Monthly Archives: July 2011

Still Orange

I was walking home from the coffee shop tonight and thinking about the poem I will read at the next poetry brothel.  realized in the past month I’ve written four angry black man poems.  Then I was thinking which angry black man poem will I read.  I have an idea.  But found it odd I had written so many.  And in such a short amount of time.  I was thinking I also have written poems (don’t know the specific number there) about my interactions with the opposite sex.  Sexually emotionally and otherwise.  Not sure how this contrast works.  But it will.

I have a odd sleep pattern and one night a poet friend of mine called me to tell me a meditation method.  It worked.  And I was knocked the fuck out.  That night I had a dream we were both forced to jump in lake michigan. At night.  At gun point.  I can’t swim.  I’ve written about this twice now.

I can’t find my purple pen.  Which normally would annoy me especially since purple was has haunting me for the past few months.  But since poetry is orange it’s ok.  I want an orange pen.  But I don’t think I would be able to read that on the paper.  I think I’ll write in blue instead.  I dated a girl with blue eyes once.  I could see her eyes in the dark.  Which was odd at first.  But I adjusted.

Before orange.  Before purple.  It was hands.  Those of you who have met me.  Know me.  Think about how many times have I actually touched your hands.  I just have a thing with them.  They’re so intimate.  You can bump a stranger in an elevator or in a crowded store no problem.  But hand someone a cup and brush there hand and there is an immediate apology.  Plush racoons have creepy little hands that can drown dogs.  I’ve think I’ve written about this before.  Moving on.

Back to the pen.  Back to orange.

I’m done with the comma and will probably be done with the capital letter and apostrophe soon (notice how I didn’t capitalize michigan earlier).  Being a black writer though if I lower case the “i” it will be seen as me making some sort of statement about the self and language and blah blah blah.  But in reality.  I’m kind of just done with them.  There purpose is arbitrary.


here’s a story.  a fox named swift and a pixie named roxy.  and they run up buildings.  live in waves.  sew dresses with the skin of plums.  sleep.  love stone.  sleep.  love stones.

Acutualy if I got rid of the periods they’re would be no point for them either.  The spaces make a statement.  But I like the period still.  Apostrophes later.  Moving on.

I found a poem I had written in grad school about being black.  The first two lines are “I was told I’ve already written about being black/and I should write about something I know.”

I had forgotten about that.  But that happened.

I saw Avery shut the studio down last night with one of my favorite pieces by him.  It’s below.  This is from last year.  But he shuts the studio down mos def.


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Posted by on July 30, 2011 in Uncategorized


Orange, Rust, Old Barns and Black Bears Rolling Down Hills

I haven’t forgotten about the blog at all.  I’ve actually considered many times on posting and didn’t.  Recently I’ve haven’t had a sensible thought.  At least nothing I feel as though I could express that made any sense.  But I figure that shouldn’t right? I feel like I’ve been writing everything in verse.  Even though it feels odd, is there really anything wrong with that.  Anything wrong with living in verse.

I can sleep ok, so it’s not depression.  But there is a lack of interest in things I feel as though once enjoyed me.  Movies for example.  I’ve been a big time movie person for years, but recently I haven’t had the urge to go to the theater.  And I’m ok with that. Looking up dumb shit on youtube.  I always like laughing, but recently I haven’t come across nor scoured silly things on youtube, metacafe, college humor and so forth. And I’m ok with that.  I haven’t really cared to make phone calls and have been lounging around drinking tea and ice water a whole lot.

It hailed something crazy a couple weeks ago and now my car is full of little diamond marks.  And I’m ok with that.  I’m ok with a lot of things actually.  And bothered by others.  I don’t have any control over the others though.  At least I don’t think I do.

I don’t have one manuscript published but have been thinking about and working on a new one.  My first one is just done.  There’s nothing more I can do with it.  For the most part I’m over the poems in it.  I’ll still send it out and wait on rejections, but there’s no more work to be done on it.

At Cave I noticed this thread running through a lot of my poems.  A lot of them had semen in them or dealt with the opposite sex in some manner.  This made me go back and look at some poems I wrote before that had similar ideas and now.  Finally I think I have a home for them.

I’ve also learned to love zombies.  And the color orange has taken place of the color purple.  Old barns and Rust.

One thing I’ve given up on is making complete sentences.  And I love commas, but they haven’t been doing anything for me recently.  I’ve given up on transitions and just go there.

Haven’t really cared about paying bills or shaving my face.  I think if I was a women would I feel the same way about my legs.  Because I haven’t cared about shaving my face. Would I feel the same way about shaving me.

I’ve remembered that one thing I have always done is not give a fuck.  For some reason though I forgot this.  So I’ve been taking it there.  Not only in writing, but in everything.  If I feel it.  If it feels right.  Do it.  Regret is one of my worse fears.

A lot of people have been seeing something different in me.  Not sure what that is. They say they’re used to the silly me.  Want to see me smile again.  Say I need a change.  I agree with them.

Even though I can sleep, I’ve had these random moments where I just feel so tired. So tired.

Advice…listen to this song with the sound very low…

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Posted by on July 17, 2011 in Uncategorized