Friends

Rain

I can hear you
making small holes
in the silence
rain

If I were deaf
the pores of my skin
would open to you
and shut

And I
should know you
by the lick of you
if I were blind

the something
special smell of you
when the sun cakes
the ground

the steady
drum-roll sound
you make
when the wind drops

But if I
should not hear
smell or feel or see
you

you would still
define me
disperse me
wash over me
rain

Why I Want a Little Dog
Answer for my lover

Because it will be ten years, Momma,
I've brushed away the crumbs,
covered he dishes at night
so you won't come, no
so I won't find you
sitting in the kitchen.

Because I was given to the mystic
who is the mother of many children.
Because I must wait for her small light.
Because in dreams, Momma,
I'm forever searching
backwards for my little-boy bones,

only to find them rattling and older.
Because at times I'm so poemless
in the house where I live
I rearrange the pencils
to give them new purpose.
Because I am my worst critic.

( Because it will be ten years )

see more Epic Fails

Does anyone have scorecards I can borrow for tomorrow?

Today so far: 14,528.
Still very behind, but have put in a good effort today. Finished off a couple of troublesome chapters, and need to start some new ones.

Here's a cool widget (if it works):



This shows how muy month is going and whether or not I've been ahead a day or behind a day, and how long that trend has continued. Or, in NaNo's words:

Light green and red show where you were above or below the goal for the day, bold green and red are reserved for days where you did exceptionally well or monumentally badly.

Lot of red on there.

in time of daffodils; e.e. cummings

in time of daffodils(who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why,remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so(forgetting seem)

in time of roses(who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if,remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek(forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me,remember me

So I finally worked out something that is so awesome I can scarcely contain myself. I will be interviewing one of my musical idols - George Duke - this weekend for the Greatest Slow Jam Ever website!

I grew up on Duke and his music informed a lot of my early aprpeciation for electronic and jazz music. There are things I wouldn't have composed as a musician if not for Duke. I remember looking at all those album covers of him with a weird keyboard or being groovy and would air-play along with his solos on his records as a kid. My brother Tim had them, which is funny since my brother Stephen is the one who probably would have appreciated the music more.

I've got some work to do. I had a lot of really cool questions lined up for my other awesome interview (unnamed), but will now focus on making my time with The Duke super-awesome.

The Blair show tonite to so popular...

I just got a warning from my hosting company that the Anthology.org home page is using over 50% of the server's processing power... Seriously


That's HOT Action....

John Burnside
Winter

Imagine I loved you still and nights like these
were visitations,
an endless Pentecost of lips and hands
and bodies resurrected in their beds,
not mine, or yours, but given, like a snowfall.

Out in the dark, the woods are from a map
that someone has left unfinished: hand-coloured signs
for birch, or deer, and nothing to explain
the new red of a kill, or how the silence
wells around a fallen sycamore;

But here, where we lie down in differing weather,
the night fades on our skins while we are dreaming,
and winter is the self, day after day,
ghosting a life from the nothing it knows by heart.

(From: John Burnside, The Hunt in the Forest, London: Cape Poetry, 2009).

I'm thinking about changing my default user pic to this, for Sesame Street's 40th Birthday.

That is all.

Now is my misery complete, and namelessly

it fills me up. I stare here as the stone's

existence stares.

Hard as I am, I know one thing:

You had grown up -

...... and had grown up

so that, as to much pain

and quite beyond the grasping of my heart,

you should stand out.

Now you lie straight across my lap,

now I can no longer any more

bear you.

Robert Frost (1874–1963). from North of Boston, 1915.

The Death of the Hired Man


Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table
Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step,
She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage
To meet him in the doorway with the news
And put him on his guard. “Silas is back.”
She pushed him outward with her through the door
And shut it after her. “Be kind,” she said.
She took the market things from Warren’s arms
And set them on the porch, then drew him down
To sit beside her on the wooden steps.

“When was I ever anything but kind to him?
But I’ll not have the fellow back,” he said.
“I told him so last haying, didn’t I?
‘If he left then,’ I said, ‘that ended it.’
What good is he? Who else will harbour him
At his age for the little he can do?
What help he is there’s no depending on.
Off he goes always when I need him most.
‘He thinks he ought to earn a little pay,
Enough at least to buy tobacco with,
So he won’t have to beg and be beholden.’
‘All right,’ I say, ‘I can’t afford to pay
Any fixed wages, though I wish I could.’
‘Someone else can.’ ‘Then someone else will have to.’
I shouldn’t mind his bettering himself
If that was what it was. You can be certain,
When he begins like that, there’s someone at him
Trying to coax him off with pocket-money,—
In haying time, when any help is scarce.
In winter he comes back to us. I’m done.”

( “Ssh! not so loud: he’ll hear you,” Mary said.  )

So, I've shared photos from time to time of the disaster that is the original data center (the one in the tower downtown - aka, the one I work in). You know, the rats' nest of cables under the floor, etc.

Being that we have a brand shiny new data center in Florence, they're trying to convert most customers off the old legacy equipment to newer, zippier, more modern solutions (like TCP/IP, etc)...so they can pull all this crap out of here, and shut this site down. I'm projecting two years *minimum* from right now. If they ever actually manage it.

That said, last night they finally pulled out the last of the Dataphone modems. What's a Dataphone modem you ask? (As did one of our LV2 techs one night when we were talking about this project...young whipper-snapper that he is. *headdesk*) Well, we looked it up last night, and this generation of modem was manufactured from 1972 - 1978 (yes 'Yote, some of these suckers are older than YOU are). We're talking 2400 baud here, to MAYBE 9.6... And when they were pulling some of these out a week ago, there was still at least one customer using one of these connections! (Needless to say, they've finally caved and moved to something new.)

We need to have an "Office Space" moment, and take baseball bats to these things. Seriously. Do you KNOW what it's like to have to re-strap the damn things' configuration any time they lose power, or you have to reset them? OMFG!

So, for your amusement...

( Dinosaur Modems! )

#1, Individual World Poetry Slam 2010, October is going to be in PHILADELPHIA!!!
Squeeeee, shriek, scream,do delighted jigs while the coffee brews!
I hope it all goes well.IWPS has had a habit of being designated for one place and then relocating to Charlotte.
But I  know some of the organizers up there did a bang-up job with college nationals.
WE WILL NEED JUDGES & Audience! I will, as now, scream from the rooftops all the details.
WHAT THIS REALLY MEANS IS THAT MY PARENTS WILL FINALLY SEE  THE FULL SCOPE OF THIS THING I DO.
So I sure hope it works out.

#2, One of my *favorite* poets in all the world wrote a poem & dedicated it to me.Having a shout out to you rocks.Having it be someone you love rocks more.Having it be a poem filled with good lines and ideas,well, that just can't be beat.It's true, I have a lot of favorite poets, even more favorite poems and they all, together, keep me very humbled.

#3, My bright red pants arrived in the mail yesterday.That was fast---I just ordered them.So I have bright red rock star pants.And they are corduroy, so they make that sound when I walk.I may have to order another pair in bright green.Next paycheck.
Bright red rock star pants that make music when you walk are now what I will think of when I say "happy pants."

#4 Friends coming over for recording,Friday the 13th movies & cooking.It will be nice to share the fireplace with them, especially as I am missing the crew from last weekend.

( I know the soundtrack for this :) )

On my Squirrel Nut Zippers mix, Richard Cheese just came up

It's gonna be a good day!

Sean Hannity apologizing to Jon Stewart, Larry King asking "hard" questions... Did I wake up in some sort of crazy Bizzaro world? Are rocks now delicious? Does it rain beer?

EDIT: And of course, Lou Dobbs replaced by petrified wood statue John King.

It was a hot, hot, HOT slam last night at the Writers' Block Poetry Night. So what are the results???? Check here:

http://writersblockpoetry.rewritingovid.net/CurrentWOWps.php

(HOT, I tell you!)

It's been one of those days...




Edwin Morgan
Rules for Dwarf-Throwing

1.    If a dwarf is thrown through a glass window or glass door, he must wear gloves and a suitable mask.
2.    If a dwarf is thrown through a burning hoop, extinguishers must be provided.
3.    If a dwarf is thrown down a well, the organizers must ensure that the bottom of the well is dry, and is covered by leaves to a depth of three inches.
4.    If a dwarf is to be thrown across the path of an oncoming train, the thrower must previously satisfy the organizers that he bears no personal malice towards the throwee.
5.    If a dwarf is thrown into a pond or river, he must wear a wetsuit and need not be tightly bound.
6.    If dwarfs are thrown at night, they may be painted with phosphorescent paint, so that the point of impact may be clearly established.
7.    If a dwarf refuses to be bound in the usual way before throwing, he may be put in a straightjacket of the requisite size.
8.    If a dwarf utters any sound whatsoever, either in flight or at the moment of impact, the throw will be disqualified.
9.    If a jockey impersonates a dwarf, and wins a competition because his light weight allows him to be thrown farthest, he will be liable to a fine of £1000 or three years imprisonment.
10.    It is strictly forbidden, in dwarf-throwing literature and publicity, to refer to dwarfs as 'persons of restricted growth' or 'small people'.

(From: Edwin Morgan, New Selected Poems, Manchester: Carcanet Press, 2000)