Giaco Furino's Poetry Party

All Saints and Stars

2012-01-11T05:45:00.000-08:00

When everything was tiny
and just a little ball of energy
I knew myself in ways I no longer know.
I saw myself then,
as I cannot see myself now.
I am a tiny fragment of the shifting world
and worlds beyond worlds. I am partial -
perpetually - and always just a piece
until that day of all Saints and Stars
when everything sucks back in on itself
and I am pieces and plucks no more!

MTV Gets it Wrong (Go Figure)

2012-01-10T08:23:00.000-08:00

Yesterday while I was sifting through some poetry news I found a story via MTV about a group of poets in New Hampshire holding a slam poetry event inspired by Republican candidate Ron Paul. This seemed almost impossible to me. Politics aside, it just seemed strange that a whole slam poetry event could spring up like this without a candidate's official endorsement. The article used the flotsam and jetsam of "modern" "hip" "artsy" language -- saying that the sentiments of Ron Paul were "flowing like extra-hoppy craft beer on Sunday night at Manchester's only brewpub, Milly's Tavern."

Really?

Well, no MTV, not really. According to multiple sources including The Telegram the event supported no candidate in particular. It was a way for New England poets to voice their reactions to the debate on Saturday night. A few poets and audience members supported Ron Paul, but over-all it was a mixed bag. So why did MTV name their article "Ron Paul Inspires Poetry in New Hampshire?"

Whatever the reason, this is another case where poets need to stand up for the meanings of their words. If you throw an event and someone doesn't present it like it should have been presented, stand up against it. I always feel a little uneasy when I see misrepresentation, I guess everyone does. I guess that's the point of having an opinion (or writing a poem, or painting a painting, etc) - you're putting your ideas out there for others to soak in. If someone takes your ideas and flavors them differently, that's a totally different soak. I love that the show's organizers went right to the press and said Whoa Whoa Whoa.

Whoa Whoa Whoa, everyone, and happy Tuesday!

Poetry Foundation Headquarters wins award, looks amazing

2012-01-09T08:48:00.000-08:00

I had no idea that The Poetry Foundation Headquarters had such a new and impressive home! Housed in Chicago (city of wind and water, a place I visited for too little time on my trip) has just won a major architectural award ! Cool deal!

I'm Baaaaaaaaaaack!

2012-01-09T08:43:00.000-08:00

Hey Everyone!!! I'm back! I fell down a mineshaft and tumbled into a fantasy world full of pixies and goblins and trouble and magic, but I'm back to reality again!

And I've missed you, my Passi Lovers.

2011-12-18T08:13:00.000-08:00

Unlimited Rest

For if you are tired just rest momentarily
in the calm clear glow of morning, the light,
diffused through spring saplings or falling leaves,
or better yet through the warm water-glass
of a future porch, enclosed and temperate.

For if you are tired just sleep soundly
in the soundless garden of dreams
we have cultivated for you, a place
of immense quiet and peace and where
the water is still like a pool of glass.

For if you are tired then you must
remember that we can pick up
the slack and let you, momentarily
and with great and blanketed peace,
rest.

2011-12-03T09:12:00.000-08:00

In This Whaling World

In this whaling world where ice coats
two inches think on the water I have found
in my vessel
a thing that warms and warms and continues
to warm. I have found a thing in my vessel
that will keep my breath from shooting out
like a puff of white death, I have found
some soup-warm spirit-solving passion
and a fire that I can keep in my breast pocket
and it will never flicker and flutter and die.

2011-11-21T12:52:00.000-08:00

Breathe and Breathe

"Here's the bedroom, and right there,
by the table, that's where you left your
watch" she says to me and I look at - yes,
there's my watch, but I don't remember
the bedroom or the table, or really,
if I'm being completely honest, my watch,
and I only really take her word for it, for my watch
and the fact that it has E.G.G. engraved
on the reverse of the silver faceplate and
yes those do match my initials, but what a dream
I must be swimming in because I don't remember
her or the bed or anything, and I stumble sort of
half-awake and squinting as she leads me by the
hand through the rooms of this small rancher saying
"it's all one floor which was a real dream to move into
and the furniture guys were in and out in forty-five minutes,
believe it or not," I can't believe it and I tell her so
but there's still this misty remembrance I just can't place
so I guess I just accept amnesia and lie down
on the velvet couch and stare and breathe and breathe.

2011-11-18T15:17:00.000-08:00

"Grandma's" Apartment

Upstairs, in the floor above me, someone is stomping
and stomping and next door the old lady is screaming saying
"you go on, keep going down them stairs, no one wants
to see you anymore so you get the hell away from here, go
down them damn stairs, we know you're a liar, we know
you are a liar," I hear the stomping upstairs again, it is
unrelated, and I hear a father yell at his child, "stop jumping
there are people who live downstairs" and I am grateful
but it doesn't stop the breakup or breakdown happening in the hall
which continues on with more "get away, I never wanna see you
or your kids again, you get away from here and you don't
ever come back," and maybe the person is still standing outside
"grandma's" door but she keeps yelling and screaming, and
I can see her from my peephole because I'm now pressed against
my door with the lights shut off because you can kind of see through
the peephole from the other side and into my kitchen so I watch her
in the darkness as she rages, as the breath sucks in and out of her
seventy, maybe eighty year old body and she continues to scream
with all of her weak, Trinidadian might like a believer holding a viper
and screaming out to God she screams out to him, continues "keep
on down them stairs you piece of shit, keep on down them stairs" and
I am stunned that someone could still feel love and hate so piercing
and effective at such a frail old age but then I drop to the floor in my dark
kitchen and scream in my mind to God that I live to be eighty and am still
engaged in fits of passion and fits of rage and still feel power in my throat.

2011-11-17T00:49:00.000-08:00

I like taking a poem that came from nowhere and making sets of rules around it. 20 lines, 25 lines, 20 lines, 25 lines. Back and forth. Like breathing in and breathing out.

"Lui è nervoso."

2011-11-17T00:45:00.000-08:00

Calmer Night

Now in the late, late night I have calmed myself
or I have been sufficiently calmed by you and
I can lie down and cough and cough and think
without it feeling like my chest was alive with
the thought, that single trickling thought that
slides sideways through thinning patches of grass
toward the space between the foundation and the
panelling, and it slides down and squirms into
that space and then wriggles in birthing agony
until seven or eight little, black, squiggling
repulsive strands writhe in infant blindness
and scream soundlessly, mouths agape at the
chilling air and theirs is a scream that could
bubble up and find voice in your throat if you
let it and if you let it it would take you away from
that place where lying on the ground or in bed
or in thinning grass is a good, calming thing
free of the birth of terror and the delirium of
shortened breath and mouths open wide, hungry
and thirsty and freshly born into the world of void.

Source of Stress

2011-11-16T13:03:00.000-08:00

"Bedroom 1" Photo-collage, Nov. 16, 2011

2011-11-16T12:04:00.000-08:00

Time Wasted Sleeping Fitfully

In the middle of the afternoon I have a cave
of sorts, a retreat that is dark and just a sliver
of space, a warm, sometimes muggy sealed
portion of my apartment where I cram myself,
waiting, for the night shift at the restaurant to begin
and I lie there in between my mattress and my
duvet and think, yes, now sleep for an hour
and then I think that an hour isn't enough for the shift
that's about to come, where I will work until one
and my heart begins to pound in my chest and I'm
sweating because, of course, it's hot under there
and my pulse is rising and I'm becoming frantic
and some days I will sleep restlessly, some days
I would sit and let my heart beat and beat and
I will sweat and my thin storm windows will fog
until my alarm rings at twenty past two, time to go
but there are some strange days where I will lie
in this masochistic act for twenty minutes and
I will feel so disgusted with myself that I leap
up and write or read or pace, at least, and even
in that useless movement I have slipped out
of the mouth of the cave and back into the
world that waits for me, away from the pounding heart
away from the negative space that exists between my
ambition, my day job, my self-respect and my odd hours.

2011-11-14T09:13:00.000-08:00

"Get on the fashion nerves of your peers, not your parents - that is the key to fashion leadership."

--John Waters, "Role Models"

I wish I had a "Monster in the Box"

2011-11-13T09:45:00.000-08:00

I wish I had Spalding Gray's problem of a giant manuscript. I'm trying. I'm trying to write and write and write. I want to write everything, not just poetry. But I feel like focus has always been an issue for me. I need to focus.
writers write writers read writers write writers read.

Dreams like Trains

2011-11-12T19:38:00.001-08:00

Sometimes at night, on a train
going North toward somewhere colder
than my own city, colder than
the wind whip corridors, those sky-scraping
funnels of stick-neck cutting wind,
toward a town full of books and
also full of creeps and jerks and
the signifier and the signified both,
toward a town of always fall leaves
and always thinking and breathing crisp
atlantica air, sometimes heading toward
that North I am reminded of a trip I
dreamt about where I, laden with bags
and books and a picture of my family
headed toward a cleaned out town
where the marble plaza extended moss-slow
to envelop the whole town, a town of marble
statues and marble dogs caught mid-bark,
a marble ambulance, and a cafe all precious
and enchanted in the milky marble streetlights.

Going back to my start

2011-11-02T14:38:00.000-07:00

2011-10-26T12:36:00.000-07:00

Crumbling Brownstone

"I wanna write my whole life down
burn it there to the ground"
-Kurt Vile

All of the brownstones on my block
are going up in flames and pieces
are flaking off and falling slowly,
the way heavy things fall first with
a teeter and then seem to float despite themselves.

Cool water arcs, catches the fire light,
and mists down, turning to vapor and -
I am now the vapor floating off and twirling
with lazy arches and loops and finally
petering out.

From Robert Browning's Poem "One Word More" (1855)

2011-10-23T21:03:00.000-07:00

"None but would forego his proper dowry,
Does he paint? he fain would write a poem,
Does he write? he fain would paint a picture..."

True. Impeccably true. I think that any artist with an urge to express themselves looks at the medium they work in as intrinsically "not cutting it." If only I could paint a beautiful, sweeping abstraction that could say everything my poem "In Winter's Dim Light" is trying to say. I've stripped apart that poem again, I think it's going to be the focus of my young career. A poem about warmth and cold, light and dark, seasonal affective disorder, and loving, slipping, breathing steam breath and falling asleep cold or hot. I wish I could just paint it all out, but it all tumbles inside of me and jams up at the spout.

2011-10-21T09:06:00.001-07:00

Mantra

2011-10-21T08:50:00.000-07:00

Mantra for the Young Poet Who Finds All His Time Consumed By a "Day Job"

writers read, writers write
writers read, writers write
writers read, writers write
writers read, writers write
writers read, writers write
writers read, writers write
writers read, writers write
writers read, writers writ
writers ead, writers write
writers read, writers write
writers read, writers w ite
writers re d, writers write
writers read, wr ers write
writers write
writers read, writers write
read, writers write writersreadwriterswrite
writersrea wri erswrite
wri s ea , writ w te

2011-10-21T07:48:00.000-07:00

2011-10-21T06:47:00.000-07:00

"I Don't Want to Just Sit and Talk"

"Well if we're going to a party, well,
I don't want to just sit and talk."

There's a song echoing from the kitchen,
someone's playing Jonathan Richman
while they prepare the amuse bouche
and I strain for the words I know
and sound has, again, directed my attention
told me where to listen. No, not to
the assistant who rambles about Ovid
or to the young man who laughs,
touches her thigh, laughs again. No,
the music demands, I may be hard
to hear but I'm worth the work,
listen now,
come to me with your full attention.

Nick Cave

2011-10-15T19:03:00.001-07:00

A Pleasure of Music

2011-10-11T09:35:00.000-07:00

Major metropolitan cities and ever-growing suburban communities are loud. This is no groundbreaking statement, I know, but I've recently been surprised and rattled by just how loud the city can be. Yes, I'm talking about New York City, one of the biggest, loudest cities in the world. But remember I come from Philadelphia, a city not known for its quiet green pastures. The noise is rattling me. I feel like I can't think straight or see straight or think or see.

Last night I went to a concert and was struck by another nuance of the pleasure of listening to music. Set aside everything everyone already likes about music. A major function of music, and concerts specifically, is to direct your attention to one source of sound. A song you like is on the radio so you pay attention to the radio. You have paid to see a man you like sing on a stage. You would be a fool to pay attention to any other ambient sounds around you.

When I walk down the street and I'm not listening to music I don't know where to listen. The truck screaming by me. The child shrieking. The diffused thump of bass in someone's car or window. Someone shouting something that I think might have been my name (it never is). Where do I listen?

When I'm at a concert I know exactly where to listen.

It takes the burden of focus off of the audio-mind.

2011-10-10T06:27:00.001-07:00

Total Blue

Total blue, deep yves yes
and covering everything,
all the laundry, all the books
everything good and old
and new and pristine, all in blue
paint please.

2011-10-10T06:26:00.000-07:00

2011-10-07T15:13:00.000-07:00

2011-10-07T08:39:00.000-07:00

Egg 3. (Variation)

Ova Oracle Oral
Opal Opinion Oats
Organ Octagon Oui
Onus Opaque Owl
Oponion Onion Oal
Orocol Orol Onol Ovo
Oam Oam Oam Oam
Old Oam Old Oam Old
Oal Oat Oal Oat Oal Oat
Opo Olo Opo Olo Ono
Odo Oda Oda Odo
Oald Oal Oald Oal
Oak Owl Oak
Owl Oak Oal
Old Old Old
Ogg Oat
Ovo

2011-10-07T08:30:00.000-07:00

Waiting Tables

I am just a tiny crab walking sideways
from rock to rock, back and forth
looking, perpetually, for some morsel
and, upon collecting it, I hoard and cherish.

My peg-like legs slip and poke deep
into soft salt wet sand, my eyes
pinpoints of shimmering black, glance
and survey. My field of vision all grays.

Again to this rock, now over to that,
and when some giant wave comes to hug
I open my claws, already set to embrace
and it flings me away and onto the sands.

2011-10-05T22:44:00.000-07:00

Total Immersion

Oh that I, on a down step night
should slip and fall ankle deep
into a quivering puddle, some moonlight
reflected and jagged against concrete,
some pothole filled with rain, some
pocket surprise, that I should slip down into it,
oh let me continue on down, deep
into the earth, past the subways
and past the cartoonish skeletons
who smile and, upon smiling, bare
more than milk-white teeth, bare forgeries
and silk gowns rotting in the earth
and down into the dipping hot wet oils
down past where they say it's too far to dig
and deeper still into the place where it is hot
that is where I want to go when my foot goes
into the puddle.

Ma vie est en ruine

2011-10-04T16:21:00.000-07:00

Today and for far too many days in a row I will have to keep my belongings in plastic bags. Thank you exterminator. I don't know if I can live like this! I feel crazy!

2011-10-04T00:43:00.000-07:00

Self In Crumbles

I am a crumble of cheese
you've sprinkled on your salad
and you are the pizza I ordered
yesterday. You never arrived
at my door because the driver
thinks this neighborhood is shitty.
It is.
But honestly, you are the pizza that
who ate, did he?

Now I am a pile of bones, and
enough time has passed to let
my crumbling scenario begin.
I am a tomb within a tomb
that you, sweet pizza boy,
have read tomes about.

Now I am a demon, pulling at
your hair and scalp and separating them
from each other. Now I am your father
and I have a new list of rules you must follow.
Now I am the computer. Now I am the stomach.
Now I am the dream you forgot this morning.
Now I am the morning. Now I am the phrase
Good Morning. Now I am a croissant, now
I am just the crumbling flakes of said croissant.

2011-10-02T09:35:00.000-07:00

I Can't Hear Any Words

I can't hear any of the words they're screaming
but I know they're screaming words.
The preacher keeps shouting over a microphone
"Gawd! Gawd!" and a dog is barking, driven mad
by the thumping bass. The women sing,
the crowd shouts in affirmation. "Do you hear me?"
"Yes we hear you."

Egg Poems

2011-10-01T13:10:00.000-07:00

Working on a series of egg poems right now. I'm trying to move from the fully incorporated (i.e. omelet) to the separated (i.e. breakfast sandwich) to the single item (i.e. fried or raw egg). The letter O is becoming increasingly important to me. That egg shaped letter!

I'm also working on a Willem de Ridder poem. It's what I imagine would happen if he came to visit Bed-Stuy. Sort of.

2011-09-30T10:33:00.001-07:00

"When I wanted you to share my life I had no doubt in my mind and it's been you, woman, right down the line..."

My Poem is Featured in DNLATS!

2011-09-30T08:19:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone, head over to the site for the zine Do Not Look At The Sun.

Click the newest issue and scroll all the way down to see a poem I wrote that's going to be featured in the Parisian zine! That's not how I formatted it (it was just text, not on an image) but I gave them license to do that, so... cool!

How are you doing? What are you up to these days?

Applaud the Jellyfish, for he is swimming

2011-09-30T08:13:00.001-07:00

2011-09-26T09:25:00.000-07:00

Fold Gold

Folded gold, not fool's gold,
leafed gold shingled on a bed
of pressed roses, those roses laid
at the entrance of a diamond mine,
diamonds mined and dipped
in hot silver
then smashed to bits,

those bits ground to a dust, that dust
mixed with teal paint, that paint
layered and layered on my bedroom wall,
a square cut out of the wall (drywall)
and a secret manual placed inside,
wall covered up again,
painted over bright yellow on the seam,
signed and numbered print placed
over the incision, life continued
but with a secret manual hidden
in a wall of diamond desire.

2011-09-25T14:00:00.000-07:00

Robert Lowell!

2011-09-25T13:58:00.001-07:00

"Be a little more selfish, it might do you some good."

2011-09-23T22:54:00.000-07:00

Primordial Thought Tumbling Into Sentiment

clunk clink
cluck cluck
clunk club
clunder clubber
plunder dubber
dauber dresser
drubber drub
clubb clobber
club clubbe
diamond club
you're my diamond girl.

2011-09-23T22:51:00.000-07:00

(limited) stream of consciousness

2011-09-23T22:49:00.001-07:00

I Only Have A Minute to Write This Poem

(12:32pm – 12:33pm, Sept. 22, 2011)

I only have a minute

so this will have to be quick

I’m on my way to work, my real

job, the job that pays bills so I can do this

and I love this and everything is amazing

when I’m writing and even when

I’m working everything is ok, you know?

You know, you’re an artist too or a reader

or my friend or someone who cares

in some way about the world and

this is going to end where it ends

I guess that’s the beauty of

Mike's World informs My World.

2011-09-22T09:45:00.000-07:00

www.mikes-world.org

2011-09-22T05:17:00.000-07:00

"I am trying to remember all the things that I wrote/ they all shine soft and stand alone."
--Twin Shadow

Free Passage.

2011-09-21T22:24:00.001-07:00

She just is.

2011-09-21T22:06:00.001-07:00

2011-09-21T21:55:00.000-07:00

New Claims

"I understated my delight with your being here, today,
Bradley. I have always dreamed of this day, I am tired
of non-inter-connectedness, you are a valuable asset
and a hell of a guy. Thank you, Bradley, let's continue
to build our brand. Sincerely, Giaco Furino, VP of
Risk Assessment, Motorola."

me now.

2011-09-21T11:47:00.000-07:00

"all summer long the chafe and jar of a nuclear war we have talked our extinction to death"

2011-09-21T08:41:00.001-07:00

A new direction.

2011-09-21T08:39:00.001-07:00

All the Words I Can Hear for One Minute

(10:44 A.M.)

That’s not what I’m

thinking of, I want

or nothing at all

just because I,

I want the real true thing

or nothing at all.

Now I know, heart,

since is this all together,

yes I want the real true thing

and is this for here or to go,

here, or nothing at all.

Night Sounds

2011-09-20T22:36:00.000-07:00

Jay Street - Metrotech

2011-09-20T22:32:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about the stop on the G line (subway line) called Jay Street - Metrotech. The posts all say Jay St. - Metrotech and now I'm thinking of St. Metrotech. Saint Metrotech.

A true saint for our digital age. I'm working on a poem about this.

Common Purpose

2011-09-20T09:47:00.000-07:00

Come to me with your extremeties
flailing and whipping around like
snakes decapitated or garden hoses
first switched on to full. With your
extended arms and legs, your unfolding
lattices and extension ladders, click
into place and slide a dead-bolt
to hold it. I am a step-stool
now, my legs have folded in
and my arms are short and sliding
sideways. I am a step-stool at
a local hardware store, hung
by my collar bone next to tall
strong ladders and handsome
hook rings and rakes. A garden
of the senses and a clogged
rain pipe of the tactile taught me
how to exist and be useful, how
to be short and be helpful, how
to be alive and feel metallic
and full of common purpose.

Klaus Kinski and Marcel Duchamp

2011-09-20T08:22:00.000-07:00

Once again text from the amazing "After Modern Art" by David Hopkins. Still from the film Crawlspace starring Klaus Kinski. This was his final role.

A New Line of Thought

2011-09-19T08:17:00.000-07:00

I'm re-wiring my brain. I'm making new connections.
For example:

Twalk to Me

2011-09-19T08:01:00.000-07:00

Twalk to me and with me down the street
past where you bought that piece of chicken
and I dropped it while I tried to take a bite I'm sorry.
Twalk with me and to me like I'm an anachronistic child
and you just dropped me and you're saying I'm sorry, I'm so sorry
baby don't cry no, shh shh, no don't cry.

New Rimbaud Poems

2011-09-19T06:51:00.000-07:00

The Independent is reporting that a new translation of Rimbaud's poems will feature five previously unpublished poems. Written in Latin. When he was 14. This is why the modern American poet who went through a public school system will always lack some of that grand tradition. Ridiculous.

Here's the new book.

And here's a Rimbaud poem after the break...

Morning of Drunkenness

By Arthur Rimbaud 1854–1891

Translated from the French by John Ashbery Read the translator's notes

O my good! O my beautiful! Atrocious fanfare where I won’t stumble! enchanted rack whereon I am stretched! Hurrah for the amazing work and the marvelous body, for the first time! It began amid the laughter of children, it will end with it. This poison will remain in all our veins even when, as the trumpets turn back, we’ll be restored to the old discord. O let us now, we who are so deserving of these torments! let us fervently gather up that superhuman promise made to our created body and soul: that promise, that madness! Elegance, knowledge, violence! They promised us to bury the tree of good and evil in the shade, to banish tyrannical honesties, so that we might bring forth our very pure love. It began with a certain disgust and ended—since we weren’t able to grasp this eternity all at once—in a panicked rout of perfumes.
      Laughter of children, discretion of slaves, austerity of virgins, horror in the faces and objects of today, may you be consecrated by the memory of that wake. It began in all loutishness, now it’s ending among angels of flame and ice.
     Little eve of drunkenness, holy! were it only for the mask with which you gratified us. We affirm you, method! We don’t forget that yesterday you glorified each one of our ages. We have faith in the poison. We know how to give our whole lives every day.
     Behold the time of the Assassins.

Settled in Brooklyn

2011-09-13T06:59:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone! I'm finally settled in here in Brooklyn! The trip was, of course, an amazing experience. But pairing it with a move to a whole new city has been physically, emotionally and financially exhausting! If you didn't receive a postcard or shirt or other goodies rest assured. They were written/collected/taken from the road and will be sent out soon!

Wild Wild Life.

2011-09-13T06:18:00.000-07:00

Ten Years Later I Wake Up

2011-09-11T06:34:00.000-07:00

Ten years later I wake up
in that city. I never thought
I'd be here, certainly not
while twiddling my thumbs
in Mr. Lester's class and knowing
something strange was up.
Knowing that this fumbling man,
this man who two years later
would go to jail for child pornography,
knowing that he was sweating
and wracking his hands for a reason,
knowing he knew something and
didn't want to tell a room full of
fifteen year old children.

I always thought of that city
as the place where artists went,
the city where you go if you've
got it all together, got your act together,
well I don't but I'm here. Ten years later
I wake up to a preaching man screaming
over a loudspeaker, saying "faith is in
your heart!" Screaming "Let the good God
heal you!" And there's room for that
in this city.

Last night we walked down Pulaski
toward Latin Night at the bar. We passed
through a block party, people electric sliding
and dancing and screaming, young boys chasing
girls, the grind of gears on a parked show car
and off, up over the horizon, shooting from the earth
and aimed, it seemed, for the moon,
were two blazing beams of blue-white light.

-----------

For people way braver than I'll ever be, and for everyone else in the city, and for everyone other than that.

To the beach

2011-08-21T21:53:00.001-07:00

Heading to the beach for the last hurrah of this trip! It has been amazing. Thanks for coming on this journey with me!

Will spam this blog with pics and poems in the next week!

Into the air

2011-08-21T13:56:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow I fly off toward home. I didn't want to fly back, but the train complications coupled with some old airline gift certificates (thanks mom!) made flying back the most economical.

Of course, in true Poetry in Locomotion fashion, I will have a layer in Vegas and then another layover in Chicago. I feel like my chances of all those planes coming in on time is low, which makes my chance of one last adventure high! And once I get home, expect a ton more poems to post as I transcribe all my paper and pen poems and start to formulate the manuscript!

What will be in this last batch of poems?

Raccoon killing in Montana (as was described by a dude on the train).

A sweeping view of characters on the train.

Some weird travel dream poems

And way more!

Stay tuned my friends!

An excerpt from a new long poem I'm working on

2011-08-21T09:42:00.001-07:00

Feeling lost in the
Hollywood Hills, exhausted
burnt out on drinks
and dark meats,
body full of strange
waves, some backlit
and sliding up and down
the coastline of my mind.

2011-08-20T16:16:00.001-07:00

Oof, just ate at In and Out Burger! Feeling stuffed but can check off another LA thing!

Next is Diplo's Block Party!

With Cramps CD in Hand, I

2011-08-20T11:55:00.000-07:00

With Cramps CD in hand, I,
sonic novitiate, wandered the aisles
at Amoeba Records. This, I imagined,
is what it is like to really live in Los Angeles,
beyond the convertible tans and
amazing Thai dinners, to look for and find
some strange thing you want, that's the gift
of Los Angeles. To ask, and hope beyond hope,
that the obscure parcel you want is in stock,
(and in this city everything is always in stock)
that is the prize for gridlocked patience,
that is the ultimate, collectible prize
for coexisting with the pretty.

At the MJT

2011-08-20T11:31:00.001-07:00

Mice on toast. Cure for something!

In These Shadow Halls (Museum of Jurassic Technology)

2011-08-20T10:54:00.000-07:00

In these shadow halls what curiosity,
what hammer in the foot, bird to the mouth
type of secret will be revealed or,
better yet,
left obscured? I see them now,
the old and dead theories, the cones
of memory, the mice on toast,
the duck breath cures of it all.
If only the world were so easily mitigated,
if only one could fall into or out of love
based on their consumption of ant eggs.

I want to eat ant eggs until I fall asleep
and dream of a museum of winding halls
and paintings and pictures and ventricular images
that shimmer as I pass. I want to suck the cool
breath from a duck and be cured of what ails me.
I want to look into the foxes head and see myself
yipping and yelping in a darkened room.

----

Dedicated to one of the strangest museums I've ever been to. The Museum of Jurassic Technology. Check out the website, and if you're in L.A. find it. It's a hidden gem and this is not going to be the last poem about it.

The Silent Men

2011-08-19T10:56:00.000-07:00

These are the silent men
we were trying to tell you about
but you didn't believe us!
Look at that one, there, without
eyes and all that waxy pale skin,
he was the one who told me
not to wake up or there'd be trouble!
Look at them, there they are,
out in the sunlight for you all to see!

These are the men who
slipped in our windows at night,
told us how to get to the water,
and we listened and nodded
stayed silent. Mouth shut.
Even the sheep knows
when not to baah.

Poem Accepted!

2011-08-19T09:38:00.000-07:00

Wow great news to wake up to this morning in L.A.! My poem "To Be Written on the Wall of a Natural Foods Store or a Pharmacy or on the Insides of Your Eyelids or Directly on a Bird" got accepted into the cool Parisian zine Do Not Look At The Sun !!!

Very excited.

LA

2011-08-18T18:14:00.001-07:00

This is where I'm staying. It's just an apartment complex, but it's L.A. so it is also sunny and beautiful and retro.

Today was a great day of soaking up the city. I saw a lot of old friends from my days at FEARnet and ate at a Korean/Mexican foodtruck. Into it! This was our view in just a common space outdoor seating area:

Not sure what tonight holds, but I'm ready to soak in more Los Angeles.

Into L.A.

2011-08-18T10:13:00.000-07:00

This song kicked on in a big mix just as we were rounding the corner on L.A. It was hazy out, the sun was setting, I felt tired and in need of a shower and a place to set down my bag and then this came on and shook me out.

Ever Since Things Went Bad

2011-08-18T10:09:00.000-07:00

Ever since things went bad
things have been going good.
I didn't think much of the snakebite
at the time, thought hell, hospital,
or that rusty old saw you see in movies.
But "local media" is a beast of burden
around here, it just picks up what it can
and carries it along past where it ought.
They call it "human interest" but I've never been
interested in many other humans and they
never found much interest in me.

This venom, the stuff I know is still in me,
it keeps me interesting. "Look at him,
shot up full of snake spit and that ticker
of his still keeps time." Sometimes
I dream I am a snake, that the poison in me
has somehow changed me, or I go through the change,
and in my snake-dreams I am quick as sin on sand,
and no one can catch me and make me do interviews
and there's nothing to do but sit in the hot Montana sun
without sweating and wait for something to bite
to make like me.

---------

Written in Montana, after the ticket loss.

Fantasy of Hand Loss

2011-08-17T13:19:00.001-07:00

Driving down 101 I lost my right hand
while flicking sunflower seed shells
out the window. A volvo swung wide
on a bridge and our poor, traumatized driver
just reacted, swerved out of the way,
and just like that my hand caught
a divot in the guard rail
and was sheared clean off.

There was blood and screaming,
we shuddered to a halt on the shoulder
past the bridge, someone made an
emergency call and all through it,
on a deeper level, I wondered
what will become of my hand?

Driving from San Francisco

2011-08-17T12:38:00.001-07:00

Today we head out from San Francisco to L.A. Unfortunately, L.A. will be my final stop. I'll be staying in the city for a few days and then I'm headed home! The loss of the ticket definitely put a kink in plans, but it has been and continues to be an amazing,life-changing trip. I'm still writing, I've got a lot on paper that will make it onto the site in the next week. Plus more photos and fun stuff!

Postcards and gifts continue to ship out! Keep an eye out for yours!

Seal

2011-08-17T08:54:00.001-07:00

YouTube Video

Elk

2011-08-17T08:51:00.001-07:00

YouTube Video

Breathing Clouds

2011-08-17T08:35:00.001-07:00

Natural Beauty

2011-08-16T17:32:00.000-07:00

We hiked for an hour today through the redwood forest. The trail took us to a beach. On the beach we saw a herd of Elk napping after lunch. Then we walked carefully around them and over a dune, where seals were swimming in the surf and big, fat pelicans bobbed over the waves.

I'm stunned.

Gold Bear

2011-08-16T15:14:00.001-07:00

I placed a still gasping salmon
at the altar of the golden bear
like the lady at the dime store
told me to.

She said the gold bear was real,
that he would come if I called him,
that he was good for answering questions
you had about life.

So I left the salmon and watched
as it slowly stopped its flop,
and I waited for hours with
no sign or symbol.

Finally a shimmer danced through
the woods, at first I thought it
a trick of the setting sun, but
deep down I knew.

The golden bear slid through the trees
and reared on its hind legs, gold fur
shifting with the wind. He looked at me,
took his salmon,

and said a private thing
that stays between me, gold bear,
the now dead salmon and the
redwood mist.

Post-feast

2011-08-16T00:46:00.001-07:00

Oh man, it is so nice to be in a motel. Cheap, clean enough, and we hit the supermarket and ate fresh food! There's been too much fast food so far.

We bought lots of crusty bread, hummus, avocado, and lunchmeat! And cheap tecate! It felt like a farmer's meal! It was so nice to rip off a chunk of bread, and not be handed a burger wrapped in paper.

I feel completely restored... And sleepy.
Today was a good day, I'm excited about the stream/prose poem I just wrote. I really like the medium.

Tomorrow we drive through the redwoods, I cannot wait!

Landed in the redwoods!

2011-08-15T23:58:00.001-07:00

Tonight we chill out at the Penny Saver in Crescent City. We drove past trees wider than cars, and we're only on the outskirts of the redwood forest. So excited!

Where Everything is Quiet and a Little Cold

2011-08-15T23:06:00.001-07:00

At the Penny Saver Inn the guy at the front desk, well, not guy but kid really, the kid at the front desk is all speckled and spattered with white paint. It's under his long fingernails and all over his shirt, and this kid's eyes are so red he's either been crying or he's high as a kite and, from the looks of it, he seems pretty happy. So the high kid starts telling us about the redwood forest, tells us to forget the state park, to go find a place where're the redwoods really are something huge and amazing. And through the haze of his slurred speech I think I catch a glimmer of interest, as if things could have been different for him, if he tried a little harder he could have been a forest ranger or, shit, at least the guy who works the lift that takes you to the top, up above the redwoods, where you can get a view that would make an eagle jealous and everything is quiet and a little cold and there you are, breathing the air that no man was meant to breathe, and feeling alive and yeah, like God a little.

Yes I Assume You Still Departed

2011-08-15T14:45:00.001-07:00

The dead seal's glassy eyes roll
as the surf rocks his head left and right,
left and right, whiskers brushing against the surf.
I dreamt of you last night,
you were still on the sand
and we, tattooed and clueless,
approached reverently your dead hulk
and in that moment you blinked,
stirred, and shimmied into the water.
But yes, I assume you still departed
and floating now or beached as I, too,
float some days while on others lay beached.

----

Poor dead seal. I keep thinking about it. This is definitely a first draft. Love Giaco

Back from camping

2011-08-15T08:56:00.001-07:00

Hey everyone, I'm back in Seattle after a long but amazing camping trip. We drove our cars onto the ferry in Seattle that goes across, I don't know, the pugette sound? Then we drove for four hours to the tip of the Olympic peninsula. Finally we arrived at our destination, kind of.

The next part was one of the most beautiful parts of my entire trip so far! We hiked for at least forty minutes in a rainforest (!!!) until we came to what was essentially a cliff of soil with some steps packed into. We, loaded up and carrying tents and jugs of water, carefully worked our way down the steep decline, which opened up onto one of the most beautiful beaches I've ever seen!

Shi Shi Beach!

Light waves crashed against the soft brown sand. The starfish were clinging to rocks and were some of the most vivid purples and oranges I've ever seen. Austin (with his back turned in the picture) made a big pot of rice and beans and we watched the sun set while logs burned on the beach. I feel lucky to have seen this place.

In the morning a whale breached the water near our campsite, and as we were leaving we saw a mother and baby deer walking along the water. There were other camp sites up as well, but they didn't seem to mind us.

Today we head south down the California coast. I cant thank Connor and Dustin (pictured) enough for taking me along with them down to L.A. This is how adventure gets made, in bits and pieces and with hard luck and happy accidents.

Today!

2011-08-13T09:31:00.001-07:00

Hey everyone! I got in to Seattle last night through a craigslist rideshare! Totally great experience and I got from portland to Seattle for ten bucks!

Today will be light on posts because I'm going camping with friends at Shi Shi Beach! Expect a ton of pictures/fun stuff/poems tomorrow!

2011-08-12T14:54:00.001-07:00

We are too young to get everything we want

2011-08-12T13:04:00.001-07:00

On a Thursday afternoon in the mild city
the young drift in and out of reality,
a sort of shift between concern and pleasure.
I do not know where the money comes from,
but we are too young to get everything we want.

On a Thursday morning we can't get a seat
at the French bistro for brunch because of
all the others just like us, eating baguettes and
poached salmon, drinking until they miss their mouths
and we are jockeying in line to do the same.

The mild city grabs you by the shoulders and says,
"Relax, have some brunch, grab a beer,"
but make no mistake, it's still got you by the shoulders.

Portland Wandering

2011-08-12T12:02:00.001-07:00

Time to wander around the city for a few hours. Into it.

2011-08-11T15:58:00.001-07:00

Every good day will keep me
running toward the river,
every day I ride a bike past
rose gardens to a backyard
with a hot tub, cold beer,
and The Cramps will keep me
wild and riverborn and free.

If every good day could be
free, then I would be free.

Hanging out in the Backyard

2011-08-11T15:54:00.001-07:00

Today's activities will include...

2011-08-11T14:14:00.001-07:00

Margaritas
Tanning
Bike rides
Writing!

The Mild City

2011-08-11T14:05:00.001-07:00

Here in the mild city
I've plucked a hop
from a stranger's bush
while wandering in and out
of the neighborhood.
People float by, wandering
themselves as I too wander,
and all is quiet in the mild city.

Portland

2011-08-11T10:01:00.001-07:00

Good Morning!

2011-08-11T09:27:00.001-07:00

Apologies for the radio silence! Last night was a long and crazy and fun night, that ended with me quietly (in my mind, in reality, probably not) creaking into bed at the hostel around 3am pacific time. I still feel like I'm on Eastern time, so it felt like I was out until dawn!

Staying with my friend Maggie tonight, should be another wild one.

I think this whole second half of the trip is going to be very different from the first part. No more extended periods of solitude.

Time to molt into a social creature!

Portland, Hawthorne area, late

The view from my hostel bed

2011-08-10T18:31:00.001-07:00

Nap time!

Outside the Torture Museum at the Wisconsin Dells

2011-08-10T17:30:00.000-07:00

Those tourists from the wheated plains
don't push or jostle to enter the museum.
They stand like stalks in the mild summer air
and hold their children by the wrist,
their little arms sticking straight up, fingers stretching,
some of the little ones cry, their older brothers
have told them that they would be the ones tortured.

The strong parents pat their heads, say
there there, no one's going to torture you,
not on my watch, little one. As they
come up to the queue.

Inside, we get some fog machines,
a few mannequins on the rack,
and a gift shop that the little ones drool over.
This is the first time they've learned what we
will do to one another. So buy them a pop,
or a pen that lights up, because
they need to take home more than just
the knowledge of our cruelty.

To the Girl with the Deer Bone

2011-08-10T16:42:00.001-07:00

The first person I met in Portland was a girl
with a shaved head who I shoved my stuff
out of the way for on the green line.
She was carrying a large bone, maybe hip
or shoulder from a deer or something larger
that she'd started to paint with flecks of red.

She had the half-pickled, five before three look
on her face, and she raved a bit about
a pregnant woman who was after her,
but when she asked me where I was from
she stuck out her hand and said
"I'm from Rhode Island, I miss the east coast."

And she was worried I was homeless.

2011-08-10T16:33:00.001-07:00

Portland seems so nice and breezy. I know I'm just getting a little slice of the city, and I'm sure I'm apt to picture it this way, but damn! I like it. The hostel is clean, bright and friendly!

And a nice porch too!

Coming up on Portland

2011-08-10T13:13:00.001-07:00

With all the stress of the last couple days because of losing my golden ticket, it's nice to see Portland in the horizon. I'm beginning to feel trapped on this train run by a company that, it seems, doesn't care about it's passengers. I'm ready to get on solid land and regroup, figure out what to do next. First I'm going to go plead my case to Amtrak one last time, which may just be an exercise in masochism.

Wither way stay tuned, dear readers, plenty more poetry, videos and party to come!