poem a day #...14? 13?

COAL

Oh. My black-bodied, boastful bundle
you have returned again, bringing once again
a body, a barely-bloodied bunch
and declaring in the tongue I
will never understand that you have killed it,
that you have brought it, and
that because you caught it and carried it
it is mine. It is mine.

poem a day #12

HAND, fig. 1

Detached, it is a seamonster's skeleton,
a mess of bones pushed together
by some well-meaning Victorian
who kept piling them in there just
because they seemed to fit. Ah,
but how it would move.
One, arthritic, is called
a different species, a herbivore,
its bulbous joints made it slow.

poem a day #11

SWimING
And.
When we talk we
are in the black Atlantic, your back
to the sandy finger of land and mine
to the waves, so
when I disappear I have been swallowed whole
and have to fight my way back
with my breath tight in my chest, the
memory of what I was going to
or should
say ballooning in my ribs, wanting
to escape and spoil in the salty air
and when I do surface
you are farther away, nearer
to the shore,
cresting the waves
and calling my name.

poem a day #10

PASSERIDA AT MIDDAY
Birds on a telephone wire like
periods when you fall asleep at your computer
buffet away, singing. Theirs
is a world seen from on high, where
shining cigarette cases whiz along
the flat, black, inedible worms. "I saw
a whole line of them today," a finch might say,
"Their many points of light like the sun
upon the water, and I became sick
sick with their beauty and song
I had to fly or sleep and did both."
And no one listens to the finch, so easily struck
by beauty where there is none,
so eager to find song where there is
only the variable hum: the horizon
shuddering.

And I would be like the finch, I
would be life-drunk and woozy
if I could reduce life to a patchwork
of light. But the telephone line is black
and the birds are always dark in the day,
those flittering periods.

poor excuse a day #8,404

NOTE: It is harder to write a poem about Andy Warhol eating a hamburger than you may think. I will return with my results TOMORROW.

poem a day #9

DO YOU KNOW WHEN THE MONGOLS RULED CHINA?
Two dudes, to pass
a test, ask questions by Mecca:
The Circle K.

DON'T FORGET TO WIND YOUR WATCH
When faced with that
which is most truly awesome
always proclaim "Whoa!"

poem a day #8

RECALLING

In Thailand I am standing
on one flat riverboat packed
with the hot jostling of people and
my father is on another, departing,
pulling away. The water is black,
oil-slicked; churning from the way
they pass so close by like bodies
releasing from an embrace. I
know he must have been calling me
because I jumped and I don't remember
the other boat, only
the lip of the right boat:

How the rubber coating had
worn away from other feet
in other shoes, landing. The wood,
water-warped, exposed.

And it is often like that. Nothing recalled
exactly how it happened; only
one moment in transit: a mold
waiting to be cast.

poem a day #7

FORGETFULNESS

In the moment the phrase
--at least I think
it was a phrase-- seemed
so perfect, so memorable,
that it could never be forgotten,
not even for an instant.

But now, trying to remember
something about the way
leaves part around my footfall
or maybe it was the sun on her
kitchen tiles all those years ago or
the feeling that the world literally rushing by
has had at least one person on it
to plant the telephone pole, is
impossible.

Something that rhymes with
Maryland. Something that
sounds like people down the block
hammering. Or
something without a rhyme,
something
that has never cast a shadow,
never had someone call it by name,
never wanted, so sorely,
to be somewhere else.

I would fill a book with those words
if they would reveal themselves,
crawl from their hiding place
on the tip of my tongue.

poem a day #6 (happy halloween!)

RISEN

It hasn't been more than two
or three minutes since I collapsed--
one hand to my neck trying
to stop all that blood and
the other reaching for the door.

And now I can almost hear
you telling me
there are things more delicious than brains
brains
and I wish I could believe
you but

I'm sorry

Were you saying something let me in

please

poem a day #5

THINNING

You are on a balcony, you say
over the phone, and it has been almost a year
since I have heard your voice so
its cadence, the path it used to frequent is over-
grown with bramble and brier and
is snagged and tugged out of shape.
I wish

I could say I had kept it clear. That,
in remembering, it could dance, freely,
down. But that gardening demands
four hands and have only two, too
few. Again, and it is easier: Such
are the fruits of my labor,
such is the mercy of time, of pruning:

How the heading-back shapes the bush.

poem a day #4

ON SEEING A DRAWING OF CONJOINED TWINS

Wondering now
if they should be called "twins,"
for though there are two
heads and two brains, and
four arms, their faces
face each others; always
will they have one with whom to speak, never
will they sleep alone, unloved.

Their rib cages like many
parentheses, transposed. And
I could never live without you
and there is no word
for a life without loneliness,
I will never need a shadow
for you are with me. Our two
feet holding us up,

another foot, useless,
hanging like a tail.

poem a day #3

PASSENGER

The small town where we stopped
for one night years ago runs
in reverse now that I am driving the other way.
I think about
stopping, the grapes
on ice beside me, for a few minutes.
I will never pass this place again.
And it's past. And the night we walked barefoot
for a pizza, past.

I am mist, I am
his hair in your fingers, hers,
I am the sun on your face in that memory:
I am past.
I am passing.

Also, I'm writing this on the work computer and mine is (again!) iffy. Since tomorrow is my day off it might not be until Thursday when I will resume.

poem a day #2

MANOS RISING

I'm trying to find the word
for the kind of desperation no one wants:
It should have Germanic roots,
the kind that wedge themselves
between rocks and the black earth
where no light will ever reach, three
syllables or more and ending
on a soft stress
because it wears you out
to speak it.
But all I can think of is
time remembers meaningless gestures and
your goodness will not be forgotten
while I am still alive.
And I regret putting them in the
situation, making them
suffer so.

poem a day #1

I THOUGHT I SAW AN ANTEATER

Driving in the dark
I thought I saw an anteater
in the dusk my headlights made.
Its snout drooping to the
macadam, its four paws ant-
rich, nimble. And closer
it was a man with both arms
out, a baggy coat, no legs.
And closer still it was one
deer then two; each watching
my car as I swerved into the other lane,
wary of the way they had transformed,
wary of the way they are
so often willing to risk their lives.


Poem a day for a while. You know you want to do it too. :)

in which i geek out and complain about things

SPOILER ALERT! FOR THE MOVIE, NOT THE BOOK, OBV.

I love David Yates. I think he's great. I think the cinematographer is great. I think all of the actors are great now (I do not want to stab Emma Watson for having to speak with her mouth open as wide as possible). There's Lots of Love for the people who worked on Half-Blood Prince.

I hate the screenwriter with a fiery passion. I was not aware one could adapt a book without reading it and with reading it at the same time. There are some really great things about the movie, Daniel Radcliff on Felix: HILARIOUS. And let's start there, that scene has some things about the screenwriting I find so infuriating:

-The potion isn't gold. I know it's a little thing, but COME ON. Is it really that hard to make it gold? Why is it in a Christmas ornament? INFURIATING THING ONE: Changing little things for no reason.

-Harry drinks it all. I thought why is he drinking it all how will he give some to his friends at the end of the book so they stay alive?

-Oh snap that doesn't happen. INFURIATING THING TWO: Making the characters seem weaker by taking away their motivation and then not putting anything in its place. If they don't fight, how can Harry be shown to be a leader, someone the other students look up to not because he's famous but because he gets shit done? Death eaters in the castle? No one will notice.

-Which brings me to the lack of petrification. Here's the thread: Harry isn't at the Dursley's (why would he be why would that even be really important in the last book) so Dumbledore never sends him a letter so Harry is never told to have his cloak at all times and the prophecy is never addressed (why would that be important, come on viewing public) and so he doesn't have it at the end and so he just watches Snape kill Dumbledore and so he just looks weak and cowardly. Also: If Dumbledore is at death's door and he can apparate into the grounds and "there are perks to being [him]" why wouldn't he apparate into Snape's office? Agh.

-No Defense Against the Dark Arts classes are shown. Wasn't that kind of a big deal that Snape got to teach them and oh goodness look how possibly evil he is?

-Dumbledore never explains his theories about the Horcruxes to Harry. How does Harry even begin to find them? Dark magic leaves traces? Harry has an ultraviolet light but for dark magic now?

-Wait, Harry and Ginny are going out? Are you sure?

-Don't worry, we've read the book so we know what Inferni and all of Voldermort's tricks are without having to see the giant posters supposed to be plastered all over Diagon Alley, you can rest about that one.

-Olivander is gone! Oh noez! Thank goodness no one is really freaked out about that, surely it will not have lasting consequences.

-Destroying a footbridge with visibly no one on it means two things: That hundreds died as a result (thanks, The Daily Prophet) and the dementors are out of ministry control.

-Going to cut out stuff about the Gaunts and other important information? THEN DON'T DESTROY THE BURROW WTF.

-Tonks calling Lupin sweetie was way more confusing than if she hadn't said anything in part because they are supposed to be at odds.

Gah. I am going to stop now because I should be working. It was a similar reaction I had to seeing the third one after no mention is made of who Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are and what that means and that it would have taken TWO SENTENCES. Gah.

Finally: How are they going to make the seventh and eighth movies make any sense with the groundwork they've laid here and in the other movies?

Finally finally: When either Ron or Lavender says "It looks like this room is taken" because Harry and Heromine are on the stairs it must be because he or she often confuses rooms with HALLWAYS. Gah.

Quantum of Solace

I have seen Quantum of Solace only once, months ago. So why shouldn't I review it?

Quantum of Solace is a direct sequel to one of my favorite movies of the year it came out, Casino Royale. I believe it is the first direct sequel that the Bond series has produced? Anyway, I loved Casino Royale, and was prepared to love QoS, especially after the awesome trailer(s) came out.

QoS picks up in the middle of a car chase wherein Bond's clearly very expensive car gets pretty well trashed. One of the doors gets blown off or torn off. Then Bond gets to M and silent guard and we find out he's been carrying Mr. White, the guy Bond shot in the leg at the end of CR, which, I don't think I have to remind you, was awesome. Anyway, they question Mr. White re: Who? Why? and he tells them that he is a member of Quantum, a super-secret super-evil group of guys who are "everywhere." Including, it seems, the silent guard, who Bond kills. But Mr. White escapes and he either dies or is never heard from again.

Then Bond is all I Have to Avenge Vesper's (the Bond girl from CR, she was totally hot and is now totally dead) Death By Taking Down Quantum Because Her Boyfriend Was Involved With Them and M is all Whoa, Step Back. So Bond goes Rogue. He finds Vesper's boyfriend and stops the new Bond girl (Olive-Skinned Brunette) from being given to a big ugly dude who clearly would rape and then kill her by driving a boat really fast and throwing a hook in the other boat because Daniel Craig's Bond is badass.

It turns out that the CIA (played by bearded LeVar Burton from CR and Phillip Seymor Hoffman from Charlie Wilson's War) is in dealings with Vesper's boyfriend, who, I should point out, is totally scrawny and kind of looks like a wet puppy or someone whose books were pushed from his hands ONE TOO MANY TIMES. And so the CIA lies to M about knowing who he (the boyfriend, now called Wet Puppy) is and what he is up to. What he's up to is stealing water and/or oil from impoverished nations and making them pay for it or making the US pay for it or something through his Evil corporation called Green Planet or something. So Bond goes to his fundraiser and meets O-SB and it turns out the guy who she was going to be given to killed her family and she's pissed Bond stopped her from killing him. Then they go to South America and meet LeVar Burton who wants to help Bond and also they meet Gemma Atkinson doing her best Christina Hendricks impression and she dies after Bond has sex with her because he possesses within himself Horror Movie Cliche Syndrome. LADIES IN BOND MOVIES! DO NOT HAVE SEX WITH BOND! is the message here. Wet Puppy drowns her in oil apparently and then puts her on the bed or drowns her while she is on the bed via Localized Drowning. This upsets Bond.

Bond and O-SB go in a plane and crash right next to this compound Wet Puppy has set up where he controls all of the water and is now a dictator or has put the guy who was going to rape and then kill O-SB in power. All of the points are coming together? There was also an opera in there somewhere, but all Bond does is identify who the people Wet Puppy (Dominic Greene! HaHA, I rememebered!) was working with are and we never see them agian. Anyway, Bond blows up the compound and captures Greene, but not before O-SB kills the guy and has a flashback and is unable to do anything but Cower and Weep so Bond saves her. Then Bond takes Greene to the middle of the desert and gives him a can of oil to drink if he gets thirsty because remember that girl who was in the movie for like five mintues?

Then Bond goes and kills Vesper's boyfriend. The end!

QoS is way shorter than CR and makes no sense. I don't know why, after people said CR was like the best Bond movie Evah, they made the sequel way shorter. People will watch more than two hours of Bond, Movie Company. That way you don't have to introduce characters and then expect us to care for them when they are killed minutes later. Controlling the water supply is interesting, but one village thirsting for water does not a compelling argument make. Yes, even when that village at first appears to be unconnected from the rest of the movie. Agh, way to disappoint me, QoS. Way to not fulfill your promises for a mourning Bond, driven by grief. Way to make Quantum of Solace mean Quantum the HUGE EVIL THING. Way to go.

Consider my expectations exceedingly lowered for Daniel Craig Bond #3.

Two sad Bonds out of five.

in which i don't say much and still manage to freak out a smidge

It has been more than two months since I posted! Unfortunately, not much that is not boring has happened in my boring life! My computer is still giving me issues. I am graduating on Saturday, which is madness made flesh. My muffler fell off today because Spokane has the World's Worst Roads^tm and I made the mistake of driving on the right side of the road last night immediately before my driveway. These are the annoyances which compose my life. I wish they could produce Hilarious Anecdotes instead of Boring Sentences?

I am probably possibly maybe going to be moving forward with Top Secret Project: Micro-Press in the late fall/winter. I am considering moving for it, but have not yet decided. It is a big life-changing kind of thing to take on! Or at least it seems that way. I would like to do it not alone but have not ruled out doing it by myself. Interested parties may apply in the comments.

I was thinking: Tilt Shift Press: Publishers of Fine Poetry and Short Fiction Since 2009.

Except for at least the first year it would just be poetry.

And I still have to think of a title for the contest which is not ridiculous. The Agh! Poetry! Award for Poetry lacks gravitas. Suggestions? Comments!

to make up for my silence, somewhat, a poem

It needs more, another stanza at least, but here it is so far:

THE ALLIGATOR MAN IS DEAD

The alligator man's widow, dressed
in plain clothes, dark, as near to black
as she has, is this year framed
by the world's fattest woman, and Henry, whose
twin slopes headless from his chest. The
bearded lady keeps looking at her, their
bunks, I have seen, are neighbors and
Major Mite says they talk at night and
I have separated them.

sneak peek

This page marks roughly the half-way point. I just colored it today and am pretty pleased with how it turned out, although I couldn't use phancy photoshopping skillz to make it look more comic-y. Alas. The figure in the upper left is Captain Butler, the official superhero of Butler's Fruit Pies ("Taste the tastesation.") and the figure in the lower right is Heli-Boy. Oh, the excitement!

prepare to be lame poop joke'd

When I was younger and when I would go to my cousins's house in Montana we made movies. I remember our first one was about our stuffed animals (a walrus whose stomach had melted into rock-hard abs named Chester and a velveteen rabbit named, well, Velveteen) who fought crime. They could fly, I seem to recall. But their main intent was crime and fighting it. As far as I know, this movie is now lost to the mists of time.
Over the years we became more ambitious, although fewer and fewer projects were seen all the way through. Part of this had to do with the fact we usually only had a week or half a week to film them and the other part was because we didn't have the technology to make a full-scale velociraptor. Also, it got harder and harder to talk everyone into working on them. Such is life.
But about four years ago we decided to make another one. No script. Filmed in order. No editing. The music would be supplied by a CD player and a pair of headphones perched atop the camera. The result was Wrinkled Wrath, the story of an old man who just wants to be left alone. The only editing is the brief instance of slow motion. Oh, is it worth it.
The old man is played by my cousin Kyle, my most frequent collaborator (who do you think moved Chester's string?) and was the person I could always count on to want to film with me. Red-headed kid is my little brother Evan. And Blonde kid is my cousin Kevin. They did it because, hey, their older brothers were doing it. James, who is older than both Kyle and I, and Joel, who is my sister's age, sat this one out. I think James was at Basic Training? Joel, I'm pretty sure, didn't have an excuse.

I really hope this is half as funny to you guys as it is to me (I'm pretty sure half of you have seen it, but it's worth another look, I think).
Wrinkled Wrath (29mb)

Perfection Wasted

by John Updike

And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
which took a whole life to develop and market-
the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched
in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,
their response and your performance twinned.
The jokes over the phone. The memories packed
in the rapid-access file. The whole act.
Who will do it again? That's it: no one;
imitators and descendants aren't the same.

more or less useless new year's resolutions

Because it's the new year (woo![?]) and making resolutions is something people do around now, here are a few things I'd like to do or improve upon in the coming year. The list is in no particular order and is off the top of my head:

1. Finish more stories. I was going to put "write more" but that part is okay, I just have issues with the completion part.
2. Update more. Whatever I have to update, be it a blog (did you notice my posts seem to halve every year? Not 2009!), a comic (which shouldn't be too difficult), or...something else. I think those two things are my only updating responsibilities.
3. Who wants to exchange poetry via postcard? I just thought of that, but it sounds like it could be fun? Until we get tired of it, of course. (Flash fiction is also possible here.) I've also wanted to try my hand at a collaborative story. Yes, even before this.
4. Graduate. This one is fairly terrifying, but it looks like it'll happen. Eeek!

Well, that's about all I can think of right now. Do you have any new year's resolutions? Do any of them involve listening to as many live MG shows as is possible?

Oh! 5. Finish The List. I actually haven't worked on it for a few days or a week. I hope to finish it.

Happy New Year!