California Rainy Day

We are in California and it is raining again. Now I know this is nothing compared to the blizzard we missed in New York but it is sort of a strange experience for me. California-wise. This place is the place of No Weather, of Endless Sun, and Clouds Are Scared To Show weather.

I can't remember the last time I've been able to just sit, write, and post. To rain outside. I think I could do a writer's retreat somewhere rainy. Be forced to stay indoors. Write my brains out all day. I actually have my days here sectioned out by projects.

SUNDAY, MONDAY, TUESDAY - Niagara Falls Project

-this is a graphic novel that Tyson and I are working on about the barrel riders of Niagara Falls, it should be pretty cool. His friend Maris is illustrating it and his style is fascinating and deeply cool.

WEDNESDAY, THURSDAY, FRIDAY - Poetry Book

-in August I went to Canada to organize my first book of poetry. Aaron Allen was gracious and awesome to let me crash at his sweet cabin in Waterton. I had blog posts about it a while ago. Anyway, I've been editing and adding ever since. My tentative plan is to start sending out to first book contests in January.

SATURDAY, SUNDAY, MONDAY - Scripts/Film Projects

-I have a bunch of scripts I'm backed up on. Three web series, one cartoon web series, and two scripts for festival shorts. Besides the short we already shot that is being edited by our editor, Ed.

But I need to finish my original pilot script. My friend, Nick, keeps telling me if I want to get an agent that's key. So I'm going to just focus on that for a while. I can't tell you what it's about though. I'm superstitious that way.

So here's something I wrote today. Aaron encouraged to write further poems in this vein. As always, this is a first draft. Happy New Year! Here's some death!

Generic Obituary for Anyone #2

She had a name for herself
and it was a sound many made.
She lived in the place she lived.
A lover of food, she would eat it
often, even three times a day.
If there was weather, she noticed.
She is gone but her weight on earth remains.
She had plans for herself, unshared
formulated during long looks into the distance.
Her habit was to enter rooms
and switch all lights to ON.
The world is indeed darker with her gone.
She had a quiet reserve of hopes and dreams.
For those of you who knew her, we send condolences.
For those who didn’t,
we can’t speak enough on what you missed.
Somedays for her were enough to live.
Otherdays she was capable and indomitable.
There will be a service in a place at a time.
When it is finished, we will pull the earth over her.
She will look like she is sleeping.
And that she will not dispute.
She is survived by all of us.

Day 20 - The US of Eh

I'm in an internet cafe. Across from Aaron Allen. We're in Waterton, Canada where his family has a beautiful cabin in the mountains. I'm here to write. To kayak a bit. Learn how to golf?

Today, we kayaked Lake Cameron. We lost track of time (neither of us wear a watch and it was overcast) and we ended up being on the water for 7 hours. It's been a few crazy days of traveling for me. Flying to LA, getting some In and Out, and then James Appel being so kind to drive me to a different airport so I could fly to Canada.

This is what I wrote while I was at LAX. I was a little delirious but I like it.

LAX – 4:40 AM

You do not tire.
You are undauntable, you are American.
A self made sun.

Here, in the waiting room of your heart,
I feel your wheels, I stride the gears.
I get up and wade your pools like fuel.
Our need is your on switch.
Our travel itch, that we have to get off
and get on and on. Infinity.

From this great glass,
I spy every plane splash
into the surf of the Pacific.
They taxi in where worker men
swing fronds of palm to beat
clean the cling of clouds.

Stretch those wings a while.
Cool your jets, man.
Let your uniformed brain take a walk.
It’s good to change your mind.

Put me in an orange vest.
I will spread seed for your birds.
Clean the tarmac with leftover java.
I can spell out love notes in lights
to all your most faithful lovers.

If the Big Earthquake comes,
LAX, I have no doubt
every plane here will grasp you up
by their rubber feet
and carry you to another land
ready for your busy heart.

The Travel Bug

So my little poetry writing break is coming to an end. I tried to start something tonight but was falling asleep everywhere. I'm reading Galway Kinnell's Book of Nightmares so I'm working on nightmare poems. Spooky scary.

But Val and I are leaving for a trip! We're flying down to California on Thursday and then I'm flying up to Canada on Friday. Because Valerie and I always split up the week before our anniversary to make each other extravagant gifts. They have to be hand made. Last year, she made me a canoe with my name etched into a banner being carried by two eagles. And I made her a hammock that fit exactly to the shape of her body. And had a cup holder.

Oh, wait. Those are lies. We never do that kind of stuff. We just buy each other diamond jewelry. I have a bandolier made of rubies and Valerie is getting (don't tell her) a bathing suit of carbuncles.

Holy crap, I'm tired. I'm going to bed. I have to find some more carbuncles tomorrow.

Day 18 - Levertov, Me, and a Morning of Writing

So here was the morning assignment. I wanted to use the structure of her poem, "About Marriage". Which I won't adequately show here because of the blog restrictions on line length and spacing. This is her first line:

Don't lock me in wedlock, I want

marriage, an

encounter -

So I took this idea of marriage and made it my own concern. The feelings I have about calling Valerie my "wife". I think it makes her less. Like she's a half person identifiable only by her title, that she would be the same as other "wives". I frequently just say "Valerie".

The middle part of Levertov's poem was about an encounter with birds. I frequently dislike poems about birds or flowers or anything where poets just list off scientific names to birds or flowers. I hate any poem that starts with...."I spied a bird while sitting at my desk" and then so forth onto comparing that bird to the world or their life and then the bird flies away and I'm at home gagging.

So thinking of that, I forced myself to write myself sitting and writing and thinking about stuff. Now I'm not sure if the middle works yet. But I like how the poem turned out I think. Levertov study, away!

A Four Letter Word

I don’t say wife when I speak of you
it is tethered
to old earth-
(heavy, connoted)

I tell them instead of the rainstorm
built for us

(the sun, sensing its time

nudges at my attention

I have a fan set

to Paper Storm

and my yesterday knots

have piped from me

into the watertable

I keep my books close

a room of teachers often

but sometimes an audience

the applause of pages

somewhere near

you are cleating the earth

to move at your speed

my words are wings

we have become momentum)

there was a rainstorm
that while we walked through
woke every tree
though it felt like we did
like we were inevitable here