Okay, alright so its been a couple of days since I had enough time to devote a few hours to a-writin’ more of these poeographical posts…and I know I have been bitchin here or there but I am glad to get a chance not only to share this with others….but in some ways share it with myself. ‘Cause ya see, I mean I don’t know how other peoples brains work, hell I can barely figure out my own damn brain, but writing these posts I have discovered that I not only have a habit of ‘forgetting ‘ my distant tumultuos childhood, but that even (many of my) more recent memory files are stored in dusty. rusty file cabinets in rarely visited. poorly lit. tiny rooms. buried deep in the basement of my psyche. So it is good fer me to once in awhile to grab a flashlight and head down there and poke around, I mean I usually am not going to do it on my own, lol, I have to be prompted, I mean need a reason (shit it’s scary down there) but am always happy(ier?) after making the grimy trek (even if I bitch a little on my way down and up the stairs lol) so thanks BB, for the original question, and thanks to all the others who have enjoyed this…madness and followed along on this journey…
A quick clarification though, or affirmation, or (well I could spend minutes doin that) what I mean though is that this ability to be so ocd regarding taking apart and evaluating and analyzing my own behaviors, (the same way I do with everyone oh my Cats & Kittens) to be brutally honest (with myself anyway)in my evaluations of the “hows” , “whys” and “therefores” of the things I do is just something that comes as naturally to me as does say public speaking (at least as early as I can remember) and fer years of course I thought everyone was this way (just as people who are responsible and pay bills on time can’t imagine how others just can’t do the same) we all have strengths, this just happens to be one of mine, and yes, it would have made me a great Psychologist (or etc [and yes I came close(though I may have mentioned that before)]…oh it is to laugh), well maybe next I will write a two part (that ends up being six part)post about my edugraphical history…but
In the early 90′s I am now a Dad again (my first son is what…mmm…thirty two and an artist living on the East Coast [and I was never much of a dad fer him] but lets not get sidetracked with my failings as a parent)…
Fer now though, I am house-husbanding two growing toddlers, living with (though not yet officially unofficially[due to SSI/SDI restrictions] married) their mom, and doin my best to figure out a way to provide by doin the only thing I really felt I was good at…writing down the crazy stuff in my head and then goin out and reading that stuff in front of people.
Again two things, first I’m not saying my poetry was the best being performed, or that two, I knew that I would be as popular as I was…it just turned out people liked it and I was popular(years later of course in Toastmasters, I learned that there’s just something about me[I know that this sounds egotistical...I don't care...it's a fact] people just like to listen to me talk [my dad was the same way])
So see, though a lot of poets regularly mocked not only my words but my performance…regular people loved me (amazingly enough regular people have money to buy cheap poetry books[where as poets are usually too poor]). So I was not only more popular with coffee house, book store and bar patrons than some of the more serious(pretentious?), deep(full of shit?), “arteests” (full of shit pretentiousness?[sorry lol only havin fun]), but when our books were on the table my $5 buck or less book prices(I made my first books on my mac 512k, sold ‘em fer a buc a piece and made hundreds of dollars lol)always far outsold their fancy $20, $25 or higher books
Okay and so f-ing anyway (on track, on track). Early 90′s reading everywhere, been published in a number of raggedy anthologies and ‘zines, self published two chapbooks, two more get published by raggedy presses. I am featured a lot, and very popular with the audience. During this times a lot of just people (as distinguished from other poets or weirdo artists types) attended readings(maybe this is still the case outside of where I live…lol). Anyway the scene is set for…the rest of the story
The first poet that I really hooked up with and started doing collaborative work was Gary Tomlinson (God rest his soul) “Big Daddy”. We started going to readings together but much more…Gary played the dulcimer, but he had taught himself to play it, so his style was a little unusual(very asian or middle eastern sounding [in my memory]). We wrote some rockin good pieces together, performed many of my pieces to music (including a crazy semi con [we claimed we were a band and then day of the event said our drummer couldn't show] to get $150 a piece for a half hour ‘lunch’ show at UCI)…so much more craziness, oh I love the guy.
One of the other more popular poets at all the readings we attended was Tom Rush (also a student of Mallorinski, so we knew each other outside of coffee houses and restaurant bars). Tom wrote long depressing poetry, and (hopefully hes still alive and doing well)kind’a always looked down his nose at my…so called poetry…l and his fabulous o l’s my friends, of course structurally, strictly from a craft stand point he certainly comes from a position of strength, his poems being veritable masterpieces of poetic craftsmanship…and I’m sure it drove him crazy after pouring out his soul for five minutes about the desolate condition of man and the downfall of human nature in this post “flower power” world in the most darkly beautiful manner to light but well received applause, only to be followed by me getting up and stomping around ranting nearly unpoetically about my not taking acid anymore and nearly bring the house down in applause. I couldn’t help it. But Tom you were of course right, you are much better poet than I. So where ever ya’ are God bless ya.
Last but not least of course was G. Murray Thomas, if ya want to know a clearer, different version of many of these events, he in many ways would be the guy to roll with. G. Murray was much more intimately involved in all aspects of the spoken word and poetry world (not only in So Cal but world wide) than I could ever hope to be. Though our humor was closely related, and in some ways our approach to writing performance poetry was similar, G. Murray was the Michael Nesmith of our group, while I was more like (and still am in many ways) like Charlie on “Always Sunny”…the wild card. Fer Instance, see we all ended up one night reading together at Jams (and the thing about Jams is there was a lot of pre and post partying going on in the back alleyway) and we all started bullshitting and we decided to read together again (of course I’m sure that I was the driving force behind this idea[I wanted to do many multi-discipline projects] and am about 90% certain I was the one to come up with the 4 Tom’s ['cause that's how my brain works) just as I came up with the idea of "Big Daddy & Psycho Boy's readings"...but of course I'm getting distracted...and in the long run I honestly don't the f remember.
The point is the 4 Tom’s were born, out of the 4 Tom’s came “Next” magazine(we had regular brainstorming sessions[drinking and smoking and madness] I had wanted to start a zine, write an advice column, faux monthly astrology predictions etc. and brought it up. Weeks later G. Murray showed up with a mock up of his own version, “Next” a much better idea than the one I had and I thank him fer letting me not only write under a couple different pseudonyms, but hone my editing chops and learn how to meet deadlines..[Jesus am I still in parenthesis])…
Any the fuck way, we were reading together here and there, as well as individually, but even if one of us was featured another one or two of us might show up to help rock the house. The greatest thing was , especially once “Next” took off, was going to readings and hear people whispering about you when you came in…”They’re both in the 4 Tom’s” or “Hey those guy’s write for Next” or of course my favorite was “Isn’t that Psycho Boy?” very heady stuff lol…
So the 4 Tom’s were rockin, “Next” Magazine was rolling, Orange Ocean Press, run by G Murray, offered to publish my next chapbook “Homeless to Househusband” (which was a big deal even though we were also friends [I was the only other Tom he published at the time]). I felt it was a culminative work, and was proud of it, and happy that it was so well received. It wasn’t long after that I turned it into a one man “Poetry Play” the first of it’s kind (if I’m mistaken fergive me)that I’d heard of (though I know a couple other “big name poets” did it after me)….
Okay and alright, so then we get to slams, 1994 and my big crash and burn and escape to the frozen north…but, and oh it is to laugh Cat’s & Kittens, I’m well over a thousand words, so we’ll have to table that till Pt. 7…but I will get to it, as well as my poetry story in the So Dak (hosting Slams at Jazz fest, Mayor’s award, etc) Plus there’s the “What Ever it is I Do Here” aspect of the title and I do wanna get to that (how to her dismay and horror Lil Mouse spawned the parenthesis[...and elippsis can't ferget those] that occasionally pop up in my posts) and how my edits always cut 200 words while adding 500 more…oh it is to f-ing laugh, I mean I know I am, I can only hope that you are too
So like I hope yer not all beginning to feel like Bastion, and I hope you know, of course, that I have other stuff that I’m itching to get to, I have chapters of Left Turn to put up ( a couple quick ones [16 & 17] before things start really heating up in Chapter 18), I swear I will post one tonight……plus there’s all this politickin’ and acculturatin’ goin’ on, but though I am nearly incapable of being responsible, almost assuredly one of the biggest Manyana-ites yer ever to meet…, writing down the crazy ass bull shit of tornadic activity that takes place in my brain on a second by second basis is probably the one exception to this rule…oh and I do hate to leave things unfinished (again probably mostly referring to fun creative stuff more than anything else lol…)
But okay anyway and again Cat’s N Kittens it’s me
So I wanna finish the story in a few hundred words(meaning of course under 1000) not counting links to poetry. So lets see we’re in the early 90′s right? My life is less topsy and his fabulous turvys, ( age, maturity etc, plus I’ve stopped doing coke, meth,[completely] and hallucinogenics[mostly] oh and there”s the disability money)I’m attending a lot of local open readings, and as my poetry improves I begin to pick up some featured spots…
First ya have to understand that I learned pretty quickly how bad and exactly why and where my early attempts at performance poetry and more importantly and specifically my poetry sucked weak ass(thanks to tough and brutally honest older poets[thanks again Lee & others unnamed])…but like I said, I was a quick study.
One of the best and most valuable pieces of advice was to change how I lay my poems out on the page and to drop the whole ee cummings lower case thing (seeing as it was “his thing not mine”…lol great advice old poet whose name is now lost to time). His second point regarding my poems structure on the page was as eloquent and simple as was his guidance fer the “ee” dilemma…”ya do want people to be able to read it right?” he asked.
His point once I understood it was this, without an extremely valid reason as to why, making the poem more difficult for the reader to decipher draws attention from the words…
Sound, sound logic. I immediately changed both features of my written word.
The next advice, stop being so freaking overtly overbearingly preachy when you read….beats, hippies, they already ranted and quite possibly raved about it all, so if yer gonna do it, try bringing something new to the table besides the same tired old all injustaphores and opressionisms, and fer God’s sake, if yer gonna talk about politics and the culture, be funny.
Okay I was ready fer all that. I had been, ever since my six year old Ogden Nash period, a fan of funny over frowns. Here’s a great example of the next stage in my poetry story…click on the homeless guy’s sign.
S0 we’re at about 1992, the Aguanga kid is born, I’m living with his mother, on SSI etc so I don’t have to worry ’bout work and can concentrate on art. I’m doin features and making, at least in my little corner, a name fer myself. As I mentioned in the last post I did well in “poetry contest”, and honed much of my poetry production to producing poems matching my somewhat unhinged performing persona particularly (oh lol) suited to these contest (and as yet off my radar slams[though I am to 'understand' they are happening soon])and in the process my “voice” was born…While the above links are some of the “audience favorites[hits] the following poem really captures (I think, and is one of my favorites) what I am trying to do..just click on the persimmon fer the link…
This poem really, I feel exemplifies my voice, stripped of all the performance gimmicks, focused on a moment, the poetry of life, in this instance the conversation becomes the metaphor, at least I think, I hope, I feel that’s what I am going for…in hindsight, cause ya see my faithful readers, I didn’t set out to write this way, this is the way I write…when all is stripped away…when the pretense, and manufactured intentions, and tryin to be’s, and tryin to sound likes, and the pretentiousness of the Artie Mann, are all killed off through diligent applied effort, what is left is the real voice of the poet…in my specific case it lead to many people (all super cool poets) saying “It’s not really poetry though is it?” “Where’s the imagery? They’d ask…( I mean I always thought personally that “The old guy wearing California skin…” was halfway okay, I mean not Neruda or anything…)but imagery’s not my strength, and I decided long ago that being real, the poet I was, was far more important than either a: teaching myself to be someone elses idea of a poet, or pretending to be the same?
So that’s what I rolled with by late 92′ early ’93 I was pulling at east a couple featured readings a month, either sharing the bill or gong solo and carrying the night on my ever expanding body of work, always entertaining performance, all the oddity expected, delivered guaranteed ….this was just one of the reasons I got the nickname “Psycho Boy“
Okay so rock ‘em sock ‘em robots Cat’s n Kittens I swore I’d get outta here at less than a thousand words (though I may have implied I’d finish er up also….well it is what it… lol)….comin soon Pt 6
Well Double Yee-Haw everybody it rootin-tootin …pull out yer beret’s and bongos…I’m interrupting my long ass somewhat weepy tale about my poetry story(but featuring very little actual poetry)with some god blessed actual poetry…plus this will be shorter, which means faster to post…’cause truth be told Cat’s & Kittens I am one tired ol unit…I usually get up about five thirty, six am (no matter what, ever since I been a boy)and well…lol-ing here we are past midnight…but I really wanted to have a little fun with some of the crap I been digging out of my “box o’ writing” (a large plastic lidded bin stuffed full of stuff [some material now over thirty years old]including early art(eob?), poetry etc)…
Anyway before we start that goofiness…how about one of my top ten favorite poems from a great poet(no, not mine, not me, haven’t you been paying attention)
This is a lot of poets “favorite” poem. I don’t know if it’s my “favorite”. I do someday plan to put the first strophe on my body somewhere in tattoo form, maybe forearm with fancy script…anyway
Eating Poetry by Mark Strand
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.
The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.
Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.
She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.
Oh…mmm was that delicious or what…grrruff…now compare that to the poem below…I mean keep in mind that this was…1991, I was thirty-one-ish homeless, or just nearly close to out of being homeless by this point, and one opinionated bastard, I mean I was really quite full of myself back then…I mean…yes of course I’ll let you stop laughing before I go on..(wait till ya read a couple of my “Psycho Boy” columns in Pt. 5)
Oh I mean it is to laugh…there were, are some bad poems in that box…but that’s the point isn’t it…writing is really about the process. It’s about writing, and re-writing and perfecting yer craft…speaking of that I’ll leave ya with a funny example of the ‘process’.
Here’s a little poem. I considered it an old poem when I posted it in Golden State Years (the name of a chapbook I have ready to be published hint hint anyone out there interested…anyone…anyone…[insert sound of crickets chirping here])…oh it is to laugh…jes gotta have fun with it…
Anyway I’ll leave you with this…I believe a great example of the editing and growth(I knew this poem had been part of a larger piece but had forgotten just how…differently the same[lol] they were…
First the version as it stands today
My Little Dog
Sitting alone not lonely
Does your brain become a little dog
Chasing it’s tail
Round and round
Sometimes I talk out loud
I used to fly
In some odd past life
Maybe we all did
Okay and here’s the earlier untitled version, from the chapbook “I Chameleon”
so you’re driving down the road of dreams, you’ve got the brights on, but still ya can’t see everything. what’s that at the side of the road? you turn your head but it’s gone, might have been nothing.
tell me your dreams
and i’ll tell you your name
not the one you’ve given to flesh
but the one you use to keep yourself sane
only one pillar holds up your head. it takes more than that to hold up the sky. little man who wears sheets and eats bloody burgers wants to knock em all down, his tongue is his hammer, his God is white.
tell me your fears
and I’ll tell you your faith
not the one you profess you believe
but the one you use to justify hate
and watching GTV, the silver haired, silver tongued, fatherly figure said you’d better believe or God will shut the door on you. smiling he said you’ll be left out in the cold. i went to get my jacket on.
tell me your loves
and I’ll tell you your doubts
not the ones you try to build on
but the ones you use to keep others out
when sitting lone not lonely, does your brain become a little dog? mine does going round and round chasing its tail. sometimes i talk out loud. i used to fly in a distant past life, so i think did we all.
tell me your thoughts
and I’ll tell you your dreams
not the ones you use to dance
but the ones you use to make believe
i used to fly in a distant past life, so i think did we all.
Imagine if you will my Cat’s & Kitten’s, if you can oh my most competent readers, that I’m not this ol’ cantankerous, clankity, assholeyish, fist ready, sin soaked, dysfunctional unit. Instead let’s imagine me as I was earlier in life, as a young fresh unit, inherent flaws not yet exposed, not yet fissured under the coming pressures. This little Unit(a part of me that still exists in it’s own way)liked animals, nature(I wanted to be a biologist), plants, flowers, stories, and poems, puzzles, games, crosswords, chess(still suck due to lack of patience) even dabbled in stamp and insect collections lol…of course these things aren’t a boy’s best friend, especially bigger boys who look like they might someday play football or some other real mans past time…oh it is to laugh.
A lot of this little Units ideas about who he was are lost to me now( I only remembered about the stamp and insect collections while typing [I actually had to stop typing and almost went and told Lil' Mouse so I didn't ferget, but she's still sleeping, and as I went it dawned on me I'd just typed it down...])but this is about poetry so lets get back to that…
I remember in general that I loved the gentle fun of poetry, it’s often (in kids poems especially) twist on words, meanings, puns, word play in general. I remember specifically and most my enjoyment of Ogden Nash(OMG you bastards I jes remembered how I used to go around reciting Shel Silverstien’s Boa Constrictor) and now obviously I must have been familiar with and enjoyed Shel Silverstien (I did buy his books of poetry for my own kids but…and…anyway…) I’m going to get off of talking about little Unit ’cause this is gonna make me puke if I keep having these memories regurgitating up like this…
This is just about Poetry…I know I wrote a lot of poetry…not only in my memory but part of the collective family memory, those stories passed along such as “You were always a happy child.” It is yer memory about yerself, but is it truly something I “remember” or just know (though this is true about me, as much still now as it was then[or so I've been told] because the weird thing is even when I’m sad, I’m happy to be sad fer awhile)…and see poetry fits with this little unit perfectly
Unfortunately, call it fate God’s plan whatever,the now growing Unit’s family was not as fond of poetry and or poetic type people (and all the rest that came with the above…oh it is to laugh).
So let’s jump a bunch of years (mainly cause I don’t remember and don’t wanna sit here and possibly do so). The next poet I really remember was in High School (ya know back in that English class where you learned about the poem that was shaped like an umbrella or atom bomb and ya thought that was really cool)when I was introduced to ee cummings. I was of course one of those troubled (but also still in general “happy” figure that out lol)high school units who wrote poetry, the kind well meaning young female English teachers take a shine to and pass on enough positives to explode an already overly intrigueable mind..wow it’s too bad you will never see the previous sentence in it’s pre-edited form…lol, a complete mystery even to me. But I’m sure the time this is posted it will be fixed.
The point is I was of course growing in my “social awareness” and my well meaning teacher draws my attention to this
Buffalo Bill's defunct who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat Jesus he was a handsome man and what i want to know is how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death
Okay this not only had me saying “Yea! What do ya have to say Mr. Man?” But also “hey I like the way he writes poetry.” and like many young poets after first reading ee I began to write all my poems in lower case (lol, I did, and I stuck with it fer years, even down to the lower case i).
Here’s one of the poems from this period, notice the similarities (except mine was condensed from a lines written during a mushroom tripp)
I continued to write poetry, but I was also in theater and was one of the leading “men” in our school productions. I was also beginning to dabble in drugs and alcohol, had already spent more than one night on the street(by the end of h.s. I did not live at my parents and siblings home [many nights I slept on the beach and walked the three or so miles to school]). I was also a fan of this new fun, angry, anti man, intellectually quirky music called punk. And fer awhile my poetry became lyrics and combined with my natural clown like public persona (and almost acceptable singing voice)I was a natural to front bands. So poetry of course took a back seat ’cause I was sure I was going to be famous(rich was secondary in my head it was fame I craved)…I mean I was sure of it…lololol….(praise Jesus of course in hind sight that it was not to be and that God had other plans in store fer me).
Recently I have been in a wonderful series of discussions (here on WP) with Bluebird (obviously not her real name) revolving around writing, both prose and poetry. She is by far more technically savvy than me. Let me get that in the open right off the get go, especially regarding prose in case I inadvertently (somewhere in the following piece[or part two fer that matter]) imply anything to the contrary. In this process I have uncovered interesting hidden truths about not only some of my past works that I have been posting here, but the new pieces and posts that I pepper this imaginary place we call the world wide web as well…
Okay, as usual, I’m not going to go straight to these “hidden truths” but head there circuitously by way of the next reply I was gettin ready to post on her page entitled “Reading Poetry in the Big Chief Years”…I hadn’t planned to do things this way(yea like I usually plan anything). I had planned to write my poetry story (some thing she had asked[as well as a sonnet coming miss BB]), ya know like, well wait I guess ya don’t know, anyway the point is not like this…but well, here’s the deal, and those of you who I follow and comment on yer posts will easily back me on this….My comments and/or replys can often at times ramble on…sometimes longer than the original posts I am commenting on…oh it is to laugh…Anyway the point is that at some point, as the reply stretched on I realized that I was practically telling my poetry story right then and there, and though I’d promised to say it quickly…I’ll wait till yer done laughing…of course like always I was quickly easily topping 5oo words…
So, instead I decided to firstly, not post another long reply on this poor Gal’s Blog, (really ya gotta go and read not only this specific posts, but her other posts regarding writing, her poetry and…hell just become one of her followers you won’t regret it [I mean, Five Minute Dance Party alone often makes my day(I mean not this one but often)])…but, and again as usual, anyway…secondarily, this is a great chance to not only tell my poetry story, but explain some of what I have learned about what I have ended up (somehow unknowingly) attempting to accomplish with this weird writing style I have (somehow) accidentally (on purpose)found myself trying to write with and you the reader ending up left to puzzle over….and you should see the first draft sentences….
Anyway, and so okay her we go…the following was my reply, in my own particularly peculiar way…
B.B-Bukowski of course was a huge inspiration fer me especially when it came to “finding” my own poetry voice…mmm…tryin to figure out how to say this quickly…weird-o kid, dreamer, good fer nuthin, had a bad(?) family/home life, left home ran the streets, into weirdo arts etc (mostly writing poems, plays, lame early teens despair and darkness stuff lol)…But I didn’t read books outside of school…which was limited to short fiction and poetry, so no novels at all…(I had read earlier, as a little boy, Tom Sawyer etc…I especially remember loving the Hardy Boys). But I was too cool to read books(actually if you read my earliest post[links added above not part of original reply obviously] you can see I was trying to look tough more than be cool), in my experience, little boy units who are programmed to like reading got their asses whooped. please no “so sorry’s”, water under a long passed bridge. I laugh about it now.
Okay, so late teens early twenty’s By this time I had been in theater(all H.S. and) first year of college,making underground(deep, deep) arty (unintelligible, pretentious or sometimes both) films with friends, still mostly homeless, a father, and was in was in a variety of punk bands (writing and singing)I bumped into a guy who gives me a Kurt Vonnegut book…”Cat’s Cradle” still one of my favorite writers to reread. Then came the beats but most importantly Kerouac…reading “On The Road” changed my whole idea of who I was…even though we were temporally, of course, years apart I felt a real kinship to whatever the particular variety of madness he suffered from….”On the Road” was my “Catcher in the Rye” so to speak
The next big author fer me was of course HST, like Vonnegut and Kerouac before him I read everything he had published in a few short months. Okay whoops major bullshit alert, Freudian omission whatever, I have not read everything that any of the above authors have written….there is a distinct example of how someone can become a victim of their own bullshit…oh it is to laugh…I know I have made that statement more than once sitting around with other arty pretentious bastards each trying to out cool each other…(and it is a perfect example of what I rant about all the time; the difference between a truth and the truth)…Anyway like take Vonnegut fer instance, I do not think I finished “God Bless you Mrs Rosewater”, I don’t remember why (this must have been early 80′s remember) but more than likely it bored me somehow. I distinctly remember not liking “Welcome to the Monkey House” that much either….I liked Kerouac s prose, but hardly remember reading much of his poetry…but there have been a hell of a lot of drugs between here and there and so maybe I’ve jes fergotten that I have read them…L and his fabulous o l’s,
And then as I was giving up on the punk “rich rock star dieing young of an overdose” dream I first discovered the poetry scene in LA about 87 maybe 88, I was still homeless then, but turning up at these events, and having heard some of my stuff (again my old punk songs turned into not so good poems,) an older poet suggested I read Bukowski…I have now read much of his work (more his poetry than prose (through the early nineties) but I began to feel as I often do that (but especially with C.B.) his style, his voice was beginning to bleed into mine or compromise my…now don’t laugh…”artistic integrity”…in reality BB you are far more of a craftsman than me regarding the actual process of writing prose. Like with the eclipses issue (lol, originally I think it was simply me doing ya know…hmmm…punk stuff…anti stuff) Often I do or think first and, usually through some sort of secondary process (such as discussing why I don’t use punctuation in poetry with yer lovely self in this case) understand the truth of the thing after…
So that’s about where I stopped Dude’s and Dudette’s…I mean that wasn’t the end…that’s where I realized that I had really only briefly talked about poetry, let alone attempted to clarify some of the odder statements I had made already….but I was well on my way to another long ass rambling semi coherent reply…I mean look here I am well over a thousand words already so I am going to split it up as I often am wont to do…
I probably won’t get Pt. 2 posted till late tonight, cause I’m sure you’ll all be waiting by yer computers (plus Chapter 15 [find out what happens between Val & Mac]is edited and, c.m.f. ready to be posted)’cause i got laundry to do before Lil Mouse gets home.(jes don’t tell anyone I do laundry, it will ruin my tough guy male chauvinist asshole image that I am so carefully crafting)
In part two I will (I promise) talk strictly ’bout poetry, at least at first, I hope, then a bit about my attempts at prose including here on WP, then I will try to wrap up the post with clarifications ( hopefully answering the hows they came abouts?[and whys' ya keepin ons?])discussions of style content etc of my other writings here on Word Press…including my lonely little “nice” Blog (shameless self promotion I know) “Random Rite’s & Wrongs”…wow okay reading that it seems just a smidge of an over reach to think I can get that all in one post…
Until ya see me tryin then, keep it dysfunctional
May 9, 2012
Oh it is to laugh Cats & Kittens…lately the ol’ Dysu had taken to workin longer hours,(lol started right in the middle of the KBA post) so this plus housework, takin care of Lil’ Mouse the Auganga Kid, then there’s tryin to keep current with my WP friends, and also tryin to write and submit, (not to mention my weak attempts to quit smoking, which seems inexorably linked to my writing…anyway…) all this has my has my little dog spinnin round and round.
I’m not much of a sleeper really, never have been, can get by on just a few hours sleep a night…but they have to be good hours or I start to slip gears…that’s the best way I know how to put it. Sometimes these slips are internal and will go unnoticed by the population at large, sometimes they’re subtle and will only be recognized by those closest to me, sometimes they’re noticed by everyone around me…but we’ll get to that at the end of the post.
Now with WP some times when I make, have these slips they are visible to the world, (luckily the vast majority of the world isn’t looking)…anyway this has been a long way to say uh…whoops.
I posted Chapter 9 of Left Turn while Chapter 8, which I thought I had actually published a day or so ago, was still just a draft in waiting. I didn’t realize it till this morning. Again, ya just gotta laugh, well hopefully you join with me not at me lol.
This little novella (or what ever) is actually finished (lol hopefully). I am just trying to do my last edits before I post each chapter.
Speaking of that, one of my favorite blogs that I read regularly just posted an excellent post regarding writing, specifically, POV, (and a little on tense)…after reading it I just thought it fitting to let my regular readers know that I feel these are two big issues I struggle with. I understand the concepts. Have studied and practiced and can, if I force myself, almost nearly slow down enough to catch most(?I believe anyway?) of them…but that ability to be cautious goes down in direct proportion with the above mentioned slippage…
See it’s like this, in all the fiction writing classes, seminars etc that I have attended the instructor, facilitator (always a published author, sometimes a successful one) have stressed a writing technique that is impossible for me to follow. They all stress writing slow, one sentence at a time…as you can probably guess I don’t write like that…I’m much more of a…hmm…burner…sometimes I’m on fire…and it’s best to let the fire burn as it were. When the fire burns itself out, then (and age has made me a little better at this) I can go back evaluate its readability and edit….and here’s the second big issue I face.
In art, like life, I can grow bored with repetitive tasks very quickly, I can get restless if forced to work s-l-o-w-l-y…oh it is to laugh, yes I understand what that says about me. But that is me…and this is just one of the dysfunctions that I have learned to accept and make what adjustments I could, or can, and to accept (as it were) what I cannot change.
So I guess this is a clarification, or/and an apology of sorts to both my followers, God bless ya all, and to those I follow (jes in case I wrote a comment that was offensive or seemed in any other way inappropriate).
‘Cause ya see another by product of this slippage is that the a-hole beast that I keep chained up in my head can claw his way that much closer to the surface of my conscious mind. It makes many of my communications, written and verbal, far more sarcastic and biting, especially if I am confronted with the kind’a lazy logic I am bombarded with on a daily basis in today’s culture and here’s where we get to the kind’a slip that may cause me a little trouble here on WP, and can give me no end of trouble in real life…
Like the following, and it’s a great example: Here in So Dak Native issues are a big deal. At one of my jobs the other day, everybody was going on about how white Americans were terrible people for not allowing the native population, tribes such as the Lakota, to keep their culture intact. Instead we forced them to be acculturated to the white American way of life(this is a big hot button issue here right now as well as the idea of giving the Black Hills back to the Sioux)…they went on and on about how bad white people were (bear in mind that only one individual at this job site is Native American the rest are of European heritage[white]).
Now in general I have learned (especially at work) to let this shit go. These youngsters are simply repeating the bs they learned in what passes for today’s public schools and critical thinking is not required nor wanted…but remember the slippage thing…so yea, I didn’t do the smart thing I challenged them with logic…
I asked them to consider all the white Americans who were taken hostage by native peoples (there are many well documented cases) and asked them “If, once those individuals were taken captive and joined with the tribe who took them, whether they were allowed to continue to function as white Europeans or were they too acculturated into the tribe?…I’ll let that sit there for a minute.
It is a rhetorical question because we know they acculturated them. They were not allowed to start puttin up clapboard houses, planning roads, opening lil one room schools or Christian churches to sway the “savages”…No they were indoctrinated into the Native way of life, dressed like Natives, learned to eat the same foods, slept, worked and crapped like a Native…
Why? Cause that’s the way things were done in those days…trying to view our past through today’s lenses only presents us with a distorted view…am I saying it’s right, no, I am not making a judgement or value statement regarding what happened all those years ago, (and actually the truth is far different tan we modern people realize, often terrible, complicated and some times even a little funny)only (and again almost like always) I am simply aggravated by the lack of logic in so many of our modern accepted cultural truths…
A truth, early white Americans treated the Native population that already lived in this land, in most cases, deplorably. And as of yet, have failed to make full amends.
The Truth, for most of human history, this is the way peoples of all nationalities and cultures (yes amazingly enough Native peoples warred, raided and took captives from each other long before white settlers ever set foot on the future American soil) have functioned. As of yet only “white” European cultures have made global wide apologies for the way they have behaved. We were just better at being worse lol
This fact, being the truth doesn’t help though when I say it, prefaced of course with the opening Ahh you bunch a retard bastards. All my coworkers think I’m an intolerant assholio at best, a racist at worse.
So of course it’s obvious to see how this applies to WP, my posts and more importantly for this specific post, my comments on all of yer’s, the blogs I follow…
If I have offended, seemed offhanded or been in anyway inappropriate, I apologize. I don’t offer this as an excuse, just an explanation.
Most of the time I think I’m being funny or charming(cute).
But remember I don’t call myself the Dysfunctional Unit fer nothin…
Thanks fer all you have offered and fer those of you have understood what I have been tryin to say, I am and will be ferever grateful (I thought in general when I started that no one would read or respond to the crazy ass crap I write) fer the constant support. I have been greatly encouraged by most all I have encountered, and even my detractors inspire me to ever higher forms of dysfunction…
God Bless ya all!
May 4, 2012
Creativity, like pornography, is hard to quantify. What makes something or someone creative? Is there a certain number of things, a certain style? Is writing more creative than cooking? Painting more creative than photography? Well I’m the hell not gonna answer any of those questions here so…
I feel like I am ten days behind and I am determined to get this post finished. I am sure I am way off the beaten path compared to the average functional unit’s KBA post but…well you know
Regarding the above, no further up…no all the way at the top. I jes wanna make it clear, creativity is whatever I decide it is, because like pornography, it’s in the eye of the beholder….
So behold bastards my Kreative Blogger Award nominees..
I think Bluebird’s one of the most talented individuals on WP, she certainly is one of the most positive and most fun. Not a lot of controverial subjects, jes mostly gettin’ yer groove on, or groovin on some excellent Kreative Bloggin Action. Bluebird has more than one post, as do I as do many of you. Five minute dance party, not to be missed if you’ve been missin it, not only helps ya expand yer musical consciousness, it will exopand yer musical knowledge as Bluebird’s musical choices range farther off the beaten path than my own, and f-in a. Cat’s and Kittens thats sayin somethin….
Now in case that isn’t impressive enough the girl writes some kick as funny, feel good posts, photography and poetry including excellent sonnets….
A Kreative Kitten and that’s why she leads off the list of nominees
Okay the next one I’m gonna write in the form of a letter
I know that you like musicals and I like Ol timey American values. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find common ground, take this fer instance
See we both liked that…and ya know if you and I can find common ground here on word press why, jes think what else can be acheiv…okay well ya get it I’m sure.
Also I jes wanted to spotlight yer blog again. Love yer whole idea, the concept and am often thinking up my own random letters (usually featuring cut out magazine words pasted on lined paper). Yer posts are well written, short (I don’t even know how you do that?) and oft times feature a good measure of hilariosity, so I think ya will garner a bigger following. Hopefully me giving you this award helps (more than it hurts)
See now wasn’t that nice, okay, but I mean, I guess, why shouldn’t it be nice, were you expecting it too be mean? What? No. honestly and even if I knew all the nominees names apart from their online persona I am not sure I would reveal them. Names are kind’a private. In fact some ancient cultures use to give very specific inherent powers to names, naming, and the knowing of names. Maybe not so funny how, now we end up here at The Blog of Funny Names, where this ancient powerful art is mocked without mercy, and regularly offers up sacrifices in order to dispel the unholy power of names. The following are only a smattering of the fun and frolic available
- Majestic Mapp & his younger brother Scientific Mapp
- Outerbridge Horsey
- Fearne Cotton
- Lesane Parrich Crooks (whos that? oh yea) Tupak Shakur
And My Favorite
And okay well yea that was over the top so lets come back to down town Sweetsville, with a blog I’ve only discovered recently, but her poetry, words, art, are delicate creations. There are a lot of excellent poets on WordPress this lady happens to be one of them.
Cutpurse Flightat Redwater Ramblings
Each in bird a hive to grow,
to tell of quiets lest profound,
to make the bee-buzz brim,
waft-like swoon of beak to bulb, a brief repast,
in ground, inside; an inescapable palette
even as the white bloom of flies
in saffron beds, be bold be, of the bee
you swivel, darling, there above the yew;
in a field that swells with the burst of grain,
dipped and then green after a week of un-taste.
below we bow –
blest be you for cutpurse flight.
I saved my last nominee (yea short list wanna make sumpin of it[okay so I'm tryin not to smoke you bastards, lol, I may be a tad crankilish]) fer one of my new favorites…0nlyspartanwoman’s blog is a must read for people from all sides of the political spectrum (not that she is inherently or often annoyingly overtly political like some bloggers that we know [is he talking to me?]) But she not only writes about her and shares some of her own experiences while serving in the military, she is married to a fellow she met while serving overseas, so she can gain from and shares his points of view as well. And you’d think well hell, that’s a lot to bring to the table it’s great, I can’t wait to read it, she is giving all she can give…but, oh I mean, you’d be far from correct…So Listen Up ’cause she connects and brings other military personals viewpoints to you, she brings interesting facets of and about military life to the for front that you (and I know I) may not have considered or even known about before. And it is then that you’d think man, this kicks ass, well written informative opinion filled, topical it can’t possibly get better…well that jes shows ya don’t learn quickly brother ’cause she writes poetry and fiction as well so how do you like them rock ‘em sock’ robots…
I have commented on a number of her posts and hopefully I have never said anything disrespectful or ignorant(lol I’m sure as a dysu civilian I have not succeeded in this one) as I only have the deepest respect fer anyone who has done what she and her husband have done, risked their lives fer an ideal, it is better and closer to being truly alive and real than many of us will ever feel. Though the following seems to be debated on the net as to the “Offspring’s” original intent, I am taking it as they wrote it (and as I believed when I first heard it) a kick ass tribute song.
Fer Her and all the others I offer this up as a tribute,
Camouflage and guns,
Risk my life
To keep my people from harm
Vested in me
With my brothers in arms
Through this doorway,
What’s on the other side?
Exactly what I’ll find
Locked and loaded
Come on do it!
Here we go
I’ll take a life
That others may live
Oh that’s just the way it goes
I’ll shut my eyes
It hammers in my head
Where it’ll end
I’ll take a life
That others may live
Oh that’s just the way it goes
It’s playing over and over in my head
Where it’ll end
Stay the course
I believe I serve a greater good
Smoke and dust
Enemies are crushed
Where a man once stood
Through this doorway,
What’s on the other side?
Exactly what I’ll find
Locked and loaded,
I’m just doing what I’m told
I’ll take a life
That others may live
Oh that’s just the way it goes
Shut my eyes
It hammers in my head
Where it’ll end
I’ll take this life
Ten others may live
Oh that’s just the way it goes
It’s playing over and over in my head
Where it begins
And where it’ll end
Bang, bang, It hammers in my head!
Bang, bang, It hammers in my head!
Bang, bang, It hammers in my head!
In my head
In my head
Yea though I walk to the through the valley of the
Shadow of death, I will fear no evil:
For Thou art with me
Locked and loaded
Gonna find my truth now
I’m busting through
All hell breaks loose
And you can all hide behind your desks now
And you can cry ‘teacher come help me! ‘
Through you all
My aim is true!
My aim is true!
My aim is true!
May 1, 2012
Okay alright and here we go (drum roll you bastards) the Dysfunctional Units Kreative Blogger Award post. I’m hoping it sounds super exciting ’cause I mean that was about it, the new patch I created up above. Feel free to use it and or abuse it…
Lets see Part two, seven things about me…and come back tomorrow (now today lol) for KBA Pt 3 my Nominees
April 25, 2012
Here at Ol’ 409 Enterprises Inc. we are quite proud to announce that we have been nominated fer the Kretive Blogger award…
That’s what really is boggin the process down, wanna make sure the Kreative Blogger award post is…well creative…but it’s comin ya ol cat’s and kittens so just hang in there…
I also have half a post about more “man” stuff finishing up on the thoughts I was rollin with a couple posts back…
And comin soon, hot on the “man” posts heels is an idea I just got from readin a blog I follow it’s gonna be all about my worst two (near)dating experiences…don’t wanna give too much away but one ends with me bloodied…no no you’ll just have to wait…
Okay anyway remember adult themes etc…
Home. To say it wasn’t much would be an understatement. The place used to be a repair shop or a commercial garage. It got turned into an efficiency somewhere in the 80’s ( I guess there was a real estate bubble here in the eighties who would’a thunk it). Anyway, the place was cheap, 325 plus 5o for utilities, and it didn’t have bars; and the toilet was all fucking mine. It’s the little things that count.
Anyway I’d lived here for a little over a month now. I ended up in Wennler the day after I got released from the state pen in Sioux Falls. I was better off than many cons getting out; I had money. Going in I had $2275.00 all together, not a lot but now it was enough to get back out to Cali, or Las Vegas. See I wasn’t planning on staying in South Dakota; I mean God, its South Dakota, but the first ride I got changed my plans.
I guess it will help to know a little of my background. I’m a bad guy, or was a bad guy definitely, pre incarceration, a regular gun wielding wild west type. I rode a bike, but was unaffiliated as it were with any organized group, not that I hadn’t been asked in my early days, I just had trouble with authority, any authority.
I got busted in August of ’83 in Sturgis at the bike rally, distribution, possession, assault with a fire-arm. I was twenty-two. I got forty-five years, which meant I could’a been out in fifteen or so with good behavior. I pulled an extra dime, sorry ten years, early on though fuckin up.
I started getting my shit together after that. I wasn’t going to be like some of these jokers, I didn’t want spend all of my adult life behind bars. I didn’t study law or nothin’ like that. I didn’t really better my life, I don’t know that’s just not my shit, I worked out, did my time; just got through it. The one thing I did change is I started going to church. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t get all Bibley or nothing, didn’t get all weepy with my fellow con’s ‘bout finding their way to the Lord. I still don’t even know if I believe, I want to; but I haven’t seen a lot of evidence of the Good Works in my life.
I was born in Vegas, grew up in a trailer park the second son of a “Show Girl”. Mom had never married but had a series of boyfriends; who, like her job and her prospects for a happy future grew increasingly sordid and sleazy as the years progressed. The best I could hope for from these men was indifference; but and especially in the later years, violence was just as likely.
We moved, or I should say we were moved to Bakersfield California when I was fourteen by my Mom’s new boyfriend; a “Devils” meth dealer. My eighteen year old brother had left home so I was the now the oldest, Dee, my younger sister was two years younger, and Ronnie was just a little baby. The meth dealer, Carl, was a real ass. He beat my mom, beat the shit out of me, regularly threatened to kill little Ronnie; Dee was the only one he was nice too. Even at thirteen the subtleties of this did not escape me entirely. Carl had regular trade and he and his buddies were moving lot’s of product, which was the one advantage for me because I got to learn a lot of the business, first by just observing, then by making runs for the guys.
You might think it’s weird going to work for Carl and his friends. If so you did not grow up the same way. These adults, as dysfunctional, as criminal and violent as they were, were my role models. The other thing Carl and countless adults before him, including my own mother taught me at a young age was that I was on my own; the world was monstrously cruel, capricious violence was just around every corner and only the toughest prosper. Carl was the worst, but he was only one in a long succession, Carl was the sharpening stone for the blade that others forged. And you either worked for Carl or you got out.
I think I’ve talked enough about all that.
In the spring of ‘76 Carl and two other Devils were gunned down by Hell’s Angels in what was described as a “turf war” . I was young and stupid and desperate to avoid meeting the next Carl. The house and most of the crap in it, including my mother, my sister, and quite possibly even me, were now considered Devils property.
The one thing I knew, knew above everything else, was that of all the property in the house, there was only one they considered really valuable, the drugs. I didn’t know how much there was at that moment, but I knew there was a lot. I took it all and ran. I was fifteen, not even legally allowed to drive in California, but with nearly a pound and half of meth, three kilos of weed, a shot-gun, two hand guns and scales and weights and a fucking lot of baggies rolling around loose in the back of a tricked out Ford Econoline, no license was the least of my worries.
That was the start of my street career sounds romantic, sounds exciting. The Devils killed my Mom and little Ronnie, I read about it in a newspaper a few months later; I still don’t know what happened to Dee. I swore revenge of course. Uselessly it turns out as the small upstart band of hard core bikers known as the Devils are no longer. Most killed over drug sales with both the Hells Angels and the Hessians during the cocaine crazed ‘80’s. The rest, who the fuck knows, when I was first in the pen I tried to find out if any were in the system somewhere, some lone Devil, or ragged left over’s; that’s one of the things that got me in trouble. But I’m not going to talk about that either.
The thing is, what I am trying to say is, that after the trouble, I vowed to keep it under control, Church helped that; the ritual, the call to faith. I never kidded myself that I was going to Heaven, no that’s a lie, sometimes I think about it. I guess I really don’t believe that if there’s a Heaven, God is going to let me in not after what I’ve done, but I should at least try. When I meet the bastard I wanna be able to say I gave it my best shot
So when I got out of the pen with my idea to head west, back to my roots it is with no real plan. I tell myself I am going to get back there and find a job; tell myself I am going to avoid trying to contact old friends, avoid my old life. But I can feel the lie in my own gut.
With the money I had I could’ve taken a flight out of Sioux Falls, or at least caught a bus west, but I didn’t feel right about either thing; just hitchin’ felt good, like the right path.
The world had changed, cars were…well there were a lot of them I’d seen on TV, but it still felt weird the first time a Hummer drove by. Anyway I’m getting off track. Maybe subconsciously it was the opportunity to find a new path that made me choose hitching, I can’t say. But the first guy who picked me up, Steve, just happened to run a grocery store in Wennler. He was a good guy, a real stand up straight, family man, church go ‘er, small town to the core; but honest and unpretentious. He and I, or the person I was trying hard to be, hit it off and by the end of the ride he had offered me a small position with his store in Wennler.
He wasn’t being phony, he never told me I could work my way to management. He was offering me, as he put it, a chance to figure out who I am and where I want to go. I told him I would work hard and not let him down.
He’s offered once to take me to church with his family on Sunday (not that I couldn’t walk, the towns only ten blocks wide) I haven’t taken him up on it yet.
But so here I am. My little home in Wennler South Dakota. Like I said the place is small. I don’t have a TV yet, but I have a little radio. That’s okay. I was never much of a TV guy, and new music, don’t get me started. I exercise, push ups and crap. If I get real bored I walk the gravel roads. Try to figure out, like Steve said, who I am and where I am going.
April 7, 2012
OMG as you kids would say it sounds so easy, of course when you read it but posting seven things about you that don’t sound ridiculously full o’ crap when listed out that way (oh but yers wont[my nominees] yer all so clever this just goes fer me and me alone). And know I’m suppose to nominate 15-20 other blogs…There’ not gonna be that many Cats and Kittens…a bunch of the blogs I would nominate have already received the award(some more than once) and many very recently…to be honest though I stopped checking, I’m afraid I will have no candidates based on my criteria if I don’t….
See the more blogs I follow the more email I get (you know what I’m talkin about) I mean Jelly Cheese Sandwich’s everybody, ya open up yer emails after goin to bed four hours ago and there are 174 new e’s…Don’t you bastards work or sleep…and ya know if I like yer blog I do actually wanna read it, certainly before I click the like button I wanna know whether or not I actually like it yea(?) But I got, I mean ya know, other shit to do besides work and this…this awesomely addictive endeavor (angry birds bah! I have angry words!) And I love all the blogs I follow(I find them when they find and follow me, I figure if they like me w..well a couple are not in English so I am extremely interested why they find my blog so entertaining and are constantly liking my poetry, DYSU and RWR when, again, they don’t seem to speak English and are obviously not from America…I mean it’s cool, don’t get me wrong I’m just fascinated)…but of course I am way off topic…what am I suppose to be talking about again…?
Oh yea the VBA. let me say right off the get go that I am not going to use their actual images…for legal reasons, oh and ’cause I didn’t ask any one to use their images, and oh well I thought this would be more fun…
Okay so here’s one guy I like…Calhoun.I like his concept and his dry delivery.
I just discovered this young lady um…here. She’s pretty funny, seems like she’s gotta a lot of different projects going on but I have made her a regular read…oh then there is this young kid, this old dude, a young Mom, another young man, then there’s the Zombie Apocalypse by Zombie Spirituality, and America’s Apocalypse (okay I made that part up) with International Liberty …I don’t know if any of them have been nominated before or if they fit the category but I like them and if you haven’t read them, I feel you should at least give them a chance, all of them have at one time or another “liked” me so they can’t be all…bad…(I know you were thinking “…that smart” weren’t ya?)
Okay so one of my favorite little happy bluebirds appears to have been nominated for this award before (more than once [?]) and recently but she’d sure get my pick other wise, as would this Funny Feline, and this young lady who is also from LA (say maybe her and Calhoun should hang out…No duh ya f-tard I know C is gay, I just mean as WP pals) so I’m just given them honorable mentions
Anyway of course there are more blogs I enjoy, and more I find everyday, I mean thank God fer WP, it saves me a ton of money on shrinks and speaking of shrinks…no wait, speaking of money I’m all fer gettin nominated fer things but next time how ’bout a cash prize…
I mean God bless ya’ all, and I’m honored and all that, but cold hard cash is not a bad form of recognition either…Anyway, again, my lil dog is chasing his tail, though I am a mega-ass, old and cranktanquerous, I am glad some folks get a kick outta my site, as much as I enjoy readin’ theirs