POSTCARDS FOR YOU (cont.)

The dog dayz of postcards.

6/15/11
#25
Dear E,

There were two foxes. They stumbled upon a trampoline in someone’s backyard. After leaping onto the trampoline, they both walked around, nipping at each other – possibly frisky banter or perhaps settling a dispute. Suddenly, as they jabbed their snouts at each other, one of the foxes hopped backwards with some extra bounce. The fox’s eyes immediately examined the trampoline. The fox jumped a slight cautious jump. Processed the trampoline further. Then another jump with more spring this time. The other fox caught on. Soon both were frolicking on the trampoline, dancing to music they had never heard.


6/16/11
#26
Dear E,

I want to overdose on something – maybe pills – so that I can submerge my conscious in my subconscious and slumber in a comatic state. It is in this realm where the amalgamation of my alternate realities, different selves, and deepest fantasies will take me so far out into space that I’ll watch the universe pulse. When I return, I hope I will report this: “Here and Now.”


6/18/11
#28
Dear E,

I took the liberty of ordering you a vodka and club-soda with a lemon, but since you’re out there and I’m in here, I’ll just drink yours for you. I’ve also taken the liberty to construct a soul using brain fragments. I figure I’ll try to emanate as much love into space as possible. I’ve got some spare dendrites and axons and bunch of memories that span the pleasure/pain spectrum. The next time you see a tree or lightning or cluster of veins or a brain operation, think about the amount of energy that buzzes in a soul.


6/23/11

#33
Dear E,

Greetings from my new martial arts class! I figured, why not?—I got a knack for thrusting and exhaling, but my defense mechanisms could use some improvement. My modesty too. On the first day, I walked in with my arms raised, proclaiming, “What-up, world! I’m about to make this dojo my bitch!” Instantly, the sensi flew across the room with a bicycle-kick that knocked the wind out of me. As I was keeled over, he said, “Bery good. Your exhare is strong. Now go get mop and crean your breath off of mat.”

POSTCARDS FOR YOU (cont.)

***slight change of plans, as, henceforth, I've decided to display random postcards (but still in chronological order) rather than all of them***


Next batch.

6/4/11
#14
Dear E,

Not even chatter could drown the elevator’s beeps as it descended toward us. Still, that didn’t prevent anyone from talking over the other. I didn’t have much to contribute to the convos. I wanted to pretend I had Tourette’s because I knew no one would notice. I wanted to blurt out, “My strong penis!” Nothing. “The depth of my cock!” Nothing. I have no idea what anyone was saying. The elevator doors opened. As we all entered and the doors closed, I mistimed my blurt during the sudden silence: “Underneath China, it says Made in My Dick!”

6/9/11
#19
Dear E,

If I haven’t already lost my marbles, then I might be kissing them goodbye as I write this. Earlier today, in my periphery, I thought I saw someone walk by one of the windows in my third-floor apartment. Furthermore, I’m starting to see people in 2-D, and I can’t tell if they’re cardboard cutouts or paintings on the wall. The funny thing is, I don’t want medication because the chemical imbalance is fun and psychosis is a strong excuse for committing crimes.


6/11/11
#21
Dear E,

Greetings from Bonnaroo! Very fucked-up right now. Took a concoction of Weed, LSD, PCP, Mescaline, and Pilates. Met some people who didn’t make me want to vomit, and we built a teepee composed of everything we’ve ever wanted. After a while, I wandered off by myself and found a tree that I proceeded to climb. Each branch was sturdy enough to support my weight, and each branch led to a different view of the festival. As I climbed, the branches called my name, extending as if they had known me my entire life.


6/13/11
#23
Dear E,

Today I will drink lots of coffee before I begin my search for Bigfoot. Unlike other myth-hunters, I don’t seek to photograph him, nor do I want to capture him or prove his existence. I just want to find him and express my admiration of his courage because it ain’t easy being blurry in the public’s eye. Hopefully, he’ll give me a high-5 and then we’ll smoke a joint, exchange stories of heartbreak, tell jokes, and maybe even compare ejaculation techniques.

POSTCARDS FOR YOU (cont.)

Here is the next batch of past postcards.

5/28/11

#7

Dear E,

I stopped watching Before Sunset, which is the sequel to Before Sunrise. When you think about it, there's no significant difference -- especially as they concern limitations and boundlessness – that is, ephemeral and eternal feelings. No difference at all. Still, I turned it off because it was plucking my nerves. Besides, I spend most of my waking and sleeping hours thinking about you anyway.

5/29/11

#8

Dear E,

Bees in my veins today. For a second, I forgot my age and which planet I inhabit. Stingers in my hands. Then I calmed down. The buzz ain't so bad if you stop to appreciate the synchronicity. To experience such an epic lapse, to forget one's own age is to reach honey nirvana.

5/30/11

#9

Dear E,

Happy Memorial Day! I don’t feel like remembering today. Meet me in Montauk and help me forget.

5/31/11

#10

Dear E,

Initially, I was going to take a near-lethal dose of Enzyte, maybe even pump it intravenously, and then take a picture of my inflated dick and send it to you. Instead, I'm going to start collecting belt-buckles -- big fucking belt-buckles -- so that when you look at them you'll also have to notice my crotch, which will make you think about having sex with me and mayhaps eventually fall in love with me. And even if neither happen, as long as you're thinking about either happening, then the belt-buckles will be precious.

6/1/11

#11

Dear E,

My infomercial idea: [black-&-white; 2 people argue; stoic faces] Having trouble vexing someone? Can’t get under their skin? Not pushing the right buttons? Try this! Tell them to “relax.” [color; Person1 utters phrase to Person2; Person2 flails arms, then starts smashing the fine china; Person1 folds arms and wears shit-eating-grin.] The next time you’re in an argument, don’t fail to piss off the other person by saying you understand – just say “relax,” “calm down,” or “ok ok, chill out.” In seconds, you’ll send them over the edge! 90% of the time, this fast and easy tactic works every time!

6/2/11

#12

Dear E,

Right around lunchtime, a wrecking ball swung into my stomach when I realized just how few photographs we have together. It didn’t knock the wind out of me, although, I found it dangerous that there’s no tangible evidence of us. But then I got aroused by the cognizance of our history written inside us, our only existence, one we depend on, that cannot fall victim – like photos – to scissor or flame. With this awareness, I postponed lunch, tied my sneakers tightly, and ran ‘til my lungs bled.

Project: POSTCARDS FOR YOU

While it's fun to have more publications from established manuscripts (forthcoming this Fall; won't post the specs until the release-date nears), I get bored of my stuff somewhat easily.  Thus, I've begun several little side-projects, one of which I will share daily--or as close to daily as I can.

Simply put, this project is called Postcards For You.  Defying my usual dogmatic insistence on absolute freedom of experimentation, I have set two parameters for the project:

1. each postcard must contain 100 words or less
2. every day, for 365 days, a postcard must be written/sent

These postcards are e-postcards addressing YOU where "YOU" are "E."  They're mailed to a special, super-secret email which will serve as a vault for the next year. Initially, I intended said vault to remain sealed until the year came full circle, but I've now decided that sending the postcards to both the vault and the Renegade Prose blog might spark some ephemeral entertainment among our daily doldrums.

Admittedly, there will be days when I cannot send a postcard, however, I will write one each day regardless of when I can actually send it.  Therefore, some days, several postcards will be sent; but they will each include a date and number, which will prevent any confusion.

And with that, I will now display the first cluster of postcards (I began this project a little over a month ago) in their chronological order.  Over the next few days, I'll continue to post clusters of them until they're current, thereupon posting one per day (unless, as I previously mentioned, I don't get a chance to send one on any given day).  So be sure to tune-in here routinely for the latest postcard.

=============================================

5/22/11

#1

Dear E,

The world was supposed to end yesterday, and what better way to depart than with your fingers sifting my hair. I’ve mentioned that, quite often, I manage to expand the minutes between fingers and hair into alternate realities. Friday night was a great universe. I can’t wait for the eve of next year’s apocalypse.

5/23/11

#2

Dear E,

The drugstore no longer carries the poison Romeo used. Shakespeare didn’t respond to my Ouija-board request. So I guess I’m stuck with taking shots of Drain-O for now. Earlier today, I heard someone say this in a song: “I’m feeling out of bounds. I’m running out of time. I know there’s no such thing as either of them, but it doesn’t make it me feel any better.” After hearing someone else express these thoughts, I feel better.

5/24/11

#3

Dear E,

When I dropped by my parents’ house last night, I opened the pantry to discover that, apparently, my dad had also planned for the rapture. While everyone ransacked the grocery store for water and other necessities, my dad grabbed all the salsa he could. I told him he was smart for thinking fat-free; in the new world, everyone will be thin. However, dismay gripped him when I asked, "Where are the chips?" He scoured the kitchen until he saw me holding up a fork. He shrugged, took it from my hand, and said, "At least we have no choice."

5/25/11

#4

Dear E,

Greetings from Joplin, Missouri! I met some people at a local general store and soon we got real close. As we huddled below ground in the storm-cellar, we waited for the tornado to eat us. You’d be surprised by just how quiet people are when terror rattles a foundation. Since the cellar was pitch-black, my ears sharpened, and that’s when I heard the person next to me say, "I love you." But I’m not sure if his lover heard him because the wind was so loud.

5/26/11

#5

Dear E,

Today, I woke up with panic. Somewhere amidst last night’s dreams, I developed a taste-aversion to everything. I ate something chemically from my childhood; it was in a canister. This morning, I thought I would never eat again. Then, I thought of you telling me you want me to glide my tongue up-and-down and side-to-side between your asshole and your clit until you’re about to cum because this would make the sex much more fulfilling. Fuck-off, panic. I got a hungry shuttle.

5/27/11

#6

Dear E,

The lady working the front desk at the library refused my entry because I was holding a large iced-coffee that I purchased 5 minutes prior to arriving. "Should I stand over here and chug it?" I asked. She said, "You can drink it in that room—wait, no you can’t; it’s locked." "Well then," I said, "maybe you can unscrew my skull and just dump the coffee onto my brain so it saturates and I’ll get goosebumps and feel high." "Oh my," she said. Anyhow, I chugged the coffee. Then I found a cubicle, sat down, and lit a cigarette.

Me As Reality-TV

Hello, dear blog, it's been a while.  Oh how I've missed you!  You'll be glad to know that I'm back now, a little bit dumber, a lot wiser, and just as pensive as ever.  But before I embark on posting new contemplations, I thought I'd share an artifact I found in a recent excavation of my email archives -- because what better way to celebrate newness than by revisiting past perspective?

I detest Reality-TV.  99% of the shows couldn't be any further from the genre's name.  Having said that, if there was a Reality-TV show created that presented my daily life's experiences for all to see, then it would probably look something like this:

Dear Renegade Prose,

I was surprised to have even reconnected with you after so long. Spending time with you makes my day. You make me laugh all the time, which I can't get enough of. I like how you introduce me to new things. I try the same with my super duper secret iced coffees. :-) You motivate my creative juices. You make me want to talk to you about anything and everything! The list goes on and on. It's all the little things that put a smile on my face. No doubt, I am really happy being around you.

You're great at expressing yourself, and me...well, not so much. I only yap my gums at things that I think I'm fairly certain about. [THIS PART HAS BEEN EDITED DUE TO EXPLICIT CONTENT].  The idea is actually ridiculous. Now, I'm not saying that anyone is asking me to choose one or the other but it still feels like that. Unfortunately, I am that person that can detach myself easily...and remove all emotions from a situation. I don't know if I would txt you after a few days... I have lost many a friendships over this part of my personality.  It's not because I don't care... I just don't have trust in people or myself to keep working on relationships. Once I feel things getting complicated, I want to bounce...and I really don't want you and I to bounce. I don't think I can give you the 100% you are willing to give to me. I just don't have that to give right now.

All I want is to see you happy, and it's selfish/unfair to keep you all to myself, when in actuality [EDITED FOR EXPLICIT CONTENT].  I want us to see each other, but I don't think you can look at me as just your buddy, pal or friend. I see you as more, though I shouldn't... but I don't want to lead you on anymore. It hurts my feelings to say all of this, but it's honest and from the heart, no mysteries. I believe we came into each others life for a reason. (maybe not the one we want?!) I know you understand all of this...but I haven't been expressing it as much as I should. It seems like an excuse to say I'm confused, but when someone feels lost, it's the only thing to say. Is is possible for you to still be around me... even if it's once in a while? even if it's not romantic? even when I'm cranky and distant? even when u probably want to punch me out? can we be friends like that? my answer is yes, as long as you are in my life... but it's your life too, and I'll accept whatever you tell me.

:-*

While this show might not equate the popularity of Jersey Shore or Pawn Stars, it definitely would surpass both programs in authenticity.  It's rare to find such a bona fide expression of one's thoughts as the kind seen above.

So if, one day, subtitled relationships ever catch the masses' collective eye, then make sure you tune into my acceptance-speech at the Emmy Awards.

Cheers

Rhetorical Question #209

Thank You, Eccentrix

I must express my gratitude for this man.  He makes everyday worth wondering what's around the bend:





xoxo

THE SHOE PROBLEM

"I have to tell you about the shoe problem."

"What's the shoe problem?"

"I have this pair of shoes, they're black with some red and a splash of white, and this pair of shoes is MY pair of shoes, my ideal shoe, and they're special shoes because they'll never wear out, their color won't ever fade, they'll never need to be replaced--"

"So then what's the problem with these shoes?"

"This is the shoe problem:

As of last week, I'm having trouble locating the left shoe, 'having trouble' meaning I can't find it, it's lost. I ransack my house, I check everywhere: under the bed, in the couch cushions, the attic, the closets, the bathtub, everywhere. So I go online but can't find it, I go on ebay but there's nothing, I even search for it on google, I type in 'MATCHING LEFT SHOE' but the search-result has 0 results, the search-result says "did you mean 'FACT SHE LEFT YOU'" and I say no that's not what I meant, well maybe I did, but nah, no that's not exactly what I meant, and oh nevermind what was I thinking, you're just a machine what would you know anyway. So I go to the mall to all of the various shoe stores and none of them have this particular pair of shoes, these black shoes with some red and a splash of white. But the salespeople in the stores show me other shoes, they give me alternatives -- they show me shoes that are very very similar to MY shoe but still not quite the same. Same laces, same style but the sole is different. Same color, but the tongue is cut a little bit differently, same material but the width isn't the same. And some of these shoes the salespeople show me have such subtle differences that hardly anyone probably no one would notice, would be able to recognize that I'm wearing two different shoes. For a split second, I consider purchasing these shoes to wear the left one with the right one, my favorite one, that I already own. I mean, these alternate, resemblant shoes fit perfectly, the left shoe fits perfectly, and you really can't discern the difference, and I'm trying them on and walking around the store to test their comfort, and they feel good, they feel very good, and it's true, if you look in the foot-mirror, you really can't notice the difference. But I can. I mean I barely can, in fact I almost can't, my eyes almost can't recognize the difference, but I know they're two different shoes, I know this left shoe isn't the same, isn't right, isn't the right shoe's match, and because I know this because I know they're different, they kind of then, yeah, they do appear different and yeah they actually even feel different. So I tell the salesperson "Hey thanks, hey thanks a bunch, thanks but no thanks, thanks for your time and help and effort and thanks, thanks for that, thanks for lacing up these shoes for me so I was able to try them on, thanks but I'm gonna pass."  And this happens and continues to happen in eachandevery store I go to, and I reach the point where, despite the multitudes of shoe stores, they're all essentially the same store which has convinced me that none of the shoe stores in the whole world carry the left shoe the other matching shoe, and I decide to say "Fuck it" but not "Fuck it, I'll buy the most resemblant shoe" but actually "Fuck it, I'd rather walk around with only 1 shoe than walk around with 2 shoes, always knowing that that left shoe, that second shoe isn't the real matching shoe, always knowing that although I can't find the original left shoe and never will, that it still does exist somewhere in space."

xoxo

HEARTBREAK DIAGRAM

xoxo

LAPTOP DEATH, PREDESTINATION, & NEW ART

Five days ago, in a tragic turn of events, my laptop passed away.  I guess I can't say I was that surprised, as the little guy displayed numerous symptoms of terminal illness for approximately the past year.  And so, exiting with a bang on Thursday night, while I was editing some recordings, the monitor suddenly ran amuck, everything - letters, numbers, lines, boxes, everything - melted and merged which resulted in the screen looking like a drunk rainbow.  And then it went black.

I'm not sure what's sadder: my laptop's death or my feelings of utter disorientation that ensued for the next four days.  On Friday morning, I awoke to the realization that I had no Microsoft Office, no Chess, no iTunes, no YouTube, no gmail, no audio/video editing software, no Skype, no New York Jets messageboard,  no *gasp* Facebook.  So I did what any rational person would do upon waking up to that situation -- I went back to sleep.


I suppose having all of this shit at our fingertips says a lot about the evolution of humans: we are pretty fucking intelligent organisms.  It also says we're just as complacent and dependent as we are intelligent.


The sun emits some sort of megamagnetic waves that, like everything else, are cyclical, occurring every several-hundred-someodd years.  According to physicists, Earth is due one of these waves within the next five years, and when this event happens, that fine invention we call electricity will meet its maker.  In the meantime, I'm typing this blog and backing up my files on an external hard drive.


*****************



Chances are, you're familiar with the author Philip K. Dick, and you don't even know it.  He was an awesome SciFi writer whose philosophical ideas and stories have been the basis for many excellent films.  Blade Runner, Total Recall, Minority Report and A Scanner Darkly are films adapted directly from his work.  Other films, such as Donnie Darko, The Matrix, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Vanilla Sky, Pi, and Inception have all been influenced by him.


Recently, I saw a trailer for The Adjustment Bureau which adapts a Philp K. Dick story called "The Adjustment Team."



Among the themes, the music, and the fact that just about every Matt Damon film turns out to be tremendous, I think this movie will be wonderful.  Can't wait to see it.


*****************


In the current era of sex-tape resumes and Seaside Heights eminence, I find it quite refreshing when thespians shine their limelight in the direction opposite of self-aggrandizement.  And I find it even more refreshing when that direction is Art.  Perhaps I'm just a sucker for Shakespearean film-adaptations and unconventional love stories, but I'm buying what Joseph Gordon-Levitt is selling: an ongoing multimedia Art project called hitRECord.

Fusing the aesthetics of literature, film, music, photography, paint, dance, and every other artistic medium under the sun, the project publishes pieces that are submitted by any person with creative impulse.  One of the most fascinating aspects of hitRECord is that upon registering, you sign a waiver permitting your submissions to be used by the project's other members.  For example, someone might remix your slideshow with their own dialogue (of course, any reproduction is also attributed to the original artist), and someone can further remix that remix.


It should be noted that while hitRECord is a reservoir of creative juices established for the sake of Art, it also is Joseph Gordon-Levitt's company and, thus, profits are to be had; and since RegularJOE (his name in the project's domain) is a kind and fair spirit, he gives you a percentage of any profit that's made from your work.

Here's a spectaculous piece from a series in the project:
"Morgan & Destiny's Eleventeeth Date - (white walls)"


 


If you enjoyed that, then you should definitely explore hitRECord, and if you're really feeling frisky, then register to join in on the funfulness.


Ta-Ta for now.


xoxo

ARTISTS AT WORK

Recently, I had a brief conversation that was a conversation (as well as thoughts) that I've had many times before.  My friend mentioned the band Maroon 5, telling me that she has tickets to see one of their upcoming shows.  The very thought of Maroon 5 makes my skin crawl, which I make no secret about, and my reaction - upon hearing my friend's news that she'll be seeing them - asserted this.  In benign fashion, a small dispute ensued.

Basically, I said that - as an artist - Maroon 5 insults me because they don't create music (i.e. Art) for the sake of Art; rather, their sole purpose is to target a specific demographic (16-34 year-old females) with the primary goal of making money.  My friend said that I'm just too hung up on the notion of "selling out."  While I feel intensely about that, my resentment towards Maroon 5 isn't based on selling out.  In fact, I don't believe they were ever at a point in which they sold out because they were frauds from their inception -- it's like they sold out at birth before even having an actual chance to sell-out.  I mean, does anyone really believe these guys write their own music and lyrics?  Essentially they're actors with a script (music notes and lyrics) that they perform.  I'd probably be less derisive of Maroon 5 if they/their reps admitted this.  But No.  They have to pretend that they're musicians - artists - and prey on people who foolishly buy into this deception.  There are plenty of unrecognized and unappreciated musicians (and artists of all different ilk) who create out of purity and love of Art.  Meanwhile, the douchebags like Maroon 5, whose only goals are to stuff their pockets with beguiled girls' cash, are riding waves of success.  Maybe I shouldn't blame the band; maybe I should blame the consumers for allowing this?

The Sound of Animals Fighting.

Come on, the name alone is spectaculously artsy.  This is a band that creates genuinely.  Here's a quick rundown:

The Sound of Animals Fighting was an American rock supergroup put together by Rich Balling, Circa Survive's Anthony Green and members of Rx Bandits. They released a trilogy of records between the years 2004 and 2008, and performed only four live shows, following their second release in 2006. The band's live lineup consisted of 12 different musicians.

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Sound_of_Animals_Fighting)

And here's a quick rundown of why they're awesome:

1. They've created intelligent, progressive music.

2. Despite their success, they dismantled the band, sacrificing any further monetary benefits they would have gained.

3. Rich Balling is also an editor of two books.

4. Drummer Chris Tsagakis is off the hook.
5.They duet, and any time a band duets (which is rare) and duets successfully, it's wonderful.

6. They use the stage as an actual theater but not like a movie theater -- a real theater, as seen here:


"Act II: All Is Ash or the Light Shining Through It"

This is what it means to be an artist versus an assembly-lined puppet.





Stay thirsty. xoxo

ASSUMPTION UPHEAVAL

As I was driving in the left-lane on a three-lane highway, a car in the center-lane zipped past me, slashed into the right-lane, then back into the center-lane, clearly intending to pass other vehicles.

I've often considered keeping a whiteboard in my car for the moments when roadrage boils, or I want to give someone my phone number, or mere comic relief for my neighbor and me when stuck in traffic. I figure the whiteboard would be much more creative and less hostile than, say, 'the bird' and vein-quaking profanities. I could scribble messages like: "THE DMV IS CORRUPT!" "TEXT ME @ ***-***-**** RIGHT NOW!" "I KNEW YOU WERE AN ELDERLY, ASIAN FEMALE!" and "KNOCK-KNOCK ... CASH ... NO THANKS, I PREFER PEANUTS!"

As I was about to empty a clip of four-lettered words at this guy (I saw him; he was a middle-aged male) swerving in&out of lanes, I caught my words like a malfunctioned fishing-reel.

What if this guy was trying to save someone, or get to his child's 3rd Grade play, or get to his child's birth, or stop a nearly-lost-love from boarding a plane, or say one more thing to his mother his father his love at their deathbedside?

Or what if he's just another a**hole?


Cheers!

A Ringing Edorsement. Or Two.

1.
Here's a rare treat with a fantabulous cover buried somewhere in the middle (check around the 4:25 mark).


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UmSmi30ke10


2.
A friend of mine, who goes by the pen-name, Sir James Kurtessis, created this beaut the other day:

Psalm Deuce

The DUMP is my shepherd; I shall not want.

I maketh my poop lie down in green pastures;
   I leadeth it into still waters.

The dump restoreth my soul:
   it leadeth me in the paths of porta-pottys

   for its name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of crap,

   I will fear no runny poo

   for extra shit paper art with me;

   the germ fighting power of Lysol

   disinfectant spray and thy floral smell

   comfort me.

Thou preparest a wad of toilet paper before me

   in the presence of mine poo.

   Thou anointest my bunghole

   with splatter; my toilet bowl runneth over.

Surely poo and poo smell shall follow me

   all the days of my life

   and I will dwell in the house of the toliet and poo

   forever.

I'm researching in hopes of discovering its whereabouts -- the Old or New Intestine-ment.  I'll let'cha know.

'Til next time,

Cheers

Sexy Murder Time

As previously mentioned, two poems from my Tremulous manuscript appear in Sex and Murder Magazine.  Volume 1, Issue 10 is now available.  So czech it out!

Cheers

NEW MANUSCRIPT & TWO MORE POEMS: DEAR SIR,

There's good news and not-so-good news.

First the good news:
Two NEWish poems will be published in the journal Dear Sir,.

One poem is a random one I've written and rewritten over the past couple of years.  It's called "The Flaw of Jovian Kinematics."

The other is a freshy from my most recent collection, which is a chapbook manuscript (titled SHOEBOX PHANTOMS).  The poem appearing from that collection in Dear Sir, is called "FREE WILL LULLABIES BEGET DRUNK PARACHUTES WHOSE AROMA ARE A BURNING INTERSTELLAR CANDY SHOP THE SMELL OF SWEET HISTAMINE AND WE'VE GOT NOTHING LEFT TO ANTI UP."

(And I'm not providing a teaser from these poems; you'll able to read them when they appear in the issue. Sorrry.)

Now for the not-so-good-news:
I submitted a small sample of SHOEBOX PHANTOMS as a book proposal to the publisher Grayson Books; that press has some very cool titles and, along with holding book contests (which result in publication), it also reads proposals for book ideas and decides whether or not to publish them.  Rather than enter the contest, I decided to send a proposal (along with the other several thousand proposals from writers they receive each year.. yikes).  Well, today I received their rejection, which reads as follows:

Dear Mr. Curtis,

You've sent along a project that looks interesting and unusual, but I don't think it's for us.  Thanks for your patience in awaiting a reply. We gave SHOEBOX PHANTOMS serious consideration.  I feel certain you'll find a home for this book idea somewhere else.  Best of luck in placing it and in your future endeavors.

Sincerely,

****** ******

Grayson Books

Ohh wellll. I suppose the silver-lining in this rejection is that the publisher described the collection as "unusual"-- I'll take that compliment and run with it.  And now that I have one poem from the collection being published, I'm hoping to publish a few more, and then, hopefully, some publisher will want to publish the whole darn thing.  We shall see.  Stay tuned and stay thirsty.

Cheers

Anyone Up For An Existential Trip?

The Sound of Animals Fighting - "Uzbekistan" (The Ocean and the Sun)


Unfortunately, while most people won't have the patience, tolerance, and/or mental wherewithal to absorb this, those of you who do, should appreciate this (esp from 4:35 - end).  If yer interested, these are the words during that time slot:

Why do I wonder?
Some people never ask, what are you thinking?
Who's in charge?

I don't understand French, but if I could,
I would write beautiful songs about horrible things...
because it is said to be the language of love and romance...
and if love didn't exist, there wouldn't be any horrible things.
You must care to cry, love something in order to hate something...
You must have a heart in order for it to be broken.
Many people walk in a dream.
They feel entitled to happiness and feel anger when it is not waiting for them.
I know that the world owes me nothing, yet has given me a great deal.
It is our own perception we get to bend and mold to our liking-
once that is accomplished, the reality we once knew begins to change.
My neighbor may be dark and gloomy, but I find it a perfect day to go outside.
I can knock on his door, but that doesn't mean he will answer.
And I will have to walk away, sad, from his little house
where he sleeps and smokes and drinks all day,
just to escape what he does not yet know.
We find ourselves in little boxes watching little boxes.
We see an edited version of human life, targeted on alienating us as individuals,
to distract us from the seedy underbelly of politics and business.
We are products of a Machiavellian society.
Look at the pretty girl dancing- her hair is so shiny.
I want my hair to be shiny. Look at the man with chizzled features-
use the razor he is using. It will give you the kind of charm that woman crave.
Women will want you. Men will adore you. You will be happy. You will be empty.
Because it is not about the product, but the feeling they try to convey.
And it is not for your benefit, it is for the benefit of the holders of the company.
We must burn our little boxes. We must create dialogue.
We must realize the importance of every moment.
We must turn our boredom to gratitude.
Use your hands, your thoughts, your hunger.
These things are yours and yours alone.

Cheers

More Publication: Sex and Murder

I have two more poems forthcoming from my Tremulous manuscript. They'll be appearing in Sex and Murder Magazine. The story involves an account of the 1964 Kitty Genovese murder.

Here's a brief sample of both:

"WINSTON MOSELEY FINDS A KITTY"

Women lay down easily, knife magnets
whittled into rigor mortis.
My torn flesh aphrodisiac.
Penetrate the living.
Penetrate the dead.
Hard-on in necroconfusion,
a heartbeat just doesn't do it for me.

There you walk on the empty street.........



"TREMULOUS" (part 2)

when i'm alone, she appears.
gasping to the deaf,
i'll be discovered floating facedown
in a pond of spit, pale and stiff---

i'm so afraid.

is she gone?


Kitty awaits


someone
anyone.........

The poems will appear in their entirety in the upcoming issue of Sex and Murder.

To read more poems from Tremulous, visit Counterexample Poetics, Breadcrumb Scabs, and The Tower Journal.


Cheers

Ah...April: MAKE YOURSELF

There's something about the Spring/Summer seasons being ushered in that always leads me back to Incubus. It may be owed to some association in my brain, linking the band and warm weather; I'm not quite sure.

The other day I listened to an oldie-but-goodie, the album Make Yourself (1999). It's not that I never acknowledged its greatness, but I think I never fully appreciated its inspirationalism, its messages of encouragement and positivity, and its injections of self-empowerment.

Bookended by "Privilege" (i.e. your life) and "Out From Under" (i.e. resistance), the songs throughout the album are musically innovative - especially for the time period - and lyrically intelligent. While "Stellar," "Drive," and "Pardon Me" dominated the airwaves, the best song is probably "The Warmth." Others that have gone unrecognized (due to the aforementioned songs' popularity) are "Consequence," "Clean," and "Battlestar Scralatchtica," which is an instrumental jam featuring a DJ 'battle' among Incubus' Chris Kilmore and Jurassic 5 DJs, Cut Chemist and Nu Mark.

While I could probably ramble forever on this album, I'll stop here and just suggest listening to it in the sun.

Cheers

Calling All Positive Energies: UnRandom Acts of Kindness

Recently, it seems as if the world is dry-heaving more than usual. In the past week I've seen unnerving stories of a WBC terrorist church group plotting explosions at funeral in Michgan, a 15-year-old boy stomping a 15-year-old girl's head into a coma (http://www.truecrimereport.com/2010/03/wayne_treacy15_brutally_beats.php), and a teenage girl selling her 7-year-old stepsister for sex - i.e., rape by multiple men - at a party (http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5iKXxMr8bsqnMXwXSdngFnb7worpAD9EPUI781).

As badly as I want and need to cry, I've decided I'll do whatever's in my power to balance out nature by spreading optimism, because the gods know we need it now.

So I implore everyone else to do the same. Please.

Spread your kindness in any way possible: as you walk past an old man on the street and you notice his shoe is untied and that it'd be a chore for him to bend down to his feet, tie his shoe for him; put a few coins in the parking-meters that are verging expiration; offer yer seat on the subway; return a mother's shopping-cart to its dock at the grocery store; give your umbrella to a person sleeping on the curb; tell someone whom you love that you cannot tell them how much you love them because you love them so much that it's unquantifiable; ask a stranger, "What are you thinking?"

Make these buried seeds of dice sprout into gratitude.

<3
xoxo

NEVERODDOREVEN

This spectaculous band has recorded some awesome, new music which can be heard by visiting their music page here their music page here.

They're playing live at Mexicali in Teaneck, NJ this Thursday, which promises to be a great show due to the great sound at the venue and the greatness of the band. Furthermore, Fikus will be playing with them, so it's sure to be a dance dance revolution.

While there is a hurriblizzard threatening our area, as long as the show is still on - and as of now it is - then everyone (yes, that means YOU) should also be expected to attend. I'll be taking roll-call. If you don't want a Saturday Detention, you had best be there.

Til then,

cheers.