Wed July 9, 1:46AM
So as stated in my last post, this is hoping that since the whole journal process is now easier that i'll be better able to be consistent at it. thank the inimitable marty mcconnell for loving me enough to build me the new site which is not only easier for me, but easier for everyone else. my cousi had built me an excellent site, but it was difficult for folks who didn't have a hyper-fast connection to get on to it, so this is better suited for the time being. i'll bet him to hook this site up with audio clips and what not in time.
I'm still studying Patrick Rosal's book. His work is enormous and beautiful. it gives me so many ideas for series i have to write, for recollections of my own life that i am yet to tap, but somehow i can recall telling folks about everyday. I'm up this late because i have stuff to finish designing a workshop for VisionIntoArt (check their website at visionintoart.org) on generating writing for inter-disciplinary/collaborative work, but i'm also being haunted by this new work i have brewing.
before i obsessed about poetry, i obsessed about football (soccer for the rest of y'all. i played all the way through college and semi-pro/amateur leagues for a little after that. in high-school Roger Guiseppi, when asked how he was so adept at being able to dribble past an opponent by knocking the ball through his legs, said "when i collect the ball, i know where everyone is, so i just estimate the footsteps it would take for a player to get to me, count them and know when the steps got quicker, he was stopping and his legs would be open. i could then just knock the ball and turn, without even looking..." how does a 15 year old figure that out. this is not anything that is in any textbook or football manual anywhere; but it is an intelligence that he developed and learned and got good at, just like Freddie in Patrick Rosal's poem. these are the poems that live in my past and these are the possibilities that exist in the human being, so we write down what we love enough and believe enough and know to be true, and do it enough times and listen to enough poems (or footprints) to know when to close our eyes; and turn...
Abena also made me go see Steve Turre (noted Jazz musician) play today at the Tourneau Atrium in midtown. This brother played a jazz standard on conch shells. Yes. Conch shells. i grew up on an island. i've blown into conch shells my whole life. i had no idea you could do THAT on a conch shell. i have much work to do. see y'all later. gonna go invent a line-break or something...
So as stated in my last post, this is hoping that since the whole journal process is now easier that i'll be better able to be consistent at it. thank the inimitable marty mcconnell for loving me enough to build me the new site which is not only easier for me, but easier for everyone else. my cousi had built me an excellent site, but it was difficult for folks who didn't have a hyper-fast connection to get on to it, so this is better suited for the time being. i'll bet him to hook this site up with audio clips and what not in time.
I'm still studying Patrick Rosal's book. His work is enormous and beautiful. it gives me so many ideas for series i have to write, for recollections of my own life that i am yet to tap, but somehow i can recall telling folks about everyday. I'm up this late because i have stuff to finish designing a workshop for VisionIntoArt (check their website at visionintoart.org) on generating writing for inter-disciplinary/collaborative work, but i'm also being haunted by this new work i have brewing.
before i obsessed about poetry, i obsessed about football (soccer for the rest of y'all. i played all the way through college and semi-pro/amateur leagues for a little after that. in high-school Roger Guiseppi, when asked how he was so adept at being able to dribble past an opponent by knocking the ball through his legs, said "when i collect the ball, i know where everyone is, so i just estimate the footsteps it would take for a player to get to me, count them and know when the steps got quicker, he was stopping and his legs would be open. i could then just knock the ball and turn, without even looking..." how does a 15 year old figure that out. this is not anything that is in any textbook or football manual anywhere; but it is an intelligence that he developed and learned and got good at, just like Freddie in Patrick Rosal's poem. these are the poems that live in my past and these are the possibilities that exist in the human being, so we write down what we love enough and believe enough and know to be true, and do it enough times and listen to enough poems (or footprints) to know when to close our eyes; and turn...
Abena also made me go see Steve Turre (noted Jazz musician) play today at the Tourneau Atrium in midtown. This brother played a jazz standard on conch shells. Yes. Conch shells. i grew up on an island. i've blown into conch shells my whole life. i had no idea you could do THAT on a conch shell. i have much work to do. see y'all later. gonna go invent a line-break or something...
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