Monday, February 6, 2012

...I think it was Bruce?

It was cold here when it happened.    I had just started my first week after training and was a little concern about asking for time off for something so incredible.    It was warm where it happened, and dark and stormy and cliched. 

I can't really say, what I was thinking or doing, I was on lunch when I got the call.  Surprise! Happily Unexpected at the time, until at least I answered.  Hi! What? -the fuck? OHSHITOHSHITOHShitohshit.

Um.... Silence as through tears and confusion its taken it.   Hidden in a conference room in half abandoned 9th floor overlooking Times Square, we were almost the last to leave but that hasn't happened yet.

OKokokOKOKok just calm down.  I'll see if I can leave early, OK yeah, you too. off the phone reeling. how to say this, to someone i don't really know. I hardly believe it myself.

Hey Gary?  So um, a friend of the family died can I take off early?   Hey thanks man, yeah ok bye.  But that's not how it went.  I told the whole story, luckily it was too crazy to be taken for a lie. I managed not to freak out too much in the telling.

A fucking Jaguar ate him, a storm came and he was walking home drunk and it fucking killed him at the gate to his house and ate his fucking body!   Sure it's the jungle but it wasn't wild.  It had escaped from next door, from a cage, where it had learned that humans and food are together.  AND THEY DIDN'T TELL ANYONE. It was out for TWO FUCKING DAYS.

Sure Ok, shit happens. but what the fuck.   two days?   hours? OK with ya, days? no nonononononononononNO would I be saying this if it hadn't killed someone? If it hadn't affected me personally in some way?

I, I oh, I um...   I don't even think I met him when I was there, your friend.   Even now, a year later, I don't even know his name....

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Photos of the Book in Progress

As I have mentioned in previous posts I am working on a "poetry" series that involves erasing words from existing writings. This method of writing has always intrigued me, it is similar to the (schizophrenic) act of searching for prophesy in biblical codes.  You really do get what you are looking for, but are limited by the material available and the parameters you create.  Mine where aesthetic and based on the preexisting book structures, (a chapter must be self contained) and on a lose poetic grammar.

Here is the image of the cover.  It says He On   THE WILL  no on.  I may remove the "no on" This is fake gold leaf on a rough canvas type book cover, and was done by scraping off the extra words with a knife.

This is the first full page of text. In a kind of forward prior to Chapter One proper.  The full text and process action can be viewed in Erasure #1

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

The Will Chapter 1

It had rained during the night, one of those warm tropical showers that leaves the air heavy and sweet. A steady breeze born far out at sea kissed the shore at sunrise, rustling the coconut palms. The clouds, like the folks around these parts in no hurry to move on, scattered slowly as the sun rose out of the ocean and washed the sky with bold streaks of light. A few ares of rainbow loitered above, offering promise for the new day.
Hawaii's locals make a clear distinction between themselves and haoles, the sunburned tourists from the mainland. It is less a term of contempt than a bemused pity. On the scenically spectacular island of Maui, most of these visitors pick up their rental cars at Kahului Airport and drive directly to Kaanapali Beach on the western coast, where they stay in glitzy resort hotels, down premixed Mai Tais served by waitresses in synthetic grass skirts, and tap their toes to the canned melodies of Don Ho. Haoles just don't know any better.
The real soul of Maui is manifest on the south shore, with its endless stretches of blinding white beaches. The sun bleached dunes roll up to wide verdant fields of pineapple and sugar cane. Herds of cattle graze contentedly on the grassy slopes of the West Maui mountains. Majestic Haleakala, the highest point on the island, is a two mile high peak topped with a massive volcanic crater, a dramatic reminder that this is a land of sudden, violent change.
At Maalaea Bay boat harbor, Charlie, the winch operator, was working a squeaky crank that unwound a cable still wet from the rain. "Never thought I'd live to see the day this old gal went back in the water," he offered to anyone within earshot as he controlled the speed with which a trailer bearing a thirty foot wooden sailboat rolled down a launching ramp.
Boat launchings were hardly uncommon hereabouts, but a small crowd of locals had gathered to watch this particular one. These folks and a few hundred other kindred souls lived aboard boats in the bay. Most were dreamers who collected sea charts, atlases, and books about faraway places, yearning to pull up anchor and sail away, just like the excited young couple whose boat was now the center of attention. But few would do so.


Chapter 1

the night, leaves rustling the clouds, hurry on the ocean of light. loitered above, a clear distinction between sunburned contempt On the most western waitresses and the canned soul of endless blinding white cattle of Majestic violent change.

Charlie, the operator, was a squeaky crank that unwound still wet from this old gal he offered speed with uncommon crowd this particular one. These kindred souls in the Most collected places, yearning to pull young attention. But few would do so.

Saturday, June 11, 2011


And yes, there really was a
dear friend, and


I killed him
didn't complain

So long, old pal, you are sorely missed.