"When I begin to doubt my ability to work the word, I simply read another writer and know I have nothing to worry about. My contest is only with myself, to do it right, with power, and force, and delight, and gamble." 
— Charles Bukowski

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Classic Water

Well, this past Saturday my lovely friend Jenny and I went to Atlanta to see The Silver Jews. I can't say enough good things about this band. The lyrics are second to none, they play great live, all around top notch. We got to meet David Berman after the show, Jenny has the picture on her camera so whenever she uploads it I'll put it on here. I also bought a book of poetry David Berman wrote titled Actual Air. It's really great and there's a poem in it that I wanted to share with you guys. It really resonated with me and, quite frankly, is basically the poem that I've always wanted to write.

Classic Water

I remember Kitty saying we shared a deep longing for
the consolation prize, laughing as we rinsed the stagecoach.

I remember the night we camped out
and I heard her whisper
"think of me as a place" from her sleeping bag
with the centaur print.

I remember being in her father's basement workshop
when we picked up an unknown man sobbing
over the shortwave radio

and the night we got so high we conviced ourselves
that the road was a hologram projected by the headlight beams.

I remember how she would always get everyone to vote
on what we should do next and the time she said
"all water is classic water" and shyly turned her face away.

At volleyball games her parents sat in the bleachers
like ambassadors from Indiana in all their midwestern schmaltz.

She was destroyed when they were busted for operating
a private judicial system within U.S. borders.

Sometimes I'm awakened in the middle of the night
by ther clatter of a room service cart and I think back on Kitty.

Those summer evenings by the government lake,
talking about the paradox of multiple Santas
or how it felt to have your heart broken.

I still get a hollow feeling on Labor day when the summer ends

and I remember how I would always refer to her boyfriends
as what's-his-face, which was wrong of me and I'd like
to apologize to those guys right now, wherever they are:

No one deserves to be called what's-his-face.

-David Berman

That poem absolutely crushed me the first time I read it.

I don't think I'll share a poem this time, that's a hard act to follow.

I'm going to go Wednesday hopefully to get my chapbooks printed. Once I have the physical copies in my possession, I will let everyone know.

The support so far has been so great. Keep reading everyone, and if you like my words and my blog, then please spread the word to your friends, buy a copy of the chapbook when it's available, get your friends to buy a copy. I've thought about doing a reading sometime, perhaps in Jackonville. We'll see, most of poems are pretty short and don't lend themselves too well to reading. I guess if enough people wanted me to do one, I'd definately try and set one up. Tell me your thoughts.

Friday, September 12, 2008


Thank you to everyone that read and commented on my first post. It was a very warm welcome. Everybody seemed to enjoy the poems, which is fantastic.

I just finished up everything to do with my chapbook that I'll be self-publishing. I'll be putting the final manuscript together over the weekend, and Tuesday or Wednesday I'll go get about 75 copies made. If you'd like a copy, leave me a comment and let me know. I'll be selling them for 5 dollars, and we can figure out someway to get it to you, whether it be through mail or in person.

If you like the book, or this blog, please recommend it to your friends. I really believe strongly in DIY ethics and independant art, and this is about as grassroots as it gets. An easy way to rec me or show the blog to your friends is to post this banner that I made onto your myspace or website.
Create your own banner at mybannermaker.com!

Here's the code for it, just remove the asterisks(There's four of them).

If you're posting it to Myspace:
<*a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vRXJla3NtaXRoLmJsb2dzcG90LmNvbQ==" target="_blank"><*img src="http://img393.imageshack.us/img393/1956/mybanner48ca23289f387bu0.jpg" alt='Create your own banner at mybannermaker.com!' border="0" /><*/a><*br />

If you're posting it to another website:
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I wrote this poem tonight, it will probably appear in the second chapbook that I'm putting together currently. I hope you guys like it.


She sat indian style in the floor of her room
flipping through the pages of magazines she'd gotten
at the grocery store while shopping
with her mom. Her homework wasn't done
but this was far more important.
She got up and checked herself out
in the mirror on the wall.
Then she looked back to the magazine.
Then back to the mirror.
Then back to the magazine.
Then back to the mirror.
She noticed pimples she'd never seen before.
Moles, wrinkles, crows feet, fat pockets, split ends,
all of these things had been hiding from her.
She quickly went to get scissors and
cut out pictures of the fabulous women
in the magazine. She taped one picture
to the mirror, then stood and looked at her
reflection next to it.
She taped another picture to the mirror.
Then another. And another. And another.
She furiously taped pictures to the mirror
until she couldn't see herself at all.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Inaugural Address

First and foremost, welcome to my blog and thank you for reading. I mean that with deepest sincerity.

I've started this first post to my blog countless times; I wanted to make sure it was perfect. A post that would introduce you to me, and also give you a little insight into why I started this blog. What came out of me was a post of epic proportions. It mutated from an introductory blog into an essay on class, status, and ethics. I've decided to actually turn that into an essay, and will post it on here when it is finished. So, in the mean time, let me tell you a little about myself.

I live in a small town in Alabama...Oxford, Alabama to be exact. I'm twenty-two years old, and I'm a literature and music enthusiast. I don't have a favorite band, but I do have a favorite album. Neutral Milk Hotel's In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. There exists not a more beautiful album than that one. I've been told, by more than one person, that I'm a good conversationalist...which, I fear, may mean that I like to talk a lot. I will be going back to school in the spring after taking some years off. I plan to study Journalism/Creative Writing, which basically is a degree that ensures that I will never find work after graduation.

See, it's like we're best friends already.

As to why I started this blog, the concept is simple. I asked myself what I wanted to do with my poetry. The answer is: I want people to read that poetry. I want my readers to be a part of the process. I'll be posting a lot of poems on this blog for you to read because...well, I want you to read them. In my view, you reading the poem on this blog accomplishes the same thing as getting that poem published in a literary journal, just with a little less prestige. That's okay, I've never been one to put much stock in prestige or class or status.

Hemingway's Example

Too many good hours,
years even,
spent sipping wine
on the streets of Paris
with the ghosts
of the lost generation.

And the only thing to show for it
being a broken head
and a fragile body
wondering if I shouldn't follow
Hemingway's example.

It's Too Easy

It's too easy
to lie in bed
and watch the flowers grow.
Watch the roses
become voluptuous women
and the guerilla weeds
staging another coup.
It's too easy
to lie in bed
and feel the world
spinning wildly beneath you.
To look up at the stars
and feel small by comparison.
And, long after the sun rises,
you still feel small.
It's too easy
to lie in bed
and hurt
and regret
and miss somebody.