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moving moving moving

This has been a week of moving prep. Tomorrow is the big moving day. My normal reading/writing schedule is way off track. So, hopefully monday I will have a new used powermac with new used studio crt monitor mac OS X and a new writing spot. I am eagar to get down and dirty again.

Thursday was a blast of Lucipo poets. Good on the spot improvs and unrehearsed play. Mr. Todd did a very remarkable reading of his long poem. He told the audience we were the frogs. It was scary story time. Some lines amazed me.

Lucipo is moving alright (I prefer a kind of mind moving but now and again a walk in the woods is quite good for the nerves as well).

Tony's recent blog post about class issues and the romantic myth of the artist is very interesting. I have a lot of loans but I would rather have loans from attending school than from buying a fancy car etc.

I constantly remind myself I am damn lucky

Sure poetry is work (and play). What's the difference between work and play?

Sure it's not quite a profession. Maybe a professing.

After 14 years of fast food, department store clerking, and a shit load of telemarketing (I did meet my wife at a telemarketing company though) I am very very very lucky to teach and write.

I am so glad I am longer trying to convince people who do not have land to buy burpie seeds to meet my selling quota.

That's not to say teaching/selling is cake. It can be draining. The politics of university life can interrupt writing space (mental space). As a lecturer or adjunct it can be very difficult if the university wants to save money by classifying you as part time and unworthy of health benefits (I finally have health benefits for the first time at the age of 30. But that's a political issue across the board. Many people have much worse situations).

I am not on a royal cushion but I am doing something I love. I have passion. I hope other people might have a passion for working at a department store, climbing the ladder, selling stuff over the phone.

Am I still selling? Is this blog a marketing strategy. Do I want to climb the ladder and one day be like the ceo of poetry clogs/blogs?

But I am low on the pole. I'll never be as good as the great bloggers.

How to win friends and influence people in the world of poetry blogs? HM>>>>>>

One things for sure: I am sick of poetry as stinky cheese. Here. Eat this. The French eat it all the time. It's good for you.

I would rather hear/read poetry suggesting possibilities than poetry all neat and polished.

I like my lid open. Stiches naught or easily torn apart as opposed to seeming naught.

Is poetry a stay against confusion? For me it is. But only for a very brief time.

By tomorrow morning I'll need to question words again.

I will need to be moved.









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Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
Catherine Walsh, Idir Eatortha and Making Tents. London: Invisible Books, 1996.

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