Memorandum

The real world is no place for a writer to thrive.

this is not a suicide note, by the way.

Seven and One

I haven’t read nearly enough books.

Since the summer I’ve amassed this whole pile of “shit i should have read by now” but all I’ve managed to scrape off the top so far are Brave New World, 1984, and A Clockwork Orange, and I finished each of those by the end of september. I’m right now trying to read Cat’s Cradle by Vonnegut, but it’s been relegated to that humbled position of “bathroom reading” that must be making Kurt spin in his grave.

Freeway Cars and Trucks

It would figure that the first thing i post in 2009 isn’t even written by me.

But it is an article written about a Tom Waits album.

As you read, ask yourself: does this remind you of someone you know?

i would say names were changed to protect the innocent,

but you and i both know theres no such thing.

Hm.

It recently occurred to me that almost everyone i know under the age of 34 has a Facebook account. This didn’t strike me as that outrageous, but what did was that I recently started receiving friend requests from relatives who are in their 40’s and 50’s. It felt like having a party in your basement back in high school, and one of your uncles showed up and tried hanging out with you and your friends. The party that had been my life on the web had been crashed, or so it felt. What rose up in me was this feeling of nationalistic pride for the in-society that we, the internet generation, seemed to have developed, and a desire to keep it “pure,” in a sense.

I’m almost positive this is how racism started.

Inspiration.

A while ago, I wrote this.

Just today, somebody amazing wrote this.

I really have nothing to say, other than I’m glad I could help someone create something.

Safe Place, Relocated.

My strategy for this blog has always been to avoid having one. The three people who read it semi-regularly have long-since figured out that I tend to write a poem, ride that creative burst for another couple of days, then get drunk and sort of wander off for a month or so.

Which isn’t to say I haven’t been busy.

Resolution

Do more push-ups.
Wake up earlier.
Listen to more jazz.
Drink less.
Either believe in God or don’t; pick a damn side.
Read more books.
Write more consistently.
Easy on the self-loathing.
Seriously: drink less.
Start acting again.
Apologize before it’s too late for once.
Never miss an opportunity like that again.
Let her know.

Happy new year.

There’s 100.

I remember laughing. I remember piles of leaves and jumping into them, then being afraid of what might be inside them. I remember snow pants. I remember my father’s band coming over and rehearsing all night. I remember when you used to be cool. I remember eating pasta with butter. I remember Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, VR Troopers, Big Bad Beetleborgs, Biker Mice from Mars, and Street Sharks. I remember Elton John in concert. I remember kissing her in the hallway just before SAT prep class. I remember when she told me she cheated on me. I remember walks in the park. I remember Dancin’ in September. I remember not being able to grow facial hair. I remember singing in the rain. I remember being Sky Masterson. I remember when Melissa Etheridge had hair. I remember when Jesus Jones was going to be the future of rock n’ roll. I remember the way you’ve treated other guys you’ve been with. I remember the other 11 kids in my 8th grade class. I remember when we made up the Holocaust. I remember meeting Rachel and it being the best day of my life (pitched by Rachel). I remember wanting to be Short Round. I remember thinking Barney had jumped the shark when they introduced Baby Bop. I remember TGIF. I remember My Pet Monster. I remember nothing. I remember meeting her on Myspace. I remember dumping her and all her baggage. I remember crying. I remember smashed cars and the smell of escaping oil. I remember forgetting. I remember falling off the swing and getting the wind knocked out of me. I remember thinking college would be hard. I Remember Larry. I remember how you’d smile and tell me not to worry about it. I remember worrying. I remember being afraid of the dark. I remember Are You Afraid of the Dark? I remember the man in the box; won’t you come and save him? I remember that summer; at home I had become the invisible boy. I remember hating the way Chap Stick tastes. I remember being 7 and crying when the Muppets split up in The Muppets Take Manhattan. I remember feeling important when you fell asleep as you cuddled up with me. I remember watching You’ve Got Mail and being pleasantly surprised. I remember the surprise party on my 13th birthday. I remember jumping through the window. I remember the day the window closed. I remember listening to Tool’s Lateralus and being too overwhelmed to move. I remember getting chills from Jeff Buckley’s voice. I remember New York City at Christmas time. I remember always enjoying Christmas. I remember wondering why they called it “Xmas.” I remember “discovering” myself. I remember not crying at the funeral. I remember singing her to sleep over the phone. I remember when my brother had short hair. I remember thinking. I remember that I had homework to do. I remember Piaget. I remember playing Ben Folds Five on the piano. I remember thinking this has got to be a dream; wake up. I remember sleeping through my 9:25. I remember never making a decent snow angel. I remember the word “tubular.” I remember watching The Simpsons with my dad. I remember playing MYST all day long. I remember losing my debit card. I remember taking her on a picnic on our last date before I left for college. I remember getting text messages that read “u just paid 4 this.” I remember at one time or another liking Hanson, Creed, Kid Rock, and Limp Bizkit. I remember Summer House in Long Lake. I remember my first opening night; I didn’t get nervous until the show was over. I remember one of my first CDs being Queen’s News of the World. I remember the first time I had pumpkin pie. I remember slamming her head into the wall. I remember Pogs. I remember when I used to be a man. I remember my brother getting hit in the face with a baseball while playing catch with Dad. I remember the Red Scare of ’57. I remember hearing Stairway to Heaven for the first time and feeling intimidated. I remember going to a show at The Chance with my first girlfriend and hating how much fun she was having. I remember getting in trouble in 1st grade. I remember how getting hit in the ear with a snowball put the kibosh on the whole afternoon. I remember how she never smiled. I remember when you’re dog died. I remember drinking a bottle of whiskey that I found on the ground. I remember “Freak dat bitch out, Tone!” I remember the parties in Casey 2. I remember when JohnMike knocked a guy out on the street. I remember reading you “Goodnight, Moon” as Christopher Walken. I remember calling ITS as Christopher Walken. I remember regretting sleeping in. I remember when Family Guy came back. I remember Incubus in concert. I remember my first night out drinking on my 19th birthday. I remember when she threw up all over our floor… bitch. I remember reading Tom Waits as Tom Waits. I remember buying my first pack of condoms. I remember how it was always dark the morning of the first day of school. I remember

Memorandum

I wish I was able to say that I’ve been working on other projects, like the screenplay I said I’d write in April, or the follow-up to my Myst story. It’s been my firm belief that a poet’s worst enemy is happiness. Or at the very least, a lack of misery. and in this case, it’s completely true. Without a source to draw from, an object of unrequited desire or romantic bitterness, my poetic effectiveness loses potency; indeed, it becomes impotent.

Fortunately, something new has been uncovered to fill the void and become a focal point for scrutiny: The world as we know it.

Gentle readers, I want you all to watch this movie. I can’t say you’ll agree with its claims and themes; I’m not sure I even do. That is why I want to spread the word about this movie: So I can talk about it, see it from your point of view, and draw a better-rounded conclusion about what it claims.

The film itself is called Zeitgeist, and it is a documentary (in the sense that Loose Change was a documentary, anyway) that has something to say about Christianity, the 9/11 attack, and the Federal Reserve & international banks, respectively. The films claims seem rational enough, but I a withholding judgment barring further communal discussion.

Admittedly, the film is two hours long, and slow getting started for the first few minutes. But I urge you to watch at least the first half-hour. I promise you will be enticed to watch the rest.

Seven Caged Tigers

I’m not sure what happiness is,
but certainly, going back to grab
your cellular phone because you think
“someone might call” before realizing
that it actually hasn’t rung in weeks
Surely is not it.