Brasses

Pondering putting out a chapbook based on a creative nonfiction piece that I was writing when under the gun. The story weaves in an encounter I had via Los Angeles Times newspaper with a woman living on Skid Row...that's right. But she had been arrested so many times. I have been arrested more than 1x. I know what it's like. I've also nearly been shot by a policeman twice. Well, how to categorize a statement such as that? The gun was drawn but no bullet was fired. Maybe that's how I would categorize it.

Someone recently liked my poetry in person. I'm grateful to have that sort of support. Namaste.

About One Year More Poems

What does that mean?

The Raccoon Raconteur

What does that mean?

This is a blog. Read it or not.

I was honored to be alive yesterday; it heralded, then and now, the advent of another day of life. Anyway, funny to be a free-man; I'm sure it won't last forever.

Anyway, book #18 in the 52 books (chapbooks, really) OYMP series was done today; I'm glad about that, knowing that I can surely commit to poetry… well, OK.

As for this blog, what should it be? If I make $1 million at it, I'll retire and donate 50% of the proceeds to aged bloggers; Scout's honor. Anyways, to be or not to be...

Trade me for Pi(a)zza

Wistful days; sent in 3 poems to Cimarron Review - will have to see what they say. 3 poems on the desk to be sent to Paris Review. I will not be gone long, in this sense I am here blogging. … It would be nice, if the writers were more supported; but I am a writer - I could use the support.

BLJ PDP etc. What does it all mean?

I hope that the Doyers win it all this year.

It Has Come To This

Moved by GSH's words now; the poet lives on, the musician lives on, the man lives on. 

Working towards giving up writing poetry, as it's a sallow field that brings only porcupines at times. At other times, it leads to what matters most.

Speaking of what matters most, some sort of meteor showers are coming soon, along with the ghost of Gil Scott-Heron, who will be opening a ghost Peet's Coffee Shop, with baristas to include the father of me and Janis Joplin-Joplin.

Sincerely Yours {Mixtape Vol. 1}

14 x 14 x 14 is a big sum, I'd say. TGIF, and hoping for the best. Interesting to read about poet/author Stephen Crane; comparing him to Hart Crane, now, for some reason. Not sure what or why the connection is, aside from they both were out to sea for far too long, I would say. But that is a cynic's snide whip, lashing out at what I cannot sea, or say.

Well, no, there is no mixtape coming. Poems, I suppose; beyond that, I suppose.

Reds trade often, so do Cardinals; that is baseball, I guess.

Self-help, on the shores of Jordan, holding a stick of gum and a rare poem penned by Holden Caulfield.

Today is a new day, and for that I am grateful. Look for the silver lining; it's coming through. …

Well, so much for the blog. But, still here, still blogging, and forever caught up in It. It is all I have got, I'm afraid. But for now that's life. Looking ahead, more asparagus, less… there is a lot of sugar in food these days, haven't you noticed that as well? Maybe it's a conspiracy; maybe it ain't. I guess it's like with cigarettes; they're willing to make them and sell them to us, and so it's up to us to be vigilant in our quest to snuff out cigarettes. Maybe it's purposeful and maybe it's just life. Maybe it's just life; yeah, that's it.

How about the Twins, eh?

This is Monday on Friday entry #1.

DaDa mixed with Dandy.

Giants may win it all, Dodgers are still in Los Angeles.

Looking away to the light, the front of the back of a new life.

Day 3 of the blog (but this was written on Day 1). I would like this blog to somehow transcend both space and time, and hope to do that within a week. I'm not sure just how to blog, other than put it in the air and see what it does.

Barring that, I suppose I'll be here for some time, working at keeping this one going strong. Shamaste.

Twins, back in the day.

Thinking about baseball and unable to know why. But, such is life.

Happy to report that this post was created about 24 hours before it was posted, a joy of modern mechanics. I would very much like to keep this blog up and running for a full 14 years. I tried to express that yesterday (or, well, today) but was not able to. Perhaps I can cite, now, Stefan Zweig as an influence; Wes Anderson is certainly an influence on my life – his films, I should say, are an influence on my life. I've seen the new W.A. fillm now about 2.5 times and really found it nice to take in. Maybe I will say – see – it again.

Anyway, time is of the essence. Cheerio.

Angels are playing an evening match, I am at a Horse shop.

I was trying to figure out the right way to kick off this blog, but was all nervous energy and thumbs. I'm going to just post the rough contents of this first post, and let that be known as my foray into resuming keeping a personal blog. Sempre.

A blog. Many years in the making, but finally here. Hoping to blog for some time and then give up that ghost. I was pursuing poetry as a career for a time, but that has gone for now. I think of it as a good run, but in the end it was not for me. So for now, a blog. All projects going now will keep up, for the sake of keeping up. All is well more or less. ¶ Lately I'm thinking about the rule of 10,000 hours. I like it, and hope to somehow play it up with my own doings for these 14 years I'd like to blog away.

This is a blag. Or,

A blog. For now, just some set

Of words put to light.

OK – so, part of keeping a blog is keeping it going. I have stalled out perhaps a dozen personal blogs up until now, but as I'm 32 years old and officially 32-years old in May this year, I think it's about time I grew up and kept track of my blogs.

Always into self-deprecatoin (as it's a form of self-flagelation), I thought I should start a blog, in part because I'm a starving poet type right now and really could use some money. And, in the mind of a starving poet type, starting a blog leads to money.

But, this aggression standing isn't