I am interviewing Michael Earl Craig for a publication to be determined, to support the publication of his new book, Thin Kimono (Wave Books 2010). I wanted to tell you this just in case you have any questions you'd like me to ask him. I just may ask him for you. Email me with them.

3 days in the San Juan Islands

An update to a photo of mine taken about a month or so ago

Woke up. Drove north. Stopped for an hour or so at Open Books and shot it with J and C. Bought Forest of Eyes by Tada Chimako, The Very Thing That Happens by Russell Edson, Mesh by Clark Coolidge, and a second copy of Thin Kimono by Michael Earl Craig. Then I rode into the Pacific. Fell asleep.

Woke up. Met DG at Crema. Read for a few hours in the park. Went for a long walk. Celebrated M's return to PDX at Roadside Attraction. He's been hiking on the PCT since April and boy is his mustache tired. Fell asleep.

Woke up. Wrote 2 new poems at Cellar Door alongside LC, who was also writing new poems. One of my poems is about fishing for stingrays and the other is about Christmas in Tierra del Fuego. Went for a walk. Ate twizzlers with K. Went to J-Lich's bbq where I found PT and family, RK, and others. Pub quiz at The Basement with T-Pang and A. Fell asleep.

Woke up. Walked downtown. Helped K and C with their upcoming exhibition, Collateral Matters, at the Museum of Contemporary Craft. I punched holes in plastic bags mostly, and ate some Starbursts on my break. Phone talking. Then hung out with K more later. Fell asleep. Then woke up. More phone. Bought a Jimmy Johns sandwich. Read in Laurelhurst Park all day long. It was kind of chilly. Went to Doug Fir to hear my friend, Dean, play in his band The Tumblers. Couldn't sleep. Then slept.

Woke up. Puffins. Read some at Stumptown. Bought books at Powell's on Hawthorne (The Selected Poems of Max Jacob, The Inner Sky which is a new Rilke collection, Neo-Surrealism; Or the Sun at Night by Andrew Joron, Tate's Distance from Loved Ones to give as a gift). Wrote a poem called "The Garbage." Read some more in Laurelhurst park. Played bocce with J, H, and D (from L to R above). Went to Yoga Shala for my first yoga session ever with SB. Had boston cream pie at K's. Skyped my mug to Chicago. Fell asleep.

Woke up. Song of Solomon. Peanut butter Puffins. Second hand shops down Hawthorne. Crema. Read more in Laurelhurst park. Godard's Breathless at Cinema 21. Aalto Lounge. Fell asleep.

I went for a good old fashioned hike-n-read today in the Silver Falls State Park.

Woke up. Started walking. Clinton Street video store. Post office on 7th and said hi to D and C. Groceries at New Seasons (soy milk, jalapeno hummus, carrots, a loaf of bread, peanut butter, avocado, bananas, tortillas, can of tuna, can opener, baked Lays, box of puffins, cherries, cotton swabs, chicken breasts, grapefruit, diet cherry coke, nuts).  Had a solid chat with Michael Meo on the street and I like him a lot. Shot it with DS and LC and CB for a while at Crema. Finished We Have Always Lived in the Castle in Laurelhurst Park. JG and HS were there playing bocce. Saw Secret in their Eyes with J-Lich at Laurelhurst theater. Wrote a poem called Death Letter #2. Took a shower. Am in bed cracking the spine of Zeitoun.

Today was a popular day to bike around Hawthorne and 34th.

My poetry students' first poetry reading. Their words burnt the grass.

Today is the last week of summer classes. I'm lacing up my walking shoes and looking around.

I'm a huge fan (see?) of Ugly Duckling Presse and Natalie Lyalin, and look at what just happened.

On Wednesday night, I watched one of my very favorite local Portland bands, Why I Must Be Careful. They're incredible. I find myself watching them in the same way I would watch a magic trick. John and Seth (drum and keyboards) play with such unbelievable speed, intensity, precision, it makes me weep.  They play with a kind of devotion and admiration for the sounds their instruments make (and for each other) that I have never before seen.

Now that this thing is in the world, I don't know how to get any work done. I'm afraid I can't sleep. I'll never write right again. I'll never not write right again. And again and again.