there are only so many of us...

I am sitting here drinking cold coffee in the oppressive Georgia heat. the crickets are a staccato chorus outside my broken windowpanes, their chatter vibrating thru my heavy mind. I press the cracked skin of my fingers against my red eyes. no relief from any of it.

I need to say a few things. the world is a terrible place, mostly, filled with venom and ugliness, laden with burden after impossible burden, there is never any mercy for any of us really. there are only moments of no struggle, no screaming, moments where we can catch our breath and try to find the reason to go on, try to find the reason to keep swinging even as we realize the futility of fighting.

in a world like that it makes no sense to do deliberate harm to another human being who is really alive, one who burns with the fire, one who truly believes that it is possible to find a way thru the madness and grief. and that is what I've done, in my exchange with Owen. I gave over to the miserable, basest portion of my Sicilian nature, and instead of accepting the opinion of another as something different from mine, yet still valid, and moving on with my life, I chose to be a smarmy, smartassed prick. no matter what theeffects said to me in regards to my letter/post, I responded poorly.

so: first and foremost, I do not think that Owen Roberts is a hack. I do not think him to be in any way shape or form a bad writer. rather, I think his poetry is strong, honest, and very real. and most of all, I raise my glass to any motherfucker with the GUTS to write poetry in such a vapid place as America Version 2006. theeffects has the guts and the will to keep standing up again each time the poem calls, and he does it as well as anyone, and better than most.

it is wrong of me to provoke someone, which is exactly what I did. I knew I was pushing buttons, and then when I got the response I sought, I acted even more snarky. I misunderstood theeffects "threat" of "kicking my ass," and reacted as I would had a real threat been made against me, as I'm sure anyone would in a similar circumstance. so there is no need for any "law" nor any "ass kicking." instead, I propose that I be LESS INCLINED TO FREAK OUT IN THE FUTURE in all situations. hopefully a deep breath, a cup of coffee and a smoke (h/t to Kat), and a more calm rational assesment of the actual nature of the problem at hand will yield more productive results for this high-strung poet.

okay. I've been "long winded" again (sorry, Owen) but felt this needed to be said. I was wrong for my part in this, I overreacted, and I never wanted to disparage ANYONE who faces the misery and pain of this savage life with the aplomb necessary to turn it into poetry. and that is what we are about here, all of us.

and on a personal note to theeffects: "what? are you kidding? we got ourselves a family here..." and I hope this little corner of the small press can continue its bold assault on the ranks of REAL HACKS and ACADEMIC FRAUDS and those too afraid to live, too afraid to burn.

thanks for reading.

**cross posted at This Poet's Life**