I drew you a picture of my life so that you can see

It's not an etching, rather an ink blot test



And so my friends this is the end of the journey if you will. We have been on quite a ride indeed. Love at dodge, a seemingly insurmountable illness, introductions into the world of book reviews and publishing and 3 brilliant writers coming to our humble campus. I'm lucky i'm alive and so are you. I hope you enjoyed the new writers i have acquainted you with and i hope you equally appreciated my senseless musing and pictures. With that i bid you ado before i wear out my readers welcome. Cheers!

The Lion Sleeps

For the third round of voting i went into it with what i would consider one winner and one loser. Aaron Belz being the winner. This is essentially what i found of him:

Born in 1971 Aaron Belz a native of Iowa now lives in St. Louis, Missouri where he is the host of the Observable Reading Serious. His poems have appeared in journals such as, The Boston Review, Fine Madness, Court Green and Jacket. He’s sick wit’ it.
Quote by Belz
“I am against the sing-songy way a lot of poets read their poems. You know, with a lilting inflection at the end of each line. Blah! But if I had the power to change one thing it would be the fact that a lot of poets don't use complete sentences in their poems. They seem to be thinking, 'Ah, this is art, my readers will get it.' We don't! The emperor has no clothes!”

Excerpt from The Bird Hoverer

Scarecrow

Scarecrow, scarecrow, what have you heard?

I”ve heard about the blackbird and nothing more.

What of the moon, shinning bright on this night?

I haven’t heard of that. Like I said, just the blackbird.

Blackbird

Blackbird, good friend, what do you know?

I know of the scarecrow and nothing else.

What of the corn in its thousands of rows?

Dude, just the scarecrow. Are you deaf?

Conclusio

The scarecrow was marginally nicer than the blackbird.

Both were somewhat flippant, but the blackbird

Was really kind of a jerkoff. He needs treatment.

They both need treatment, but the blackbird needs it more.

He's sweet. I like him cuz he has this dark sort of humor behind most of his poems.

The loser Brett Lott i picked merely because i was running out of options and i read a few of his short stories. they weren't that good but they weren't that bad either. Turns out both were losers in the end though because Belz already read at tcnj last year and Lott, well Lott just didn't make the cut.

I heard a story from the sailors of the santa maria

A Note: Kind of going back to the whole Joshua Beckman thing, No one in life, wants to be edited. People want to do what they want to do simply. It is harder to stand corrected than to lay on the ground as a blind fool to our errors. As a writer and a person i would like to make an concerted effort to remember this and by being mindful of it be more open the opinions and suggestions of others. I think more people should be open to suggestion because none of us are perfect. It is difficult to change, but instead of running from change we should embrace it because it gets us closer to being complete.

A New Friend

Not Dwight Garner

We had to go to NYC last weds. for this class to see things that had to do with this class somehow. My AM group went to the seldom-ever seen by human eyes New York Times Book Review where we got to meet what some say is one of their most distinguished book reviewer. The place unto itself was interesting. They had these real-time news tickers that I really can't drescribe but they were random and sweet. The security guard wouldn't allow me to rest my bones on their "very clean" floor. Perhaps they thought i would dirty it. When we met the previously mentioned legend himself, dwight garner he was a realitivly unimpressive man to look at physically but you could tell her was no doubt a master at his craft. His desk and work space was literally littered with books like Ted Nugents autobiography "Ted, White and Blue" and various other cook book types. He talked. We asked Questions. He had a meeting. We left after roughly 45 minutes. I learned that i wouldn't want to be a book reviewer. the job is just too awesome for me. Afterwards we ate at a bad irsh pub. On the train ride home i lost my ticket and saw two guys fight. I still owe duncan 12 dollars.

This will be the day that i die

One of these is me


I wonder sometimes about this whole voting process. We are supposed to judge an artist based on a small presentation that is centered around an 8x10 sheet of paper that features a mere blurb of the authors work. It's hard to truly encapsulate and author in such a limited sample and so short a time. Half the time it seems like people (myself included) are voting for whoever has the best picture. Do I like Ava Limon? No, but i'd like to watch her read some poetry in front of me in a skirt. The process is certainly flawed and great writers are surely slipping through the cracks based on looking like a dad or having a less than impressive sales pitch by one of my class mates. but i suppose this is the only feasible way short of assigning people to read an entire collection their work.

In a fog but still able to blog

Joshua Beckman came and read last week and it is true what they say about him, he is the rockstar of the poetic world lol. He read with a varied staccato baritone delivery, that reminded me of the vocal stylings of poets of old like Frost or even T.S. Eliot. His poems had an emotional weight to them, while at the same time had the sparse ambiguity of poetry of todays era. Speaking of sparse, he read from his one collection of one line poems. I wonder about the nature of such collections; is that in fact poetry or rather small thoughts expressed in a flowery nature? I suppose anything that you put onto paper can carry the title of "poem" if the writer intends it to be. I would almost wanna see all of the hundreds of one liners somehow positioned together as one long, almost epic poem, if for nothing else than sheer experimentation.

The other thing i found interesting is how Beckman edits himself. What's the story on that? That then means he has no realistic means of checks and balances on his creativity and thusly is writing things that are on some level totally artistically biased. From a readers perspective one has to feel like they are in a way being tricked and even short changed. From a fellow bard's perspective the idea of uninhibited, unsensored creative liscense is simply mouthwatering.

Fuck it.

Ya ya ya picture. Fuck it

Still Suffering. Butttttt I Found a Poet named Chris Abani. I think I saw him at the Dodge Poetry fest. Who knows though I was too busy trying to hook up with the strumpet of a girl I took to the thing. Anyway he’s brilliant. He has an organic feel to him ,but at the same time the polished skills of a poet who could no- doubt one day be a laurite of our nation. Perhaps I am going over board, but in any right this guy is rad. He’s raw, humorous, tender and uncommonly eloquent especially given the things that he talks about in his poetry (political turmoil, genocide in his home land ext.) He rocks. Mono is butt.

mono

Picture that expresses my mood? Mood being Hell.

Sooooo remember when I thought I had the bubonic plague? Yeah turns out that was mono. So right now I am coming to you from under the lonely depths of my bed covers. Life truly blows. I figure I will maybe blog more while I am dying with this strange infliction. Maybe write some poetry about mono, who knows right? And frankly… who cares? I’m truly in the doldrums. Relating back to class, this syndrome may yet afford me ample time to find some kick-ass new writers to present to the class. Or allow me time to try new sleeping positions. What do you all say to legs behind my head? May eliminate snoring.

Carlos Tevez is Raw, However, Torres Rules House

It is true that today I feel like hell, having said that I’m still not above the finer things in life. Thusly I give this picture:

Last night I went to bed with the sweet chirping of the meadowlark. Of course for any poetry enthusiast we know this means I went to bed at about 5:30 am. The details of why shall remain unmentioned. Get your mind out of the gutter perverts. Despite the lack of rest I had a robust day that would have made an outdoors man the likes of Hemmingway or perhaps Bill Dance proud. Upon returning from my swim practice I felt as though I contracted the Bubonic Plague and Typhoid Fever at the same time. Indeed I was suffering from a high grade of heat stroke, a strange head ache and back that felt like it had the very Gordian Knott lodged within it. Where O’ where is my Alexander?!? As with most of my ramblings you may asking yourself is he sane? Why am I reading this rubbish? And further what relevance does this have to do with Writing Communities? In this case not much other than the fact that I may die and I might not be in class next week, or ever again for that matter. I am feeling a third wind coming on. Perhaps this typhoid fever is really just a much-ado about nothing. J

I am R Kelly

As always I'll start of with a pic that showcases not only my mood, but my current artistic motifs:

So today I went to a concert in philly. The band name was fleet foxes. They were sensational beyond belief. A sound that hearkens us back to the days of yore when men were men and CSN had Young. There are four major singers in this ensemble, but when their mellifluous melodies combine it is as if near every one of the angles of heaven sang. Seriously... check them out. They are boss to the Nth degree. Specifically commenting on the lead singers voice no real parallel comes to mind, rather the sublime combination of many of the most legendary of troubadours with the weathered, journeyed appeal of a So- Ho street performer. What does all this have to do with our class? Well, you know how we are supposed be picking out poets to come for next year? I vote fleet foxes. Their harmonies speak to me with the same rhythm of a Shakespearian masterpiece

I fell in love at dodge

i'm gonna begin with a picture that is a summation of my moods ^^^

So i decided to move my journal thing to blog form. I feel like i've conformed to the masses of people who use these things to dish out their two cents as if people ever actually read them. In any event this is my blog. Yesterday i went to the dodge poetry festival with one of my room mates nick and my new friend alyssa, we saw many of the poets read. My favorite part was seeing Billy Collins talk on craft. I have never really read him but the things he had to say about craft were both insightful and starkly simple. He said things like make the first two lines of your poem very simple, let the reader in. He also gave valuable information about trying to get published. He said you have to stack manuscripts you send editors with the best stuff towards the front. Common sense stuff.

the festival was great. alyssa and i got lost terribly on the way home. maybe next year they should make it closer to TCNJ since most of their patrons were from there.