I’m falling asleep on a couch
remembering and writing
feeling good about myself
seeing many angles to
get to a deeper truth
to wait to see to calm
the fuck down and
motherfuckers don’t listen
still are self serving
I remember my eyes burning out. I think it happened on a computer monitor in a Department of Energy building where in the mall downstairs I unexpectedly found Ed McMahon in a bookstore signing during one of my breaks. I would break away and walk as far as down to the water and look out until my boss figured out this was happening and told us we had to clock out via email from that point on. I think I broke away still and maybe at that point I was wanting to be normal like everyone else and break down like them and indulge in seafood that just flew off the fisherman’s boats like it was nothing. It made me remember the one time my dad took us to a business lunch, the house of a very rich man, and for my first time I ate crab, knowing no better.
The first time I read Diet For A New America I stayed up with it deep into the night and shed tears. It’s harsh what animals have to go through just so we can push on tradition and be comfortable. Fuck comfort.
I was told that I am helping to erode a fifteen year tradition that is Houston’s poetry scene that is now starting to lose itself because of people like me who get drunk and mouthy at the bar while the poets try to read on stage—as if the microphone+skill does not have the final say. I was disappointed by this since I initially felt that maybe this was someone I could turn to for some deeper insights. Now I realize he’s more for harping down one subject at a time, prone exclusively to self absorbed subjects and criticizing others endlessly like a little bitch.
If you wanna hear a pin drop, go to the Taft Street reading, yet still be bored to tears forever and ever. If you wanna get on stage and fight a boisterous crowd at Notsuoh, anything but scholarly, it will probably hone your skill.
Poetry, admittedly, is not about performance, however, and… admittedly, I have crossed that line more than once and cannot blame the man for being upset. Mice deserve to be heard, too. Watch all action. Watch all egoist action. Come to refine.
A writing session on memory. You can do it if you try. It’s funny telling people about the one hundred hours of meditation. It exposes a lot in them. I get everything from Wow, that takes a lot of courage I could never do that to Well anyway, what was I saying?…