Jump the shark

American Horror Story jumped the shark.
Poor Addy was hit by a car, and was even
locked in a closet of mirrors. I have to say,
I did find that scene hilarious.

The pilot was pretty creepy, but in the midst
of creepiness, the red headed twins deliver the
killer line: "We've got bats."

Everyone dies, and Tate cries way too much
for a serial killer. Burn Face wants to be an
actor and young Spock's partner is so unfaithful.

Constance is raising a little Dexter, how original, but
can I see more of sexy nurse, before she loses her eye?
And did you know that Fonzie actually jumped a shark?

Likes/ Dislikes of December

Likes: Sour Patch Candy Canes, the Karen O/ Trent Rez cover of "Immigrant Song" new singles by Shearwater and the Bowerbirds, The Tree of Life, the soundtrack to Tree of Life, ice skating at Millenium Park with JLP, Barry Hannah, Jim Goar's The Louisiana Purchase, my review of the LP, Danny's Reading Series, Adam Fell, Four Roses Whiskey, pool, John Danks' extension, D. Rose's extension, D. Rose's floater to beat the Lakers on Christmas Eve, Pujols and Wilson going to the Angels instead of the Yankees, the Marlins actually spending money, Revolution Brewery, nice weather for Christmas, the Dark Knight Rises trailer, The Hobbit trailer, getting cash as gifts for Christmas, white cheddar cheese, white cheddar mac and cheese, broccoli/cheddar soup, crown roast pork, pajama pants, Merrell shoes, Portlandia, Terriers on Netflix instants, watching the Constant and Greatest Hits on the Kindle Fire I got for my mom; remembering how great Lost was, how Desmond and Penny probably were the greatest couple in the history of television and Charlie was pretty awesome too, Justified's third season premiering in January and Archer's as well, Hell on Wheels, American Horror Story jumping the shark, neighbors

Dislikes: too fresh Sour patch candy canes, listening to the Karen O/Trent Rez cover too much, Tree of Life confusing me, Mark Buehrle going to the Marlins, Pujols and Wilson going to the Angels, no snow on Christmas,   watching the Dark Knight Trailer way too much (at least 50x), getting cash as gifts for Christmas. re-watching Terriers on Netflix and still not being able to comprehend how it was canceled, American Horror Story jumping the shark, my mom not liking the Kindle Fire, neighbors

Shot/shitgun

There is a shotgun on the wall (double barreled) 

and when it goes off, two flags will fall out

and they will read: Peyton Manning and audible

There is a shotgun on the wall

that is plastered to the wall and has a button

that when pressed, plays Take Me Home, Country Roads.

There is a shotgun on the wall

that you take down and set on your lap

and hide marbles and jawbreakers in, while listening to John Denver.   

There is a shotgun on the wall

no, above the door, and it's so long

that you have to use your toe to pull the trigger. 

Karen and Trent

Remember the first time you heard Immigrant Song (my first listening was while watching School of Rock) and were like, damn that's an awesome song? Well listening to the Karen O, Trent Reznor cover for Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is that moment but 10x better.

Bury you burdens....

There is a beautiful juxtaposition realized from listening to William Elliot Whitmore's Field Songs on the CTA. Whitemore's smoky voice trembles over a banjo and six string, and tells of stories of sorrow and regret, and the scenes outside of CTA windows tell the same. The recordings of sparrows in the background that bookend all the songs on the album oddly sync with the whisks of passing cars on the Dan Ryan. Maybe it is because I know where to look for the the desperate, homeless, in this White city, but the characters Whitemore presents in his songs are as big shouldered as our own.

Thoughts... from Lost Panoramas

Lost Panoramas is a book that explores the reversing of the Chicago River. Around that time, there was huge amounts of flooding downstate, wiping out entire towns and farms. Insurance men sent out engineers to take pictures, to access the damage (and those pictures make up some of the book). I want to write a fictional short story about this. A story about a farmer who has lost everything and is not to happy to see an engineer working for a insurance company. Not happy at all. Feeling scorned. Feeling like taking pictures of his own. I need to get my hands on Lost Panoramas and really do some research.

They made a fake Paris

with all the lights and blackened out windows,

and I need to find out what Potemkin means.

What happens to all our fake selves?

The tour guide, the thief, the pinball packager,

could all be waiting at the Gare du Nord.

Bullet ridden tickets in their hands

waiting in the combustion and tea light

where they’re off to, real or not, on the tips of their tongues.

hello tumblr

So I created this:

http://www.tumblr.com/dashboard

More quotes, links, etc. Hopefully

Lilies of the Valley

Breaking Bad's season finale ended with the camera focusing on the the pot of Lilies of the Valley in Walt's backyard, the same plant/berries Walt used to poison Brock and set off the chain events that led to Gus Fringe looking like Two Face (and adjusting his tie ) before dying. Vince Gilligan is brilliant. So is the cast. Breakin Bad is the best drama on television, bar none.

On the radio...

http://www.filedropper.com/srprogram20111007095516

Hopefully this file is accessible. It is the recording of the three pieces I got to read, along with three other DePaul undergrads: Alex, Nick and Rachel. I three pieces I read were Bookmarks, (which is in the forthcoming issue of MAKE), Missed Belt Loops and The Burning of the Bat.

Bookmarks will be featured in this snazzy magazine with its uber-awesome cover:

Listen. Enjoy. Buy the issue. Come to the release party (details t.b.a).

Waiting for Kirsten

Jens is coming

Monday, Lincoln Hall

a poem inspired by Waiting for Kirsten

I wish I could draw

a swastika in a cappuccino

or a man made of leaves or

a boy carried away by cheerleaders

 

But when I draw, my suns look like wax letter seals

and my freckles look like shadows of birds

passing by

and my eyebrows look like comets

and my comets look like eyebrows

and I borrowed that image from Jens, but

he borrowed from Berman, so it's okay

There's only now, there isn't then, so just breathe it in.

Okkervil River played at the Vic last night and tore the house down. It was my first time at the Vic (and seeing OR) and I arrived when the doors opened. I sat around for an hour, and then watched the Felice Brothers try their best as an opening act. Then came Will Sheff and the band. They started, fittingly with Wake and Be Fine, with a screen of the larger than life praying dogs, that are on the cover of I am Very Far, hanging behind them. The set list was as follows: (verified by eyegunk.wordpress)

 
1. Wake and Be Fine
2. For Real
3. Rider
4. Black*
5. Piratess
6. Song Of Our So-Called Friend
7. John Allyn Smith Sails*
8. We Need a Myth
9. The Valley
10. No Key, No Plan (acoustic duo with Patrick Pestorius)
11. So Come Back, I Am Waiting
12. Westfall*
13. Your Past Life as a Blast
14. Our Life Is Not A Movie Or Maybe
15. Lost Coastlines*
16. Unless It’s Kicks (no encore, but they played through)

The great thing about the show was the mixing of new songs with old ones, and they played all my favorites(*)[Except Bruce Wayne Campbell Interviewed on the Roof of the Chelsea Hotel 1979, which is a difficult title to shout out if requesting]. Out of the four, Westfall is probably my favorite OR song, and it was so reassuring to hear everyone in the crowd not only sing along to "Evil don't look like everything" but all the other lyrics as well. Westfall is my favorite song, but with its subject matter, I have always felt strange knowing its my favorite. I've really grown to enjoy songs, or stories, or television shows that make me shiver ("And when I killed her, it was so easy that I wanted to do it again.") and Westfall is a perfect song example of that. Everyone also sang along to John Allyn Smith Sails, which is another a great sing-along to song, and in my opinion better than The Hold Steady's Stuck Between Stations. The things I love about John Allyn Smith Sails are that it is an accurate and chilling glimpse of John Berryman's life, the structure of the song harkens back to the Beach Boys' Sloop John B., and how that can be traced back to a Carl Sandburg collection of folk songs.

OR took a break about mid way, and only Will and Patrick were left on the stage. They played an acoustic version of No Key, No Plan and Patrick did his best to replace the lyrics Jonathan Meiburg sang so beautifully for the album (and then again for Lost Coastlines), but it was when Will sang the lyrics "I'm doing what I really love and getting paid for it" that I could not help but feel thankful for it being true, and wanting that in my future as well. Then, he sang the final lyrics, "There's only now, there isn't then, so breathe it in" and I felt more connected to a singer-song writer than ever before.

The penultimate song was Lost Coastlines, and I've never had so much fun singing la la la la.... For the final two songs, Will had the everyone in the crowd clapping and singing, and when he wasn't leading us on, he was jamming on his guitar like rock and roll stars should (the tech/roadie guy repeatedly had to come out and plug in Will's guitar). Also, twice, Will knocked down his microphone and both times the pianist caught in the coolest of fashion). Will jumped and jammed and got on the floor like how I imagine I would if I were in his shoes (I actually remember performing a dance skit with my Cub Scout group for a ceremony and we had an air guitar solo and during warm-ups I was told by Den mother not to hop around on one foot, and spin in circles, while playing air guitar, and instead just stand there pretending to shred like Slash or Hendrix, which her son was doing. Hopping around on one leg, and spinning in circle, was natural to me, and I feel that Will probably did that when he was 10. My former best friend also has video proof of this.) Anyway, Will performed like it was his last songs he'd ever sing, and the results were better than great. He started the show by apologizing for not being in Chicago for so long, and after the show he twittered that last night was the best show of tour and he'd be back soon. I'm so happy I went and I can't wait to see them again.

la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la.......

Boner Poem

Boner poem

Our relationship was becoming a garden.
By the end of summer everything was wilting
and I wanted to set it ablaze. She kept on telling
me about the pleasure she would get from squinting
at the sun and how it would become a sparkler
and I just wanted her to shut up.

I told her about this sad Stuart Dybek story, about this
character who lost his left arm, and he wondered if he were to have
a heart attack if he would be forewarned. I thought she would
agree, but then she asked "Who is Stuart Dybek"? Then I thought
about if I were to become a eunuch would I still have that feeling
of morning wood?

Likes/ Dislikes of August

Likes: Oberon, chicken nuggets, the new album by Beirut (The Rip Tide), listening to Mr. November by The National, the lyrics from that song: I'm the new blue blood, I'm the great white hope & I used to be carried in the arms of cheerleaders, Breaking Bad, Moose Drool, Stella Artois, swimming in Lake Michigan, riding my bike along LSD, EVERYTHING RAVAGED, EVERYTHING BURNED BY WELLS TOWER, especially the stories The Brown Coast and Executors of Important Energies and I haven't even got to reread On the Show yet, the Sox hanging in there, Buerhrle's defense (clockwork), Konkero hitting as usual on (one!) leg, Razzles (first candy, then gum!), Winesburg, Ohio, that path along the river where I took a picture of (what I think are) a falcon and a heron, seeing deer standing feet away while riding home from the store, home-made chex mix, the little I've read from Underworld, those Levi's commercials that have okay music, but make me feel hopeful for my generation and rebellious at the same time, Wilfred (that episode with the mom from Malcolm in the Middle), 30 Rock going to be 'GN in September

Dislikes: not cooked all the way chicken nuggets that bled fat and look they're dripping pimple puss, the lyrics:
I'm the great white hope (I feel a tinge of awkwardness when I sing it in my mock Matt Beringer voice in my head), only one more season of Breaking Bad, the Sox teasing me, Adam Dunn, those Levi's commercials that make me feel hopeful, and rebellious at the same time, but show few jeans in the actual commercial, getting a flat while riding down to the Lake, only swimming in the Lake once, too much rain, internet being out for a few days, not being able to use my labtop, the summer winding down, Starling Castro not paying attention during games, the Bears' O-line, Razzles (not really candy, and not good chewing gum)

Call of the Night

Call of the Night

I heard a flock of geese, too late into the night, while I was in a bed of too many sheets. Then, there was sound of traffic in the distance, only heard when the city lets its trains rest. The cats weren’t fucking. That was a relief. It’s a howling of the wind kind of sound, the traffic sound. It’s the same sound as when you ride those spinning tea cups at a carnival and the sounds of the murmuring crowd, the methodical cranking of the Ferris wheel, a banjo somewhere, and that laugh that makes you shiver, all seem to fade in and out when you twist and spin. Or it sounds like when you’re riding your bike and you get caught behind a street cleaner. Or when you ride in the woods and you hear a plane overheard and you’re reminded that you’re never far from a city. Then you pass a woman, sitting on a stump, crying into her cordless and you wonder if on the other end of the line it’s just the sound of traffic hung in the night.  

Captain, Captain, Oh my Captain

I saw this blurb in the Red Eye today, about how Paul Konerko is a better hitter on one knee than most players on two (Adam Dunn, cough cough). Since being hit directly in the knee cap about a week and a half ago, Konerko has been limited to DHing, which mean Dunn and Lillibridge (gulp) have had to play first, and in no way are they as near as good of firstbasemen as Paulie. Still, with one bad knee, Konerko will lead this team, as he always has. Konerko, the captain who doesn't wear the "C" on his jersey, leads the Sox who are only 4 games out with enough games against the Indians and Tiger (and them playing themselves currently) and give us hope for games in October. All of this has reminded me of Joesph's Drogos' 'So a Wounded Deer Leaps the Highest' blog post for MAKE. In the post Drogos writes about Ron Kittle, former Sox catcher, who during his career struggled with back problems (part of which led him to retire early). So, every at-bat, he would swing for the fences, and he sure could hit it far (onto the roof of Old Comiskey). Also, in the article, Drogos posts Tony Fitzpatrick's collage for the '05 Series Champs (which hangs in my room). In it Joe Crede is rounding third, and next to his right hand, Fitzpatrick writes: line drives find him like autumn bullets, bad back be damned… Joe is this city rounding third, going home.

I think there is a tradition of toughness that has defined Sox players from Kittle to Crede to Konerko. The Sox marketing guys hit it on a commercial (which is good, but their ones with A.J. are the best) that shows a tired runner in a desert. He is about to crawl when he sees Konerko, who is holding a portable DVD player. He presses play, and the video of Konerko getting hit in the jaw and then getting up and going to first, is seen (Konerko then homered in his next at-bat). The tired runner is inspired, and starts running again. Konerko  watches him run off, and turns around to see another tired runner. Konerko begins to repeat what he did and the screen cuts to the Sox slogan: All in. Konerko has always been like this, all in, even when injured. Hell, he played almost entire seasons with only one good thumb. He rarely misses games though. One of my earliest blog posts (which I wrote and days later the Times had a similar article) was about how Konerko may be the great offensive Sox player of all time, maybe the best. He could pass Frank Thomas in a number of offensive categories. With that, I argue that Konerko is a potential Hall of Famer. Thomas definitely is. Konerko won't have as many home runs as Thomas (he will be near a little over 500 most likely by the time he retires) but Konerko is a better fielder than Thomas ever was. And I think the way voters of Hall of Fame cast their ballots will change because of steroids, and many players will be left out, and Konerko is most likely squeaky clean as can be. I think Chicagoans my age are forced to believe the city is a Bears town and always will be. I disagree. I have no loyalty to the '85 Bears. Yes, they did what they did, but the Bears have sucked since. My fondest baseball memory is Paulie hitting his grandslam off Lidge in the Series, and I think it is the most iconic (even moreso than MJ hitting his game winning three, because they had titles already and it wasn't a century in the making). Hopefully Konerko will keep on hitting and Quentin and Ramirez will step up as well- the pitching has been fine. I want to see Konerko in October again, because even if he is injured, he will be all in, looking for the curveball. 

AT THE SAME MOMENT

This photo inspired this:

At the same moment...

Cheryl is sprinkling  Cherrios into her toilet for Bobby,

Ms. Carlson is trimming the edges of her lawn with a steak knife.

Karen is letting wax engulf a wine bottle, by candlelight in her grandma's bathroom,

Steve is cracking a egg into turned-over soil in his backyard.

Jean is telling the cook to start two orders before the truckers sit in their booth,

Raymond writes a science fiction comic about a haunted shoe box. 

Carved your name across three counties, ground it in with bloody hides, their broken necks will line the ditch, till you stop it...stop this madness

I've had Neko Case's 'This Tornado Loves You' stuck in my head for the past week or so. I always thought the lyrics were called your name across three counties, not carved. I think it works either way, but lately the lyrics have reminded me of this photograph my friend's father took:

The photo and song inspired the beginnings of a poem:

Let's be God or a V of geese, and look down
at the wake of a tornado and see if anything
was written in the path of its destruction.

I'm one of those music listeners who constantly listens to the same set of songs for weeks, and sometimes I think I see connections between songs and images, and sometimes songs and stories. I think I want write about those connections, but I fear they only make sense in my head.

Last Wednesday I rode down with a friend to the lake to watch the fireworks and we stopped and took this shot:

There were no Frankenstein cars across the street (A man in one of my workshops wrote a story about this exact factory/shop and how in the parking lot across the street there were half Buicks, Half Cadillacs and other creations, molded and welded together.

It was such a cool night, and it is nice to stand in this doorway and feel your face become flushed and your arm hairs tinge.

I just listened to the new Beirut album, Rip Tide. It felt vintage Beirut, but over so quickly. I wanted more. I always struggled to evaluate an album until I've listened to it both through headphones and speakers.

I've been burning through Mad Men lately; I'm almost a third of the way into the third season. I has gotten each season. Still, after watching the last 2 episodes of Breaking Bad, shit is going to hit the fan and in a fashion that I believe will always trump Mad Men.

Don Draper: Pros and Cons

Pros:                                               Cons:

Drinks while working                       Cheats on his wife while at "work"
Reads Frank O'Hara                       Abandoned his family (brother)
Watches foreign films                       Took identity of fellow dead soldier
Knows how to wear a suit                Hides his poor upbringing
Doesn't hit his children                      Is an almost absentee father
Knows how to hold a cigarette         Smokes about two packs per day

I don't often

I don't go out to eat often,
because I always end up
leaving my paycheck and
social security number for
pretty waitresses.

I don't ride my bicycle
often, because when I do
my mouth is always open
and fills up with fireflies.

I don't take baths often,
but when I do, I listen to
Chopin, underwater. And
after, I go out and people
try to chit chat with me, but
I respond, "I have water in my
ears" but it is really just Chopin.

Pilots

About a week or so ago, I read this article on Grantland: http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/6763000/bad-decisions about how, in the author's opinion, Breaking Bad is a better show than Mad Men and is better than the Wire and Sopranos were. I've only seen the first episode of the Wire and no episodes of The Sopranos. I also just watched the pilot of Mad Men this past Sunday, and have been thinking about what I consider the best drama, currently and ever. After watching the pilot of Mad Men, I felt neutral. I've since watched about 4 more episodes, but after watching the first episode, and the slight reveal about Don Draper in the final scenes, I felt a little disappointed. I felt I was watching a 1960s version of The Great Gatsby. I've always wanted to watch the show, but waited (since I don't have cable) and now since it is on Netflix Instants I thought I'd tackle it. Over the past 4 years or so, I had heard rumblings about the journey to discover who Don Draper is, among other things. But, the pilot, in comparison to the pilots to the other dramas I watch(ed) and love(d), does not compare. I can think of three pilots it does not compare to: Friday Night Lights, Lost and Deadwood. I can't include the Wire in my argument as I haven't seen any other episodes, and Breaking Bad, while ongoing like Mad Men, I feel is exempt from the argument- more on that later.

I will start off with Lost. Be warned, there will be some spoilers. First, at the time of its airing, Lost's pilot was the most expensive in the history of television. Now you may want to throw out that fact, but those expenses were for some of the memorable scenes of any pilot: the carnage after the plane crash, Jack saving Claire and Hurley from a falling wing and an unlucky soul who gets sucked into a spinning turbine. After the chaos, Jack finds shelter in the forest to (or attempt to) sew up his minor wounds. He can't and has to have Kate assist him, and talk her through it, as she is nervous (giving her advice: let the fear in for 5 seconds, just 5 seconds and then do what you have to do- advice I hope will work when I read my piece). The episode ends with our   first glimpse at the black smoke monster. In the pilot, we get what we got throughout 6 six seasons: Jack and Kate heavily flirting, weird shit happening on the island, Sawyer giving people nicknames and Locke being weird. Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, prior to the last season talked about how they wanted the show to go full circle (literally- the opening scene is the final scene.) But the themes that appear in the first episode- the strange things on the island and the human connections- are what carry the show.

The same can be said for Friday Night Lights.In the first episode, star QB Jason street is paralyzed from the waste down. After the game is over, and Street's team has miraculously won, both teams huddle in the middle of the field and Coach Taylor gives his "We all fall down" speech (which reminds me of advice given to a young Bruce Wayne: Why do we fall down? So we can learn to pick ourselves up). Throughout the seasons, every characters falls. But early in the episode, we see the true heart and soul of the show in one scene: Caoch Taylor's wife, Tammi, nags him about moving into a bigger house, and he tells her to drop it. We know this is an argument/conversation they've had before; Tammi hangs the picture of the house on their fridge and goes to bed; later in the episode Coach Taylor is seen, alone, looking at the house, but because of Street's accident, the issue of house is almost forgotten in future episodes. The show is about the sacrifices Tammi makes for her husband's coaching career, until the final episode where coach makes a (big) sacrifice, and throughout the series, how the couple keeps their marriage afloat.

On a smaller scale, the same can be said about Deadwood. It is hard to say the themes of Deadwood carried out throughout the short lived 3 seasons, because it was canceled (thanks a lot True Blood and HBO- worst move ever). Since Deadwood is the least fresh in memory, the main themes I remember in the pilot were the use of the words fuck and cunt, violence, alliances and plotting. They all were heavily used in all the episodes.
But, I think my point is clear. The themes of the pilots will determine the quality of the show. I think a show about a mysterious island and human connections and a show about marriage in a football crazed city will trump a show that mimics F. Scott's Fitzgerald's classic, and nothing against The Great Gatsby. I can't say where Mad Men will go, but I feel the themes, other than Don Draper's story: the racist/sexism of the time, and the ad agency workings and ideas/slogans (which I didn't think we very creative at all, to be honest) can't compete with Lost's and FNL's themes.

[It is also interesting to examine how the pilots are different than the rest of episodes for Lost and FNL: Lost's pilot was directed (and created by) J.J. Abrahams, his one and only Lost episode, a common misconception  is that he stuck around. For FNL, the pilot is shot day-to-day, leading to Friday night. This rarely, if ever happens again, and as the series progressed, the football became less and less important.]

Breaking Bad, I think could be the exception to what I discovered. I also usually believe that what I've seen last (or read, or listened to, etc.) is the best, and Breaking Bad falls into that category. But, the themes presented in the first episode of Breaking Bad have only somewhat survived. Yes, Walt is still somewhat in the meth production business to support his family. But, his conscious has changed, as well as the mood. Walt has changed. Maybe more so than any other character in the history of television. I don't think there is any violence in the pilot, and if so, nothing compared to the violence in final episodes of season 3 and the season 4 premiere . The whole first season is sort of depressing, especially the first few episodes about Walt dealing with his cancer. But, I would say around the middle of season one to the middle of season two, a mood was established that is unlike anything else of television. It is a constant feeling of dread, a feeling of watching and all you can think is "oh no,oh no, oh, no" as if the characters are actually your neighbors or coworkers, and the snow ball effect of all Walt's decisions and how they not only have cost people their lives, but more importantly changed Walt as a person. Vince Gilligan has said in interviews that he wanted Walt to change from the protagonist to the antagonist, and I believe he has done so. I also think Breaking Bad is the most literary show of them all, in the way that there is a focus on certain images, especially in the second season and connected they are to plot. Also the character development, and how there is that sort of car crash on the screen/page feeling, always reminds me of stories by Dorothy Allison, Stephanie Vaughn, Donald Barthelme, Stephen Dixon, Wells Tower and Denis Johnson.

Poem/Thoughts

Listen

I think I would like to have been a knight,
but sometimes when I'm at concerts I always
think someone is calling my name from
somewhere in the crowd, and if I were a knight
I could have never enjoyed a concert.

I went to the Printers Ball tonight and sadly missed David Berman's reading. I didn't realize he was reading on the eighth floor and by the time I got up there it was too late. It looked like a good turn out and I picked up to past issues of MAKE and an issue of BOMB and many cool informative bookmarks. I also picked up this niffy button:


It was for the next One Book, One City selection for CPL. Everyone is supposed to guess who that guy is, but I got the inside track. The Adventures of Augie March by Saul Bellow. Hugh Ingrasci let it slip on the last day of class. I guess they didn't tell him about the button/campaign.

I think most people usually have a song stuck in their heads over a day or week, but I usually have several songs stuck in my head at once. Sometimes, they overlap when they're stuck up their, and I feel like there is a DJ in my subconscious, mixing tracks.

Here's the tracks:

Don't Tremble by The Low Anthem
Before the Devil Knows Your Dead by Delta Spirit
Creature Fear by Bon Iver
Vesuvius by Sufjan Stevens
Killed Myself When I Young by A.A. Bondy
Smith and Jones Forever by The Silver Jews
Black River Killer by Blitzen Trapper

I've been on my toes lately. Trade deadline always makes me nervous. I'm scared the Sox will trade away some of my favorite players. And those Phillies, Christ! Thankfully, over the past week I watched the first season of Game of Thrones. I don't recommend if you don't like horses' (and peoples'- which was less disturbing; which is kind of disturbing in itself) heads being chopped off, incest and the words bastard/gimp being used. Otherwise, it was an intense drama, almost like Deadwood (with all the backstabbings and alliances), but with knights. Poor Sean Bean.  

Next: The long journey, after I finish watching Treme, of watching the first 4 seasons of Mad Men, which was just added to Netflix Instants. This will be hard, as I just started the anvil that is Underworld by Don DeLillo. I loved the first 30 pages, but have about 800 to go.

good night/good day

"...his younger brother who was missing that part of the brain that allows you to make out with your pillow."

Take 2

From "Governors of Sominex"

The man used his one phone to call

the governor and tell him, fuck you.

He had just been arrested for breaking

into Ikea’s and rearranging furniture.

In the cell, he argued with the others about

why a sweater should be really called a sweatshirt

and a sweatshirt should really be called a sweater.

One of the men had been arrested for stealing

batting helmets from the local batting cages

and he was picked up in an alley 5 blocks away,

wearing several of them on his head, stacked on top

of each other, chanting, the pigeons, the pigeons.

Another man was picked up for licking maples trees.

So they sat on the benches, daydreaming

about Raquel Welch and rock hammers. 

"I wrote a letter to a wildflower"

In honor of David Berman's upcoming reading at Printers Ball this Friday, I thought I would attempt to write a poem a day based off/jumping off one of his poems or songs.

take 1:

line from the "The Charm of 5:30" and mood from "Spine of the Snowman

and the wind is as warm as air from a tire 

but, Dave, what wind from tires were you letting blow in your face? 

There was this winter where I dug out cars and my thumb

became the size of a gourd and then I threw used tires

into the empty alley, and listened to the ice shatter, because 

I wanted to see snowmen do that drill football players do. 

Jenny tells me using coal is bad for the environment, so she

puts plums in their sockets. In my nightmare, the snowmen 

have the coal back as their eyes and they're glowing grey. 

One swallows me everytime, and I end up in a belly,

and sitting there is Teddy, wearing a rhino's head, and smoking a pipe. 

Pottered and Sawtoothed

I saw Deathly Hollows Part 2 tonight. As my friend Max said, it was like a LOTR film. Non-stop action, some plot holes (no one double checked if Harry was dead, and did he actually die? I never really understood it from the book either.) and a great supporting cast. I think it was the supporting cast (E. Watson and R. Grint and almost every British veteran actor) and the mood, that made the series. Harry always felt like an unlikable hero, mainly because, contrary to what everyone in series thinks, he is a very average wizard. No, he is more like the Forrest Gump of the wizard community. His friends, professors, and even dead parents are always saving him, in the books, as well as the films. The cast saves Daniel Radcliffe's shortcomings as an actor. At times though, I wonder if he is just playing Harry as the way I see Harry as a character, but there were too many times were Radcliffe looked like he belonged on a soap opera when the scene called for more.

Secondly, I will miss the mood, the setting, of the wizard world. If you haven't dreamed about attending Hogwarts, I don't think you have a good imagination. Countless boys and girls will always be dreaming about finding Platform 9 3/4's, as the numerous directors, in my opinion, brought the books onto the big screen as good as anyone could.

After watching the film, I came home, and had myself a steak and a Left Hand Sawtooth Ale. It was a meal, and drink, fit for a great end to a series.

Dog Heaven

I found my notes for Stephanie Vaughn's "Dog Heaven" and reread the story this afternoon. I had wrote down "... a fact was something solid and useful, like a penknife in your pocket in case of emergency." That is probably still my favorite detail from the story. The whole story is great: the friendship, which is probably a boy/girl friendship instead of boy/boy, even though it isn't explicit and the way Vaughn does it is awesome; the doom about the dangerous current of the river from the opening page, the sad unexpected ending. The only problem I have with the story is the final lines: "It was a good day, it was a good day, it was a good day." Those lines are too close in my head to "they is, they is, they is" from "Bullet in the Brain." But, overall, the story is a touching childhood friendship/dog-loving story, rich with vivid and unforgettable details.

And a rough draft of a poem:

Peaches

I send copies of "The Colonel" in the mail to Hannah,
in large manila envelopes, with a post-it note telling her
I have too many copies. On each copy, I write notes
about how to do well in her class: talk about phone trees
or laugh after a story that should makes you feel sad.
And if there's a ear on the ground, pick up
and put it over yours, like a sea shell and listen.

Duck Snort

A duck snort is:

That surreal, sort of yellow color, before a thunderstorm splits.

The aloe Vera stains on your pillow case the next morning after burning your neck during a double header spent in left.

Dreaming about a plane hit a building and then seeing a second plane hit another, over and over again in your mind and each time you try to scream, but your mouth is full of sunflower seeds and Big League Chew.

Everyone screaming at Torre, because the infield’s in, and Mariano’s throwing that cutter of his.

Your father not being able to throw out the grey silk gloves that were given to him to use as a balm barer at his ex brother-in-law’s funeral.

Riding your bike, and hearing the crickets in their separate trees and as you glide past each tree, it’s like someone is playing with the volume control as their hum goes up and down and up and down.

Josh is harmlessly tossing a foul ball into the right field bleachers and then suddenly the flames along his forearms are changing colors and he’s back in his trailer hearing Daddy Daddy Daddy.

Having to tuck your batting gloves into your pockets when you’re pitching, but being able to shine your nose with SPF 30.

Watching a bee swim in a candle holder, while you hit balls off a batting tee in your backyard when the sun is rising, and wondering how Caribbean should really be pronounced.

Want to be able to do my amazing duck snort? Hold your hands to your mouth in the shape of a tepee and make the sound, duck snort. 

Texas Forever

This month, Friday Night Lights and the Harry Potter films, sadly come to their ends.

This Grantland article/interview transcript, http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/6766070/clear-eyes-full-hearts-lose, summarizes my favorite drama on network television. I will miss a show that isn't about football, but about marriage,  a real marriage, above all else, but also about community- a new community for anyone who hasn't grown up in Texas- and the special bond between coaches and players.

I'm sad. I also haven't seen Deathly Hallows Part 2 yet. I would like to put it off for as long as I can, so when I watch it I'll have forgotten it is the last film. But, I will always know the truth.

lighthouse

i want to own a lighthouse:  http://www.gsa.gov/portal/content/286133

Hamms

The night started off by going to see King Kahn at West Fest. He disappointed, needless to say. My buddy and I picked up a 6'er of Hamms. We went back to his place, drank, played some hoops and watched old reruns of Curb and King of the Hill. But, the entire time I could help but think about Dybek and his story "Breasts." How the lonely characters  sit at the bar, drinking and humming the Hamms theme: "from the land of sky blue waters..."

Yes!

Okkervil River are coming to Chicago!

New Tallest Man... song: http://www.twentyfourbit.com/post/7386449367/the-tallest-man-on-earth-weather-of-a-killing

So close to finishing Shoeless Joe. Desperately want to watch Filed of Dreams.

The Haunted House

When I was trading baseball cards, playing with Legos and preparing for the zombie Apocalypse in pillow forts as a young boy, I always wondered if girls were doing something similar, or at least had that weird sense of imagination and hobbies that only your best friend shared. After reading Marisa Crawford's The Haunted House I think I have my answer. The girls in this collection of poems play tag on the telephone ("Ivy, The Name of This poem is Secret), trace their names into the living room carpet ("Perfect Blue Orbs) and listen to '80s songs on repeat.  

Some of these poems leave the reader haunted. The narrator keeps "a picture of the forest burning in my locket" ("Artifacts"). Or haunted and almost tongue tied: "Sometime's peoples fathers shoot rabbits and eat them when they are hungry and sometimes a child that is a child as she is a child is hungry but cannot eat and instead will cry, will dribble tears for days and weeks until their bones show." 

My favorite line, prejudice be darned: "Baseball diamonds rocked themselves to sleep at night." ("Indian Summer"). I enjoyed the feelings of nostalgia, that childhood imagination, that is so necessary and those friendships, those best friendships that get us through our childhood. It may sound cheezy, but I want my imaginary daughter to grow up like the girls in this collection of poems. I want her to have best friends (and lose them, because everyone needs to experience a best friend moving away) and have a wild imagination. I want her to have weird obsessions (90210, gull) but also love Emily Dickinson. (There is a photo of Emily Dickinson that looks hauntingly like me when I was about 10.)  

On Deck: The Poetry Chains of Dominic Luxford

In the Hole: The Museum of Clear Ideas by Donald Hall 

Random Thoughts: 

~Breaking Bad is possibly the best drama on television.  

~Berries plants growing in my neighbor's backyard (I may steal them, but I don't if they'll be tart or poisonous) 

~My strawberries aren't growing. 

~American Water by the Silver Jews is a great listen

Beer; Mix and Mix 6 packs at Mariano's:  

Summer Reading: 

Kings of the F**king Sea

"The sun rose out of the road, burning it gold until it passed right through me" is the first aside/prologue to Dan Boehl's brilliant collection of poems. When I was in the Scouts, one summer I spent the week at camp getting my Sailing merit badge. My favorite part about getting it, other then being out on the water, tying knots and turtle diving(flipping the ship completely over in the middle of the lake and having to re-flip it, which was a lot more fun than it sounds) was the rocking sensation of being on a ship, as I lay in my cot late at night. I went to bed usually several hours after I was out of the water, as we spent hours playing capture the flag and joking around the campfire, but the rocking sensation stayed with me. I loved that feeling, and I never got sea sick. It was like I was still out on the lake. I experienced that same feeling after reading Kings of the F**king Sea; it stayed with me. Almost every page had me chanting, yes, f**king, yes. I'll list some favorite lines, but I have to cut myself off, or I'll just end up typing 3/4s of the book.

"Remember how smoke/
issued from the stacks/ like the dreams of factories/
when factories were the dreams of cities/ and cities were the dreams/ of our immigrant parents?

Kotex (Romanov): The whole poem is brilliant. The jump in time, the confusion, the knot in your stomach that you know means doom is swimming below, and you are the stupid naked swimmer in the ocean at midnight, during feeding time.

[The Asides were amazing!] [Here's one: Gitau's mother's knotty fingers weaving the bark baskets, and how it can't be seen where the fingers begin and the basket begins.]

Conference (Regatta) "I mean, the sea is how/ we find our place in the world/ but it's also our place."
I feel, deep down, that this is talk of real men at sea, or I like to imagine it to be.

[The Hunt for Pink October (yes, not the greatest name for a fictional ship)] ["I carry you always in my heart like a bundle of dogwood blooms, their pink springs eternal like the river of immigrants who suffer because of your greed." A letter from our beloved captain to the enemy captain.]

The LE MISE ET LES MAL-HEURS DE LA GUERRE section

This section reminded me of Leonard Cohen's The Partisan, and not just because Cohen sings in French for part of the song. Both are haunting:

Cohen: There were three of us this morning/ I'm the only one this evening/
but I must go on/ the frontiers are my prison

Boehl: (The Hangman's Tree) "1000/ people hang from one tree. There/ is this part I never told you./ Half of those people used to be my/ neighbors./ The other half were my friends."

The meta-ness. A injured sailor (in "The Hospital) writes in his journal: badly wounded in/ arm has suffered/ much and some peaches/ don't forget {lines from Whitman's Civil War journals} and bureaucracy at it's best (Distribution of Medals): "..the government program designed to bolster the proliferation of arts, a program that teaches the amputees returning home to write odes to their missing limbs."

The last section gets really Spider Man 3-y, kind of so much that you want to watch Spiderman 3 again. Which I strangely loved.

Pickup (Gaza): "Sell your cleverness/ and buy bewilderment."

[Ballad of the Seven Passages]  "Nobody wins. Some just lose more beautifully." Sounds like baseball advice.

I loved the final lines: "One day/ when I return/ I hope to find a manuscript/ on the coffee table/ written by someone else./ I'll take it out with me/ and let the pages/ topple in the wind."

 I was at the Shedd for a free admission day  last week. It's amazing to be be in the darkness and see all the colors, that don't even seem like colors. My photos don't do justice.

Looking in the tanks, I was reminded of a friend who told me he would always would hold his breath when watching a film or television and character went underwater. I always thought that was the goofiest thing I ever heard. Still do.

under & out

Breaking/Whitman

An episode of Breaking Bad had Walt's lab assistant recite a Whitman poem, after they had finishing their first batch of meth together. Awesome. Behold:

When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer

BY WALT WHITMAN

When I heard the learn’d astronomer,

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,

When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,

When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,

How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,

Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,

In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,

Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

The Trees Around

"There are many beautiful things.
I want them all to see me."

Those lines are out of my favorite poem "Postcard From "The Hacienda Del Mar". It was my favorite, but by default; I didn't care for the book. It was a fast read. I didn't hate it, but I didn't feel it lived up to the praise on it's back cover.  Maybe I was expecting something more, something crazy. With a title with trees and around, maybe I was expecting some kind of Ent story {on a side note, when I Googled walking trees of.... because I couldn't remember the name Ents, one possible search Google finished with was Costa Rica. A click later, I was looking at the walking trees of Costa Rica, which I saw almost 4 years ago, and had completely forgotten about}or maybe I had watched the Tree of Life trailer too much (which is one of greatest trailers ever, not sure about movie though, haven't got to see it yet) or wanted a childhood nostalgia and existence questioning book of poems.

I could see the threads, the personifications of trees, the oceans, etc., which I liked, but something was missing. I felt that, and I don't mean this necessarily as a criticism, but is, the collection as a whole felt like poems I  could read by someone in a poetry workshop. That isn't truly a criticism because there is nothing wrong with pieces being workshopped, as a young writer myself, I know this, and it wasn't even as if the poems felt unfinished. I think the poems felt like workshop poems because compared to the last poetry book I read, Rise Up, or even I Was the Jukebox or Come On All You Ghosts, the poems in The Trees Around felt no different than any poem I could read in a poetry workshop at DePaul (and I don't mean that as insult to my peers) or any poem I read from the Norton Anthology, and all I felt was ambivalent. Other than "Postcard..." very few lines dropped my jaw, where something I'd never seen before or left me wondering.

It kind of felt like going to a baseball game where you don't have any loyalty to either of the teams playing  and you watch it, but don't remember it the next day. But, sometimes, during those games, something happens that will stick in your mind. A late season call-up may go 3 for 4 against an aging veteran. A player may hit for the cycle or a pitcher may throw a no hitter with a half dozen walks. But, there are so many games that go unremembered, because nothing out of the ordinary happens. The ones you remember always had something that became engraved in your memory. The Trees Around didn't really have that, for me. I went back to it, and it's not difficult to read, and not necessarily boring, but I do feel like it lacks emotion. Like a ballplayer who is great, but plays with no heart, no grit, no passion. Chris Tonelli is praised by Bill knot (and has a poem dedicated to him) so clearly he is considered a established poet. But, this book did not make me bloom, Mr. Graham Foust, who also blurbed on the back cover. Did I miss something?

In other news, the first disc of the third season of Breaking Bad arrived in the mail yesterday and I burned through the first four episodes last night. The opening scene alone, of the gangster crawling on the ground to the shrine, was haunting. In Breaking Bad fashion the stakes are set, early on, and while I feel it starts slow, I know it all begins to boil, quickly, and by mid season chaos is on the horizon and then everything goes to hell, in great, one of the best dramas on television, fashion. I forgot how good B. Cranston is. There was a scene from the first season, where Cranston's character, Walter tells his family he doesn't want to take cancer treatment. His son responds by asking him why doesn't he just kill himself then and there. That scene was probably the most powerful scene of any show, film or play I've ever scene. I don't think I will forget it anytime soon.

over & out

Wiff and memories

Here is an interesting article on the history of the wiffle ball. http://finance.yahoo.com/career-work/article/112975/making-a-wiffle-ball-wsj It's pretty interesting, especially the part about the other uses of wiffle ball bats: the plastic yellow bats being filled with BB gun pellets to rattle pigs. As a kid I played wiffle ball once in awhile; it was usually at friends houses or with cousins. At home, we swapped a wiffle ball for a tennis ball and used a friend's Mark McGwire red blimp of a bat, that had a 2 Liter sized (that was actually hollowed and see through) sweet spot. Our field was a rarely used unpaved alley, and we hit home runs over the fence into the Salvation Army parking lot or we would play into front of my house. We always got yelled at for that, but the imaginary field was perfect, in my mind. There's this cement engraving directly down my steps (it's the only one in the city I've ever seen like it) that is in the middle of the sidewalk. That served as home plate. My neighbor's steps were first, second was a spot where the sidewalk  began treme and third was whichever paralleled parked car's side view mirror was close enough to being straight across from first. We touched, no grabbed onto first and third, for some reason. We never spent time on the bases though. That's what ghost runners were for. A light post was the pesky pole. Those were the days, when we played till the fireflies began to wink. 

I remember this faux stick ball game kids used to play up at summer camp in Michigan. It was in the knot tying section/fortress. I think the ball was a superball wrapped in duct tape. I always just watched bits and pieces of it. I was either getting my environmental science or swimming merit badges, and was always late to games. It seemed to be a combination of baseball and cricket and red rover. I could never figure out all the rules, as long as I watched. There are a lot of memories I have of camp that are foggy. There was this skit performed every year that's punchline was 'Yellow fingers!' that was always so funny. There a was bootleg Whose on First routine and the solemn camp hymn that might of sounded like a 13 year old version of a Fleet Foxes song about camaraderie and scouting.  


Okkervil River has a great line that I think fits with memories. From Bruce Wayne Campbell Interviewed of the roof the Chelsea Hotel, 1979, my current favorite O.R. song: 


Old times, hello, hey, I've missed you
Old life, hey now, let me in
Because you win on every issue
Now, can I kiss you?
Don't you care how long it's been?
It has been so many years, I lived my yearning
But in every bed, it led me through
They only bloom on what was burning

When I can't remember it all, I distract myself. I check out Hobart and their new tumblr. They reviewed a new sports website, Grantland, here: http://hobartpulp.tumblr.com/post/6601340512/hobart-mini-reviews-grantland I checked it out, read a few good articles about Ichiro and the Orioles, and the story by Jimmy Kimmel was the funniest thing I read in years. I also love the picture they have under their title; the man, in a suit, fully swinging for the fences. I need to figure out where that is from. It's a great shot, a story itself.  

over 

Big Papa

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/profiles/being-ernest-john-walsh-unravels-the-mystery-behind-hemingways-suicide-2294619.html

great article on why Hemingway committed suicide.

A Reflection

By my watch, the quarter officially ended on Friday, as two of my final grades finally trickled in. Looking back at the quarter, and the year, it was all great. 10 out of my 12 classes were English classes and several of those were meaningful workshops. Unfortunately, I don't believe next year will be as good, just as my senior year of high school wasn't as fun as my junior year. I have to take a lab, a math class, 3 language classes (French) or fail German 103, and a philosophy class. Not fun. Not like the classes I took this quarter. I thought I'd review them, point out the bright spots and low points:

ENG 378: Social Engagement

Highs: Reading Neverwhere, getting to see Gaiman talk at the Harold Wash., reading The Shining, workshopping a story about if the Chicago Fire had never happened

Lows: Reading The Left Hand of Darkness (snore inducer), and having workshops that were circle jerks (not the sexual act, but the workshop was run as everyone sits in a circle and says a positive thing and then a negative thing about said piece, and by the time the last person speaks, there is nothing new to say, everybody has almost always already said it, and those last people sound like jerks. I believe in the natural, free flowing approach to workshops (I wish I could think of a sexual act to apply to it, so I could write an academic article about it) because people don't end up repeating themselves, as much, and hence, get deeper into the stories; of course it only happens if the people in the workshop are dedicate to improving the story and author spent time and effort on that said story.

ENG 307 Advanced Fiction 

Highs: No circle jerks, thank god, because pieces were first introduced by students, in a sort of summary and led-in of topics/problems that would discussed, and then deeply and thoroughly discuused (it lived up to being an advanced fiction class for the most part). It may have been my imagination or the shear thrill of being workshopped, but I felt my piece was discussed for what seemed like almost an hour, in comparison to the usual 35 to 40 minutes (I could be wrong of course), and during that time a workshoppe, someone who I respect, pointed out my favorite sentence, which I believe is simple but so telling, as a moment of humanity in otherwise bleak story, and also, another girl told me in her written feedback that my story physically made her uncomfortable (which was what I was intending to do{that's should be the goals of good writing right? I have been trying to strive for that lately, especially after stories I read in this class and others in classes with this same professor}) which leads me to the reading list! here's a condensed list, because we didn't get to read everything originally intended for the class and I may have skipped a story or two (don't tell anyone)

On the Show by Wells Tower (which I have previously wrote about)
Mac in Love and The Intruder by Stephen Dixon
A Perfect Day for Bananafish by Salinger
Feathers by Raymond Carver (which was read along Bananfish)
(I liked Bananafish and Feathers as much as On the Show and plan to reread them and review them)
I See You, Bianca by Maeve Brennan
Gershwin's Second Prelude by Charles Baxter (and something else by Baxter that wasn't as good)
Chablis by Donald Barthleme (which I'd read before, and still knocks my socks off every time)
Hot Ice by Stu Dybek (the same can be  said about Hot Ice as Chablis)
A Vintage Thunderbird by Ann Beattie (which I've read before, but doesn't do anything for me. My professor was a pupil of Beattie's so I figured I'd have to read again)

Lows: not being able to have our last workshop at a bar, but then going to a bar after the last class and a certain someone (I wont name names, but he has a blog) having drank too much and then dropping his phone on the el tracks (the phone was okay) and was extremely embarrassed when he had to go get a CTA worker to jump down and retrieve it, while two cops watched it all, and then feeling like something was burrowed inside his stomach and eating his intestines the next day

ENG 382 Major Authors: Hemingway, Faulkner and Bellow

Highs: Everything we read: Maybe half of Big Papa's short stories (too many that were so good to list), The Sun Also Rises (I read it in high school and had no idea Jake was impotent), Sanctuary (didn't want to eat corn on the cob after reading that), Go Down, Moses (read the Bear for another class and didn't know how it connects to such a deeper family story), Seize the Day (fathers can be real dicks and what happens to their sons if so) and Henderson, Rain King (Smolak the roller coaster riding bear, who pisses himself every time he rides it, which is one of my favorite details of any ending, and Henderson failing at blowing up the frogs), listening to Edith Piaf in class, watching Phone Booth, Seize the Day (with a surprisingly well acted Tommy Wilhem, played by Robin Williams)  and A History of Violence in class, my professor banging his head against the door a few times, his persona, and very personal stories and how they related to what we were learning in class, his intensity (he had to be low to mid sixties), writing an essay about The Old Man and the Sea and Joe DiMaggio for 5 pages and the professor seemed to like it, him calling me out on my graded quiz by telling me I got the only low score in the class (for any other professor I would have went to the department head), but with this professor, and what we were reading of Hemingway, I felt he was challenging me, in a way Hemingway's characters are macho and I accepted the challenge

Lows: Watching Phone Booth in class and The Modernists (except for Keith Carradine and Hemingway being portrayed in the film for about ten minutes, I didn't understand why we had to watch it)  

And last, but not least:

Reading Poetry:


Highs: Our third explication essay being turned into a Imitation poetry assignment (pick a poem by a published poet, imitate it and write about the process, among other things) I picked Matthew Zapruder's "Work" and was pleased with my first draft of the imitation I wrote (I think I posted 'Garden') and the whole process was so fun and challenging; getting to read and make a mood board for Brenda Shaughnessy's Human Dark with Sugar, getting a free copy of Blood Dazzled by Patricia Smith from a classmate (I still don't understand why she didn't want to keep it, but I will never not take free poetry books), kitsch and how it related to the feelings of some after the death of Osama Bin Laden, the little notes I scribbled that I think are about Wallace Stevens: 'the poem must resist the intelligence/ almost successfully', imagination is what saves us, and the use of language to make the world more vital, and I wrote 'Man Carrying Thing' above that all {I will research that}; a long list of contemporary poets I want to check out (that were options for our mood board) and a few poems from my peers for their mood board projects, including Berryman, Heaney, Kees, Carson and Bishop.

Lows: nada!

Super 8:


I didn't take a class on J.J. Abrams, but did go to see with my dad on Father's Day. I really enjoyed it. It had the 'Lost' feeling (Abrams) that balanced perfectly with the Spielberg heartwarming quality. I'd watch pretty much anything with Kyle Chandler in it, too. And, I like seeing young child actors really step it up too.

That's all.

Rise Up

After a somewhat slow start, I really warmed up to Matthew Rohrer's Rise Up. Some highlights:

"I tried to walk it off/
but I must have walked in the wrong direction."

That was the turning point for me. Everything just got better after that.

"I want no one to have reason/
to hate me, though I hate/
them, I hate them all."

 The narrator imagining Robert Frost (sort of) speaking on the kitchen radio:
"...miles to go before it sleeps."

"Do you hear that? she says.
It sounds like a boxer punching a horse/
through the top half of a barn door." (wow.)

"At night this is what scares me:
Having to piss the forest blackness:
Seeing a faint glow:
Knowing it is two elk working together/
to balance a birthday cake on the their antlers."

"A child wakes up laughing/
it is going to rain/
dark sound of a saw."  

I love "dark sound of a saw" because it instantly reminded me of this NPR small desk concert podcast video I have of the band Horse feathers. One of the band members plays a saw (or a singing saw, as it is called by the musically inclined). The bending of the singing saw is familiar, yet haunting, and goes with guitar and cello so peacefully. I'm trying to think of any other instruments that have that homemade/workingman aspect yet sound so sweet and sinister at the same time. Are there any others?  

The book almost ends with these lines:

"A new song is sung onto/
her green dress and her long legs."

The strange, but fascinating sounds, a marriage possibly on the rocks (or did I read it that way after seeing Tapes 'n Tapes live and listening to Insistor on repeat afterwards?)  and the absurd but beautiful imagery all led me to finish the book in one night, reread it on the the train the next day and then once again when at home, all in a span of 24 hours. Shout out to Kathy for recommending Matthew [(no L.) Did you know there are two Matthew Rohrers? Crazy! Cool article on it on WeWhoAreAboutToDie] Rohrer after I wrote an imitation of Matthew Zapruder's poem "Work". I'll post that imitation in time, if I haven't already.

Well that's all for tonight. On Deck: The Tree Around by Chris Tonelli

Encore: Tapes 'n Tapes lyrics (from Insistor)

Kelly, Kelly, it's not your right 
To be cheating, fighting and starting life 
When my head and hands are tied to you so tight 
Oh Kelly just tell me one more thing 
Is it mine or is it some other ring 
That you wear as we lie in bed tonight? 

And Kelly, who's the logger? 
Oh, Kelly, who's the logger? 
Oh Kelly, who's the logger who's trees were felled with might? 
And Kelly, hold your water 
Oh Kelly, hold your water 
Oh Kelly, Kelly, hold your water tight 

holy shit "On the Show"

This story kicked me in the shins. "On the Show" by Wells Tower out of Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned. Here are a few memorable lines:

~ Sheila Cloatch mixed expensive blue cognac with Gatorade, which doesn't give hangovers. Classy 

~ This chilling piece of dialogue from Ellis: "I'd eat her whole damn child just to taste the thing he squeezed out of." For some reason this reminds me of a joke out of a Dorothy Allison story or something a character in one of her stories would say: What do you call a virgin from South Carolina? (I could be mixing up the state; it's somewhere in the south.)    A ten year old that can run fast. 

~ Jeff Park's stepfather attempts to bite his step son on his balls, which prompts Jeff to run away, and eventually ends up working at the carnival. 

~ Jeff watching the orange sweater wearing Katie, with "the pale green glimmering behind her teeth, a light of both desolation and comfort, the light of a lone cottage window on an empty street. He (Jeff) thinks it's there for him." At first, I imagined the green light to be the old style crystallized rock candy (or "phosphorescent candy that they sell at the fair"), but my professor in class pointed out in class that it was probably bubble gum. I like to imagine it as rock candy, in that "that green summer mouth". 

~ The whole story reminded me of the ending of Henderson, Rain King. Henderson had run away from home, after his father blamed him for his brother's death and he goes and joins a carnival. He rides a roller coaster with Smolak, a bear, that wets itself when it gets scared riding the roller coaster. [At one point Jeff calls home to see if he can return home and his mother dismisses that idea. She says to call later, because the Hendersons were coming over to eat dinner with her and the stepfather. Clue The Twilight Show theme song.]

~ The ending of Jeff looking for Katie, who ditched him, and when he finds her, she ignores him. He grabs her and causes a scene, and when he looks into her mouth, “the light…has gone out.”

~ Jeff's whole story is secondary to the main story: a boy is molested in a privy, and the search for who did it. Right after it happens, the boy acts undisturbed, his father questions if he believes his son and he thinks about how the ordeal will negatively affect his (the father's) life. The molestation is real, as the culprit dreamily recalls it, when it is revealed it is he who committed the crime on the third to last page. There are other side stories, even side shows almost, that pop in and out, but the crime and Jeff’s story are what kept my attention. It was like a culmination of the worse things you think carnies can do, a kind of wrong place wrong time story, shitty parenting, all in an intertwined with braided narrative.  Wells Tower delivered. I intend to check out many more of his stories. 

wow

thanks hobart

this is the dream, my dream. a baseball chapbook.


http://goldwakepress.files.wordpress.com/2010/12/boxjoseph.jpg