Before you speak, ask yourself, is it kind, is it necessary, is it true, does it improve on the silence? -Sathya Sai Baba

Thursday, June 30, 2005

I'm 34 today...

and melancholy. No not one of those typical late-early-middle-age "what does it all mean, what have I accomplished" moments. Fuck that. I gave that one over years ago. No, just sort of a gentle, "God, I wish I still did drugs" day where I feel like the world isn't worth the effort. It comes and goes with me. Mostly goes, of late, thank God. The only thing for it is to do something. Get the routine going just to get moving. I'm supposed to see a movie with Steph tonight, Batman or Land of the Dead (I'm leaning toward Batman, as post-zombie-apocalyptic nihilism, given my mood, seems like bringing coals to Newcastle, as nobody really says anymore). The plan was to go to the beach and hang out watching the sea. Turns out its going to be cloudy and rainy most of the day, "with potential for inland flooding." Lovely.

Did the form slam on Monday, and didn't win, as per usual. Not that I blame the judges. Abena was great, Samantha had some really terrific poems (though not necessarily to my tastes, but that's neither here nor there). My stuff tends to be a little less visceral, and sometimes I have trouble really grabbing the judges. All the people who mattered to me gave me kudos for the sestina, and really, that's all I cared about. Every 2 or 3 months I get a good poem that has both the craft and the inspiration. The rest of the time I just slog through, tightening the screws and polishing the brass, as it were. Occasionally, lightning strikes, and I guess that's about all I can ask for.

During the "Haiku Deathmatch", Abena did a bunch of very erotic haiku (haikus? haikai?) that really got the crowd going. Mine tended to be much more imagistic, but I thought about the possibility of doing an erotic poem. So little in my life is erotic per se and my relationship to sex is so sketchy anyway, that erotic poems seem a little out of reach for me. It would be like making a bulimic a food critic: "The meal was an orgy of flavors and texture, exquisitely prepared and lovingly presented. It tasted almost exactly like battery acid when I forced myself to regurgitate it approximately 15 minutes later in a frenzy of disgust and self-loathing." Yeah, that's sexy.

Anyway. I'm gonna go do yoga, that'll probably relax me and get me out of this funk. Thanks for reading!


  1. H A P P Y B I R T H D A Y

    you give so much, i am glad that there is a day to celebrate you!

    take care,

  2. Happy Birthday Bro! And I LOVED the sestina! Hook a Brotha up!!!