"Live Reading"

Hi Everyone!

I'll be the featured reader at an upcoming MFA Reading at Roosevelt University. It's next Tursday, April 21st at 5pm. I specifically requested a time that I was sure none of my friends could make due to work schedules. Okay, seriously, this is the kind of scheduling that can only happen in a university where it's thought that people don't have lives outside of academia. However, if you happen to be there, it'll take place in the Old Faculty Lounge on the second floor of the Chicago campus. I'll be reading a selection of my most recent poems and perhaps a little creative nonfiction. I'm almost finished with this goddamn degree! Thank the gods! I hate writing!

"I'm so BORED!"

I was awakened by the alarm this morning. That almost never happens to me unless I haven't gotten enough sleep or . . . well, there really isn't any other reason. But, the fact is, I did get enough sleep. I think I was just unconsciously reticient about going to work today. I'm so bored with my job, my MFA studies, and life in Chicago in general. I had a pleasant enough weekend. Did the usual things (worked out, saw friends, etc.) but it's the mediocrity of it all that makes life seems so dull. Truth is, I don't even feel like writing this entry right now but at the same time, I feel like I have an obligation to keep it up. Just like I have an obligation to go to work and to keep up with my studies and to keep livin life until it feels worth it again. Don't worry! This isn't the woe of a severly depressed person. Or, maybe it is but don't worry too much about me nonetheless. If I can just get through to May, I'll be getting out of here for a week and completing my final semester at the same time. Can't wait! HURRY!

"A Cold, A Couple Movies, and My Name in Print

I hate fast weekends! This past one went by so fast that it seems as though it never happened at all! It didn't help that my current employer doesn't regard Good Friday as a holiday or that I've been battling a bitch of a cold that just makes me want to sleep all the time. So, I haven't done much at all since returning from Boston a week ago. However, I did catch a couple of new flicks: The Upside of Anger and Melinda & Melinda. Both are worth seeing. Lately, I'm really into the human drama and both of these films delivers on that score. Joan Allen is quickly becoming one of my fav actresses since first seeing her in The Ice Storm. Costner is very believable as a down and out former baseball star and the supporting cast, though not as interesting, all do a good job with the small part of the story that they participate in. I believe Evan Rachel Wood is going to be someone to watch over the coming years. I think I first saw her in the film Practical Magic. Then she showed up in the TV series Once and Again. Since then she has done a number of good film roles including Thirteen and The Missing. As far as M&M, Woody can't really go wrong for me. I know he has garnered alot of criticism for his overly narcissistic films but within his greater body of work, I don't think anyone can argue his validity as a film maker or his pastiche for dramedy story telling. M&M isn't entirely new in its format. It reminds me of Sliding Doors and The Double Life of Veronique but it's still a fascinating way to explore a story from two varying viewpoints.

Also, this week, an article I wrote a few weeks ago for the community paper Rogers Park 2000 came out. The paper is a free quarterly and can be found at many Rogers Park establishments like The Heartland, library, and the Alderman's Office. I was asked to do a story of the growing involvement of two area SSA (Special Service Areas) concerning the Howard Street area and the Morse Street area. I hadn't done much journalistic type writing before but found the experience to be fairly rewarding. I say "fairly" because I'm happy with the end result (full page article) but the process about stressed me out.

"Boston, Mass 02134"

I just returned from a fantastic week in Boston. This has to be the most unusual way I've ever spent a spring break period or chose to take a vacation because of the time of year. See, I hate the cold. However, in this situation, it was mostly a timing thing. I had the time off and my contact in Boston may or may not still be there in the next six months. At any rate, the weather ended up not being a factor except for my arrival. After that, it was sunny and predominantly comfortable for the time of year. Talk about a place draped in history! Everywhere you turn there's something historic to see and experience. I don't think I've ever been in a city where most of the buildings don't exceed 3 or 4 stories. Granted, there are pockets of skyscrapers downtown and in Copley Square but most of the city still holds it's historic architectural roots. I spent two nights in the Back Bay area and five nights in Dorchester, which is this beautiful area of old victorian homes that are being renovated and the area is going through a huge revitalization. I found the city very easy to navigate on foot and on the MBTA, aka T, city transit system. Although by car it can be a nightmare. It's all one-way streets and constantly changing road construction routes. The day I was driven to the airport, my friend Nat said the road had changed since the last time she had made the same trip only a week prior. Did I mention the food?! Mmmmmmm! I ate so much good stuff from seafood (of course) to yummy pastries and a surprising mix of ethnic varieties. I'm sure I didn't see it all but I saw a lot. I went as far out of Boston as Salem and covered the city from the wharf to the far South End. I walked the Freedom Trail, well parts. I kept loosing it because the trail markers are fading and in some places completely absent but all the destinations are pretty clear. I went to Harvard U, well the square anyway, and found it very similar to Evanston. Actually, Davis Square is much more interesting and can be found just north of Harvard Square. On my last night, I even caught some theatre with "A T Stop Named Denile." Can you guess what play that's based on? I owe most of this vacation to the following people for whom I THANK YOU for making it GREAT! JENNIE, NATALIE, NEAL (whose seafood beats that of Legal Seafood), RAY, the denizens of ** Tremlett Street, and assorted others I met.

**Pics to follow in a few days!

"Nightmares"

I had two consecutive nightmares Sunday night. Both were strangely similar and both woke me up. I had gone to bed extrememly early Sunday evening feeling depressed for no apparent reason but that's how depression falls. It's like a change in the weather, a drifting fog that silently floats in from offshore and settles into your life for awhile. The uninvited guest. Anyway, rather than fight the debilitating effects, I decided to sleep it off. I suppose it manifested itself in dreams.

In the first nightmare, I was alone in an apartment. My apartment, in the dream. It was a studio on the second floor and looked out on a quiet street. Across the street was a highschool. It was late afternoon and I was sitting near the window at a small table daydreaming when I heard the sound of a helicopter. I looked out and saw a black chopper hovering over the front lawn of the highschool. Hanging beneath the chopper was a man in some kind of police or military uniform. He wore a badge and he had a rifle. He was lowered to the ground and then the chopper flew away. It became very quiet and I watched the man come across the street toward my building. He seemed to be looking for something and I felt very uneasy. He squinted in the late afternoon sun and scanned along the first story of my building. He seemed to smile at someone on the first floor and then he scanned up along the second floor. I instintively drew back from the window but saw him scrutinize my windows. Then he disappeared from my view as he walked to the building's entrance. There was a sudden shift in time and I was awakened from a sound sleep in the middle of the night. This is still in the dream. I guess nothing further had happened since seeing the man earlier and I had fallen asleep on the bed. When I awoke, I thought I had heard a loud banging noise as if something had hit my front door very hard. I remember looking toward the window and seeing the faint glow of night reflected back. The room was very dark and there was only little bits of light glinting here and there off various surfaces. I got up and turned toward the front door where I could see a stream of light coming through the peep hole from the hallway. The door seemed undisturbed and the room was very quiet. I walked sleepily over to the door and looked caustiously through the peep hole thinking something was going to suddenly appear on the other side scaring me to death but nothing did. I just felt extremely uneasy and awoke "for real" then.

I was able to go back to sleep almost immediately but soon found myself awakened again. This time I was in an apartment similar to the one I really live in except the livingroom was where my kitchen is. I awoke because I heard the sound of the television on. It wasn't loud but just loud enough to disturb my sleep as if a roommate had stayed up late watching it. However, since I live alone I thought this was very odd and went to investigate. I walked slowly down the hallway and was able to perceive the grayish light of the TV as I got closer to the livingroom. I had to round two corners before reaching the livingroom and passed the bathroom just prior. It was in the darkness of the bathroom that I received my fright. Someone was standing in the darkness looking back at me. All I could see was their white t-shirt. I just stood there stunned and then they suddenly ran passed me back toward the bedroom. Once again, I awoke "for real" but this time I wanted to yell out. I had to sit there for a few minutes staring at the ceiling while my heart slowed down its frantic beat. I became aware of the wind blowing against the windows in the livingroom making them shake every so often. I eventually got up for some water and a walk around the apartment. Everything seemed kosher and I went back to bed again. It was 1:30am.

Monday morning, all the way to work, I kept repeating to myself "force happiness!"

"Simple Weekend Pleasures"

I had a most pleasant weekend. I hope you did too! Friday night, I met up with some friends from work at this bar on Damen Avenue called The Black Rock. Admittedly, an odd name for a tavern but it was very nice, typically Irish-y, but very low-key and not at all crowded for a Friday evening. They had a decent selection of beers on tap as well as bottles, though no Bells (not that Bells is Irish) and no McEwan's (which is Scottish) but both of which are favs of mine. Whatever! Anyway, I had a Guiness and an Oatmeal Irish Stout (which is a good alt for a Guiness). What the bar does have is a great jukebox with lots of old rock tunes (Metallica, Guns N Roses, Zepplin) and a very welcoming vibe.

On Saturday night, I saw Buster Keaton's silent classic The General for the first time. It was shown with a live musical accompaniment by Quasar Wut Wut who wrote an original score for the film. Both were brilliant. The film was hysterical! Keaton's ability to portray a wide variety of emotions with only his facial expressions was genius. I had never really had an appreciation for silent films but this experience makes me want to see more. So, there you go!

Sunday, of course, were the ever so dull Oscars. There were some highlights but you had to of stayed with it till the bitter end to catch them like Jaime Fox getting best actor for Ray. I was happy for Cate Blanchett receiving one for The Aviator, and for The Sea Inside for Best Foreign Language Film, and the ballad (performed by Antonio Banderes and Carlos Santana) from The Motorcycle Diaries for best song. Unfortunately, you had to wait through an endless variety of boredom to get to these rare moments. Do you realize that the telecast began a half hour earlier this year but still ran until almost 11:00! I don't think the problem is the acceptance speeches. I think its the number of awards given that just don't interest the general public. I know, I'll be critized cruelly for saying this but I think the network should limit the broadcast version of the telecast to just the actor, film, directing, cinematography, and song awards. Allow those recipients to have their say on stage (viewers want to hear that). We like the pre-show too! All those other awards for various technical skills (no matter all artistic the decisions may be) take up too much time for those of us watching at home. Look, for us at home this is entertainment and the length of the broadcast is killing us. If this format remains in the future, then I may have to tune out and just catch the highlights the following day.

"A new poem for your scrupulous displeasure!"

The folks in my poetry workshop hated this poem because they couldn't wrap their tiny minds around it. Their sentiments made me realize how fantastic this piece must be and, so, I'm sharing it with you and the greater net public.

borrowed flesh

A real asshole talking about cab drivers and fruits vaults a turnstile, sporting a crew cut and sharkskin suit. The heat closes in making devilish stool pigeons. Mosaic of floating news stories peaks at 6pm. Elongated issues pass through table litter night candy unknown, the author is a misplacement of sexual energy. Outside trying to thwart the odorless remnants under a vice specially designed for this and that, a character collector stands out like a hunka tin. Nobody can breathe convolutions of gristle by forcing dietary artists on logic and assaults, the silent black ooze of a gangster’s confidence! Backed by pink smell, regret cannot observe customary obscenities. In some sort of sanitarium the academy waits, thinking victims often know they are going to die often.

Getting hot, the terrible frequency that blinds, some kind of awful climax keeps getting heavier. Torture locates disciplinary procedure for twenty seconds balanced on peril like Japanese boys with fierce innocent faces. This monster, an abbreviated spinal column, grabs the stomach in moments of excitement and lapses into broken English. Rain bouncing up the stairs’ stuffy German alcoves, a limestone altar marking the center hemisphere for real, as artificial wings copulate the air with shit and whimper.

Chicken saw something ignoble and obvious reflected back from a jaunty wave carried by a little exclamation of disgust marked by tentative fades abdicated in a cold yellow halo. The Florida tan carried as a prop read as Little Abner. No pride, a distinct revulsion, can get used to anything proffered and proliferated flooding the world with cheap.

Huge iron-lungs full of paralyzed pies pop with horribles and pantomime. A room filled with green light misunderstood. No proof recommends confinement accurately contained.

"VD Again"

Some states are Red
Some states are Blue
Bipartisan politics?
How about you?

Honestly, I don't know where that little diddy came from or what it has to do with V-Day. I suppose one could make the connection that both politics and V-Day are manufactured concepts created to bring us together but, in fact, tear us apart. I mean, look at all the expectation built up around V-Day. Let's leave politics for another discussion. Was Saint Valentine the saint of love anyway? Here's the scoop:

The roots of St. Valentine's Day lie in the ancient Roman festival of Lupercalia, which was celebrated on Feb. 15. For 800 years the Romans had dedicated this day to the god Lupercus. On Lupercalia, a young man would draw the name of a young woman in a lottery and would then keep the woman as a sexual companion for the year.

Pope Gelasius I was, understandably, less than thrilled with this custom. So he changed the lottery to have both young men and women draw the names of saints whom they would then emulate for the year (a change that no doubt disappointed a few young men). Instead of Lupercus, the patron of the feast became Valentine. For Roman men, the day continued to be an occasion to seek the affections of women, and it became a tradition to give out handwritten messages of admiration that included Valentine's name.

There was also a conventional belief in Europe during the Middle Ages that birds chose their partners in the middle of February. Thus the day was dedicated to love, and people observed it by writing love letters and sending small gifts to their beloved. Legend has it that Charles, duke of Orleans, sent the first real Valentine card to his wife in 1415, when he was imprisoned in the Tower of London. (He, however, was not beheaded, and died a half-century later of old age.)

Hm. Beheadings, bird sex, and Romans. This explains alot and makes me long for the Roman society. Love would be so much less complicated if it were decided in a lottery and only lasted for a year. Perhaps I should start a movement to ressurect the Roman way of life. After all, when in Rome . . .