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Showing posts from January, 2008

memory clouds ( a beginning)

Memory Clouds

. . . the most benign symptom (Roland Barthes)

memory clouds, as the say, feed
on mountains, endless
hover that dwells, or dwelled
elsewhere, and yeah
behold a punctured
tyre, nightfeet across
swollen floorboards, each
perception divides itself into
earth and air.

In the theatre
of crashing streets there is:

a ladder of bird feathers

children
mock smoking
with broken
twigs

a face
painted
in coal dust

new glasses kaput

Went to a club last Thursday with my friend Andrew. My friend is 30 and they wanted his id. He was visiting Poland and did not bring his id to the club. I have never shown id in a Polish club before. There was a bit of an argument with the bouncer but nothing serious. My friend spoke in Czech to cause less problems. But the bouncer snapped when he heard English. Called us English swine. Went mad. Other security guards held us and they punched us. I ducked a lot. Something smashed. A window perhaps. One of the other English teachers told the bouncer to take it easy and they punched him. Sore jaw. Keeps getting more sore every day. Cut on my nose. Just discovered a bump on my head. All my teeth still here.

I had a strange reaction. All defensive. Not one punch. I went into super calm mode.

Of course later I got very mad.

But maybe just as well I did nothing except try to move out of the way. A few of my students and some Polish teachers said the club (Spiz) is run by the Polish mafia.

Mayb…

fragments for a new poem

Detergents force out dirt and foam makes something out of nothing. Foam is the spirituality of luxury.

The emperor's new clothes are a reflexive lyric of the bodysoul.

The washing machine is a house of memory and clothes are washed in epistemological soap bubbles.

Lost socks for a new medium.

Music hall of tumbling cycles.

A reckless rhetoric of memory.

Gender roles

I have been thinking about old patterns. In marriage therapy towards the end of my marriage I realised I needed to be more assertive. To tell my wife no sometimes. To take on more "masculine" traits in terms of being decisive and a bit less open etc.

I believe in freedom. I hate jealousy.

it is something I have to get used to. I am not really passive in other areas of my life. Maybe too aware of gender etc. I don't want to be the type of jealous controlling guy who thinks a girl is his property. I guess there is something in between that. Women want to feel wanted! It is normal! I also like to feel attractive to other people of course. And maybe some jealousy is an indication that you actually love someone?

Passion is important. Even if there some arguments and frustrations. Everything can't always be neat and tidy. I suppose I want my outside world to be ordered and comfortable since my inner world is a bit crazy.


Gender roles are very strong in Poland. In clubs girls …

Blind Boy Grows Feathers

I did not teach today. It helped. I cleared a space for thinking and writing and reading.

I am taking an 8 hour train to Gdansk tomorrow morning. I will need to find bananas before departing.

I read some of Clayton Eshleman's Companion Spider on Google reader. It inspired me to order some books. I can't order books like I used to because of limited funds and distance. But what the hell!!!

I ordered:

1) In the Pines
By Alice Notley

2) Peregrinary (New Polish Writing)
By Eugeniusz Tkaczyszyn-dycki (Author), Bill Johnston (Translator)

3) Companion Spider
by Clayton Eshleman


Delivery estimate right now is Apirl 30th 2008. The Polish book of poetry is a pre-order so maybe that is why. Hopefully they will change the shipping estimate on the other books.

My new manuscript Prodigal Drift is going well. I am still finding ways to use personal history and memory in my writing. Right now I think Prodigal Drift deals a lot with the complexity of memory. Here is a rough draft of a poem I began a …

more quick edits from new manuscript

Auspicious Wanderings

Auspicious Wanderings

a lemmon seed floats in my milk
auspicious wedding rings fall into drainpipes
shadows stick to the branches
cigarette butts smell like rotten peanuts
Irish flem leaves my throat
recovery is only partially responsible
I might dance
spermatic tissues block the heating vents
as an answer mercy swallows the cat’s tongue
the story of our masks is largely mute
misunderstanding is stasis
strangers take shelter in the commentary

The Praxis of Memory

performing childhood is something else
where light is a lonesome hymn
touching commits to memory
rhetorical proof in perpetual motion
love’s unbroken composition
approaching the furthest moon
salvation among the borders of civilisation
so tonight the gaps are graced

migration to memory
inside the praxis of living
a mongrel shake-down
on the milk-stained carpet

mud mud mud

Katowice is the city of mud. The Polish just throw a shit load of dirt on snow maybe to save money on salt and when it melts it mixes with the coal grime and it is just one big mess. Slipping and sliding in mud all over the city . . .

new year's eve 2007

still recovering. zofia got me a new shirt. dig it.

back in poland

got back to poland last night. fantastic new year's eve party at Spencer Pub in Katowice. Lots and lots of wine and food and dancing. Now I have a serious hangover. it is 1:30PM. I am going back to bed :-)