partial wish list

It was nice for A and I to kick it with Bri and Denny this weekend, eat some enchildas and beans together, drink some Old Style in a wet booth. These are terrific people--the days are young.

I'm not your Fence Books winner, but my boy's Sex Hat was a finalist.

My issue of Spork came in the mail. One of my very favorite mags I think. Annalynn Hammond is consistently amazing in everything I find her in. Her book, Dirty Birth, is forthcoming from Sundress.

Tonight, I see my paternal grandmother. We will dine. Tomorrow, is study day. Oh, the papers I will write!

I got to hang out with Denny and Mathias at Yia's Yia's last night for beer and pizza. We talked about making this reading series thing a go, venues, readers, etc, the possibility of #8 being a print issue, some of the best poems from our submission period, Mathias' first hello to Tony Tost at Tony's coffee shop, Portastatic, bad and good Noise Rock, Beastie Boys, bad and good beer, Denny's name being carved in the bathroom wall above the urinal, etc, etc.

Tomorrow (Friday), a poem of mine will be posted here.

You like eggs

Just now, the neighbor girls (2 and 4) picked the beautiful and proud red flowers in my window box and knocked on my door to give them to us, as a present, in good will. Tonight, I egg their house.

Update on my Bus Situation (Wesley Willis style post #2)

My ride back to my car on the campus bus tonight was successful. The bus driver was helpful with busriding strategies. The bus driver was friendly. The bus driver is my friend. The bus driver can kick a seamonster's ass. I look forward to riding the bus from here on out.

Rock over London.
Rock over Chicago.
Budweiser, the kind of Beers.

I'm fed up with the parking at UNL so I've decided fight it. I turned in my parking pass and am prepared to use a strategy that employs both the city and campus bus system and my trusted $3 bicycle (see blog archives for March 21, 2005). I set up an appointment with the Director of UNL's Parking Services to discuss my getting a full refund and not a pro-rated one. I only twice found a space. RiDONKulous.

Today was my first attempt at the bus and I failed miserably. After parking 15 blocks from campus in a quaint little neighborhood I mistook a city bus stop for a campus one. Twice I watched the campus bus pass me, half of full of students peering out at me. It was on the second pass that I figured I was standing on the wrong block. What made it somehow worse was that I was carrying my 1950's blue collar metal lunch box. There I was watching two buses go by without stopping for me while I stood still and helpless, metal lunchbox at my side. I was 7 again. I ended up just walking the whole damn way.

Today I'm going to see two films at the student theater for my 1950's Cold War Hysteria class: Red Planet Mars (1951) and The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951).

Starting a new chapbook manuscript this week. I'm determined to distance myself from The Man Suit. I'll just send it off with its little backpack on, give it a gentle few taps on the ass and let it go to be read by some presses this fall. If it makes it, I'll be proud of it. If it doesn't, I'll change the locks before it gets back. Anyway, I'm taking Thornburn's advice on this chapbook (never really wrote for a chapbook manny before) and building off a few displaced Man Suit poems and taking them in a new and bizarre direction.

Having thoughts of putting a poetry reading series together here in Lincoln. Have a few possibles lined up, possibly. Trying to think of a name for the thing--always the first step. Trying to line up a venue. Exciting times--I'll get back to you later with what I don't know (now).

Tinkering with the manny for the fall send-outs (I gots my 200 dollars saved up for the attack). It seems to keep getting smaller. Is that the way it should be? Starting a new one, but man, all these new poems want into the old manny. I tell them no, but they won't listen.

Today we're hosting A's grandparents for grandparents day. I grilled too many bratwursts. Then C and I cleaned the dead leaves from my gutter.

If you submitted to the Octopus August reading period, I'm sending your poems off to some other readers today. There are 240 of you. 140 of you will be read by someone else but me. So, if you're interested in a mag's digits, there you be.

Today I go to the student theater to watch North by Northwest for 1950's class. Then go to teacher orientation at Southeast Community College for a second comp class I'll be teaching, then back home to write a paper. I'm a busy man, baby. And I ain't even gots time for that.

The booth in our kitchen. In this photo it looks dark and haunted. Well, it is. It's haunted by past homeowners who died while dining casually.

Reading and conversation quarters.

Where the magic happens (poetry writing).

I worked on the backyard too. Notice the grandma swing (we put that together yesterday in no less than 4 hours), notice, again, the absence of leaves, notice the window/plant room on the side of the house (my fav room). You should come by sometime and sit in our hammock.

I did a lot of yardwork today. I am a good home-owner. I raked and raked and swept and watered. Look at my nice yard and landscaping. Notice the Nebraska Huskers flag--notice how it matches the red flowers in the flower box. Tonight is the first game against the Maine Blackbears. A and I got tix and we're so going.

I did my regular weekly check on the new Fence to see if it is up and online yet, and today, lo and behold, I saw a different page. I am so excited. I badly want to see my name on their site. But all I could see were a gi-normous pair of milky white breasts. And, of all places I had to be for this great moment, I am in the public computer lab with my screen facing outward. I had to click away--I am too scared to go back. I really don't want to be the computer lab perv. I can't wait to go home and scan the issue (and maybe get a better look at the boobies).

New Killer Books in my Aqua Green Tote Bag: Ben Marcus' Notable American Women, Peter O'Leary's A Mystical Theology of the Limbic Fissure, Ben Marcus' The Age of Wire and String, Anthony Hawley's Afield, and Eugene Ostashevsky's Iterature. Reading bits and pieces between classes.

Recently, I've been wearing fake tattoos and smoking candy cigarettes. Right now I am sporting a dragon shooting flames from its nostrils on my right upper arm, and a box of Hawk candy stix smashed up in my pocket. I think I am going to try to make it my new thing, at least for the next few months. It has been a thing I do before, but I am ready, I think, to commit to it.

Today at 3 I am going to watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers with A. Tomorrow, I have an interview for another teaching gig. This one is at the Community College in town. I'll be a busy busy very poor little poet. Will be sending the manuscript out to a few places this weekend for another round of bruising. It is ready. It has new armor.

Wow, Fascicle. This is a monster. Do not go in pussyfooting around. This changes everything.

Here are a few pics for you wrestle with, snuggle up to. These are the ones that could have been posted 2 weeks ago. The pics of the house will come later, when it is presentable.

Going to a Mathias Svalina reading tonight. Then to Ames to visit with M and J.

P, A, and C shopping the outdoor market in Butte. Smelly, ugly, deserted, strangely fascinating Butte.

Z and P

Z buying cherries. Z ate about 400 cherries over the week. Z had indigestion problems. Backchannel me if you want details.

I look so out of place here. What am I doing? This makes me laugh out loud. I want a poster of this.

Lake MacDonald

Captain Z taking his crew around Lake MacDonald in Glacier National Park.

Louise, the Lake.

Z and A, with C. At a little Italian place in the town of Banff. It is very European, but strangely, very un-National Parky. There is a Gap just around the corner from here. It successful resisted the urge to jump over the ledge here to buy a man purse before my manicotti arrived.

Overlooking Banff.

A and Z in Banff

A and I - Last Day in MT

Again, a bridesmaid.

A chunky one with bad skin, in aqua green and big ruffles on the sleeves. I'm not your Verse Prize winner. Jon Woodward is. But, I will be "press"ing on. Ha Ha. I'm sad.

Octopus Note: If you are trying to submit poems, know that there is a bit of a clog in the system. We're getting it cleared up and the damn thing should take your poems in the next few days. So, chill. Just chill.

Met with Anthony today down at the Mill in the Haymarket. Going to try to make this my "hangout" as much as possible. Gonna get my study on there, I think. We talked shop, which is what I've wanted to do for a long time with Mr. Hawley, but so much was left unaddressed. Next time. We did cover Greg Kuzma, Ben Marcus, Brandon Shimoda/Phil Cordelli, Hilda Raz, Wayne Chambliss, Eugene Ostashevsky, Andrea Zanzotto, and Russian Absurdism and Translations. He gave me some Ben Marcus to read, and his own Ugly Duckling chapbook. Apparently, Marcus' Father Costume sounds a lot like my Man Suit. I wasn't copying--we'll see after the read. Had to ditch Anthony to go watch War of the Worlds (the 1953 version for Cold War Hysteria in Film and Lit and Culture class I'm taking).

Internet may be up at home now. Gotta go see. If so, pictures are to follow. I think A is cooking up some bbq beef sandwiches tonight (that I put in the slow cooker). Mmm.

Haven't showered for several days. The new house has bad plumbing. If I shower I have to pay consequences. I must shower though before class tomorrow. Must shave. The house is beautiful, but it needs love.

Instead of showering, I unpacked the CDs, LPs, 7-inches, and cassettes last night. Organized them and displayed them all. Dusted off the old Wesley Willis. It has been too many years. Wow. RIP.

Rock over London.
Rock over Chicago.
Burger King--Have it your way, right away.

Put up a mailbox yesterday at the new home with mega help from M and C. Now the mail carrier will quit holding my mail hostage at the local post office. They will bring it to me. PPut it in the new metal box. Christmas morning from the federal govt now, 6 days a week. So, I got hoards of bills that had been collecting during the move. Most overdue. But you don't want to hear about that. You want to hear about my two new books: Iterature by Eugene Ostashevsky. I have been waiting for this bad boy for months. He is tops on the list, for the most part, of poets I am excited about. I love Mr. Ostashevsky's poetic mind and can't wait to rip through his pages. This is also a reminder for renewing my Ugly Duckling Presse subscription. I also got Peter O' Leary's new chapbook from Dos Madres. The name of which escapes me at the moment. Also a big O'Leary fan. Both poets have been more than instrumental to Octopus. So, to the two of you: Thanks for that, and thanks for books.

Got to catch up on the shotty cell phone with big time friends Matt and Jill. They are in Ames now, a short 3 hr drive away from Lincoln. Looking forward making the trek--maybe this weekend.

Buying an old house (pictures soon when the internet gets to my house!) is cool. This one is a beauty. But the plumbing, we learned, is shot. A stab in the heart of our new house momentum. May your showers and craps at our house be few and far between.

I'm a new student and a new teacher this week. Wish me luck, won't you.

There are cool people in Lincoln. I'm not alone. I met Anthony Hawley yesterday, turns out he's a cool guy. We talked at the English Department orientation between stabs of other conversation. I'm very much looking forward to conversations 2-10. And the ones after that as well. We seem to be in similar places in life: age, family status (almost), etc, so perhaps we can give each other some needed reflections. I also met Mathias Svalina. He is a creative writer at UNL and we seem to have the same elite taste in the good poetry. Looking forward to picking his brain, reading his poems, giving him mine to read, etc, over some beer and/or fried chicken, or perhaps some hot chocolate, or perhaps something light, downtown, on a rainy weeknight.

Haven't run into Octopus designer Denny yet. He is in Lincoln. Our relationship up until this point has been almost entirely electronic (though before that it was good face to face times in undergraduate school in southern Missouri). Can't wait see him, but I've been too busy to stop by. So, Denny: How bout Tuesday for lunch? I'll swing by your office.

I'm being oriented all day today. Got a job at Wesleyan University here in Lincoln and spent the morning absorbing information. Must go home and bend and twist the old syllabus to fit Wesleyan-style. I did find out that my office is directly across the hall from new poet hire Michael Dumanis. I know a little (enough) about Mr. Dumanis to know I am a fan, or could be a bigger one. I have read some of his poems in LIT and some other mags. Fun to know I'm across the hall. We can chit-chat about po-biz sometime. Also learned that Dean Young is tentatively scheduled to read at Wesleyan. Hey hey. I wasn't supposed to say anything because the gig ain't been finalized yet. So, keep it hush. But, I hope he comes. Maybe I can turn his visit into a kickoff for my own Octopus sponsored Lincoln-based reading series. Could I be more ahead of myself? I'm thinking outloud now.

Off to new student orientation at UNL. I got a nice clean folder (New Kids on the Block folder circa 1989) to put all my multi-colored handouts in.

Wow. Ok. I'm in Lincoln. Not sure how that happened.

Aug 6-8. Glacier National Park. My eyes have never. My retinas have been spoiled. This is the most beautiful part of the country I have ever seen. Everything is so grand and untouched there. We boated on a glacier lake (Lake McDonald?) for an hour. I got to be the captain. We drove on Going to the Sun Road, which is a too-narrow swervy mountain road that winds upward (for us) with little or no railings on the side. The drops are 5000-10,000 ft straight down, sure death by heart-attack before collision. It was relaxing. I wanted to look at all the glaciers surrounding us across the valley, but I could only get glances, very quick glances. We also hiked up in there. Saw lots of mountain goats. Ran through an alpine meadow, singing like Julie Andrews.

Aug. 9-11. Calgary and Banff National Park. Calgary is much bigger than I had anticipated. A million Canadians live there. I learned remedial french by reading road signs and am now an expert on the metric system. Banff is gorgeous, though not like our own national parks. People live there, and they have houses there. There is a mall in the middle of it all--a Gap even. Money is being made everywhere inside the boundaries. And there was more trash off the trails. I saw a billy goat smoking a cigarette. But Lake Louise. Ho, man. I need to show you pictures. Very soon, I'll have pictures. I have to get internet set up at home to do that. I am in UNL's computer lab right now.

Aug. 12-present. Move to Lincoln. A real headache. We have too much crap. Too many books. But I have a disease: I can't give away any books, especially the ones I have read. So, I accumulate like nobody's business. But we are in, and the house is terrific. We got a good one. Fireplace, sunroom, booth in the kitchens. Again: wait for the pictures. You'll like it.

I'm at U Nebraska today, shaking a few hands, paying fees, etc. I'm so excited. I've learned about some pretty cool people, and met a few too. Can't wait to dive in. Learned about reading series' that are going on (might try to start up an Octopus sponsored one later--more on that soon).

Octopus submissions are through the roof. Brandon Shimoda has been a good little editor while I've been gone. He has sorted through all the submissions and put them in piles. A public thank you to B-Shimmy. But let me tell you, there is going to be some competition, boy.

So much to do and tell. But let me be for now. I have to find a job.

A and I will be taking in the mountains one last time, one last hurrah before we go back to flat ground. Tomorrow we'll leave for Glacier National Park in Northwestern Montana--poke around in there for a few days--then journey up to Banff National Park outside Calgary. It should be a good time. We want to remember the reason we moved out here in the first place just a few days before we leave it. We'll be back on next Wednesday to start packing up the UHaul for Lincoln. I won't have computer access until August 20-something, so this blog will be asleep until then. Though, watch out, when I get back I'll have an assload to say.

For now though:

1. We have had a lovely response to the new issue so far. These new poets are promising, and there is a lot of pressure in giving them the proper curtain. It feels though that the pressure has been lifted a bit. People seem to be eating it up. Up until this point, Octopus #3 has been the fan favorite, but the reaction to #6 may give it a run.

2. Ryan Murphy (get his chapbook, The Gales--seriously good) just recently told me that Anthony Hawley (a poet I'm very fond of (see my reaction to Canary #4)) would be teaching at U of Nebraska--Lincoln. I've had some anxiety about going back to Lincoln for the PhD because I was afraid there wouldn't be a big enough push for the kind of poetry I read and write. Ted Kooser is king there. Not the biggest Kooser fan. It is nice to know I'll have a kindred spirit in Hawley.

3. I am not your 2005 National Poetry Series winner. Bridesmaid, again. Didn't want it anyway. They can have it.

4. While I'm gone, throw your poems on the Octopus submission pile. This your one chance for the year. Don't blow it with your B poems.

See you when I get back. Have a great time, Zach. Ok. Tell A I said hi. Alright. Good luck on the move. Ok. Gotta go. Bye.

http://www.octopusmagazine.com/

Octopus #6 has arrived and it is not like the others. The poetry side of the plate is filled only with 16 promising young hot shot poets in the very earliest stages of their long careers-—for some of these 16, this is their first publication. 8 poems from each poet are included so that the reader can get a more complete representation of the work. And each selection is introduced, each poet endorsed, by a more established poet.

The ones giving the introductions: D.A. Powell, Dan Beachy-Quick, Matthew Rohrer, Heidi Lynn Staples, Jonah Winter, Matthew Zapruder, Dara Wier, Andrea Baker, Wayne Chambliss, Tony Tost, Donald Revell, David Lehman, John Koethe, Timothy Liu, Chris Vitiello, and Dean Young.

The young hot shot poets: Heather Christle, Alessandro Niero, Bill Cassidy, Betsy Wheeler, Joe Fletcher, Andrew McCarron, Brian Howe, Geoffrey Babbitt, Jill Beauchesne, Brian Dewan, Ethan Bull, Farah Marklevits, Danny Khalastchi, Randall Williams, Caryl Pagel, and Michael Quattrone.

Be sure to read all of them before deciding which poet is your new favorite.

Also check out REVIEWS from Brandon Downing's "Dark Brandon" by Brandon Shimoda, Michael Ives' "The External Combustion Engine" by Kathleen Ossip, Standard Schaefer's "Water & Power" by Allyssa Wolf, and Heidi Lynn Staples' "Guess Can Gallop" by Brad Flis, and an ESSAY on Gregory Corso by Matt Hart.

And RECOVERY PROJECTS on Edith Sodergran's "Complete Poems" by Johannes Goransson and Pam Rehm's "The Garment in Which No One Had Slept" by Stan Mir.
And don't forget: our reading period is the month of August. Send us your best, or else you'll have to wait again until next year.

Enjoy.

Zachary Schomburg, editor
Denny Schmickle, design

I've been busy, what with moving and all. Lots of things to do. I'm buried in boxes. A and I took a break from it all and went on a hike up the mountain. Beautiful views. She has the camera though at her last week on the Crow Reservation so I guess I'll have to prove it some other time. Been trying to get this special sixth issue of Octopus out but my internet was on the fritz since Saturday afternoon. I've been disconnected from the world. Look for it though by tonight.

Brandon and Phil's Pines Volume 2: Ridgefield, Connecticut is now available. I haven't received my copy yet, but Volume 1 was out of sight. I suggest you pick yourself up a copy of this limited edition letterpressed gem for a ridiculous $3, or the both of them for $5. Adam is going to review the set I'm told for Octopus #7 (by the way: get your hopes up ladies and germs, #6 is coming to your computers this weekend, barring castrophe). Brandon is also a reader for Cutbank, and that should be coming out soon as well (with little ditties from Adam and I). Brandon and Co. have really turned Cutbank around, be warned. This is not your father's Cutbank.

My First Earthquake

I've just experienced my first earthquake! And I was dispatching in the 911 center no less. It happened at about 10 pm Mountain Time (Brandon did you feel it?). Things were pretty quiet in the center and I began to feel like I was on a boat. I always imagined it be more like in the movies, a jerky and jolting sensation with quick sudden movements, but it was smooth. The building (our center is located in the basement of a 3 story building) felt like it was a raft waves, or sliding back and forth. I've never experienced anything like it and immediately thought I had lost my equilibrium. I became queezy and confused--I would have never suspected it was the earth that was moving like that, I figured it was me. I was about to tell my two co-dispatchers about my sudden illness when I noticed our strongtly secured TV monitors and lights swinging back and forth. The quake lasted about 10 to 15 seconds it seemed then all 6 of our 911 lines and all 9 of our non-emergency lines lit up (the 911 lines roll over to non-emergency if all lines are tied up). Shit the bed! Shit the bed! Every ranch hand and river bum in the entire county called in to report an earthquake, as if they were the only ones, though a few called in to say someone was rocking their trailer from the outside trying to get in, and one guy called in the middle of it to say his neighbor's dog was barking. We fielded about 500 calls in 15 minutes, and they are still fielding calls now that I have left. We had to ask everyone if there were any injuries, structural damage, or gas line breaks. Nothing major, as far as injuries seems to have happend. It is nice to live in the middle of nowhere I suppose during an earthquake--no buildings to fall on anyone. It was 5.6 in magnitude and centered about 40 to 45 miles west of Bozeman. (Blogger takes a deep and long sigh). Glad to get a chance at this sort of thing before moving back to boring old Lincoln. Tornadoes just don't do it for me.

New issues of storySouth, Coconut, Onedit, Red China, and New Hampshire Review.

When I can't get to sleep, I often times play these fantastic scenarios in my head. They're like dreams, though I'm conscious and controlling the scenario, but I'm not quite fully awake either. Last night, like many other nights, it was winning a book contest. Except this time, Verse Press and Fence Books both wanted my book and I had to decided between the two. To make it somehow more believable, realistic (relatively, of couse) and more believable and realistic is more fun in this case I think, Fence did not choose me as a winner, but wanted to publish my book outside the prize, so unfortunately, I would not be receiving the $1000 from them. So, the obvious choice, everthing else being perhaps pretty equal, I had to go with Verse, this being my own common sense, deep attraction for Verse Press, and the advice of A, who, despite being very proud, would rather not say no to an offer of $1000 which could help us take a step out of the small debt that my pursuit of these contests has caused--oh the irony of this pre-sleep scenario! And I can't imagine how difficult it would be to say "no" to Fence--I suppose as fun as it would be to say "yes" to Verse.

Anyway, I think all this obsession over getting this thing published lately means it is due time to get this thing published. I hope something out there pans out soon. It is just so difficult to move on with the next project when one is still lingering, not officially complete until publication perhaps, and thus still begging for attention and revision. I've tried writing other poems, but they are not their own. They want to be in The Man Suit. I need closure. I need to be doing other things right now instead of blogging.

Detroit has a Skyline Too

After about 8 years in the heavy listening rotation, my Superchunk's Here's Where the Strings Come In cassette has finally warped. Gotta spring for a new one. And it's gotta be cassette--God, they sound so much better on cassette.

Last Year
Last Night
I'm Tired
Let's fight

Like a coward, I put my thoughtful and thorough letter of resignation on dispatcher boss's desk tonight and ran. I don't want him to react to the news in front of me. I avoid awkward moments at all costs. Can't wait for our conversation tomorrow.

Salinger, the toilet I primarily utilize, and evidence of transition.

More E.O.T, and my favorite coozie. I once published an essay about coozies at obsessiveconsumption.com. You should google me sometime.

This was the only picture I managed to snap. The launch site. B and I had a good 2.5 hour stretch of float. Great weather. Floating beer cooler. I managed to burn only the following three locales on my pastey white self: the top of my left foot, my left thigh, and my hairline.

The last two nights I've had to work a 12 at the dispatch center. That is a lot of the party next door is too loud, there is barefooted drunk lady in the street talking to herself. A lot of my brother stabbed me in the leg, and there is a cow in the entrance ramp to the highway. I got home at 3am last night and watched two episodes of Kids in the Hall on Comedy Central. I miss those guys. I really do. My favorite is Bruce. Yours?

Today, I've been working on the Man Suit. It is a little tighter now I think. I'm ready to invest in some more first book contests. And I continue my search for a solid part-time job in Lincoln.

Tomorrow, I go floating down the Madison River all day in an inflatable tube. This is one of the three rivers that form the Mighty Missouri. I may float all the way to the Missouri, which begins only about 10 miles from where we live. I may bring some beers.

Been getting some good books in the box lately. Some signed Phylum Press books to the left: Even Song for the Lost Pollinators by Daniel Bouchard, United States by Dan Featherston, Tulips by Charles North (I want to color this book in with crayons), The Blue Book by Anna Moschovakis. Too Kind Lori Shine sent me Reverse Rapture by Dara Wier from Verse Press. A signed copy of Like Wind Loves a Window by Andrea Baker from Slope (it beat out the Man Suit last year for this, and deservedly so, wow). And penultimate package from my Ugly Duckling subscription (my God, does this 60 bucks go way further than it should!): Small Poems by Yuko Otomo, Bird and Forest by Brent Cunningham, and Soft Hands by Stan Apps.  

The new Canary finally flew in. I've only tinkered with bits and pieces adding up to half the issue. Thats usually how I read a journal, differently from a book of poems. I bounce around like a little electron. Sometimes I'll read the first half of one poem and the last of another. Anyway, I've been taken aback most so far by Peter Shippy and GC Waldrep and Susan M Schultz and Elizabeth Willis and the Danielle Pafunda. There isn't a weak spot here. Not a bloody one. Not even my poem.  

Black Cloud

Despite the fact that we're moving to Lincoln in a month, I have yet to tell my dispatcher friends and co-workers, and most importantly, my dispatcher boss, that I will be quitting. This is looming and hanging. Quitting is a difficult thing for me to do, it is like breaking up, and I'm deathly afraid of it. I'm afraid of the reaction on the faces, the awkwardness, the major disappointment in me. In fact, dispatcher boss just called me in to his office a few days ago and told me how wonderful a job I was doing, how proud he is to have me on the team, and how excited he was to be able to continue working with me in the future. I could have told him then, but I would have rather stabbed myself in the face. Anyway, it must be done within the week, I think. Should I do it with a letter? Otherwise, I'll just stumble over all the sensible points and look like a jackass. Oh, the horror! Oh, the awkward last two weeks afterward!

I hope they don't google me and read my blog. If so, I guess it'll make quitting that much easier.

Reb and Molly thought two of my poems were hott enough for their bedside guide anthology over at the No Tell. Hot dog! I hope my comp copies come in discreet packaging.

Back from NE. Had a good time with the in-laws and the biologicals. Saw a killer fireworks display in Norfolk, NE, home of Johnny Carson and my grand in-laws. A and I somehow purchased a residence in Lincoln. I'm still not sure exactly how that happened. A tornado of paperwork and figures blew through and we're homeowners. We picked out a strangely nice spanish inspired little number with corrugated tile and stucco. A flat roof. Tight landscaping. A backyard ripe for a brick patio. Wood floors. Fireplace. Sunroom. And get this: an honest to goodness booth in the kitchen with a modest little black iron chandelier hanging above it. And it comes with a friendly little neighbor couple name LeAnne and Phil and newborn daughter Sara. Can't wait to get my hands on this house and put some touches on it.We'll be moving back mid-August it looks like. Here's the only pic we have of it now:

Cute huh? But this is an outdated pic. Picture it with a tidy little flower garden in those little sections up front, and the window flower boxes full of red perennials. Also, not pictured is a black rod iron gate in the front. That whats up now.

Taking a road trip to NE after work tonight, 11 in the pm. Looking forward to it. A long overnight drive through Montana and Wyoming is pretty romantic. No other cars, almost literally, and the sunrise. Got B to feed A and M. Got my fantasy baseball lineup set for the week. Got two books in my back pack Andrea Baker's Like Wind Loves a Window and Ryan Murphy's The Gales (TT do you have this?). Lots of biznass to take care of there, and lots when I return.

Anonymous comment Darcie asked about Bozeman and its community, artistic and otherwise (are you planning a move here, ACD?), so I will oblige. Bozeman is a terrific little nook in the mountains. Small and scenic. So very clean and I didn't realize how breathable and light the air is up here 5400-some feet until I visited the heavy wet air of my old home in Arkansas a few weeks back. There is a college here, Montana State. There is a symphony (unheard of for such a small population (30-40 K) and live theatre, two one screen movie theaters downtown, one that shows traveling indie films. But the community is really geared more toward the out of doors: the hiking, skiing, floating, hunting, fishing (oh, the world-famous fishing!), running, healthy vegetarian type crowd. Everybody has a backpack, a dog, a ponytail, nice calves, and a Subaru with a kayak strapped on top. There is NO poetry scene and NO music scene. A real zero on the scale. The college is a science and technobabble one--the MFAs are up in Missoula at the U of M. I've enjoyed my time and Bozeman has been so so good to A and I, but looks like we'll be moving away from it all here in a month. Going back to Lincoln, NE. To the scene (to concerts, to the readings!). Where the houses are affordable (Bozeman is a joke in terms of cost of living. You got to be rich coming in, because you're not going to catch up here). Here are the Lincoln houses I want from a aesthetic urge, not a practical one:

 

 

Some good books that have found themselves in my mailbox in the past few weeks.  

Some new issues you should visit: Pettycoat Relaxer, Electronic Poetry Review, Gutcult and Tarpaulin Sky. Typo 6 drops Friday, ya'll.

Counting down the days until Octopus #6 drops (40 is about right). In a tight race with Typo, but I'm thinking they'll have us beat. #6, though, ain't like any other we've put together. It's one of them special issues. The poetry will be at its very freshest from poets you ain't never NEVER seen before. And don't forget to start writing your poems now for our August submission period. We're not gonna take any of that old stale stuff you've been sitting on since Kwanzaa.

Tough tough day at work. Wow. Need to relax now. Al is at Crow. I got a beer and a bag of microwaveable kettle popcorn. Got an idea for a poem.

Today was a good mail day. Got the 2 following items: the first issue of The Tiny and Standard Schaefer's Water and Power (Agincourt).

I can't wait to tear right into these. I'll let you know what I think. Look for a review of Water and Power in Octopus 6.

Top 3 fav po-books I've read in the past 3 weeks:

6x7 by Dan Machlin
External Combustion Engine by Michael Ives
The Thorn by David Larsen


You should read them too.

Have the day off tomorrow. Working on finances. Working on special issue #6 (the things coming in are wow). Cubs v Marlins on in the afternoon--have a block of time reserved.

Earlier this week, I got a chance to visit A at her little cottage on the Crow Reservation (she is working there through the summer as part of her internship). It was quite an eye-opening experience. I had the frightening opportunity to be a minority for a few days. It felt like I was intruding, that I didn't belong and perhaps wasn't welcome. It probably didn't help that I was taking pictures of everything. And the two 12 year old boys (at the oldest) following me in the pickup truck at every turn didn't help put me at ease. Very very poor area. A 3rd world county. A is doing terrific work and I am proud of her. The land is absolutely beautiful--I could really feel a sense of sacredness while I was there. And the people are so proud.

We had the chance to spend an afternoon together also, and we drove down to the site of the Battle of Little Big Horn (Custer's Last Stand). That was super cool. That elementary History text book came alive after all these years!

Where A stays.  

Junkyard nearby. 

The house next door. 

I took all my showers here. Only $2! 

This is the actual hill--that famous hill (there really is an actual historical hill!)--where General Custer made his last stand. The exact point where he fell is marked by the black grave stone. This is where the Sioux and Cheyenne and others finally met up with Custer while Custer and his men were trying to capture the Sioux and Cheyenne warriors for leaving their reservations in the Black Hills and disobeying (and battling) the soldiers. The Crow actually took sides with Custer, mostly because Custer and his men promised protection from the Crow's enemy (Sioux and Cheyenne). Throughout this tour, and my walk through the museum nearby, I got the creepy sense that the Crow were honoring the many soliders that died here, and not the warriors, Crazy Horse, and Sitting Bull. I guess I wasn't exactly expecting that. I don't know exactly how I feel about all that.

Mass grave where a bunch of Custer's soldiers, and parts of Custer's soldiers were buried after the massacre.