Why is it that people keep tossing the word “community” around when they don’t even allow themselves the joy of participating? Community implies so many things that are really as unnecessary as they are necessary. We all want to be heard, every human. But why do we only want to be heard by people who come from the same place? I want to listen to visual/spatial people as much as I want to listen to people who manipulate words and sounds. I want to listen to chefs. I want to listen to people who communicate by using their bodies. I want to watch someone smith a sword and talk to them about it. I want to listen to the guys and gals pouring concrete into forms that turn into buildings. I want to listen to people who work with animals. I want to listen to surgeons. I want to listen to engineers. I want to listen to deep space. I want to listen to hearts opening.
Tell me. Show me. Help me grow. Help me see. Help me hear.
I never say no when someone asks me to do a reading. Sometimes I wonder why I never say no but then at the reading I feel that energy transference and the electricity and feel the room shifting under my voice and feel the light change and sense the thing coming out of me that connects and touches and shares and I remember why I always say yes.
This coming week I have readings three nights in a row. I am excited. I cannot wait to listen.
Help me grow.
A daydream about the space and the light and the windows and the books and the way you tilt your head and the way the sun catches on your skin and the way you say to me, “We should leave our scent there, for everyone, so they can know,” and the light changes and the clothes fall and the room sweats with us and the sun sets with us and not one person knocks on the door and we hear the room breathe with us and we feel the floor move with us and then you bite my face and call me by my name and then you get dressed and leave and I still feel you on my tongue and on my fingers and in my eyes.
I want to grab you by the shoulders and kiss you in the middle of your forehead and tell you, with all the love in my heart, “It’s not the world, it’s you.”
I was nervous for that interview to go live at The Atlas Review. I was nervous because I opened myself up and spoke from my chest and not my throat and not my gut. All heart. I was and am and forever will be thankful for Natalie Eilbert and Dolan Morgan. They are true believers. They are kindhearted and loving. I felt safe and I was able to speak from my chest about things and not worry. I was worried about the way I might end up being perceived after the interview but then I remembered that I spoke from my chest and knew inside of my chest that there is no other way for me, none of the other ways work.
I tried not to get too Inside Baseball about my process, or lack thereof. Natalie asked such wonderful questions that gave me the room to open myself however I was most comfortable. I feel good about it.
It’ll be available for download in yr friendly neighborhood app store: 24 poems, audio of me reading each one, with art by Cat Glennon—developed by VERBALVISUAL. (just in time for national poetry month)
To celebrate I’m hosting a release party at Mellow Pages Library in Bushwick—with readers Maud Deitch, Lauren Wilkinson, Sean H. Doyle, and Max Steele!
56 Bogart Street, 1S—730pm—BE THERE
This is going to be more fun than anyone can handle. Which means COME TO THIS, YOU WILL SMILE A LOT.
Decided to finally take the advice of a singer I worked with a long time ago who said “You may as well just get a drum machine and a 4-track and just do your own thing, you’re not cut out to be in a band with anyone.”
I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed making it.
Trailer for Pity the Animal, my new chapbook now available for pre-order from Future Tense Books. Pity the Animal explores the concept of human submission and commodification by way of window displays, wild animals, performance art, and sugar daddy dating websites. How much can a body endure? Almost everything.
I’m not one who likes to be sickly, or even pretends to give a fuck about anything when sickly. I was sick all the time as a child, and I hated it—detested being doted on—and wanted to be left alone as much as possible.
Right now it’s just a dull ache in the head/throat and a small fever. Nothing more than discomfort and throb. A long hot shower helped a lot earlier. But now I am up on the Twitter, looking at things.
This is not going to be nice, y’all.
The fuck is up with people lately? Here we go again with all the tweets from all the people telling all the other people how to live and how to think and who to love and who to hate. This record is boring as fuck and skipping. This record has screeching sounds in between the grooves. This record has the needle all hot and red-lined. Who the hell does everyone think they are? You got a few thousand followers? On a social media website? That makes y’all experts on human beings and their behavior? C’mon. Really? Anyone can get a few thousand followers just like anyone can get a book published. Anyone can do anything, and when people say that shit isn’t true, well, I stop listening to those people because those people are mopes.
If you have a few thousand followers and none of them notice you only have four jokes or only preach about the same three or five different things? Well. The fuck you think that says about those people? The fuck you think that says about you?
The problem with an accelerated culture is that nothing occurs in a way that pleases anyone. Nobody educates themselves fast enough, so those people get called out. Nobody apologizes fast enough, so those people get called out. Nobody knows how to talk to people, so when they do make an attempt to talk to people, they get attacked and called out.
Accelerated culture is a great way to grandstand, though. Mmm-hmm. Damn sure is.
Take off your fucking masks and just look at all the glorious world passing you by.
Or don’t. I ain’t trying to tell you what you should do.
Today would be my father’s 67th birthday. I always use the same picture when I post about him, because I love the picture and I remember feeling loved when the picture was taken. We are in the desert. We are free. We are men with the same DNA. We are both alive.
Today is something.
Today also marks seven years since I had my last drink. Seven. Two thousand, five hundred and fifty-five consecutive days, with nary a sip. Seven years without getting high. Seven years without waking up wondering why/how I didn’t die during the night. Seven years of really doing the best that I can at all times to deal with and handle my own shit. Seven years. I can say with all honesty that seven years is my longest stretch of being clean-headed. First drink as a wee lad. So many drinks in between. So many pills. So many powders. So many ingested substances. Seven fucking years, though. Seven. Goddamn.
Kind of hilarious that a kid born from a father born in a barn in Ireland has St Paddy’s Day as his clean/sober birthday.
Today is something.
I still do dumb and terrible things and terribly dumb things. I am not a saint. I am not someone to look up to. I am not someone you really want around your cousin. I am not someone you really want to do business with. I am not someone you should entrust with anything more than passing fancy or curiosity.
I like to think that I am, but I am still learning. Always learning, really. Never trust anyone who tells you they are clean-blooded but still lives on the sneak tip. Secrets. Lies. Half-truths. I am my father. As much as I fought and fought and fought it, I am him. He is me.
Today is something.
Earlier this week a book with my name on the cover and spine was announced. When announced, I was showered with love from everywhere and it felt[and still feels] amazing. I feel lucky to be alive and lucky to be able to do something I have always wanted to do and proud to be thought worthy enough for someone to stand beside me and say “this here motherfucker wrote a book and we loved it and here it is.” The way people have sent love to me is incredible and I have been walking on cotton candy ever since. I sit here at this desk while working on things and sometimes have to stop and grab hold of myself because I start to float out of the chair. I sit here at this desk while working on things and sometimes I have to just close my eyes real tight-like and thank the universe.