk about it at all, how would that be realistic?

The Monday transitions are always hard.

August Notes

FRIDAY

Again, a journal entry. An old friend. Hey, that’s what this is. And friends out there in the world that I can connect to through the feeds, or imagine, even in real life… Moving here, I don’t regret it, but it’s like we’ve been forced to meet all the bastards first. And that can be a bit rough, to say the least.

I wanna run deep into the woods. I wanna scream my goddamn head off, in the deep woods.

On the road today, I drove around a dead dog. Oh, the poor family that will find him like that…

SATURDAY

Hot as mighty hell. These people would not be able to tolerate DC and New England winters. It’s kinda like me here now; some days I don’t know, I get sick just going out to the car and driving to lunch. Maybe I’m just getting old.

You know sometimes how you just feel like hell? How that sound of nails on a blackboard might not be the first thing you wanna wake up to in the morning? Or that TV commercial where the little critter flips open someone’s poor toe nail like the hood of a car and crawls in? To me, that is the current sinking feeling of our living arrangement, how I feel every day when I pull up in front of the house after a long day of work. For so long there was no light at the end of the tunnel. “We’ll be stuck with these suburbanites to the end of our days.” Then finally I landed a job and so began another upswing in our lives. We began starving less. We set sights on a new apartment; a new waiting room opened its doors.

Well, not much longer—a week. Seven days.

SUNDAY

It does occur to me that I must continue making attempts at getting along with my housemates, despite their usual unpleasant behaviors. Waking up this morning, I thought I should spend some time down in the living room. Everything has been quite relaxed so far.

And I’m reading my new book Finding Serenity. This is based on, you guessed it, Joss Whedon’s universe or ‘verse, set 500 years from now, and a crew of bandits on the run, trying to survive and make due with what they’ve got. More on this cancelled TV show gon’ to silver screen is explained here on Wikipedia.

More from me later! Thanks for stopping by.