get a haircut, freak...

and act in an approved fashion.

the days of the Junior Spies and their parents are upon us. I'm writing a book of poems called Good Morning, George Orwell as a matter of fact. hopefully it'll be finished very soon...

and this is to try and stave off this.

glad our taxes pay for a bullshit war and bailing out the real high stakes gamblers out there. wouldn't want to be able to see a doctor regularly or anything...

damn straight...

*

same as it ever was?...

ahh, greedy fuckers living the mantra "privatize the profit, socialize the risk" being bailed out by our money. it's wonderful. let's hope another Republican great depression isn't underway, even though we should have a total economic freeze right now if the market were really "free," like so many half-read knee-jerk types think.

dr. ravi batra...

a good interview with an economist who's been an accurate forecaster of the current troubles...

rip, mr. clarke..

review of Next Exit: Five...

check it out at Poesy Magazine. the GPP is interviewed in this issue as well.

please, people, get some rest...

from an email:

"I have needed a nap, just one goddamned nap, since Monday--& do you think I could get one? This is why people lose their minds & go shoot up their offices. For decades they aren't allowed a nap when they need it, some time to get a tooth drilled, just one goddamned afternoon to drink beer in the sun...finally the brain snaps, & after decades of suppression, it snaps too much. We need to feed these little demons of ours, not repress them...give them a little time in the light...indulge them in spurts, so they'll be sated & go back to sleep. But you tell them "no" for 20 years & you'll end up eating a nice god-fearing family of 5 & Fox News will call you a monster...& you'll be interviewed & all you'll be able to say is "All I wanted was a nap, a man should be able to have a nap if he needs one..." & they'll cut back to the interviewer who'll shake his head & say "...a cold, unfeeling monstrosity...here's Sally with the weather..." & who's the monster then?"

- Hosho McCreesh

hard rain...

well the tornado that swept thru town managed to really fuck up our ONLY little refuge from this town's constant madness, the beautiful Oakland Cemetery.

here are some photos I found. we haven't made it down there yet, but we will. it's closed until further notice and it is an ugly scene. trees ripped apart and thrown around, monuments crushed and tossed, trees across the roads and graves. sad.



here's an untitled poem that relates:

Tornado
through the
graveyard,

the dead
dance
again.

-Hosho McCreesh

new McCreesh...

from Kendra Steiner Editions.

how can you go wrong?

plus read this interview with Doug Draime.

maybe bad poetry...

can stop obama, says wingnut lady.

the commenters are great at sadly, no! too.

3.9.94...

new poems...

I added three new poems to my homepage (I wrote a shitload of em the other night, all of em vaguely political in some fashion)(but, really, isn't everything?).

check em out, if you like.

music and brains...

read this review of a book that tackles the mystery of music and its action on the brain and emotions. it sounds interesting (this book mentioned in the article sounds good too). this jumped out at me:

"...Sacks notes that not only do human beings listen to music a lot, they also imagine music constantly; so even if your ears aren't being musically stimulated, you may be self-stimulating musically the rest of the time. Sometimes, we voluntarily produce musical images, as when we sing a song to ourselves for the fun of it, but we can also be subject to involuntary musical imagery. We are all familiar with that insistent tune that runs through our head against our will and taste (I was recently subjected to the chorus of Tom Jones's "She's a Lady" for about a week—a song I dislike and despise)..."

yesterday it was "Fefe Naa Efe" by Fela Kuti when I woke and today it's "Only A Fool Would Say That" by Steely Dan. what song that won't get out of your head is driving you crazy today?

true fans...

this is the type of idea that should drive poets, painters, musicians, etc. if you are serious about making a living at what you do artistically. for me, it might include not only the little poem books, but the longer poem books, the stories, the paintings, etc. and it's the entire reason why I try to add a little extra to my chaps and such. it should drive us to constantly produce new and better work, since we hope to get it in the hands of those true fans.

it's a lot like the GPP in the sense that the GPP tries to reach readers who are already predisposed to poetry in some way by targeting likely book purchases.

and it might not even need to be 1000 fans, it might only have to be half that number to support the work of an artist over the course of a year. it just means that the artist has to hustle on some level, mostly thru personal contact and the help of their friends (and true fans), if he/she doesn't want to spend their entire life in a factory or a cubicle. some folks hate the hustle (I know I do) but it is necessary if earning something from your creation is at all important. there are ways.

one more gamble: the life of an artist.

new broadside...

one of my poems from Flowers has been made into a GPP Broadside, shipping out across the world on monday. 1300 copies in circulation. pretty sweet, and great work by our Lt. General Printer Selene.

check it out and then see the other great broadsides shipping alongside it HERE.

read...

some Doug Draime.

a couple new poems...

close enough

one more cup
for spare change and
one more dirty sign

and
they're tearing down
a factory
to build factory lofts

and more time
waiting on the bus
as a friday afternoon wind
blows

while they're
clearing out space
for new development.

home
is miles away.

but there is a handbill
on a crumbling wall
with the word

hope

beaming out
from beneath
the face
of
one
of
them.


cunningham
08


eclipse

a cold night
and the moon
is eclipsed.

saturn glows
yellow white
in the burnt orange light.

we spin
and
attempt influence.

we mark the passage of time.

we navigate
as best we can.

we are pushed and
shaped and bent

and bound
to the earth.

we call
ourselves

lucky.

everything,
finally,
finding
a comfortable darkness.


cunningham
08

a masterpiece...

from my ten year old nephew Dylan: