61908
I have not written for a while – why? Well, Kelly & I have been finishing up some chaps. 2 done, 2 on back burner, 2 out there. Been reading, working at hobby & just losing track of time. I know there are a few of you checking for updates & for that I apologize. But as you imagine a mound of sand is more interesting. & I can tell you living in here has & is changing me for the better & simply for what is. Some of us can see a fire & understand. Some of us walked singed- burnt. Any guess where I stand?
Just received a letter from Noah, from Kelly. Most would sit back & savor the moment. I want to go screaming thru the trees. Yes, even at 50 I am grateful, overwhelmed by the love & support of my family/friends.
Reading Tropic of Cancer, (Miller is my captain), Bio of Vivienne Eliot, Balzac’s short stories and a book of H.D.’s cultural poetics. Just finished Henry Louis Gates’ Book of Essays. Thank you Julie R.
Thank you Stacy for “Orizaba: A Voyage with Hart Crane”. A stunning chap.
And thank you Richard Hell for “Psychopts” – his collab with Christopher Wool. Amazing images – a stripped yet vast concrete. The line between words/image so blurred it creates a new. Anew color. Contrast. Proof when 2 artists meet & truly work together Earth’s gravity has to stand up & take notice. What I mean is, it’s a kick ass book & you should/must check it out. Selections will be in Flagrant.
I end with this, I never want to forget. I don’t want to forget where I am. I don’t. I want my life to be John Muir strapped to a Redwood midst of tremendous storm- unblinking.
Yet you, you with words or images or books or thoughts allow me/make me forget I’m in prison. Image that. Image that.
Later.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
61708
I recently ran into an old friend of John & mine. He commented to me that it is so nice how I keep JT up to date with everyone and with everything that is going on out here. I replied to him - He's my friend. How could I not?
I do get rewarded. The following are pics of some ceramic work JT did for me and another friend of ours. The 3 small ones are mine.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
61008
Transatlantic
called home together
so they went
one charged – the other raced
Miller-Guinness-Jameson
Religion
Gaols
Ghosts -Patrick -Temples
Blarney
Revolution
Resolution
the girl now knew it was time for her & the father to part
no need to look back in anger
so hold your head up woman
because the sadness swims in the river Liffey
and was washed away
when you put your soul in that water and where baptized
again.
Transatlantic
called home together
so they went
one charged – the other raced
Miller-Guinness-Jameson
Religion
Gaols
Ghosts -Patrick -Temples
Blarney
Revolution
Resolution
the girl now knew it was time for her & the father to part
no need to look back in anger
so hold your head up woman
because the sadness swims in the river Liffey
and was washed away
when you put your soul in that water and where baptized
again.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
42908
From the introduction to a book of Irish short stories - intro written by Anthony Burgess
"One of [Freud's] followers split up human psychology into two categories - Irish and non-Irish. The Irish, like the Neopolitans, are not sure what truth is, and they have a system of logic which defies logic. They have something in common with Chekhov's Russians, and it is no accident that many of the stories here will seem Chekhovian. I was taking a bath in a Leningrad hotel when the floor concierge yelled that she had a cable for me. 'Put it under the door,' I cried. 'I can't,' she shouted. 'It's on a tray.' There is a deep logic, or epistemology, there which is far from absurd. The Irish and the Russians have one way of looking at entities (the entity in this instance was a cable-on-a-tray) and the rest of the world another."
There is a sense that Freud had, too, that the Irish, when in psychic trouble, go to poetry, go to storytelling, go to escapism - they have no interest in picking apart their own brains.
From the introduction to a book of Irish short stories - intro written by Anthony Burgess
"One of [Freud's] followers split up human psychology into two categories - Irish and non-Irish. The Irish, like the Neopolitans, are not sure what truth is, and they have a system of logic which defies logic. They have something in common with Chekhov's Russians, and it is no accident that many of the stories here will seem Chekhovian. I was taking a bath in a Leningrad hotel when the floor concierge yelled that she had a cable for me. 'Put it under the door,' I cried. 'I can't,' she shouted. 'It's on a tray.' There is a deep logic, or epistemology, there which is far from absurd. The Irish and the Russians have one way of looking at entities (the entity in this instance was a cable-on-a-tray) and the rest of the world another."
There is a sense that Freud had, too, that the Irish, when in psychic trouble, go to poetry, go to storytelling, go to escapism - they have no interest in picking apart their own brains.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
april 24
my depression 2:00 am
the saturday night session
broken
am
I
rootbeer & vodka’s
victim impact statements break
deadlock
damages
intended collateral
what had the rage to
stomp
my spirit to death?
then something a little odd happened –
karma report said I was alive during the ministry of JC
do I think I am who they say I am
do sins of the father have to impact the suns?
made it home every sunday morning to drag all to church
I went last night
how do I know?
I didn’t see you whoring around last night but I know you were
nails too long hair too short belly too big laugh too loud never satisfied
whore still living with that spick
I bought flowers for myself for the first time in months
campanula pink
any where I am not is best
being called home with the father by the Father is most interesting
&
unexpected
who is forgiving who?
Why?
& for how long?
twelve years with no parents trying to be a parent = no children
50 years of marriage out dates grandsons
lessons of what not to do are learned so pay no attention to that
mick in the corner
you can always tell how drunk I am by my bangs
first there was a girl,
then there was no girl
and then she left
look at me all clean & boring
my depression 2:00 am
the saturday night session
broken
am
I
rootbeer & vodka’s
victim impact statements break
deadlock
damages
intended collateral
what had the rage to
stomp
my spirit to death?
then something a little odd happened –
karma report said I was alive during the ministry of JC
do I think I am who they say I am
do sins of the father have to impact the suns?
made it home every sunday morning to drag all to church
I went last night
how do I know?
I didn’t see you whoring around last night but I know you were
nails too long hair too short belly too big laugh too loud never satisfied
whore still living with that spick
I bought flowers for myself for the first time in months
campanula pink
any where I am not is best
being called home with the father by the Father is most interesting
&
unexpected
who is forgiving who?
Why?
& for how long?
twelve years with no parents trying to be a parent = no children
50 years of marriage out dates grandsons
lessons of what not to do are learned so pay no attention to that
mick in the corner
you can always tell how drunk I am by my bangs
first there was a girl,
then there was no girl
and then she left
look at me all clean & boring
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
32908
REM, Rolling Stones, Armory Show, all on This Morning on CBS. Wonderful. Great letters this past week from my younger brother, Richard H. Joel, Hauser. Earlier Lopez, Julie R. & yesterday a perfect visit from Kelly. Not perfect for her. She wasn’t feeling great – that I felt bad for but her courage, humor, loyalty & vision – that’s what’s gret. Kelly is a gift. I & those who know her are grateful!
Kelly & I are finishing up a few of my chap books. Barren is good to go. Contact her for 1.
My brothers & a few friends can’t always read my handwriting. They say slow down. I try but I can’t. I’m running out of this prison as fast as I can. Your letters, poems, books, thoughts, are the flames that inspire & propel.
Michael, Peter & Mike were/are amazing men, artists. What a great preview of what’s to come: A new REM album – hurray!
Rolling Stones looked great & I’ll see Martin’s movie when I get out. The Armory Show – what fun. Switched channels & the Round Table on ABC This Week called for an end to corporate welfare – Yes! Yes! Yes!
Later
If you would like to recieve a copy of Barren please contact Kelly either by leaving a comment for the blog or email me at sisterweezer@yahoo.com.
Barren is free but I am asking for $5 for postage and handling.
Thanks!
Kelly
REM, Rolling Stones, Armory Show, all on This Morning on CBS. Wonderful. Great letters this past week from my younger brother, Richard H. Joel, Hauser. Earlier Lopez, Julie R. & yesterday a perfect visit from Kelly. Not perfect for her. She wasn’t feeling great – that I felt bad for but her courage, humor, loyalty & vision – that’s what’s gret. Kelly is a gift. I & those who know her are grateful!
Kelly & I are finishing up a few of my chap books. Barren is good to go. Contact her for 1.
My brothers & a few friends can’t always read my handwriting. They say slow down. I try but I can’t. I’m running out of this prison as fast as I can. Your letters, poems, books, thoughts, are the flames that inspire & propel.
Michael, Peter & Mike were/are amazing men, artists. What a great preview of what’s to come: A new REM album – hurray!
Rolling Stones looked great & I’ll see Martin’s movie when I get out. The Armory Show – what fun. Switched channels & the Round Table on ABC This Week called for an end to corporate welfare – Yes! Yes! Yes!
Later
If you would like to recieve a copy of Barren please contact Kelly either by leaving a comment for the blog or email me at sisterweezer@yahoo.com.
Barren is free but I am asking for $5 for postage and handling.
Thanks!
Kelly
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
32108
Spring & a longer day. Not much compels me to write for this blog. I’ve tried to give you all a picture/vision of this here – some might register. Some not really important. I live with the same “kind” of people that you do – some down for a minute. Institutionalized. Some still same. It’s what it is. Lots of snitches. Guys who can’t be alone. That need to be a part of something. Well something of nothing is still nothing. So snitching to gain acceptance/some power is oh so fucked. Cowards. No way around it, cowards. Do your time, I’ll do mine. This is my conversation. These my friends. No need to be jealous just don’t be a freak. Be your own man/woman. Live your life. Don’t hide behind the cops. Another man’s name. Come out of the shadows. If it comes from your mouth. Actions. Be responsible. Be accountable. Stand for something. No need for another Benedict Arnold. Without question I broke the law. Without question I take responsibility. My questions, concerns, have always been about where are we going. As a country – a society- a people. There’s so little difference between what’s in here – out there. Look at the Democrats. What the fuck. No complaint. Just an observation. Move forward. Address the needs at hand. The more we tear our brothers/sisters down – the harder it is to stand. & keep in mind the ones with no knowledge, idea of vertical movements. Of any balls – guts. Dignity.
Spring & a longer day. Not much compels me to write for this blog. I’ve tried to give you all a picture/vision of this here – some might register. Some not really important. I live with the same “kind” of people that you do – some down for a minute. Institutionalized. Some still same. It’s what it is. Lots of snitches. Guys who can’t be alone. That need to be a part of something. Well something of nothing is still nothing. So snitching to gain acceptance/some power is oh so fucked. Cowards. No way around it, cowards. Do your time, I’ll do mine. This is my conversation. These my friends. No need to be jealous just don’t be a freak. Be your own man/woman. Live your life. Don’t hide behind the cops. Another man’s name. Come out of the shadows. If it comes from your mouth. Actions. Be responsible. Be accountable. Stand for something. No need for another Benedict Arnold. Without question I broke the law. Without question I take responsibility. My questions, concerns, have always been about where are we going. As a country – a society- a people. There’s so little difference between what’s in here – out there. Look at the Democrats. What the fuck. No complaint. Just an observation. Move forward. Address the needs at hand. The more we tear our brothers/sisters down – the harder it is to stand. & keep in mind the ones with no knowledge, idea of vertical movements. Of any balls – guts. Dignity.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
3908
Sunday brings a quiet most humbled thru. I would compare prison to a desert but that would be fraud. The sun, the life, the movement of the desert is far from this truth. Prison is sucked out from. Vapid desolate beige flat white bread toast. Sure it’s what you make of it but that point of departure is so flat. So flat it’s beyond comparison. But you build from & it will collapse. Yes, it will collapse & it can crush. So you move as flame. You dig fro color, humor, humanity, humility & as your fingers get tired you use your feet, your mouth, your ears. This morning, on Sunday Morning Gustave Klimt. Way too short of visual but what there was I ate. I sucked. I licked the tv screen as one might love a beer. Such wonderful paintings. Such a fantastic inhale. Now as I write, 3 Tenors on PBS. I just survived “Nessun Dorma”. Anything I write will not do justice to. Not just Pavarotti, but Pavarotti in here. It was/is so delirious my back against the wall sound all the way up. I was launched into space. “Ground control to Major Tom” & like a naughty Dutch boy I pulled my finger from the dike. I refuse to die in here. Chop off my roots, deny sunlight, water. I will grow & thrive from that I may attach to. Not parasitical rather practical. Received a great letter from real friend. He’s doing a collab with one of my favorite artists. Sent me example of. I’ve read that letter 5-6 times? He felt bad hadn’t written for a while. Fuck that! God I needed that letter. Found my sea legs. Great packets from Kelly. Some money from my brother. I think these guys are singing Edith Piaf. It’s in Italian. She’s French & I’m mad. Delirious & so happy. Not only not losing oneself, it’s bringing something back.
Later
Sunday brings a quiet most humbled thru. I would compare prison to a desert but that would be fraud. The sun, the life, the movement of the desert is far from this truth. Prison is sucked out from. Vapid desolate beige flat white bread toast. Sure it’s what you make of it but that point of departure is so flat. So flat it’s beyond comparison. But you build from & it will collapse. Yes, it will collapse & it can crush. So you move as flame. You dig fro color, humor, humanity, humility & as your fingers get tired you use your feet, your mouth, your ears. This morning, on Sunday Morning Gustave Klimt. Way too short of visual but what there was I ate. I sucked. I licked the tv screen as one might love a beer. Such wonderful paintings. Such a fantastic inhale. Now as I write, 3 Tenors on PBS. I just survived “Nessun Dorma”. Anything I write will not do justice to. Not just Pavarotti, but Pavarotti in here. It was/is so delirious my back against the wall sound all the way up. I was launched into space. “Ground control to Major Tom” & like a naughty Dutch boy I pulled my finger from the dike. I refuse to die in here. Chop off my roots, deny sunlight, water. I will grow & thrive from that I may attach to. Not parasitical rather practical. Received a great letter from real friend. He’s doing a collab with one of my favorite artists. Sent me example of. I’ve read that letter 5-6 times? He felt bad hadn’t written for a while. Fuck that! God I needed that letter. Found my sea legs. Great packets from Kelly. Some money from my brother. I think these guys are singing Edith Piaf. It’s in Italian. She’s French & I’m mad. Delirious & so happy. Not only not losing oneself, it’s bringing something back.
Later
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
or minus you
you can’t see it but he really was a good man
first kind word heard all day
said he’d pray for us and that i loved him
punished us all so we’d feel his loss
had an audience
thought it was tv but this was a new twist
you, who always come back, be here for
a personal triumph
me birthday
drank with james’s son
& now cry
overwhelmed by
loss
love
legacy
memory.
threw out all the old
never to be revisited
life times are piling up
trying to kill what is
trying to kill.
biggest mistake was making a friend
who writes law and order
now it is just contrived.
proven right but by letting
all come out
hurts more.
3-1-08 wave length
until today didn’t realize it spelled out
CO-EXIST
not embarrassed because
i was with you and
you said
me too
you can’t see it but he really was a good man
first kind word heard all day
said he’d pray for us and that i loved him
punished us all so we’d feel his loss
had an audience
thought it was tv but this was a new twist
you, who always come back, be here for
a personal triumph
me birthday
drank with james’s son
& now cry
overwhelmed by
loss
love
legacy
memory.
threw out all the old
never to be revisited
life times are piling up
trying to kill what is
trying to kill.
biggest mistake was making a friend
who writes law and order
now it is just contrived.
proven right but by letting
all come out
hurts more.
3-1-08 wave length
until today didn’t realize it spelled out
CO-EXIST
not embarrassed because
i was with you and
you said
me too
Monday, March 17, 2008
3308
In less than ½ breath. Consider. Watch a feather drop.snow flake. A kiss to dry. Word to say. Hello. Goodbye. All fleeting. All so fast. Super fast. Perspective. Yesterday I did nothing but within that nothing was everything & then the next thing, today soon tomorrow. I wish those words never existed. Created. I’m sure main reason was man’s attempt at control of the universe. So if that big light goes up & then down & up again, what does that signify? Mean. Hmmm. Movement of light suddenly means time & time means money right? Hmmm. I got nothing but time & so little money it’s silly. I get paid but $.12 an hour. Obviously labor unions do not have a voice in prison. Any way, this was about fleeting nature of time. & oh boy am I lost. I still think like Jefferson. That we have to water the tree of liberty unlike the powers that be, who use it for a place to take a leak. It’s only when I think of the “Patriot Act” that I remember/realize that Tom is so dead. So very very dead & without that blood the old tree is next. It’s those milestones that prove that time does move forward. One day you give birth, next you two are walking down the street. Amazing. See. Because I got nothing but time & believe me that silence or attempt at, stirs up this dude’s noggin. Thoughts fly like bats – crows in cornfield.
In less than ½ breath. Consider. Watch a feather drop.snow flake. A kiss to dry. Word to say. Hello. Goodbye. All fleeting. All so fast. Super fast. Perspective. Yesterday I did nothing but within that nothing was everything & then the next thing, today soon tomorrow. I wish those words never existed. Created. I’m sure main reason was man’s attempt at control of the universe. So if that big light goes up & then down & up again, what does that signify? Mean. Hmmm. Movement of light suddenly means time & time means money right? Hmmm. I got nothing but time & so little money it’s silly. I get paid but $.12 an hour. Obviously labor unions do not have a voice in prison. Any way, this was about fleeting nature of time. & oh boy am I lost. I still think like Jefferson. That we have to water the tree of liberty unlike the powers that be, who use it for a place to take a leak. It’s only when I think of the “Patriot Act” that I remember/realize that Tom is so dead. So very very dead & without that blood the old tree is next. It’s those milestones that prove that time does move forward. One day you give birth, next you two are walking down the street. Amazing. See. Because I got nothing but time & believe me that silence or attempt at, stirs up this dude’s noggin. Thoughts fly like bats – crows in cornfield.
3208
A new day. A new month. Though still stuck within ice, snow and now rain, spring is on horizon. A few notes, check out Eugene Kane’s Milwaukee Journal column from today. He is so right, not only thru MSDF but quite a bit of this prison system. Start looking around count 100 people – 1 in. Though it doesn’t sound high, it is. Kane’s column goes into a part of what it’s all about. http://www.jsonline.com/story/index.aspx?id=723841
I think it was Thursday on Ellen. She told of a heart breaking story of Larry, openly gay high school student who sent a valentine to Brandon, who later killed Larry. I don’t think I need to go on. A thank you to Ellen for letting us know. We need to realize & take control of our hatred. Of our judgements. Our actions. Please keep Larry in your hearts, prayers & please allow Brandon in. These are our children. Think.
My celly told me I have balls. Walk with confidence. I thanked him. I thank the universe for this experience. Just Thursday when I broke down he was so cool & now today. A part of it he said was how I’m so up front with my crime. With my life. It’s a two way street. Rick’s a great guy.
Great seeing Wilco on SNL. Dylan on PBS. Kelly is finishing up Barren & I’ll be giving her something new in the next week. Don’t you love her poems? You know you don’t need to be so silent. Warm morning, soon freezing rain. Out walking with no socks. Felt so free.
No work out today – so sore, tired. Sunday’s are a day of just being. The week isn’t but just nothing. That something of nothing. Life on a raft floating. A long shower. Perfect cup of coffee watching the snow. Following the wind. We walk literally in circles here. Fascinating. No need to worry. This personal trip.
Later.
A new day. A new month. Though still stuck within ice, snow and now rain, spring is on horizon. A few notes, check out Eugene Kane’s Milwaukee Journal column from today. He is so right, not only thru MSDF but quite a bit of this prison system. Start looking around count 100 people – 1 in. Though it doesn’t sound high, it is. Kane’s column goes into a part of what it’s all about. http://www.jsonline.com/story/index.aspx?id=723841
I think it was Thursday on Ellen. She told of a heart breaking story of Larry, openly gay high school student who sent a valentine to Brandon, who later killed Larry. I don’t think I need to go on. A thank you to Ellen for letting us know. We need to realize & take control of our hatred. Of our judgements. Our actions. Please keep Larry in your hearts, prayers & please allow Brandon in. These are our children. Think.
My celly told me I have balls. Walk with confidence. I thanked him. I thank the universe for this experience. Just Thursday when I broke down he was so cool & now today. A part of it he said was how I’m so up front with my crime. With my life. It’s a two way street. Rick’s a great guy.
Great seeing Wilco on SNL. Dylan on PBS. Kelly is finishing up Barren & I’ll be giving her something new in the next week. Don’t you love her poems? You know you don’t need to be so silent. Warm morning, soon freezing rain. Out walking with no socks. Felt so free.
No work out today – so sore, tired. Sunday’s are a day of just being. The week isn’t but just nothing. That something of nothing. Life on a raft floating. A long shower. Perfect cup of coffee watching the snow. Following the wind. We walk literally in circles here. Fascinating. No need to worry. This personal trip.
Later.
22208
Folsom Prison covered by D.O.A. playing right now on radio. Earlier, Radiohead, Dick Dale & some amazing techno. Big time flashbacks. Evan, Noah, taking turns on the turntables. Avenging disco Godfather even further. Labor the Rave in Milwaukee. Tons & tons of late late night eves hauling out crates & crates of records. The smell, sweat. The beautiful mornings crawling home. All for sake of the music. Their drive. Their vision. We as family addicted. Between Reed’s letter today & the music I was/am geeked. My buddy at dinner called me speed freak. Great letter Reed. Solid, funny & oh, so sad. Not “Oh God life sucks” but so wild & full I got to bite a tree. Terrific letter. Kelly – thanks for the great news and then cool ass poem. Keep it up. Check out Avoided’s My Space page, Reed’s band www.myspace.com/avoided & listen to W.R.S.T. Radio. It’s streaming on the web - http://www.uwosh.edu/wrst/
A terrific radio station. My life raft.
Now for some serious shit. Gary Gilmore. Almost finished with The Executioner’s Song. Heavy in more ways than one. A few more books this size in a pillow case is great for curls. Anyway, “You could easily do away with a lot of jails. They’re shit. They breed. They don’t deter crime. Right now I’m a prisoner of my body. I’m trapped in myself. Worse than jail!”
So many amazing moments – thoughts-statements in this book. Gilmore killed 2 men, after he robbed them, point blank in the head. In & out since a teenager. He was cold. So you think. A vastly intelligent man sentenced to death. He chose firing squad in Utah. Strange huh? Mormon Land. Bring your 10 wives & have a cook out. Which came first the Christian or the lion? Eye for Eye. Love this country. Anyway, a great point is that prison is a complete socialist way of life. Told when to go to bed. What to wear. Eat. When to get up. Total control. Right now Dick Dale (radio). Fuckin amazing. Sitting on my bunk cross legged, books open all over my, my radio blasting in my ear. Thinking of Gary & my/our/his brothers & the fuckin fuckin hard soulful guitar just banging, singing away reminding me that, yeah, yeah – everything is going to be alright. There’s nothing like a great song. Great kiss. Painting. Empty star filled night. Rebel Without A Cause on in a few minutes. Some Black Flag coming up. So prison is basically socialist. Everything in theory is equal. Sometimes you get shorted but the next day you get a huge piece of cake.
So that’s a huge crash when you get out. Sad but true. Who reminds us when to piss? amongst other things.
“Things that are harsh and unkind are here on Earth and they’re temporary. They don’t last. This all passes. That is my summation of my ideas and I might be all wet.”
-Gary Gilmore
Not wet, me thinks. Truer than rain.
“Let’s do it” besides some Latin, Gary’s last words.
“Don’t mourn, boys. Organize” Joe Hill’s last words.
Utah & her executions. This country & her lies.
Eye for an eye.
Why do we ever bring children into this world?
I’m sure we do because of our selfish nature. Our sand fly mentality. Our vision lost in the romanticism. Ruby glasses & the fight for our right to party!
Later. I’m off to see the lizard. The wonderful lizard of OZ.
Folsom Prison covered by D.O.A. playing right now on radio. Earlier, Radiohead, Dick Dale & some amazing techno. Big time flashbacks. Evan, Noah, taking turns on the turntables. Avenging disco Godfather even further. Labor the Rave in Milwaukee. Tons & tons of late late night eves hauling out crates & crates of records. The smell, sweat. The beautiful mornings crawling home. All for sake of the music. Their drive. Their vision. We as family addicted. Between Reed’s letter today & the music I was/am geeked. My buddy at dinner called me speed freak. Great letter Reed. Solid, funny & oh, so sad. Not “Oh God life sucks” but so wild & full I got to bite a tree. Terrific letter. Kelly – thanks for the great news and then cool ass poem. Keep it up. Check out Avoided’s My Space page, Reed’s band www.myspace.com/avoided & listen to W.R.S.T. Radio. It’s streaming on the web - http://www.uwosh.edu/wrst/
A terrific radio station. My life raft.
Now for some serious shit. Gary Gilmore. Almost finished with The Executioner’s Song. Heavy in more ways than one. A few more books this size in a pillow case is great for curls. Anyway, “You could easily do away with a lot of jails. They’re shit. They breed. They don’t deter crime. Right now I’m a prisoner of my body. I’m trapped in myself. Worse than jail!”
So many amazing moments – thoughts-statements in this book. Gilmore killed 2 men, after he robbed them, point blank in the head. In & out since a teenager. He was cold. So you think. A vastly intelligent man sentenced to death. He chose firing squad in Utah. Strange huh? Mormon Land. Bring your 10 wives & have a cook out. Which came first the Christian or the lion? Eye for Eye. Love this country. Anyway, a great point is that prison is a complete socialist way of life. Told when to go to bed. What to wear. Eat. When to get up. Total control. Right now Dick Dale (radio). Fuckin amazing. Sitting on my bunk cross legged, books open all over my, my radio blasting in my ear. Thinking of Gary & my/our/his brothers & the fuckin fuckin hard soulful guitar just banging, singing away reminding me that, yeah, yeah – everything is going to be alright. There’s nothing like a great song. Great kiss. Painting. Empty star filled night. Rebel Without A Cause on in a few minutes. Some Black Flag coming up. So prison is basically socialist. Everything in theory is equal. Sometimes you get shorted but the next day you get a huge piece of cake.
So that’s a huge crash when you get out. Sad but true. Who reminds us when to piss? amongst other things.
“Things that are harsh and unkind are here on Earth and they’re temporary. They don’t last. This all passes. That is my summation of my ideas and I might be all wet.”
-Gary Gilmore
Not wet, me thinks. Truer than rain.
“Let’s do it” besides some Latin, Gary’s last words.
“Don’t mourn, boys. Organize” Joe Hill’s last words.
Utah & her executions. This country & her lies.
Eye for an eye.
Why do we ever bring children into this world?
I’m sure we do because of our selfish nature. Our sand fly mentality. Our vision lost in the romanticism. Ruby glasses & the fight for our right to party!
Later. I’m off to see the lizard. The wonderful lizard of OZ.
Friday, March 7, 2008
This Sunday, March 9th at 3:00 pm on WRST Radio they will be playing one of the most amazing bands of all time - Velvet Underground! So keep in mind daylight savings time & listen.
Our/the circle is as large as we choose. Pull that string or release that tension. We are the circle and like the moon & sun that connects now, finally music! I will request a song for all you - you also if you choose, my friends!
http://www.uwosh.edu/wrst/
Later.
Our/the circle is as large as we choose. Pull that string or release that tension. We are the circle and like the moon & sun that connects now, finally music! I will request a song for all you - you also if you choose, my friends!
http://www.uwosh.edu/wrst/
Later.
Friday, February 29, 2008
about A
to: J
I hate the nights I drink myself sober
rather feel sting of hangover
than pain you cause
in the end I keep my deal with God
drunk or sober I feel the same
- is that the right line JT?
enter a new Muse
this story ends with a grand homecoming
I say forget book – think tragic comedy
the year I die
I win
Best Actress
for starring in
my life
to: J
I hate the nights I drink myself sober
rather feel sting of hangover
than pain you cause
in the end I keep my deal with God
drunk or sober I feel the same
- is that the right line JT?
enter a new Muse
this story ends with a grand homecoming
I say forget book – think tragic comedy
the year I die
I win
Best Actress
for starring in
my life
22108
The first time I encountered a burning building was next door to my house. Opened their door & yelled upstairs to my friend. He already knew ‘cause he started the fire. The smell was delirious. So intoxicating. Second time – Ponderosa in Chicago. Near Colette’s grandmother’s house. Out walking with Melissa (her sister). Black smoke & silence. Ran right in. Wall. Knocked me on my ass. Heard yelling like “Get out of there. Everyone’s gone”. I crawled back out amazed at the force. How did smoke build a wall? & why did I run in? Well the thought of someone trapped & the idea of confronting that sight overwhelmed. The third time – I created by accident in basement of our house in Bayview. I refinished furniture & was doing a small cupboard. I had the top covered with stripper. Well it was taking forever. I had just borrowed a heating element from my painting boss. It’s like the coils from an electric stove – heats up paint/gunk & you scrape off. Well needless to say – Poof! Instant crazy fire that proceeded to jump across my work space covered with cans filled with denatured alcohol, steel wool & tons & tons of saw dust – cobwebs, junk. So within like 2 seconds I was deep within a fire. So I yelled up to Colette “Basement on fire. Give me a few minutes & call fire department”. At this point the fire created sound & rafters were starting to burn. So I grabbed this fantastic thick brand new cotton rug, got it soppy wet, unplugged all tools & slapped that baby on the cupboard then proceeded to swing that run & knock out the flames. Over in seconds. The basement was black. I was beat. Yelled upstairs, “it’s out”. Broke out a window & cleared the air. I realized I made the right decision. If we would have called the fire department we might have damaged our lives. If I had never confronted fire before I might have backed down. I looked at those flames the same as thugs in an alley. I’ll be damned if I was going to back down. The next morning when the boys woke up – 2 floors up – Colette noticed that they had black snot. Unsettling. What’s the point? Know your enemy? Know & confront your fear? Act first think second? Perhaps. For me it was the fight. Actually wrestling – feeling every inch of me struggle – fight – succeed. Today I am 50. In some other blog I’ll talk about electricity. The times I’ve been hit by cars – jumping thru a plate glass window. Count my 9 lives. But this is about prison. The newest chapter.
I was out walking with a buddy today. Great guy – not really talked about him before. Smart & honest. When he was 22-23 he had sex with a 14 year old a number of times. He had been in trouble before. Bottom line – he received 2 in & 6 out. I chat with a 14 year old & have no contact even though a meeting was arranged & I get 2 ½ in & 5 out & yes I broke my bail by being on internet. So no question I broke the law. So I ask him did we get the similar sentence because of my age. He replies “No. To them it’s all the same.” I reply “so talking & even arranging to meet is the same as sex”. “yes”. I was stunned not shocked. But I understand. Now if I contact you & offer you money to kill someone am I charged with killing that person? No. It’s conspiracy. If I plan out a bank robbery am I charged with bank robbery? Now if I ask these questions here in group they’ll jump all over me saying I’m a denier. I’m not a denier. I gave the cops the keys to my apartment. I signed a confession. I’m open & honest to this whole “thing”. He said he was gay & had no one to talk with. He said he was 14. He asked for me to talk about sex. I did. He said I did it well. I said I like to write. It’s not hard. It was a few days we chatted. I talked of losing Colette – death of Evan- hard to talk to friends. He said he didn’t know what he would do if he lost his mother or sister. I said you’re either a cop or an old man jerking off or you’re who you are & I’m fucked. Said he wasn’t a cop. Said that was fucked up. Wasn’t until he sent a picture that I freaked. Said you’re so young. This is wrong. He was hurt. Thought I was turning my back. Asked me to talk dirty again. Said we should meet. I was on the fence. Said he lived on the south side. Said I could send a cab. I did. Cops came & this began. I ask myself over & over again – What was I doing? I didn’t & still not sure. What I remember is vague. I want to be honest. I want to tear off scab & look at wound. I pick & pick. Sometimes I’m embarrassed. Then I ask myself “do I desire children?” & I ask myself how was a 14 year old so smart – so considerate- so together. I relax. I do not desire. I was & still kind of lost. Not just what I had been through. I was tired. I was giving up. A few days before my 2nd arrest I chased a guy out my apartment with a hammer. I was going to split open his head but I had no shoes on. I forget what he did. But there was a lot of things going on. First, I feel I need to be clear about my crime. I thought by now some one out there would have asked me. No one did. Perhaps it’s not important to you. But it is to me. Justice is not blind & it is not true that 10 guilty men go free rather than 1 innocent man is found guilty. It’s about plea bargains & getting elected & keeping this system working. Taxpayers are charged $40,000 - $75,000 a year for us. Do the math. Wisconsin has moved from dairy state to a prison state. When the cop told me there was an actual victim I freaked. I asked to write an apology to him. His mother. Everything collapsed. “What have I become?” How could I, after everything, turn around & create such devastation. I was broken. The cop was satisfied. He knew everything I had gone thru. & now this collapse. The devastation. The torture. Don’t ever wonder why men commit suicide in jail. I was too numb to think. The next week a blur. I was stuck in holding for nearly 2 days. My blood pressure was to high. Why I didn’t have a heart attack or stroke with arrest was/is beyond my comprehension. Some how people found me – my sister – Colette – my boss. They hired a lawyer. He appeared out of no where. All would be okay. He asked why the confession – the letters of apology? Because I couldn’t live with myself if I created any more hurt. I truly had/have no idea where I was. Who I was/am. Everything became a blur. “John, there was no kid. You were chatting with a cop”. At that moment everything froze. I was totally fucked up. First he was this, then this & back again. Everything was twisted. The agony. Why did he have to lie? I was so clear. So repetitive. It’s like it was never enough. We believe what we want. I was grateful my actions didn’t include a kid. Though I broke all the hearts who surround me.
Why did I start with fire? Those were not metaphors. They were/are my life. Even in chaos I was clear thinking. Even with limited knowledge I knew what to expect. What to accept. Fire is living breathing entity. It’s incapable of lying. It’s agenda is simple – to consume. That cop, this system is hypocrisy. Inconsistent. Consistent inconsistent.
My mother-in-law always said difference between cops & cons were they (cops) had the right to always carry a gun. They are basically the same. True but right now after all this, I’d rather be with the cons. Within all there is a level of loyality/brother/sisterhood that is quite amazing. I’m reading Executioner’s Song. A profound book – amazing author. Norman Mailer & Gary Gilmore, quite the men. I guess they right now are helping me thru. Though I’m not on death row soon to be executed & even though I’ve not taken a life, I’m a lot closer to seeing out of Gary Gilmore’s eyes.
Kelly seems concerned when I bring up my crime. Maybe it’s because it seems like I’m trying to explain too much. I need to experience. I need to be honest. I need to transcend. If I were the only one to be going thru this I would shut my mouth. But believe there are monsters in here & there are those with questionable behavior. There’s drugs & drink & in time they’ll arrest for your thoughts. How does that go “First they came for the gypsies & I did nothing ‘cause I am not a gypsy. Then they came for the fags & I did nothing ‘cause I’m not a fag, & on & on ‘til finally they came for me”. I think you got the idea. Before you can stand up & fight for your rights, you need to be standing.
Enough already. I now spell it Amerika!
Later
The first time I encountered a burning building was next door to my house. Opened their door & yelled upstairs to my friend. He already knew ‘cause he started the fire. The smell was delirious. So intoxicating. Second time – Ponderosa in Chicago. Near Colette’s grandmother’s house. Out walking with Melissa (her sister). Black smoke & silence. Ran right in. Wall. Knocked me on my ass. Heard yelling like “Get out of there. Everyone’s gone”. I crawled back out amazed at the force. How did smoke build a wall? & why did I run in? Well the thought of someone trapped & the idea of confronting that sight overwhelmed. The third time – I created by accident in basement of our house in Bayview. I refinished furniture & was doing a small cupboard. I had the top covered with stripper. Well it was taking forever. I had just borrowed a heating element from my painting boss. It’s like the coils from an electric stove – heats up paint/gunk & you scrape off. Well needless to say – Poof! Instant crazy fire that proceeded to jump across my work space covered with cans filled with denatured alcohol, steel wool & tons & tons of saw dust – cobwebs, junk. So within like 2 seconds I was deep within a fire. So I yelled up to Colette “Basement on fire. Give me a few minutes & call fire department”. At this point the fire created sound & rafters were starting to burn. So I grabbed this fantastic thick brand new cotton rug, got it soppy wet, unplugged all tools & slapped that baby on the cupboard then proceeded to swing that run & knock out the flames. Over in seconds. The basement was black. I was beat. Yelled upstairs, “it’s out”. Broke out a window & cleared the air. I realized I made the right decision. If we would have called the fire department we might have damaged our lives. If I had never confronted fire before I might have backed down. I looked at those flames the same as thugs in an alley. I’ll be damned if I was going to back down. The next morning when the boys woke up – 2 floors up – Colette noticed that they had black snot. Unsettling. What’s the point? Know your enemy? Know & confront your fear? Act first think second? Perhaps. For me it was the fight. Actually wrestling – feeling every inch of me struggle – fight – succeed. Today I am 50. In some other blog I’ll talk about electricity. The times I’ve been hit by cars – jumping thru a plate glass window. Count my 9 lives. But this is about prison. The newest chapter.
I was out walking with a buddy today. Great guy – not really talked about him before. Smart & honest. When he was 22-23 he had sex with a 14 year old a number of times. He had been in trouble before. Bottom line – he received 2 in & 6 out. I chat with a 14 year old & have no contact even though a meeting was arranged & I get 2 ½ in & 5 out & yes I broke my bail by being on internet. So no question I broke the law. So I ask him did we get the similar sentence because of my age. He replies “No. To them it’s all the same.” I reply “so talking & even arranging to meet is the same as sex”. “yes”. I was stunned not shocked. But I understand. Now if I contact you & offer you money to kill someone am I charged with killing that person? No. It’s conspiracy. If I plan out a bank robbery am I charged with bank robbery? Now if I ask these questions here in group they’ll jump all over me saying I’m a denier. I’m not a denier. I gave the cops the keys to my apartment. I signed a confession. I’m open & honest to this whole “thing”. He said he was gay & had no one to talk with. He said he was 14. He asked for me to talk about sex. I did. He said I did it well. I said I like to write. It’s not hard. It was a few days we chatted. I talked of losing Colette – death of Evan- hard to talk to friends. He said he didn’t know what he would do if he lost his mother or sister. I said you’re either a cop or an old man jerking off or you’re who you are & I’m fucked. Said he wasn’t a cop. Said that was fucked up. Wasn’t until he sent a picture that I freaked. Said you’re so young. This is wrong. He was hurt. Thought I was turning my back. Asked me to talk dirty again. Said we should meet. I was on the fence. Said he lived on the south side. Said I could send a cab. I did. Cops came & this began. I ask myself over & over again – What was I doing? I didn’t & still not sure. What I remember is vague. I want to be honest. I want to tear off scab & look at wound. I pick & pick. Sometimes I’m embarrassed. Then I ask myself “do I desire children?” & I ask myself how was a 14 year old so smart – so considerate- so together. I relax. I do not desire. I was & still kind of lost. Not just what I had been through. I was tired. I was giving up. A few days before my 2nd arrest I chased a guy out my apartment with a hammer. I was going to split open his head but I had no shoes on. I forget what he did. But there was a lot of things going on. First, I feel I need to be clear about my crime. I thought by now some one out there would have asked me. No one did. Perhaps it’s not important to you. But it is to me. Justice is not blind & it is not true that 10 guilty men go free rather than 1 innocent man is found guilty. It’s about plea bargains & getting elected & keeping this system working. Taxpayers are charged $40,000 - $75,000 a year for us. Do the math. Wisconsin has moved from dairy state to a prison state. When the cop told me there was an actual victim I freaked. I asked to write an apology to him. His mother. Everything collapsed. “What have I become?” How could I, after everything, turn around & create such devastation. I was broken. The cop was satisfied. He knew everything I had gone thru. & now this collapse. The devastation. The torture. Don’t ever wonder why men commit suicide in jail. I was too numb to think. The next week a blur. I was stuck in holding for nearly 2 days. My blood pressure was to high. Why I didn’t have a heart attack or stroke with arrest was/is beyond my comprehension. Some how people found me – my sister – Colette – my boss. They hired a lawyer. He appeared out of no where. All would be okay. He asked why the confession – the letters of apology? Because I couldn’t live with myself if I created any more hurt. I truly had/have no idea where I was. Who I was/am. Everything became a blur. “John, there was no kid. You were chatting with a cop”. At that moment everything froze. I was totally fucked up. First he was this, then this & back again. Everything was twisted. The agony. Why did he have to lie? I was so clear. So repetitive. It’s like it was never enough. We believe what we want. I was grateful my actions didn’t include a kid. Though I broke all the hearts who surround me.
Why did I start with fire? Those were not metaphors. They were/are my life. Even in chaos I was clear thinking. Even with limited knowledge I knew what to expect. What to accept. Fire is living breathing entity. It’s incapable of lying. It’s agenda is simple – to consume. That cop, this system is hypocrisy. Inconsistent. Consistent inconsistent.
My mother-in-law always said difference between cops & cons were they (cops) had the right to always carry a gun. They are basically the same. True but right now after all this, I’d rather be with the cons. Within all there is a level of loyality/brother/sisterhood that is quite amazing. I’m reading Executioner’s Song. A profound book – amazing author. Norman Mailer & Gary Gilmore, quite the men. I guess they right now are helping me thru. Though I’m not on death row soon to be executed & even though I’ve not taken a life, I’m a lot closer to seeing out of Gary Gilmore’s eyes.
Kelly seems concerned when I bring up my crime. Maybe it’s because it seems like I’m trying to explain too much. I need to experience. I need to be honest. I need to transcend. If I were the only one to be going thru this I would shut my mouth. But believe there are monsters in here & there are those with questionable behavior. There’s drugs & drink & in time they’ll arrest for your thoughts. How does that go “First they came for the gypsies & I did nothing ‘cause I am not a gypsy. Then they came for the fags & I did nothing ‘cause I’m not a fag, & on & on ‘til finally they came for me”. I think you got the idea. Before you can stand up & fight for your rights, you need to be standing.
Enough already. I now spell it Amerika!
Later
21208
I can’t tell, it’s not that I won’t, I will, what was/is about Ted Berrigan. Either I never met or when I did I had already read the poet. Ted was the first & as far as I recall the poet who I met first & as far as I recall, the poet who I met with no true “introduction”. No one I knew either knew nothing of his work or just never mentioned him to me. So when I first saw him, heard him, I was knocked on my ass. No question. Here was the large solid buck of a man commanding everyone’s eyes/ears. Rapture. I assume thoughts in the most comforting engaging way. As if we’re a vaudeville magician – comedian-m.c. It’s like when you go to a museum exhibit & they have this huge ancient sculpture or tomb in a room that’s all wrong but somehow after a second or so, it’s perfect. & it was perfect. I hitch-hiked to Naropa with a buddy, Kevin. We were such dorks. I had just fallen in love & my whole life was climbing out & I ran. Ran to see Ginsberg & to get to the bottom of this poetry thing. Well we had some time to spare & if I remember right, Berrigan was doing a class & Kevin & I split up. The class was basically Ted talking non-stop. A few questions. A word-statement-something, would set off this avalanche. I was so confused. So fucking amazing. I remember stealing Red Wagon & On the Range. Later getting them signed at which he told me that On the Range was a strange book. Yes it is. Needless to say between love & Ted & a tremendous amount of very cheap tequila, I ended up chasing Kevin down some main street in Boulder with my knife threatening to cut his head off. I woke at the door step of a Dr. No glasses. No shirt. As I stumbled my way back to our camp I found my glasses & Kevin asleep. I would compare all my energy & emotion to the sensation of being electrocuted. But it was better than that. Electricity mellows you out. I was dazzled. I remember that Ted died the same month/year that Noah was born & I clipped his obit from either Time or Newsweek. Either way he is to me probably the greatest. He took everything, whether working class intellect Asian poetry Trisian Tzara – Frank O’Hara to baseball-pills-love & slapstick. A true descendant of Whitman – Ginsberg’s cousin. Pound’s nephew. I can’t stop from being amazed. Here are a few of my faves:
She
She is always two blue eyes
She is never lost in sleep
All her dreams are light & air
They sometimes melt the sun
She makes me smile, or
She makes me cry, she
Makes me laugh, and I talk to her
With really nothing particularly to say
Something to Remember
Caesar’s ghost must be above suspicion.
Radio just played Misfits. Now the Ramones. Again I forgot where I lay my head. I would put Ted alongside Li Po without question.
I would be insane not to add 2 poems from Frank O’Hara:
Why I Am Not a Painter
I am not a painter, I am a poet.Why? I think I would rather be a painter, but I am not. Well, for instance, Mike Goldbergis starting a painting. I drop in."Sit down and have a drink" he says. I drink; we drink. I lookup. "You have SARDINES in it." "Yes, it needed something there.""Oh." I go and the days go byand I drop in again. The paintingis going on, and I go, and the daysgo by. I drop in. The painting is finished. "Where's SARDINES?"All that's left is just letters, "It was too much," Mike says.
But me? One day I am thinking of a color: orange. I write a line about orange. Pretty soon it is a whole page of words, not lines.Then another page. There should be so much more, not of orange, of words, of how terrible orange is and life. Days go by. It is even in prose, I am a real poet. My poem is finished and I haven't mentioned orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.
(1971)
The Day Lady Died
It is 12:20 in New York a Friday three days after Bastille Day, yes it is 1959, and I go get a shoeshine because I will get off the 4:19 in East Hampton at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner and I don't know the people who will feed me I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun and have a hamburger and a malted and buy an ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets in Ghana are doing these days I go on to the bank and Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard) doesn't even look up my balance for once in her life and in the GOLDEN GRIFFIN I get a little Verlaine for Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I do think of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore or Brendan Behan's new play or Le Balcon or Les Nègres of Genet, but I don't, I stick with Verlaine after practically going to sleep with quandariness and for Mike I just stroll into the PARK LANE Liquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega, and then I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatere and casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a cartonof Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of leaning on the john door in the 5 SPOT while she whispered a song along the keyboard to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing.
1964
As much as this prison wears me down & separation breaks my heart, I feel as if this amazing, though sad, parade has just passed by & the streets are silent with no one but myself & some idea of others though so far away. I stand in the middle of the street staring into that space where only a short time before it was glorious. & now Social Distortion on radio. Lopez seconds the motion that Mike Ness is a God. So again I ask myself “what is prison & who defines?” Thanks, Joel.
So this morning it was 9 below & wind chill around -20. Work wasn’t called off so I go in & start breaking my pallets & this guy asks me “how cold is it?” I tell him & he goes “what does the weather have to be not to work?” Well I’m not sure, but I know where this is going so I go “Look, we’re in prison. It’s their rules now.” I mean how clear does it have to be? If you can’t vote you have no power. It’s 1+1. Basic political math. It wasn’t that cold. My boss told me I might get yelled at for not wearing my coat (wearing sweatshirts). I explained you can’t tear things apart wearing a jacket & it was for like 20 minutes. Reality check. Did Bright Eyes get a Grammy?
I can’t tell, it’s not that I won’t, I will, what was/is about Ted Berrigan. Either I never met or when I did I had already read the poet. Ted was the first & as far as I recall the poet who I met first & as far as I recall, the poet who I met with no true “introduction”. No one I knew either knew nothing of his work or just never mentioned him to me. So when I first saw him, heard him, I was knocked on my ass. No question. Here was the large solid buck of a man commanding everyone’s eyes/ears. Rapture. I assume thoughts in the most comforting engaging way. As if we’re a vaudeville magician – comedian-m.c. It’s like when you go to a museum exhibit & they have this huge ancient sculpture or tomb in a room that’s all wrong but somehow after a second or so, it’s perfect. & it was perfect. I hitch-hiked to Naropa with a buddy, Kevin. We were such dorks. I had just fallen in love & my whole life was climbing out & I ran. Ran to see Ginsberg & to get to the bottom of this poetry thing. Well we had some time to spare & if I remember right, Berrigan was doing a class & Kevin & I split up. The class was basically Ted talking non-stop. A few questions. A word-statement-something, would set off this avalanche. I was so confused. So fucking amazing. I remember stealing Red Wagon & On the Range. Later getting them signed at which he told me that On the Range was a strange book. Yes it is. Needless to say between love & Ted & a tremendous amount of very cheap tequila, I ended up chasing Kevin down some main street in Boulder with my knife threatening to cut his head off. I woke at the door step of a Dr. No glasses. No shirt. As I stumbled my way back to our camp I found my glasses & Kevin asleep. I would compare all my energy & emotion to the sensation of being electrocuted. But it was better than that. Electricity mellows you out. I was dazzled. I remember that Ted died the same month/year that Noah was born & I clipped his obit from either Time or Newsweek. Either way he is to me probably the greatest. He took everything, whether working class intellect Asian poetry Trisian Tzara – Frank O’Hara to baseball-pills-love & slapstick. A true descendant of Whitman – Ginsberg’s cousin. Pound’s nephew. I can’t stop from being amazed. Here are a few of my faves:
She
She is always two blue eyes
She is never lost in sleep
All her dreams are light & air
They sometimes melt the sun
She makes me smile, or
She makes me cry, she
Makes me laugh, and I talk to her
With really nothing particularly to say
Something to Remember
Caesar’s ghost must be above suspicion.
Radio just played Misfits. Now the Ramones. Again I forgot where I lay my head. I would put Ted alongside Li Po without question.
I would be insane not to add 2 poems from Frank O’Hara:
Why I Am Not a Painter
I am not a painter, I am a poet.Why? I think I would rather be a painter, but I am not. Well, for instance, Mike Goldbergis starting a painting. I drop in."Sit down and have a drink" he says. I drink; we drink. I lookup. "You have SARDINES in it." "Yes, it needed something there.""Oh." I go and the days go byand I drop in again. The paintingis going on, and I go, and the daysgo by. I drop in. The painting is finished. "Where's SARDINES?"All that's left is just letters, "It was too much," Mike says.
But me? One day I am thinking of a color: orange. I write a line about orange. Pretty soon it is a whole page of words, not lines.Then another page. There should be so much more, not of orange, of words, of how terrible orange is and life. Days go by. It is even in prose, I am a real poet. My poem is finished and I haven't mentioned orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.
(1971)
The Day Lady Died
It is 12:20 in New York a Friday three days after Bastille Day, yes it is 1959, and I go get a shoeshine because I will get off the 4:19 in East Hampton at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner and I don't know the people who will feed me I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun and have a hamburger and a malted and buy an ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets in Ghana are doing these days I go on to the bank and Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard) doesn't even look up my balance for once in her life and in the GOLDEN GRIFFIN I get a little Verlaine for Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I do think of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore or Brendan Behan's new play or Le Balcon or Les Nègres of Genet, but I don't, I stick with Verlaine after practically going to sleep with quandariness and for Mike I just stroll into the PARK LANE Liquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega, and then I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatere and casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a cartonof Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of leaning on the john door in the 5 SPOT while she whispered a song along the keyboard to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing.
1964
As much as this prison wears me down & separation breaks my heart, I feel as if this amazing, though sad, parade has just passed by & the streets are silent with no one but myself & some idea of others though so far away. I stand in the middle of the street staring into that space where only a short time before it was glorious. & now Social Distortion on radio. Lopez seconds the motion that Mike Ness is a God. So again I ask myself “what is prison & who defines?” Thanks, Joel.
So this morning it was 9 below & wind chill around -20. Work wasn’t called off so I go in & start breaking my pallets & this guy asks me “how cold is it?” I tell him & he goes “what does the weather have to be not to work?” Well I’m not sure, but I know where this is going so I go “Look, we’re in prison. It’s their rules now.” I mean how clear does it have to be? If you can’t vote you have no power. It’s 1+1. Basic political math. It wasn’t that cold. My boss told me I might get yelled at for not wearing my coat (wearing sweatshirts). I explained you can’t tear things apart wearing a jacket & it was for like 20 minutes. Reality check. Did Bright Eyes get a Grammy?
Monday, February 25, 2008
2908
The talk seems to be of weather and murder. 24 people shot lately through out the country - what’s with that? Is there any reality left? This will be my first election since ’76 that I can’t participate in. But it’s also one of the few that the choices aren’t all that bad. Frankly it’s the first time I’d even consider a Republican. I see McCain as definitely as a person of compromise. A politician in the true sense. Drawing opposites together. The 2 Democrats are alright. Either way we seem to be moving away from Bush. The ragged broken scrub Bush. The lying bastard of embarrassment. Now perhaps – get out of Iraq – health care reform & solid environmental reforms.
We’re still working on Barren. I threw in a wrench & gave Kelly a strange little broadside to enclose. She sent me a proof & except that it’s rather large it looks great. It’s slowly coming together. We’re still moving ahead on Flagrant (remember from a # of months ago). Well we need some poetry & sometimes getting poetry is like pulling teeth. Some are ready some you tear & tear ‘til you get what you need. Richard Lopez is helping edit along with Kelly & I . Cover done & got some poems in. Then I need to re-type Killing Time and get that to Kelly. I think my favorite part of this new broadside is this great pansy dried out on the page & the last line I stole from Faulkner – “You sweet son of a bitch”.
Reading an amazing must have book in order to have any true decent understanding of this/our world – our America. Everything from tales of Mose Tolliver to d.a. levy. The name is The Outlaw Bible of American Essays. Fantastic. When I received 3 books in property this book was glanced at. Put aside. I received the other 2. She walks over to the “Forbidden” list. Like a dog waiting for a bone all you could hear was my tail banging on the ground. The anticipate was exquisite. It passed. I believe the word “outlaw” set off an alarm. I wonder if Thomas Paine’s tracts would have gotten same response or Sam Adams. Carrie Nation. Emma Goldman. Bobby Seale. I’m addicted to chaos but I think my real trip is tension. It’s not totally a getting away with. It’s that silence. That land of distinction. Like a fraction before a fight. A kiss. A birth. The rain. Where you can taste. Hear. That dizzy tension. Watching another’s pupils dilate. The lip curl. Eyebrows steady. Well this book is a must. I read their Outlaw Bible of American Poetry on the outs & I guess there’s one of American Literature. So I wrote the publisher – Thunder’s Mouth Press. State my joy & of course asked for the other 2 parts of this amazing trilogy. I’m waiting. So go out now & buy these books. Tell me or a friend, enemy of what you think. It only takes a spark to ignite a prairie fire. Yeah the 60’s are dead & the 80’s fade into dust. Every day should be our revolt. Our joy. Our statements. Our reality checks. Our respect. Of each other of the Earth we tred. Of the universe we sleep. Of the time & culture. Of our/each other’s words. Paint cement stone. Rocks that become this America.
My celly, Rick, lost his sister this past Friday. Please send out your thoughts and prayers. Good love & blessings for a truly wonderful woman, her son, husband, mother & father. Rick & brother. For all the joy she brought. All the hearts she touched. I believe the main reason I’m close to Rick is his honesty. His devotion to family, friends. His sister had a fear of being forgotten & this morning at breakfast I told Rick he brought her into all our lives & for all that I will never forget. And please send all that good to that wonderful woman who Rick placed his heart, his girl, S.
Remember we’re in prison not hell. We made mistakes & for the most part alright guys. So we feel good & oh so bad. We help each other when we can & remind the idiots that this is oh not so cool. I take this experience as another turn on the road. A place to lay my head & get back to that city where my heart deserves to reside. Until then I remain a slightly broken thought still an alright solid kind of man. & thank you Julie-Wild-Lopez-Reed-Stacy for all your fantastic words. Julie for music, we wait. Crazed. & Kelly, Kelly for all this, this!
Later.
vanquished/decipher
melt you in extraneous fashion. candle. chaos forsaken.
compose, stand upon avenue. pilgrim disguised. ignorant.
of failure. stiffen subtle. branch reason. delightful couches.
forget that yes
I am
still
here,
so like, good-bye, Johnny
all hair, silver.
The talk seems to be of weather and murder. 24 people shot lately through out the country - what’s with that? Is there any reality left? This will be my first election since ’76 that I can’t participate in. But it’s also one of the few that the choices aren’t all that bad. Frankly it’s the first time I’d even consider a Republican. I see McCain as definitely as a person of compromise. A politician in the true sense. Drawing opposites together. The 2 Democrats are alright. Either way we seem to be moving away from Bush. The ragged broken scrub Bush. The lying bastard of embarrassment. Now perhaps – get out of Iraq – health care reform & solid environmental reforms.
We’re still working on Barren. I threw in a wrench & gave Kelly a strange little broadside to enclose. She sent me a proof & except that it’s rather large it looks great. It’s slowly coming together. We’re still moving ahead on Flagrant (remember from a # of months ago). Well we need some poetry & sometimes getting poetry is like pulling teeth. Some are ready some you tear & tear ‘til you get what you need. Richard Lopez is helping edit along with Kelly & I . Cover done & got some poems in. Then I need to re-type Killing Time and get that to Kelly. I think my favorite part of this new broadside is this great pansy dried out on the page & the last line I stole from Faulkner – “You sweet son of a bitch”.
Reading an amazing must have book in order to have any true decent understanding of this/our world – our America. Everything from tales of Mose Tolliver to d.a. levy. The name is The Outlaw Bible of American Essays. Fantastic. When I received 3 books in property this book was glanced at. Put aside. I received the other 2. She walks over to the “Forbidden” list. Like a dog waiting for a bone all you could hear was my tail banging on the ground. The anticipate was exquisite. It passed. I believe the word “outlaw” set off an alarm. I wonder if Thomas Paine’s tracts would have gotten same response or Sam Adams. Carrie Nation. Emma Goldman. Bobby Seale. I’m addicted to chaos but I think my real trip is tension. It’s not totally a getting away with. It’s that silence. That land of distinction. Like a fraction before a fight. A kiss. A birth. The rain. Where you can taste. Hear. That dizzy tension. Watching another’s pupils dilate. The lip curl. Eyebrows steady. Well this book is a must. I read their Outlaw Bible of American Poetry on the outs & I guess there’s one of American Literature. So I wrote the publisher – Thunder’s Mouth Press. State my joy & of course asked for the other 2 parts of this amazing trilogy. I’m waiting. So go out now & buy these books. Tell me or a friend, enemy of what you think. It only takes a spark to ignite a prairie fire. Yeah the 60’s are dead & the 80’s fade into dust. Every day should be our revolt. Our joy. Our statements. Our reality checks. Our respect. Of each other of the Earth we tred. Of the universe we sleep. Of the time & culture. Of our/each other’s words. Paint cement stone. Rocks that become this America.
My celly, Rick, lost his sister this past Friday. Please send out your thoughts and prayers. Good love & blessings for a truly wonderful woman, her son, husband, mother & father. Rick & brother. For all the joy she brought. All the hearts she touched. I believe the main reason I’m close to Rick is his honesty. His devotion to family, friends. His sister had a fear of being forgotten & this morning at breakfast I told Rick he brought her into all our lives & for all that I will never forget. And please send all that good to that wonderful woman who Rick placed his heart, his girl, S.
Remember we’re in prison not hell. We made mistakes & for the most part alright guys. So we feel good & oh so bad. We help each other when we can & remind the idiots that this is oh not so cool. I take this experience as another turn on the road. A place to lay my head & get back to that city where my heart deserves to reside. Until then I remain a slightly broken thought still an alright solid kind of man. & thank you Julie-Wild-Lopez-Reed-Stacy for all your fantastic words. Julie for music, we wait. Crazed. & Kelly, Kelly for all this, this!
Later.
vanquished/decipher
melt you in extraneous fashion. candle. chaos forsaken.
compose, stand upon avenue. pilgrim disguised. ignorant.
of failure. stiffen subtle. branch reason. delightful couches.
forget that yes
I am
still
here,
so like, good-bye, Johnny
all hair, silver.
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