Monthly Archives: March 2010

I shoot a sonnet with a rifle and chili and I don’t know

Made some venison chili. As usual, I just grab whatever and throw it in the pot. I saw this massive pepper at the store.  I’m not sure what type of pepper. Anyway, I brought it home and threw it into my chili. I punctured it seven times with a knife first, to let the heat and flavor seep into my chili. The chili was level 6, so I’m not sure if this process worked. This might be my last chili for a while. Spring is not for chili. Spring is for fish tacos and shrimp nachos and golden beer. Spring is for taking my kid canoeing and fishing. Spring is for running 26.2 miles. Spring is disc golf. Spring I might try to strangle a flower to life,  if I can, I’m thinking below my mailbox. No, I will go fishing. I don’t go around saying, “I’d rather be fishing.” I am not a green ball cap in a store in TN with wonderful potato wedges. You know why? Because I am out fishing and yes I curse too often around my son and sometimes instead of a rightful dinner I give him Cool Ranch Doritos and maybe a cup of blue yogurt but damn if that boy won’t have wonderful memories of fishing and the ability to catch fish and to read the dips, curves, eddies of a river and navigate a canoe and just realize for a second that we are actually the river and the river is us, our very blood and pooling synapses and that’s why it feels good, son, feels good to leave all the nonsense behind and get a cooler, two rods/reels, a bag of roasted peanuts, a big-ass Pepsi for you, a red canoe and kiss/wave/cough the crazy world goodbye to go fishing.

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I did a YASOO 800 X 14 last evening.

4 X 6:00 mile pace.     4 X 5:56     4 X 5:52     Then one at 5:49, one at 5:27 mile pace.

The last one I was so exhausted and coughing a bit and I just didn’t know if I could finish the full 800 but then I remembered years ago Lance Armstrong said, “You can surprise yourself how the mind can overcome the body’s limits.”

(I used to dislike Lance because he was dating Sheryl Crow and I have a major crush on Sheryl Crow and didn’t want to have to imagine Lance pedaling all over her.)

That seems obvious or corny or whatever, but it is actually very true. So I just told my body, “Legs that feel like dead fish, lungs that whimper glass, you are going to stop soon, OK, you get to stop soon, but NOT RIGHT NOW.”

And I finished my last 800 and stumbled into the shower. I felt very tired but very alive and anyone reading this who has really pushed their body out there, out there into what I call The Crucible, knows what I am saying. Runners run because it makes you feel alive and real and actually spending a moment in your body NOT questioning, NOT questioning, wearing yourself like your skin is indeed yours and maybe things will be OK or glow for a little while.

Pretty solid, but I have been ill lately and the training has been lame-o like a duck. I need another long run before the marathon. I am am semi-fit but certainly need more mileage. The illness (a nagging cold) cut down on my mileage. We’ll see.

[Note: running at night is never smart. My metabolism was all sped up and my body hot for hours and I sit there in bed with tired legs and a very awake mind.]

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Corium Magazine be crazy like talking soda. Lauren Becker did not fuck around! Thanks for asking me aboard, Lauren.

I have a prayer in the new Divine Dirt Quarterly. It is centered and I didn’t write it centered. I have never written a centered poem in my life, but maybe it’s just an editorial decision on their part or maybe they will change it or maybe it doesn’t really matter at all. I mean I got a mortgage and this little gutter on my house that sags weird like a broken rib and my dog is so stupid and never sits or comes back and here I am blabbing about some centered poem.

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Over at HTML Blake got drunk and read a selection from Drunk Sonnets.

Drunk Sonnet blog here.

My interview of Daniel Bailey (Sonnet author) here.

Damn! I can’t get Blake’s sonnet video to embed. Have no idea why. I am an idiot.

Here, go to The Faster Times and watch it. It is worth a watch. Blake is trashed. Don’t drink like that, children.

Well, you know, I am a big fan of Blake and I am basically  a lemming so waited two days and knocked back a beer or seven and read another Drunk Sonnet, # 18. I then went outside and shot the sonnet with a tricked-out squirrel rifle, as is my way.

Enjoy. And remember, I am trained in both firearms and poetry, so don’t try this at home, kids.

S

Woot Woot Newz and Miles

Word.

New micro-fiction/poetry/hybrid/whatever/plop/lovely pancakes/celebrities/corn chips/thing coming out in 2011.

The more I wrote on this the more I understood people offended by the term, genre.

What do I know about this MSS?

Pub Genius Press.

MSS is odd. Not sure what to say about the MSS. I feel it’s a swirling pool below a pipe, a flotsam juxtaposition. We’ll see. I enjoyed writing it, intellectual play, shard-glow, sort of the point of writing for me.

I’ll let the words on the page talk in 2011. That’s how it should be anyway.

Here is a sample but a poor sample since I have radically changed the text by now.

Here is a sample but a poor sample since I have radically changed the text by now.

How do I feel? Like snapdragons and wine made from the drippings of arrows. I wear transparent sandals as I walk the kidneys of my living room. That means happy. Then it settles and I had  a small depression (why? but the same thing happen after a good road race) and then I just settle and move on and try to write something. Been weirded out by Lady Ga Ga recently. Not sure why. But I sense I will write about Lady Ga Ga soon. I feel it stirring and that is usually the beginning of how I work. It’s like an itch.

What should I do to celebrate?

Make nachos. Kiss them. Drink champagne.

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Other big news!

The Broken Plate launches on Monday! During the In Print Festival.

In Print has Mary Miller, Matt Bell, Kalia Yang, and Mitchell Douglas.

How kick ass is that?I am always so impressed how this festival gets these people together, reading, conversing, energizing all the BSU community. Makes me proud to work at BSU, to be honest. If you are anywhere near Muncie, Indiana (and I know you are) on Monday or Tuesday, come hear these people read, speak, glee like film-makers and moons.

Wow. It’s been a journey on the magazine.

The Broken Plate is the BSU undergrad-edited literary magazine. I have been Head Editor the last year. It was a new position for me and I had never done such a thing and I went from anxious to OK to we-can-do-this to awed, especially by the students. They really stepped up, from designing to editing to marketing to everything that makes a literary magazine. I am happy and proud of our end product, our words.

This issue crackles like golden larynx bones. Includes Roxane Gay (always strong) and Jimmy Chen (one of the wittiest, most interesting writers, period), many others, and even BSU students. One of the unique aspects of The Broken Plate is the mix of national/international writers and BSU undergrad students.

Someone is going to say, “Hey, Sean, Roxane and Jimmy and you all write for HTML Giant. Is the fix in at the magazine?”

BLAR ME.

The students edited the magazine. The editing was done blind. I didn’t even get the names of the authors until the very end of the process.

But I am HAPPY to see these two authors and many others.

Get a copy!

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New Word Riot out!

Great interviews: Mary Miller, Shya Scanlon, Matthew Simmons.

I thank Riot for these. Excellent.

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Ran 17 miles today at Greenways. What is Greenways? This:

Oh, it hurt. I won’t lie, I was a tad hungover. You do NOT want to run your long run in a state of dehydration. That be stooopid. So I drank a metric ton of water (carbonated–I drink all my water with fizz now, and it is annoying) on the way over. Went bad and good, like many long runs. My hams are screaming now. I felt dead-legs early, then got a second wind about mile 10. Grinded 10-14. Then drove it home. I had a tendency to grind anything home, and I hope to never lose than tendency.

I saw dogs, reclining bicycles, dogs, dog shit (who let’s their dog go ON the Greenway?), kids, no comets, no naked people, a few other runners (more joggers–nobody was rolling it), dogs, a man screaming into a cellphone while standing on a bridge (In general, people pacing across bridges, yelling into cellphones, they scare me.), a nice parcel of robins in the shrubbery, a house with a pond and this canoe at such an aesthetic angle, like some small Japanese print, I don’t know, I was jealous of the pond-canoe people but I am sure they have credit card problems and the wife still pays for porn (who does that?) and the teenager just started hardcore into the Furry scene and I saw several rivers (rivers always make me glow and give me energy) and groundhogs and furrows of dirt and someone mowing their yard (a bit early?) and more robins and a few doves and several woodland/swamp areas I would not mind bow hunting (noticed when I think of bow hunting I run faster).

I talked to exactly one person. This older man bicycled up behind me and just stayed there. It weirded for a second. Why is guy drafting off a runner? Then he pedaled alongside and yelled out, “You are running 9 miles-per-hour!”

I said, “Sounds about right.”

Then he pulled away. Well, thanks for than information, kind sir. Your little digital MPH reader.

That was my only conversation of the morning (except when I prayed to my knees).

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Been playing a lot of Bioshock (the first one). That game be crazy. I like it.

Xbox is weird. I should not be playing it, yet I find odd moments. Reminds me of running or writing in that way. If you really want to do something, you do it. People sometimes annoy me when they say “I have no time” to do something. You can find time, though it might be pain in the spleen (like running at 6 a.m. or X-boxing at midnight or eating nachos during a faculty meeting). Really they are saying, “I don’t want to do that thing as much as another.”

I think.

S

10k All Eating the Singing Corn Dogs

I caterwhomped at 5:30. The air was blue. Like the blue of juxtaposition. Outside no crickets did _______. I might have sensed a bird but is this a Murakami story? No. What if I threw in a talking monkey? No. Juxtaposition. What is that? Clive, tell us.

Clive: “You throe one thing than another you end up with a third lose thing that is different that the first two things once the right time passes. Like when I make beer at the house.”

Thank you, Clive.

Mark picked me up to go try the 10k. We drove to Indy.

I said, “Mark, you used to always get lost but now you have GPS and never get lost.”

(Mark’s GPS voice is this sexy Australian. It made me want to meet her and play Scrabble in some cafe in Guam.)

I said, “We are going to run this motherfucking 10k.” Or something like that. Something from the throat and heart and left foot.

The day dawned sunny/cold, little wind. I would say the day was like a bleeding fish.

Why did the Indiana State Museum charge us for parking? You don’t charge runners for parking. I felt bad since I didn’t have any money and so Mark had to pay $4. That breaks a driving etiquette rule, folks. The person NOT DRIVING pays for parking. That’s obvious. So I felt badly about that one.

ON YOUR MARKS GET SET GO!!!

I tucked into some fast ones, dropped hammer at 3-5, reeled in some folks. Finished arms pumping like a goat.

After I finished I cheered Mark home. I yelled, “Come on, Mark!” He finished strong. I like to see a runner finish strong, that attitude, like, “Not only I am going to finish this race, but I OWN this race!”

You can look up results here if you are just bored.

Mark ran his first 10k. He finished 235 out of 1700. I am/was proud of Mark. He ran the race in 50:40.

I ran my many-teenth 10k. I finished 11th out of 1700. I am/was proud of me. I ran the race in 38: 07.

After the race we played Disc Golf.

Then I went with some friends and ate a metric ton of Japanese food and drank a metric ton of sake. Here the debris. I like photos of debris. Wait, the debris photos were lame like dog collars. Ok, what about during the glutton?

I look at this and think:

1.) I need a haircut. I look scruffy and/or freakish.

2.) My two year old is on an iphone. At two years old!!!

WTF?

(Hi, I’m two and cannot interact with humans, la-de-la….)

Cute kid though…

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Today’s mail!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh my. Disc nerd alert.

(Holy shit check out this Crystal Z Buzz!!!!!)

Crystal Z Buzz

Crystal Z Buzz

Crystal Z Buzz

I’ll throw one like Tim Donaghy. I mean throw it FAR.

[My favorite sushi was the yellow tuna. I can’t explain that color of yellow. Uh, Clive…

Clive: “Mee maws hands. They shake like that the sky this man painted. I remember the highway said they would buy so much of maws land for the big Dysberg out there to the airport and needed dirt would make her a pretty pond but she said go strait to hell. Then they just come back anyway. Grandpa said they had domane. They never built that pond neither.”

Thank you, Clive.]

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I need to go run 20 miles today.

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Ever year I try to win this flash fiction contest where you get a case of beer. For two years I have been a finalist. This year? Finalist again, but no suds.

Cellstories featured my Elvis/cocaine story. Thanks.

The Red Room is out. I am in there. It be sweet like Book Fairs and muddy shoes.

Red Room full of Bill Kushner, Jayne Pupek, Maurice Oliver, Lewis Warsh, Changming Yuan, Ruth Altmann, Stephanie Gray, Nicole Cartwright Denison, Leonard Gontarek, Andrew Mossin, Lydia Cortes, Lynn Levin, Meg Pokrass, Elizabeth Thorpe, Miriam Kotzin, John Grey, John Vick, others.

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Odd little story by S.H. Gall over at decomp. Good work with tone, with wistful thought, with brick lodged in the head. Also S.H. Gall is a cool name.

Memphis story! Alex Pollack at Hobart. Sweetness. Ah, Libertyland, the memories…

The man references the Zippin Pippin! Well done, sir. (Alex blog here)

“You’ll buy a funnel cake,” Jessica says, “take two bites, say it’s too sweet like you always say, and throw it away like you always do.” She’s mad about last night, when I microwaved a hot dog wrapped in tinfoil; it left a blur of electric blue and a trail of flames.

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I have these business ideas. Like today, I was thinking, “Singing corn dog.” A singing corn dog. People like corn dogs and they certainly like music. It would be like a corn dog ipod or something. You would carry it proudly like a torch, all the while your favorite song drifting on the air like corn dog essence, like fried oil or fried pig or fried corn flour tunes of glow. I think it’s a winner idea.

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Late at night I watched Amy Winehouse London 2008 in HD. Never do that. She was drinking beer and slurring songs and picking her nose and wrecked out her wonderful mind. I couldn’t imagine being in that audience. Most interesting were the looks of all the professionals dancing and playing instruments behind her. It was like the loud kid in class who sits on the front row and shouts out all these crazy answers and the kid never gets that EVERYONE BEHIND YOU IS STARING AT YOUR HEAD IN A WEIRD WAY.

The musicians has this look like, “Play your instrument, smile, don’t notice the slurring, stumbling singer. Don’t notice. I need this paycheck.”

You want some of me?

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Clive, what do you think of farming?

Clive: “He says a farmer gets it bad both ways. A farmer sells the beans and corn for what people say . The farmer buy the seed for what the people say. Thats how he means both ways. Aint  no reply my grandpa says. A man can’t punch a big system. Grab it down to normal size.”

OK, Clive, getting all political!

Love you, man.

S