Monthly Archives: February 2010

Yasso Disc Review

Yesterday I did a Yasso that made my legs eat their father. 13 X 800.

4 X 6:00 mile pace     4 X 5:56 mile pace.    2 X 5:52 mile pace.    2 X 5:45 mile pace.    Last 800 at 5:30 mile pace.

I felt proud afterward. I actually gave myself a pat on the back. I physically patted my own back. This might be like going 3rd person. Like if I said, “Sean ran well today. Sean gave 110 percent out there.”

Reporter: What about the hotel room in Guam?

Sean: Sean thinks, It is what it is. I mean it’s a war out there and I apologize for comparing marathon training to war. Go freedom, Sean thinks.

Reporter: Ha, ha, ha. (Fake laugh to suck up to Sean.)

Problem is a workout like this rips the ham, makes the L foot like a Tokyo. So today I am hobbling. OLD. So was the YASSO useful if I now have to rest 2 days before my next intense workout? Are two moderate workouts in 3 days better than 2 wicked workouts in 4? I don’t know. We’ll see, maybe on marathon day.

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Disc Golf Station said, “Hey Sean, if we send you a few disc for free will you review them?”

Sean said, “Sure, but it is snowy like metal lids and I am possibly suffering Seasonal Affective Disorder and the snow did I mention the snow sitting on the forehead of Muncie Indiana like a stack of photos of a ceramic toilet or something equally repulsive/cold.”

Discraft FLX Drone

This disc be overstable. Like 2.6 overstable. What does that mean? It means you could throw it forward, wait and whistle a bit, and it might boomerang all the way around and hit you in the ass. You need an arm like Madonna for this baby. Not bad for Muncie, Indiana. Why? Tacky grip for the sleet/rain. Head-winds. This disc will not go donut on you, no turnovers. This disc plays tight in the cold. This is real plastic. I get the feeling you could leave ESP FLX plastic at the bottom of a creek and fetch it out 50 years later and it still be flying like thundering clops of a barrel racer. It is a serious plastic. I suggest throwing this disc into gales. I suggest you have an oily, strong arm like two day old coffee. Might also be a good tech disc, a bender, when you need to shape your shot like mascara around a pine forest or a phone-booth. If you are new to D golf, or squirrel-armed, this disc is going to go 90 degree on you, I mean geometric. So there you have it, the Drone. Go throw now.

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Fuck you February.

17 Miles of Blar and Kurt Cobain

I ran 17 miles today. (Up above is my nutrition coach and my masseuse.) The 17 were OK, the last 2 a bit shouty in the legwarmer. I have had some really solid workouts this week. I can tell I am shaping in, my body tightening like an English poet. I watched two documentary films while I ran.

* Kurt and Courtney.

I came away thinking:

1.) Looks like Kurt did kill himself.

2.) Do not do hard drugs. The most fascinating thing in this film were the interviews with Kurt’s pals, other bands, sycophants who did/did not do drugs with Kurt and Courtney. Seeing them damn near put me off my feed. Pale, ghostly, waxy looking people. One had abscesses on his head and was clearly blitzed as he argued there was no need to quit heroin. One was 35 years old and I swear to gods he looked 50-60. (He was killed by a train soon after his interview).

3.) Yes, Courtney came across as bitchy, Machiavellian, fake at times, etc., but you know what? Who gives a damn? I think this film was a bit of a hatchet job. If it was a guy in Hollywood or the music biz, no one would say a thing. She’s always been Courtney. Does not make her a murderer.

I then watched a short science film about tectonic plates. Then one about downhill skiing.

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This is one of my brothers and he once shot me. I did not press charges but now he clearly owes me one, which is nice.

His name is Stan.

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I just re-edited, expanded a micro-fiction collection. This is stupid. I already sent the short MSS out to one place. But I can’t stop. And I like the expanded works better anyway. It’s a mess but a mess I like playing in. It is intellectually fun to nudge, grow, flex the works. It is like I am growing a plant. Or raising gerbils I then dress in tiny costumes and take on the road to perform various forms of mathematical feats and leaps and loops of skill on unicycles. Etc.

I hate February. I am officially depressed. I feel like a roof, the underside. This month is 4 months old.

S

Speed Diagram Nachos Danica Nurse

Did speed. Burns X 20. All one minute bursts with .40 seconds jogging between. Good flow, cadence, feel quiet and fast, and no problems during, but hurt today. My L heel a bit Unreliable Narrator and my knees two cans of spaghetti. They will be fine. They just need a day. I should have taken a cold bath after the workout but instead drank 4 cold beers.

Speed was 5:27 X 4 reps, 5: 24 X 4 reps, 5:21 X 4 reps, 5:15 X 4 reps, then finished with 5:07 pace X 4 reps.

The last few were Nails, but you must recreate that feeling of 6. I mean the last six miles of a marathon. The first 20 and the last 6 are the same race, but different zip codes. The last 6 are a zip code in outer space. Or possibly located in the center of your chest. You fold into yourself. Things blur or become crisper. Things float or cement themselves to the ground. There is no one answer. You must put yourself in the crucible during training, that is a form of answer. If you see/feel enough of this you might not be so concerned. There is a philosophy of making training tougher than the race. It depends.

OK.

I have a 10k coming up and I’m not in 10k shape (I am in marathon training mode), but I do want to keep my leg turnover. I mean you have to rev the engine once in a while. Or as one coach told me way back when: They key to running faster is running faster.

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The new Diagram Ten Years Anthology is a fucking deck of cards. It has new diagrams and many, many authors. These: Stephanie Anderson, Sarah Blackman, Jenny Boully, Jason Bredle, Lucy Corin, John D’Agata, Brian Evenson, Tom Fleischmann, Albert Goldbarth, Heidi Gotz, Caitlin Horrocks, Melanie Jordan, Paul La Farge, Dolly Laninga, Sean Lovelace, Barbara Maloutas, Ben Marcus, Michael Martone, Philip Metres, Ander Monson, Manuel Muñoz, Lia Purpura, Emma Ramey, Aurelie Sheehan, Michael Sheehan, Katie Jean Shinkle, Lauren Goodwin Slaughter, Bruce Smith, Nicole Walker, Kellie Wells, Joshua Marie Wilkinson, Mark Yakich, Jake Adam York, and Charles Yu.

I am one of the Jokers, as you may guess.

I would suggest all AWP poker games use this deck of cards.

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How great is my Advanced Fiction class at BSU? Recently they presented Kim Chinquee’s work to the class. Today they present Richard Brautigan. They are studying the Field Guide to Writing Flash Fiction.

I am brainwashing flash fiction, as is my way.

Chinquee points out in her flash essay (pp. 109 in the Field Guide) that plot is NOT the events, it is the context around the events. So I wrote DOG BITES CHILD on the blackboard. The students spent time filling in the context: what child? what dog? who owned the dog? what the did the child’s parents say? Etc. This went on for some time and many interesting stories bloomed. They could just spin them out in class, aloud. I felt good about this.

I then read THIS aloud.

That worked.

They then went home and wrote a plot Flash.

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I got chips two time and had this radical idea of baking the chips two kinds and habanero love goodness all dark blue freckles all grainy strong hands and the salsa and the beans and I don’t know where this idea came from, my synapses shuffle my OK let’s eat my everything united cheese as one (enter song) and I broke grain broke mind broke tastebuds broke giant erasers of glow and redraw glow and munch my skin. Does this name have a dish?

Level 6.

*

I watched the NASCAR race until Danica crashed out. I liked how Danica’s mechanic radio dude or whatever you call them got on the radio and kept telling her to race closer to the other cars. I bet she was like, “Fuck you. Why don’t you get in this car?” That is the most car racing I have watched in my life. The old record was 34 seconds. I watched the very end of the race where Dale Earnhardt died. I was working at a psychiatric treatment center for children in Alabama. I do not like working with children. They are vastly more unpredictable than adults. This has been my experience. One time in Tennessee two kids busted out and jumped in a huge-ass river (It was the TN river). They swam out into the current. I was in charge at that time. We did get the kids back, alive. It is a long story. It was a long, wet day.

I miss being a nurse and I do not miss being a nurse.

S

Museum of Vandals by Amish Trivedi

The walls are steel. Cold I mean. I went out to my mailbox at dawn, when the light is blue and the air cracks in your teeth and everything makes you think of bones, or bones failing, or the inevitability of bones failing. Dog turds in the snow and a tree branch on my roof like a severed arm. There was a chapbook in my mailbox. WTF? WTF makes a curly-Q, a question mark of exhalation in the air, if you were wondering. Every word in the world condensates in its own fashion, that’s just physics. Some asshole was cranking on a snow-blower at six in the morning. My head felt like a box of stuck-together photographs because I drank beer while watching the Superbowl. I went 42 inch 1080 HD last week, but that’s a different post. So. When did I order this chapbook? Sometimes I order books late at night when all the walls are bleeding and lonely and orange and this is what happens.

It was Museum of Vandals by Amish Trivedi. A thing folded in a thing, and this green paper clip. It was a spring-fastened binder clip, not the usual steel loop. Green is my favorite color.

I read the chapbook two times.

Kinetic pop slither pop movement. Somebody chooses the right word. Joins another right word. It’s like pretending to sleep, or getting ready to kick some ass. I mean crouched. Say, tar, snakes, noisemakers. For example.

I have

an imagination

of tar: something is alive

under here. Snakes are


jumping through screams

and the trees. We saw

cranes of noisemakers

and long division streets. Teal

is a legitimate surface, an

operation by which


to read. This is a design of comprehensive

time–a vigil of something traumatic.

Poetry to capture all that is falling away. Role of. Poetry to freeze-frame the jagged thinking. A mind as stained as a skillet. Gleaming with word-grease. What do I think? Show you:

So much soy lining. A parrot screams, laughing

at the


gas masks or wolves. I


laughed (just a

little).

I read. A pain rolled from my head to my spinal cavity to the backs of my knees. I think poetry cuts to the stumble. I think poetry walks the strut. I think this poetry of Amish Trivedi is like a moon framed tightly in the window. The window has a crack through the moon. You are seeing a rupture here (touch it) and on the moon, There. It is very tight and strange and makes your hollow chest feel hollow. How so?

Something is ordinary and very wrong. Something is religious and obscene. Image as a type of gun. You fire the thing. We are all celebrities now. And sad and fucked up, like celebrities. Even a feather can kill someone, easy. Silence will not save you. Fingers, fingers, fingers–what to do with them now?

About

the rain? I was the


one that buried

it in a wall.

Wow. Word. And I mean word. Rain in the wall.

That is all you need to know.

2nd Serving of Eggs. Yassos. All that.

Wow, good newz. Feel like a Kentucky sunset. People like Eggs. Cool book-a-coming! Will be Sally. Like extra Sally. As Eggs will join other fiction collections, to be published in Spring 2011 by Rose Metal as one-fifth of a multi-author volume. This baby will feature Mary Miller (You haven’t read Big World? You are a clod of noses.) , Elizabeth Colen, John Jodzio, Tim Jones-Yelvington. And me.

Word.

I mean to post all the reviews of Eggs but cannot imagine the point. I might put them over there on the right, like some do. Anyone, the reviews have been many and strong and I want to give a big-ass thank you to all who took the time to read, write about the read. Wow.

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The story that will not die. More on Lish and Carver.

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Matt Bell interview very strong. Part one and two. This is sick, so much smart stuff. I read this and felt 1.) dumb (I feel this often), 2.) Now smarter, 3.) A helper in a glass-blowing demonstration. I felt keen. Glow of glass. I made something.

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YASSO X 8.

I went 6:00 mile pace for the first 2 800s, then went 5:56 X 2, 5:52 X 2, 5:49 X 2. I think it is important to increase speed/intensity as you near the end of a workout. To actually grind harder as you fatigue. This is what will prepare you for the marathon. Once you get into flow, take advantage of the flow. Use the flow to hammer, to get into the crucible. You know what I mean? You have to be in shape first, but once you get fit, the world is your workout, the workout your world. And it’s such a creative act. Every run is this castle of sweat and time and speed and something intangible–runners know the Place–and you craft and curve and shape this thing, this workout, this glowing castle, and it is corporeal and incorporeal, I mean it lasts for those minutes but then all the glow after, the muscles response after, the blood and hurt of the lungs, the growing, the day you toe the line, the day you cross the line, the day you finish one thing, start another. It is a castle big as you then big as the universe of running. Maybe castle isn’t the correct term, the image, but maybe a castle of shimmering air, of movement, of blur.

Felt good. Sort of sick of people wondering if these workouts are for real. Some debate whether Yasso can predict race time. Do them. Build up to 10 or more. They are for real. Have run many marathons and race times built on believing this workout. I think it real.

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John Madera reviews Jospeh Young’s Easter Rabbit here. I’d like to see more micro-fictions in the realm, more image based, floating in words.

Examples here.

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I had tofu refried beans nachos last night. I need Dave’s Insanity Sauce.

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I told you good newz.

Dzanc Best of the Web 2010 will include my Casablanca ode.

Word.

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I miss fishing. I wish I was fishing. I hate the cold.

happy.

February

I hate February.

(It means mud-month [Solmonath])

I live in a little, plastic kettle, February.

I saw a colorful sign today: MOLDY ICE.

Hello, ice-cream face.

Leave me alone.

Hello, great pale ugly thing lying on its back.

Lions, tigers, wolves, foxes, and shit of various kinds–February.

(It means cabbage [Kale-monath])

There is huge flashing sign in front of the funeral home and it flashes DRIVE CAREFUL!! and it pisses me off, February.

Hi February. I am going to pencil in these eyebrows, then punch you in the face.

(Ronald Reagan was born in February. Same day as Axl Rose. Zsa Zsa Gabor. You get the idea. Fuck Reagan.)

The dog turd in the snow on the parking lot glinted.

None of the rules of February are made or could be made by me–and that is frustrating.

I would like to take a chauffeur-driven jeep and drive it right into the kneecaps of February, like mash February into a bus, or a low bus step, or a childbirth of low bus steps. I would like to see February out job-hunting, that type of misery.

There are the budget cuts.

Cuts?

You are now sharing an office with February.

A low mournful hoot.

My Subaru tumbles over and is wriggling its tires.

The snowplowed mountain of shit.

The palace where there is more abundance of shit than in Antarctica.

My debut upon the world’s stage occurred on February 26, 1845, in the State of Iowa.

Buffalo Bill (fuck him)

The pleasure that contains feathered shit, beasts of shit, herbal shits and flowered shits, all wrought in shit–February.

I have to sit here while February squeezes my left breast. This is demeaning.