to quote Robert Frost

Robert Frost once said "Hell is a half-filled auditorium."

It's true, it is tough dealing with low turnout at an event with your name on it, whether it is a signing of your books or a reading or a ceremony you're keynoting. That's one of the reasons people like giving commencement addresses, it gives them a chance to play to a packed house.

Do I worry about turnout? Always. A good turnout breeds buzz, goodwill with the venue owners and sales...and, of course, further opportunities to confront a half-filled auditorium.

ashes and aught

how hard grows a heart in silence
the violence of isolation
the absolute zero of self-immolation
and soon there is nothing but ashes
ashes and aught and naught
for seeking fingertips to hold onto


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

the minotaur

telling tales on the astral sails
that spin us out of memory.
gossamer thin, like a gentle sin,
worn, by a scorn, like emery

a kiss unfolds like a petaled thing
to fill our breath with an urgent wish
to lay amongst the crimson folds
that take us in hungers wolfish

and who will feed the Minotaur
as he wanders and wonders his fate
seeking while eking his substance
from shadows and whispers at the gate


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

life of a thousand cuts

E.J. is recommending that I make RONIN IN THE TEMPLE OF APHRODITE available as both a book and an audiobook (and maybe as a set of the two together? why not?) when it arrives this November.

We shall see.

I've decided to focus on the poems in THE MORGANTOW SUITE POEMS for my reading/appearance for West Virginia Day at Barne & Noble (C. make little squeaky noises at that suggestion...she likes it when I add to her mystique...she may even be there). So I will make sure that it is amongst the poems I read. I am hoping to make this big.

Now with the CD in post-production, piped for the June 9th release date, I can focus on new Herculean tasks...like the four books I'm due to release in the next 14 months.

The two due by Christmas:

101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS is a fait accompli. It is going to be an hot seller, and deservedly so...I'm unleashing a beast that has been harnessed for years, the intellectual equivalent of an intracardial injection of Viagra in combination with electroconvulsive therapy and a full-lipped kiss by the succubus of your choice. I'll catch some crap for this volume, but to that I must state, unequivocally, to my worthy critics: Bite me.

RONIN IN THE TEMPLE OF APHRODITE is taking shape nicely...I am pleased. From the heart, rather than the loins. And a powerful manifesto of the romantic, poetic way of life. Faith is not faith in easy times. Belief in anything, be it deity or love or woman, is proven on the battlefields of the soul, where the true believer is the warrior with the deepest cuts and the most ancient scars who still stands in harm's way, begging the fates to turn a raging countenance towards him, one more time. A life of a thousand cuts, each mark worn as noble proof of a purifying couer rage.

(insert favourite sound effect for blowing raspberries here)

In response to E.J.'s review of THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB:

I have decided, after much soul searching, to keep the format of the CD as is, a single, lengthy track. If individuals choose to edit it to shorter tracks (most of my readers/listeners are computer literate, a benefit of being the "ROMANTIC POET OF THE INTERNET") I understand.

I'll take my B+ and run with it. It gives me some room for improvement. (Recall when Bruce Springsteen did his first movie soundtrack, for "Philadelphia", and won the Oscar? How could he top that? He couldn't. Probably he was crushed and that's why we never heard from him again. Oh, he is? He does? Okay, forget I said anything.)

Oh, and what am I doing up at 4:20 in the morning? You should have seen me ninety minutes ago...

Beatles greeting cards

I was bopping about the web when I stumbled upon a site I had never encountered before:

Beatles Greeting Cards

Not only did the site have many pictures, even animated GIFs of the boys, they even had links to some rather startlingly good Flash animation music videos of some of their songs.

I was suitably impressed.

So, whether you just love 'em, as I do, or really really really really love 'em, like my friend Alan...check the site out.

I urge you to see this film

Take the pledge to see AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH when it comes to a theater near to you.

Go to their website at www.climatecrisis.net and take the pledge. I can think of few things I could more highly recommend you to do.

Yes, Global Warming and the danger to the environment is inconvenient to industry, but it is also a fact, irrefutable and far more dangerous to the peoples of this Earth than any terrorist group, political movement or theological schism.

My children, most likely, and certainly my grandchildren will live in a world screwed up by people who don't care or who refuse to listen because it is not in their "best interests" as they would define them, to listen.

People have died, people will die, because ignorance is more convenient.

A critical review: The Last Romantic Verb

I'm going to "kick against the pricks" here and take a close on look at the poet's CD: THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB. Not that I think it bad, but when one sees anything that could be better, the inclination is to imagine what could have been.

Let's start with the packaging. No real gripes. White, multi-colored impression of the poet omnipresent. Nice breakdown of the works...except. Except that immediately points out a major weakness in this CD: It's done as one track. One fifty-nine minute and change track. The list of contents breaks them down by time point where to find them, but there is no track to be skipping to. I am hoping before final release to convince the poet to change that. We shall see.

Now the contents.

For a man who claims no musical ability, he has put together some quite acceptable musical accompaniment to many of his works, some is actually quite impressive. I would have liked to have heard more "naked" pieces, pieces without music. His voice is solid and strong and expressive and you can feel the depth of it, but sometimes not as well as one might like to, and sometimes the music just plain distracts. I point specifically to the harmonica and horns on "Kisses for Karma"...they punctuate that work like a fist between the eyes. Not needed.

The poems themselves tend a little to the dark and metaphysical sides of the author, perhaps that is where he is right now. It is tough to isolate yourself the way he has over the two years since his separation from his second wife (she-who-must-not-be-named) without beginning to feed on yourself, emotionally. I should have liked to see more erotic and romantic works, although there are several here...I just think opening it all with the darkly metaphysical, even alien, presentation of "from out of the city" is wrong.

High points, poetically:

1. The way his voice slides into certain pieces, like "lust bunnies", "as I slide into you" and "Swerve (flirt)". Here is a man who can tune his voice, even when "merely" reading, to impart a mood or intent to defile, and make you smile about it. His former editor, Jan Innes, used to forbid him from using "that voice" on the phone when they were working on books. She called it his "phonesex voice".

2. The raw emotion of "Bragi to Freya, on his deathbed". You feel the emotion building until it raises him up as an act of will. Powerful reading. I can only guess which veins he tapped to draw that cider. I won't guess, here.

3. The black bastion of his subtle inflection when he plants himself against his perception of a cold and wicked world, full of false-hearted lovers and lying suitors. "In the memory of lovers", where he intones the resolve to "take no pretender, again to my bed", he springs from reflective and sad to resolute.

4. "My Electric Lady" a prophecy, spoken when he was in his first romance. A realization that a normal life may be beyond his reach. I hope the lover he wrote it for hears his reading of it. I saw him record this piece, it wrecked him to open his wounds like that. Truth is, he patches himself as best he can, but he never heals, he just tightens the tourniquets to slow the bleeding so he can be on his way.

5. A most remarkable arc: In the long piece "Beasts of Legends", he intones three pieces midway through: "Shards of Light", "Radiant Tigers" and "Aureate" and the music and his voice fall together like raindrops to form an ocean. I know he is very pleased with the musical transition into "Radiant Tigers", and it is interesting...the piano kicks in and the synthesizers come up as his voice builds. I can imagine him before the microphone, his eyes closed as he forgets himself in the words. For poetry is his addiction, the way he kills his pain, the way he feels anything. And then, "Aureate" comes and it is like you stepped into him, a spinning column of emotions and memories and words, a gentle whirlwind of a magic only he controls...and even then only barely. He once explained to me this last poem, and I was amazed by how much he tells you of who and what he is and where and with whom he has been and what he has done and has been done to him. He doesn't need to publish a memoir, just post this poem and leave to future generations to decode.

Overall, I am biased. It would be hard for me to trash this disc, but I have to honestly admit, it is pretty incredible. I deduct a half-point for the formatting as a single file and minor technical flaws in his one-man show (he recorded and composed almost everything, a few separate vocal pieces were engineered by his friend Alan MacDonald of The Alan MacDonald Band).

Another half point for the dark tone of the poems he selected. He's the "Romantic Poet of the Internet", the Amomancer, not some Goth god, groveling in a depression he can dispel with a touch or a word.

My Grade: B+ (not perfect, but a slightly flawed landmark moment in the digital renaissance)

is defiance the key component in creativity?

defiance.

the essence of all competent art. the core emotion behind the palette of the creative artist. I understand that, I think.

now, to explain. that will be the tough part.

the dictionary defines defiance as:

noun open resistence, bold disobedience.

Middle English (denoting the renunciation of an allegiance or friendship), from the Old French defier (to defy)

Mainstream artists seek to defy the forces that would keep them in check as individuals, whether social or financial. Avant garde artists seek to defy social and artistic conventions.

It is a polarity issue, like magnets that, when their poles are similar, actually repel each other. An energy field builds up along the meeting of their fields, and the result is...

art.

Of course, ten minutes from now I'll say this is rubbish, but in the moment...

Memorial Day

Well, I completed the packaging for the CD and am now waiting for my "proof" so I can confirm it is what I want and don't have to make a completly new thing (I tend to do that sort of stuff)...

My sleep schedule is all shot to hell by the weekend, so I have to get back on rhythm ASAP.

Tag weighed in on the "track" controversy regarding the CD, he backed E.J. position. Traitor.

My dad mentoned that today, May 26th, was his late brother Earl's birthday. I think he would have been 91 this year, or thereabouts. It must be tough, sometimes, being the last of your generation in the family. Especially in a large family (he has thre brothers and two sisters and was, by far, the baby of the family...and he's turning 83 this summer).

Be careful on the roads today. Not a good travelling weekend, too many drunken picnics and people in a hurry to get to and from grandma's house and the cemetary (ironically enough).

three day weekends are for underachievers

Wow. What a weekend.

I am right now multitasking at a level heretofore unheard of in the human species.

I have to compelte the liner notes on the CD (and, E.J. had a clever enough idea about a change to the actual recording edit I now have only about a day to ponder, and implement).

I have to research a technical issue my boys are having with their computer. Connect with some old friends who wanted to get together with me over the weekend. I have this idea for a long-form poetic piece. I'm working on both of my next two books of poetry, plus my novel and my nonfiction collection of business anecdotes...let see what else...(I just bought three 2-liter bottles of Diet Coke with Splenda, they'll be gone by tomorrow afternoon)...I know I'm forgetting something.

Oh, review "X-Men: The Last Stand". Let me do that here and now.

I'll keep it short, with no spoilers. Solid, reliable entertainment. Not a classic, as just too damn much goes on during it to focus on any one event or character. Stay through the credits, trust me, it is worth it. And, you can see where Jackman's heart wasn't in this one, he is obviously positioning himself for his spinoff movie in interviews that he can't see (or has been told to ignore) that they have set themselves up to make a valid fourth movie using new additions...and I was very pleased with Kelsey Grammer as Hank McCoy.

I predicted if the movie had a $75million opening weekend we'd see X4...well, it opened with $107million. Hey, if you guys need help with the script, give me a call.

I had a great time with the boys, they're both growing like weeds. I love them both like crazy but I do have to admit that everytime I see them I miss their sister more. It will be good to see her at her wedding.

Back to work...

::BAMF!!::

"ah ha," he said, softly

Well, here I am in the DC suburbs, visiting my sons, Elric and Dante, and slowly resolving all the issues around the CD.

Phew. Think I'll make it.

I've gotten repeated offers this past week to be "fixed up" with various specific and generic women. On the fence about this, but it still might be an interesting experience to see who and what sort of people those who know me think I fit with.

Actually, it might be terrifically amusing. And considering my track record, worth the experiment.

"Ah has," he said.

what's a doxie?

I got some great feedback oon the new piece "backstab", which can be found at AuthorsDen, here.

It's not about one person or incident, or even only about events solely from my life, but it is an angry Jeremiad about people who, not only have the temerity to be false, but who even use others to fight their battles for them...

the opening line is:

"send not against me proxies, doxie"

which I think, if you know your mother tongue, is clear enough (okay, doxie is not an everyday word for most, and even proxy can be a bit overwhelming to those raised on lcd pablum (oops, that phrase is a bit arch, as well, as is my use of the word "arch"). note I was using a variant spelling of "doxy", which is from the 16th century.

damn. somedays you can't win. but that's okay, you learn from losing, if you're smart.

Hey, anyone who I am waiting on a blurb or liner comments from, get off yer bum and have them to me by late on Sunday.

The Last Romantic Verb: Wordslinger

There are those who argue, persuasively, that this is a masterpiece. I listen to it and I am generally pleased, but I can pick flaws...

But, my pickiness notwithstanding...

Starting at 19 minutes and 36 seconds, the Wordslinger rises. A funky bass...percussion...and then that guitar, haunting...sixties jazz or country/western, I can't be sure...but effective...

Forty second later, the words of SACRED SMILE erupt. Written to a lover that I worshipped, that I sacrificed for, that I loved without question, as lovers should. And her smile should be sacred to you.

Barely a minute later we get PINK JADE: HEAL SWIFT. A plea to a lover to dump her excess baggage, the baggage that keeps you apart. Written to a writer I was enamored with, it was an attempt to get her to use her talent to purify herself, to give up the anger and pain of her past. Tough, I know.

At 22 minutes and twenty four seconds, Bragi is back in BRAGI, AWAKENING IN HIS TOMB. A strange and exotic word structure, it invokes the lover, finding himself isolated, dead to the world, fighting his way back into the light, into life. (the line "barren bones and paramour" is actually a title of another poem...). "Love: a drug and an addiction I use and sell..." truer words were never spoken of the poet, of the Amomancer.

"Take the snake of William Blake" is an oft analyzed line in REBORN, which arrives at twenty-five seconds and twenty-four minutes. This piece is aggressive and crisp. The need to pass through the fire to achieve enlightenment, epiphany and rebirth.

WAITING FOR THE PENTECOST is not a poem about church. Okay, this piece that falls at 25:41 into the CD, is about a different faith. Faith in passion, in kisses. Anger at a fled lover. A purging expression of pain and grief. "As I am frail, so is the sun an inconstant lover...". "Where evidence of thorns is regarded in accepting the legacy of you."

Twenty seven minutes and twenty three seconds, we find THE DRAGON WOKE LAST NIGHT, which is built on the bones of an ancient, lost work of mine called THE DRAGON DIES TONIGHT. This is a piece about the will to be reborn, to transcend pain and disappointment. "And he will taste the wind, again, and he will taste the wind."

The legends surrounding IN THE ARMS OF THE DRAGON are true, I wrote it aloud, trapped in traffic on Lincoln Boulevard in Marina Del Rey, finally pulling into my Venice Beach apartment's parking lot and racing inside to chant it as I wrote it down. It was written for a lover who was afraid she was too damaged to love me, and this was a reassurance that I was ready for her, as she was, willing to help her anyway I could. It starts at 28:57 and is a fairly brief piece, but potent.

So that at 29 minutes and 55 seconds, we sense A VILE ATTAR, the perfume of a false lover. A venom spat at lies and betrayals. "A heart pulses equinox...locks piqued..." (Like the play on words?) I was perturbed, but realized in writing this that I was recovering, and would keep my tongue, not publicly humiliating her by exposing her for her lies and actions. Which surprised me. I felt so angry, but could not, would not, pull that trigger. It was reassuring.

We slip BEHIND THE FACADE at 31:16 to celebrate the pleasures of a forbidden love affair. Playing at being lovers when we have made oaths to stay apart. It is an easy mode to slip into...and addiction I have broken myself of. I hope. Listen for the thunder.

Taking a risk I fling myself, at 32 minutes and 41 seconds, FROM THE PARAPET. Yes, I like the story of Icarus and use it on occasion as a metaphor (ever read my poem, ICARUS? Great piece...seek it out on my website, if you haven't read it.). I invoke Cat Stevens in the opening line. Listen to my invocation of the pain of betrayal, "when the blade..." And watch for my reference to Phaeton.

We take it up a notch now, IN THE MEMORY OF LOVERS, which is a musing on seeking, or at least being open to, new love. It begins at 34:09 and is punctuated by my resolve: "I will take no pretender, again, to my bed". A resolve to live. "The black brick'd road"...a great image. I have wept upon reading this work in public.

And, at 36 minutes and 36 seconds, we finally get to THE SATYR'S SUIT. Having decided to find new love, a seduction is woven. "Stay with me a while, play with me a while, play with me a while and I will make you smile...to the best of my abilities." The hunger is palpable. And real.

And as the final chords of that remarkable guitar fade, we slide into BEASTS OF LEGEND...

Sisyphus takes five

I just received, via email, the following note fromt he poet:

"I'm not doing a podcast this week, let the fanbase know. Nothing ominous or mysterious, I just wanted to spend some time with my boys this weekend, and have already allotted all sane hours to getting the CD done on schedule. Apologize, offer excuses and throw yourseflf on their tender mercies. Unless there are any incredibly hot women in the fanbase, in which case throw myself on their tender mercies."

Well, add to that the one hour show he put out last week, single handedly, and I think it is time Sisyphus nodded a bit. Damn, he may have finally hit the wall at the edge of the universe.

Until he takes a nap. Damn. I hate him. But respectfully.

Plan B? What's wrong with Plan C, subset 4?

It's always the last few days before a deadline that make me mental.

I've give my associates who are writing blurbs for the CD cover (jacket?) until Sunday to get their quotes in. Will they? Time will tell.

But I have a backup plan (just as I had a couple of backup covers for THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES waiting in the wings in case Jillian Ann did not approve the original (and, as you know if you read my blog, we actually went with the second choice))...as I have a learned a long time ago that good intentions alone do not meet deadlines. I make multiple backup plans, always.

Still deciphering last night's LOST. I think they took Kate, Sawyer and Jack as those three have seen things on the island that could be phenomenon manifestations, and they are curious as to the details, conditions and causes of this viewing. Hurley may have been chosen as the messenger as he is unlikely to seek violent retribution rather than just go back with information. Sayyid? Too volatile. Locke? The same, and also I do not recall him having had visions. And they know Eko can kill.

Henry strikes me as a very dangerous psychiatrist, convinced he is doing what is best for everyone. A madman. Or, someone genuinely good, who sometimes has to make things up as he goes along, due to the chaotic nature of his people or the limited resources afforded him.

I hate having to wait a few months for more clues...but this will give me more time to work on projects.

May God have mercy on our souls.

Lost in an H-Moebius Loop

It is 11:30 at night and I am not tired. Disastrous for someone who needs must rise at about 4:30...maybe Letterman will help (laughter relaxes me, something that some people who claim to have been close to me seem to have missed...)

Flipped between American Idol and LOST. Taylor won (let's here it for the strange grey-haired guys of the world)...but Kat got to sing a duet with Meatloaf. So, she wins, in my book. The visit by Prince was not typical for the Master, but he did it for his own reasons and I liked seeing him.

LOST. It will be a few months before we get our heads back on. Walt will not accept the notion that his Dad killed people and may have sent other people to their deaths just to free him. He'll make his Dad turn back. What do the Others want with the three they kept? Wish I knew. But since they basically kept the only real sexual dynamic left on the island, maybe breeding stock? (laughing) They don't get TV so maybe they want to see Jack and Sawyer fight over Kate?

And is Eko and/or Locke lost to us? Desmond, even? The blast was not nuclear...so what was it? And will there be an aftermath? Oh, and Charlie got a kiss from Claire. Lucky bastard.

And what about Naomi?

I'm going to go watch Letterman and work on the CD until my eyes fall out.

five questions with the poet

With the hubbub over the upcoming CD, I thought I'd do what I am best at: stay out of the way.

Actually, though, I submitted a handful of questions to the poet regarding the CD to see what sort of answers I would get.

Here they are:

E.J.: Who are you dedicating this project to?
WD: No one. I am acknowledging the contributions of so many, but not dedicating it to any one. It bothers me when I presume someone as worthy of such a gift and then they muck it up.

E.J.: Why "The Last Romantic Verb" as the title?
WD: A combination of factors. When that line is uttered it resonates. The mystery of it. The image of the moment in the poem, "TESTAMENT".

E.J.: Is that the high point of the almost sixty minutes?
WD: For me, no. There are at least two stronger points. The Musical interlude before "Radiant Tigers" startles me every time I hear it, and the line "I will take no pretender, again, to my bed" (from "in the memory of lovers") is just so intense and I nail it.

E.J.: Why June 9th for a release date?
WD: It's my daughter's birthday. I try to give Peri another gift every year, a part of me. This is my offering this year.

E.J.: Think you'll ever do another recording.
WD: No doubt. I have loved the process and have so many more works to share in this manner.

So, there it is...from the horse's mouth. Remember THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB from William F. DeVault, coming out June 9, 2006.

getting LOST tonight?

Hey, tonight is the 2-hour LOST season finale.

Place your bets in the death pool. Someone is bound to bite it. I'll be watching while editing this week's Podcast and working the blurbology for the CD and assisting the most excellent Tag in the promotion of his new book MIDNIGHT MUSE IN A CONVENIENCE STORE. Oh, and assembling an outboard CD drive for the boys.

Busy evening.

I do not usually discuss what I do in the day-to-day (surprised I have a day job? Me, too, sometimes...) but I work as a trainer for Teletech (I don't have to worry about being outed there...my blog is on the blacklist of sites that people who work at Teletech can't reach from the internal systems). It is actually kind of funny. The money isn't what it was when I was Associate Director of Telecommunications Consulting for DMR (Fujitsu, N.A.) or a manager at Globalstar (I and my creditors miss those days) but it beats scraping by on what a poet makes in 21st century America. I have some good anecodtes...but may have to clean them up to avoid getting people ticked at me.

Hey, even "the catalyst poet of the digital renaissance" needs dental insurance.

The Last Romantic Verb: Bragi to Freya, on his deathbed

The final strains of KISSES FOR KARMA have barely faded when we hear the drums rise, part tribal, part beatnik, and at 16:55 into THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB we hear BRAGI TO FREYA, ON HIS DEATHBED.

"I am not blind to the beauty..."

Bragi was the Norse god of eloquence and poetry, married to Idun, the goddess of youth. In this piece, I envisioned the work, then drifted to see when he said it...and for some strange reason, the scene brings us him fading in lost love, being urged to continue by Freya, the Norse goddess of love and fertility and war. In the use of Bragi as an avatar for myself, I have to hand the role of Idun to an ex-lover who matched her for beauty and youth, but lacked the constancy of a love goddess or the fire of a battle goddess.

Thus, as Bragi despairs into nothingness, it is Freya who lures him, not to his bed, but from his bed, to fulfill his obligation as an immortal and a source of inspiration to lovers. There is anger and purpose to his words, but also passion and an acknolwedgement that he is stirred by his senses at the presence of the lovely goddess ( may have taken on almost a monastic cast to my life in recent months, but, believe me, the engine stir purrs beneath the shell).

It's a good, solid reading, built on layers of drums that hammer the point home, raising the fury in the heart until it pumps life back into limbs withering. Sometimes duty, obligation, can resurrect the most wounded of souls.

And then we seque to the massive arc of twelve poems, which runs almost twenty minutes of its own accord, called WORDSLINGER. I really like the funky bass on this one, and the guitar theme, giving it almost a Western feel.

my American Idol vote is...

I know, you want to know who I voted for on American Idol.

Hint: Karla will kill me.

Nah, I didn't vote to McPhee. I couldn't do that to Taylor Hicks, us grey haired demigods have to stick together.

I just couldn't vote for him, I earnestly felt that the Kat outperformed him tonight. I like them both very much, and I agree Taylor has enough personality for any three people, but solid pipes and personality aren't everything. I think they will both have a solid, if temporary, following as performing artists. Kat, tonight, just shone a little brighter.

I just feel that Kat is more marketable, more mainstream...

So, when in doubt, I do what the majority of the American public do at presidential election time. I choose to not choose.

Taylor, forgive me. Buy one of my books, I'll buy one your albums. All even? A great career to both of you.

the dream persists

the dream persists
and if the world resists
it just means press again
we do not fold
in the quest for the gold
in scores of ores insane

I have not seen
just what you think you mean
but if I did, I doubt
it would turn me
even if would burn me
to seek the answer out


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

something new. another piece to my puzzle.

June 20th appearance

In honor of West Virginia Day celebrations, Barnes & Noble has invited me to come, read from my works and sign a few books on June 20th, 2006, from 7-9 pm. This will be at the Mountain State's first B&N, in Morgantown, West Virginia. No admission.

Word has it they will be stocked with most of my books, including THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS, THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES, 101 GREAT LOVE POEMS, FROM AN UNEXPECTED QUARTER and, of course, LOVE GODS OF A FORGOTTEN RELIGION.

Would like this opportunity to remind Hillary Rodham Clinton that, when she is inaugurated President, she will need a poet to read for the occasion, and I am leaving that weekend in 2009 open.

I plan to read extensively from THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS and will take requests from those in attendance (and if you happen to have a copy of my CD on you, I will gladly endorse it...) For further info, contact Chanda Willard at Barnes & Noble, 3000 University Towne Centre Dr., Morgantown, WV, 26501. Her phone number is (304)599-1294. Bring money, buy books, make me smile.

The Last Romantic Verb: Kisses for Karma

Where did that piano come from? I don't know, but it lends a 70's ballad ambiance to KISSES FOR KARMA, beginning at the 14:05 mark (after a musical bridge that starts at 13:33) in THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB CD. Lively and loving, but carrying a very serious impulse of loss and frustration.

The poem notes that we are not guaranteed love for our good deeds. You can enter a relationship as an angel, saving someone from disaster, sacrifice all you have of family and fortune, and still not assured their love or faith. It's a hard lesson. But the counterpoint, communicated as much by the music as the words, is that you still must be true to your own heart's better impulses, even if all for naught.

And, of course, the horn section and that harmonica just seem to pop up of their own accord as punctuation.

Here the poet ponders new love, weighing it on the scales of pain and wisdom, of loss and redemption, based on his own experiences with betrayal and futility.

And then, at 16:55 we reach out to BRAGI TO FREYA, ON HIS DEATHBED, which explores the theme of the resurrection of the heart as a duty of the romantique.

The Last Romantic Verb: Erotic V

One moment whille I get my headphones on...

Two minutes and four seconds into THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB the arc called EROTIC V begins.

After a brief musical interlude, we get LUST BUNNIES, a gentle nudge to an absent lover, letting her know that I miss her and need her here to protect me from the lust bunnies that hide under my bed. It is right after this piece the real star of this arc rears her head, as you will note soft sighs and moans, courtesy of the Selke, herself, which really add to the...er...atmosphere.

Then, at 03:08, the arrogance of SWERVE (FLIRT), where an earnest man apologizes for his studied gaze of a beautiful woman, just to use that as a springboard to an attempted seduction.

Less than a minute later (04:01) THE PRIEST OF PASSION SERVES THE SACRAMENT, and does he. Offering himself to his goddess, offering his hunger and his flesh to worship the woman he loves and adores. Sacrificing himself in an holy ordnance of vows of passion and fealty.

From the cycle known as PRESCIENT TENSE, at five minutes and twenty-seven seconds, we get the poem ROSE PETALS, gently erotic and painfully romantic. It was actually taken from a thwarted romantic gesture some time ago, when I spread rose petals on a bed in expectation of a lover's arrival. Who then showed up to break off the relationship. But in this piece, the petals did their work.

How could I open my heart and my erotic spirit without PINK JADE: THIN SKIN? Beginning at the 06:30 mark, it is short but to the point, expressing the communication possible between warm hands and soft skin.

AS I SLIDE INTO YOU equates a somewhat more lively and sly seduction "...for integration. for desecration. for consecration." It opens at 07:24 with the words "close your eyes and open. wide." And I love the line "all allegiances to cross and kin end at your skin". That's a serious lover talking here.

Okay, so the PASSION SYMPOETIQUE is technically three poems, but I count it here as one. So many excellent images here. I love the directness of this work in blending the twin intimacies of heart and flesh. The music shows a new sophistication, a couer rage previously not shown. Like a lover finding his will in the touch of heated flesh. As this poem ends, the music changes to sad, lonely strains, as the night swallows up the lovers, alone with their joy and, perhaps, guilt.

Then, we become FERAL WITH DESIRE at the eleven minute and forty second mark. Awakening to the hunger, the desire, the need to lose control in the cage of life, wrapped in a lover's arms. There's an arrogance, a necessity to "...finding a safe harbour for my hunger."

And the line "To murmur unveiled threats against your virtue. Then fulfill them." ends the arc, with a final, sated sigh from the Selke.

And next we have KISSES FOR KARMA, at the 14:05 mark, but that's later.

a ghost in the mirror

Nice to know everyone sooner or later checks in and checks up...

E.J. just forwarded me the weekly search report. There, on May 18th...two entries...

the names the Panther and I had chosen for our yet unconceived and unborn children, untold to anyone, by me.

It is logical to assume that curiosity still drives some cats.

A smile and a nod to a ghost in the mirror. Just stay to your side of LA when I return to my city.

The Last Romantic Verb: From Out of the City

In the run up to the release, June 9th, of my CD entitled THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB, I am going to post a series of discussions of the poems contained within...

and to be fair, let's do this chronologically, in the order they play.

We kick off with FROM OUT OF THE CITY, certainly a most durable work. Some have speculated it is about at September 11 attacks on the World Trade Center, but that is total hogwash. The warning about the "madness of martyrs" contained in it is a generic warning about anyone who believes so much in their truth that they will die (or kill) to preserve it. This poem was actually written a few years before the attacks, anyway.

The "City" is metaphorical, allegorical. It is the virtual city of thought, of dreams, of belief, of arts, of literature, of human culture and civilization. It is more than the global community, more than my own City of Legends.

The poem is a warning and a celebration of life, mysticism, truth, poetry and hope. The "Prophet" in the poem is anyone who seeks to build themselves up with self-importance, as they will be judged "in accordance with the law". I have lived long enough to see so many artists, politicians and religious figures claim themselves as watershed figures in the resurrection of an art, a cause, a faith, only to be proven false prophets. In The Holy Bible, false prophets are to be stoned to death, not given a book contract with Zondervan.

And finally, the poem is a warning about indifference. "The violence of indifference". I recall a radio commercial a few years back where you can clearly hear a man beating a woman in the next apartment....after several seconds, the voice over comes on to say "If they were playing their music that loud, you'd say something."

Yes, those who stand by when lies are told, who show indifference to falsehoods, who are avoiding their responsibilities to life and the human condition, they are conducting their own acts of violence.

I chose for this reading a series of sound filters to make it sound like I was speaking through a distant radio signal. Some have said it sounds like I am a signal coming in from outer space, playing intelligent life as a warning to mankind. Klaatu barada nikto, anyone? Others say it sounds like the communications from the demon world in "Prince of Darkness". In any case, I find the effect chilling and potent. While atypical of the rest of the CD, it opens a door into my sphere.

This piece opens the CD and segues into the arc known as "Erotic V", which is a musical sequence of eight poems with a soft but persistent erotic/romantic lilt to them. More about them, later.

shaking off the cobwebs

Well, my offer of free books has already been pounced on...which is fine by me, I don't make offers for them to be neglected.

A little out of it this morning, unusually slow for me...but it is probably just the cool weather.

Very busy day ahead. Spent some time last night at the virtual wake for my friend Ska, who pased away over the weekend, where I ran into many people I had not spoken to in some time. Worked on arrangements for my visit with the boys this weekend. Made some tweaks to the CD. Edited some pages on the next book.

Well, talking about it rarely changes anything, time to get cracking...Geronimo!

giving away books

I'm in a charitable mood.

So, here 'tis...I'm ready to give away a ton of books (okay, not a literal ton, but a lot). Problem is, I need a reason, I can't just fire them out of cannons at the masses and hope they land in good homes, like stork-dropped puppies.

So, here 'tis. I have three sides to the coin. Three classifications of people whom I would love to send free books, if I knew how to get them to them (the first two groups) or knew who deserved them (the third group).

Group 1:
Any other honoree from the Appalachian Education Initiative's "Arts & Soul" book. Yes, several people in the book, such as David Selby, Lou Myers and Irene McKinney have already received theirs. The other thirty or so living honorees, just send me a verifiable email address and I will be happy to send you a free book to show my affection and respect. Did I say free? Yes, I did.

Group 2:
People I admire. Tough here, as I want to list people I admire and respect, at the same time what if I leave someone off? Or what if they are not a poetry fan? For instance, Henry Rollins has gone on the record with his opinion that all poets are homosexual (although that was not the impolite term he chose). As someone who admires much of his work, I find it necessary to keep him off the list, as it might confuse him that I am not interested in him, sexually. So who makes the list? Yeow. Make it tough on me. I'll list some broad classifications.

a. Any current or former state or national poet laureate.
b. Any former or future President of the United States with the last name of Clinton, Vice President or Cabinet official from same administrations.
c. Anyone from the casts or production staffs of "The West Wing", "Lost" or "24", or any movie I've ever liked.
d. Any current serving head of any established national government (sorry, Osama, you're not on the list).
e. Stand up comics or cast and writers of sketch comedy shows including SNL.
f. Wow, this list is getting long, isn't it? I could go broke on just the postage...I better stop. But if you have heard me mention your work with admiration, I'm not hard to find.

Group 3:
People willing to give their own reason. Think you deserve a book? Then write me and let me know why. Went to junior high with me? Might be good for a free book. Hold the world record for cats juggled at one time? Perhaps. Ex-wife? Don't push it. I'm a soft touch, but really.

You don't have to sleep with me to get a book. Of course, if that's how you want to earn a book...I'm willing to discuss the possibility.

How's that for a madness?

words on the death of another friend

I have received word of the death of an old friend from the virtual world.

Marilyn, known to her friend on AOL as SkaWrites, was a writer and a lady of surpassing creativity, patience and life. She will be mourned.

Here is my tribute to her:

When the Summer Winds Come

run ahead, little one.

I shall not be too far behind,
plodding along at my own pace.

facing your absence
with an accustomed grace
because everyone
sooner or later
passes me by
or will see me vanish
sooner or later
around the next corner.

but I still mourn the inevitable.
and will note your absence
when the summer winds come.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

timeline for the next nineteen days

Timeline for the CD (note inside cover, left):

May 28, 2006: Last day for blurbs and liner note review, THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB

May 29, 2006: CD gets put to bed

June 9, 2006: Peri (my daughter) celebrates her 25th birthday. The CD is officially released.

In case anyone is wondering who I will dedicate the recording to, that should end that speculation. I had considered dedicating it to all my children, but this is Peri's year. She' getting married in September and she turns 25 and I owe her a lot.

I plan to send her the first official copy released and will use the proceeds from the sales of the CD to help fund my trip to her wedding and help pay for the event (her mother is the wedding expense treasurer, she could use a break).

Current pricing is for the CD to go for $11.99, with a discount to those with the foresight to be on the mailing list for my newsletter at Google Groups. Peri gets one for free.

evolution versus global warming

It's funny, in a tragic way. I encountered a fellow the other day with an attitude that was so dichotomous towards science, it was hypocritical.

He believes in evolution, but not global warming. Of course, this is the same guy who believes that Jesus' healing miracles were actually side effects of hemp oil Jesus made from his hemp farm to cure psoriasis, which had been misdiagnosed as leprosy.

Ever see leprosy? Hard to misdiagnose psoriasis as it.

And Jesus was a carpenter, not a hemp farmer...but people believe what they choose to believe and what supports their world view (I imagine he got this story from the pages of "High Times"...a magazine not famous for its high journalistic standards).

in any case, I head him blast the creationist "crazies" the other day. Now, I am a strong supporter of evolutionary theory, but I also think that my Christian faith is not dependent on the mechanism God used to make life viable. To quote Devo: "God made man, but he used a monkey to do it".

But then he started a rant on global warming, claiming it was an alarmist plot of pseudo-scientists to...er, accomplish something? Agenda is a big issue in the science versus faith debate, always. Police investigators tell you to look for motive in a crime, I think looking at the motive in a political debate is essential. Besides, why is the scientific method an acceptable proof when it is what you want to be true, but not acceptable when you don't want it to be true?

If those who believe that Global Warming is real are right, we may already be too late, but we can try and save the planet, or at least modern civilization and millions of lives in coming generations, including our children and grandchildren. If they are wrong, we have just made the planet a little cleaner and healthier and got ourselves worked up over nothing but a good Spring Cleaning, but there were still some nice side effects. Sort of like getting frightened over a branch scraping against the window and finally installing an alarm system.

If those who choose not to believe in Global Warming are correct, all we are doing is cleaning up the air, and reducing the toxins in our water and soil, while cutting our dependence on foreign oil, which is, in truth, the driving force behind the last two wars we've asked our sons and daughters to fight. If they are wrong, they are putting oil company and corporate greed ahead of the health, safety and survival of our children.

Pascal's Wager, almost. And some questionable motives on one side. Believing in, acting on, Global Warming loses us little and gains us a lot. Failing to act has, as its best consequence, nothing. As its worst? Famine, flood, the extinction of many species, including possibly our own.

Oh yeah, and God said something about stewardship. So, even if you are NOT an evolutionist, believing in and acting on Global Warming is essential to your mission and faith.

Game, set, match...Global Warming "crazies". And, just maybe, our children.

the cover of The Last Romantic Verb

Might as well admit, I failed.

I failed to take a vacation from the CD project. Sorry, I had to. There is no way I can acomplish what I have set for myself in the years left to me, after all those wasted years, without being pretty much obsessive.

Besides, once I get sidetracked again by a worthy goddess as my lover, I will need to have accomplished so much before I allow that. When I love, I compromise and sacrifice, and I both want to have many things completed and have something to impress her with...

Wouldn't it be nice is she was someone brilliant and creative, so we could collaborate on projects like books and CDs and tours? That would be heaven.

Two marriages, three children, eight (going to ten by tear's end) books, thousands of writings, a CD, a legacy. According to the Social Security Administration I have made a hefty amount of money in this life. Most men would be happy with half my accomplishments. I'm not most men.

Oh, by the way, barring blurbology, the picture above? That's the CD cover...I just finished it.

I forced myself to listen to it again today, first note to final strains. It's good. Annoyingly good. David Bowie was right, we have the tools to make the artist who conceives an idea able to bring it to fruition. I am blessed to have been borne into this age of dreams to flesh.

But now the bar raises. Now the race begins again, and as always, as it should be, I am not competing with anyone but myself. I am my own greatest opponent. I race, not men, but the clock and my own standing before it. I am, to steal a pop phrase from a few decades back, self-actualized.

the fire is passion

An old friend from Junior High, whom I rediscovered just a few weeks back, wrote to me last night and told me that, after reviewing my website and blog, she finally thinks she has an understanding of my history and muses.

How did she do that? I don't have a firm grasp on it.

So many really good questions. Most of the ones that come to me at night start with "What did I do...?"

You can't live a life of any integrity, any honesty, any creativity, and not make some pretty spectacular blunders. The problem is, if you are sentient, you can also see the other side of the errors. My daughter used to lecture me on what a mistake it was for her mother I to have ever married. But if we had not, that very daughter, and both her brothers, and most of the life that I value, would have never happened.

That's not to say there are not still things unrectified. Quite the opposite. I owe debt to memory. To the people whom may have been harmed, though those who would most scream for reparations are victims of their own assaults against me and the consequences of their own actions. They know this. They know this, and it galls them, and they want me to take the blame for their actions.

Sorry, I carry my own crosses, just barely. I make a lousy martyr. I will, in time, pay all debts, even to those who really don't deserve it. Because, someone whom I actually respect once said "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." I don't think I will always be treated with respect or dignity or justice by those I treat well (my history seems to be quite the contrary, the people who have treated me the most shamefully are those whom I have done the most for)...but I choose to laugh it off (I didn't have to come here anyway).

The fire is passion.

nobody here but us poetry gods

Saturday morning and the air is full of...er...air?

May do a little rambling about this weekend, haven't yet decided. I have been told I need to step away from the "The Last Romantic Verb" for a few days, as I am getting just too wrapped up in it. Me, obsessive? Never!

Okay, always. I confess...

For those three or four of you in all creation who have not yet listened to this new CD...hie thee to my page at Radio City of Legends and get the hour's worth of poetry-music fusion for free. Then, if you love it and can't live without the actual CD, when we make it available for order in the next few weeks, you can get yourself one...or just hang onto the audio file. What's confusing about that?

I'm looking forward to seeing what Billy Jones, the legendary Blogging Poet, says about the CD...I know he's working on some notes. I am actively soliciting blurbs, you know.

Well, I have things to do and people to see and creatures to be and breakfast to chew...so I am out of here for now.

my high points in "The Last Romantic Verb"

I was raving about the new CD and da boss asked me what my favorite part of it is. I had no problem finding that. Although I love the whole thing, there are two moments that really stick in my mind.

Forty four minutes and zero seconds in, the poem "shards of light" ends and the musical arc to "Radiant Tigers" begins, ending when he welcomes you to the "world of radiant tigers". What are "radiant tigers"? I have my own pet theory, I think that's his totem for his children. But, in that arc, we hear a guitar driven malevolence give way to a pulsing, living drumset, then a sole, pounding bass drum, then finally the explosion of keyboard-driven life that takes us to that land. It is dazzling. (44:00-45:36)

Barely a minute to go in the CD when he mouths, in the text of the poem "TRANSCENDENCE' the CD's titular line (57:57):

"...the last romantic verb." Breath-taking.

Now if he can just make up his mind on the liner notes...sheesh.

THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB as a free download

The 64kbps MP3 of the entirety of my new CD
THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB
is now available as a download (or to just listen to) via
Radio City of Legends.

Listed as this week's podcast of FROM OUT OF THE CITY, it is available there and will be up on Apple's iTunes Music Store later today.

Be careful, even at the lower fidelity, it is still a massive file.

The Arts in Education event that AEI is putting on here in Morgantown kicked off last night with a concert by Kathy Mattea. It is essential that educators understand the importance of arts in education, it has been about a year and a half since I spoke before the West Virginia Board of Education on that very topic, and I would gladly do so again (I am not part of this event, nor do I expect to be included in all such events...besides, as the fates had it, had I attended I would have not been able to bail out Barnes & Noble when their poetry event organizer fell sick at the last moment, so it was all for the best).

We cannot afford to create second-class worker bees by limiting the education of our students to a narrow band. It is that very thinking that has contributed to our slide in the industrial world in education and productivity. We have some universities that are the envy of the world, but our secondary school system, aided by showboat exercises like "No Child Left Behind", is in decline.

this evening's reading at Barnes & Noble

Had a lovely time at the reading...Cheryl Denise, the charming author of "I Saw God Dancing" was there and favoured us with several works, as did Tag (Daniel S. McTaggart) while mercilessly pimping "Midnight Muse in a Convenience Store" and a gentleman named Les Edinger, who is the Assistant Principal at Preston High School and writes worderfully pithy and to the point motivational poems.

Back to work...

into a nearby phonebooth

I received an email a few hours ago from the CRM at our local B&N, asking me to emcee their open-mic night tonight. On with the cape! Up, up and away!

I am still in shock over THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB. I have seen it take over my time and evolve from a whim to an inevitability in a matter of days. Like so many things, it consumes me and my life and I am always left with moments where, like on that hillside in '79, when I stepped back, cocked my head, and had to battle a sense of awe at something that ha stepped from within me.

Truly, this life is a miracle. It is so much easier to ignore it than embrace it, and I will embrace it with both arms, fists clenched in a spasming joy, and with a smile of grim determination, cracked by pleasure in every epiphany.

It is now looking like I will be doing a special reading for West Virginia Day, June 20th. I'll pass along more information as I know it.

Idols, Lost and marathon sex for the ears and eyes

busy busy busy...as usual, I have two gears...sixth and neutral. getting in gear is a bitch, but once I get there, it's tough to slow down.

American Idol last night? I slid over to it during commercials in "Lost". Yes, out of loyalty to Karla, the Mad Gypsy, I continue to back Taylor...but, if you told me I was going to be stranded on a desert island with one person for a year, Kat would win my vote over the silver-haired Wonder Bread soul singer.

"Lost" was on last night, I watched when I wasn't hung on a detail regarding the new CD. Gheez, this is time intensive. I had Tag come over and listen to some of the CD...he was pleased with it (since his book came out last week he has been a little wrapped in that, and I don't blame him)...

Good episode of "Lost"...I have my own opinions of what happens next.

spent some time on the phone with Anastacia, my friend from LA, discussing the insanity where she works. There are times I miss the high-dollar chaos of consultancies. Sometimes.

But mostly I worked on the CD. Deathmarch. Brutal. But invigorating. Sort of like marathon sex (I vaguely remember that).

mojo

talismanic words
the chants, the dance.
base emotions
turned by the poetstone
to a mettle beyond gold.
cold not to the touch
as they are, such,
and yet not what they were,
a strangely familiar fur
draping something in the distance
the path of least persistence
and I begin, with slow unsteady steps,
a dance of summoning.
for myself.

all rites reserved, all nights preserved
in an envelope of kisses missed
like a fist between the eyes,
catching you by surprise
and making you sit to consider
the wisdom of this confrontation.
find another road to the horizon.
bind another toad to the incantation.
I'm not afraid of the bogeywoman
but the proper princess who slips
her tongue between lips pressed
to a stone dropped into the cauldron
to draw out the spirit near it
and make it break its word.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

MSP now at Barnes & Noble

THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS is now available through Barnes & Noble at www.bn.com.

All proceeds still go to Arts Monongahela.

LRV and MSN

Ever have a tune wedged in your head, so that every time you turn around it's there? Yeah, I've had that over the last day or so...except instead of being "Crash Into Me" by the Dave Matthews Band or "Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden, it's the music intro to "Radiant Tigers" from my CD in progress.

I guess that this is a good sign. But it is still, ultimately, annoying.

Went across the street yesterday to help a neighbor I've known forever...her MSN software wasn't working, it wouldn't dial out. She needed someone who knew their way around a computer to help her...we spent hours on hold with the MSN call center in...Argentina...before we could speak to a resolution specialist who had us uninstall/delete the MSN Connection Center. It seems they've been having a lot of people call with this probelem...when you have both MSN and MSN Connection Center on your system they get into an argument over user profiles and modem access and as a result, your system basically locks up.

So after approximately 4 hours with the MSN call center, we had her back up and on her way. If you are having a similar problem...you might want to try that and save yourself a few hours of frustration while the extremely polite and oddly accented CSR keeps saying "I will need to place you on hold for just twenty more seconds" or "I will be back within two minutes with a resolutions specialist".

Well, now that we have a label for the CD and the contents...I guess it is time to work on the packaging...bleah.

Yes, you did note that on the sample label I do credit Selke (background vocals), E.J. (engineering) and Alan MacDonald (advice and musical/technical advice). Just those three. In the acknowledgements and credits to the CD there is a much more massive list of people whom have been important in the evolution of this work.

track breakdown, 'the last romantic verb'

The times are...the actual starting times of the poems, or the arcs that contain certain pieces. Comments in parentheses are...comments in parentheses)

00:02 from out of the city (but of course, as an audio vignette)
....Eros V (starting at 02:04)
02:14 lust bunnies (my tribute to an absent lover yet to be)
03:08 swerve (flirt) (while watching a beautiful woman in a cafe, the words I wish I had the brass to say)
04:01 the priest of passion serves the sacrament (the rusty but trusty lust rears its mighty head)
05:27 prescient tense: rose petals (she recalls)
06:30 pink jade: thin skin (warming a lover with a tender touch)
07:24 as I slide into you (surrender as a baptism of the heart)
08:28 Passion Sympoetique (yes, technically three poems. shut up)
11:40 feral with desire (the loss of control is an act of trust)
....Eros V ends
14:05 kisses for karma (regret and rebirth. love, self-doubt, faith and hope.)
16:55 Bragi to Freya, on his deathbed (a vision. or a memory. the duty of the lover to believe in love.)
....Wordslinger (starting at 19:36)
20:16 sacred smile (a statement of faith and devotion to a lover)
21:17 pink jade: heal swift (the essence of artistic catharsis, a plea to a lover tormented)
22:24 Bragi, awakening in his tomb (the romantic, buried alive in pain and despair)
24:25 Reborn (am I the snake of William Blake?)
25:41 Waiting for the Pentecost (reflecting on a lost lover, awaiting her return)
27:23 The Dragon Woke Last Night (rediscovering myself)
28:57 In the Arms of the Dragon (I admit, this was for the Panther, written while driving Lincoln Blvd in Los Angeles)
29:55 a vile attar (venom for a false lover)
31:16 Behind the Facade (the pleasure of a forbidden affair)
32:41 from the parapet (the risk of love, rediscovered)
34:09 In the Memory of Lovers ('I will take no pretender, again, to my bed')
36:36 The Satyr's Suit (a subtle, sly seduction)
....Wordslinger ends
....Beasts of Legend (starting at 38:09)
38:25 My Electric Lady (the first prophecy I fulfilled)
41:05 Brisant Revelations (believing in promises made)
42:57 Shards of Light (seeking to breathe in the arc of failed passion)
45:36 Radiant Tigers (dedicated to George Gordon, Lord Byron...and my sons)
46:48 Aureate (a manifesto of a seeking heart)
49:36 Pellinore, watching from across the room (aching to love)
....Beasts of Legend ends
51:42 Glass Roses (to my dear friend and editor, Janet Innes)
....The Gods of Love, live at Kyrienar (starting at 53:28)
53:49 Monument (Nancy, I am sorry I failed you. but you are immortal.)
55:18 Phoenix & Golem (birthing a true heart in a universe of lies)
56:44 TRANSCENDENCE (resurrection)
....-Live at Kyrienar ends

a title is chosen, a label design proposed

You can grow old making decisions...

...or you can grow from them.

"the last romantic verb" it is. disc label design subject to tweaking.

the last romantic verb?

I had an email from E.J. in my mailbox this morning, with a single line...in quotes. I can only presume that he means it as a suggestion for the CD title...

the last romantic verb

It's a line from my poem "TRANSCENDENCE", which is in the final trilogy of the recording. It...sticks with me, carrying the right mix of mystery and clarity. Perhaps, perhaps.

I leaked the audio to a handful of people whom I respect, poets, artists, former lovers and good friends. Got back some feedback on the level of Zaphod Beeblebrox when he was hooked up to the Total Perspective Vortex. It's one thing to think the universe revolves around you.

Maybe I can write. Maybe I can perform. (All creative artists spend their lives bouncing between arrogance and a conviction that everything they do is unadulterated, irredeemable crap...)

It's like writing and sending off a love letter with mortal fear and trepidation, only to find the object of your desire waiting for you, naked, when you get home. You must've said something, done something, right.

Oh God, I've raised the bar again, haven't I? Crap and crumpets: I'm screwed.

Oh, and what is "the last romantic verb"? Now that would be telling. What do you think it is?

possible titles for the CD

some free-associative ideas for a title for the CD:

* The City of Legends
* From Out of the City, vol. 1
* Dreams of the Damned
* Golem & Phoenix
* Amomancy
* Bragi Bleeds
* Glass Roses
* a vile attar
* Welcome to the Land of Radiant Tigers
* Kisses for Karma
* Wordslinger
* In the memory of lovers
* In this Incarnation
* Bright Nemicorns
* The Legends of a Lost Mythology
* the priest of passion serves the sacrament
* Hearts Aureate
* Cliffrunner

Thoughts? Feedback? here's your chance to help decide...

and the band plays on

I have slept on my manic demands placed on E.J. yesterday, and am willing to compromise. Exactly how far, I am unsure, but time will tell.

I know I want the show ready this week...if we have a delay on the CD packaging, for quality purposes, so be it. You know me, I always overreach, it's a habit that has served me quite well.

The West Wing finished its run last night and I watched that, despite curiosity as to Survivor's finale. Let the programming pricks take a backseat to tradition and quality, I wouldn't miss my own wedding to go to the sideshow, which, let's face it, that is Survivor's main appeal.

Although Aras often behaved like a petulant child, I was gratified to see him beat Danielle in the final vote. I had been impressed with Terry, and after Danielle broke her word to him, I could not support the notion of her winning. I think if she had picked Terry, she might have not only seemed more honorable, but also have won the vote.

Such is life.

Well, I need to go re-listen to the CD edit...see if I have anything else to complain about or to tweak.

ahem - about the CD

Okay, now that West Wing is over...I'm seeing E.J. has been busy burbling my secrets.

::THWACK::

Okay, let's do the dialogue here, in public.

I have decided to call the CD "Dreams of the Damned". Instead of tracks, we'll do the entire cd as one soundfile, posting individual start times for pieces on the label.

E.J. - you come up with some suggested covers. Obviously you-know-who is out, a shame, as I think I still have some of her pictures around here someplace. Check with Cam, or find me a new model or use one of my shots or come up with something truly outlandish. Your call. Make it happen. ASAP.

I have checked and we can have this in the store by the end of the week. Get me an effing cover. I'll solicit the liner notes or you can write them yourself. Be brilliant.

::Pat on head:: I trust you.

The CD contents

Just to let you all know...this looks like the list of tracks for the CD...
and he will be offering the CD for sale, though our bookstore...
but you can also just download the contents...cool, hm?

That is, once we complete it...later this week....aigh!

1. From Out of the City
2. Lust Bunnies
3. Swerve (Flirt)
4. The Priest of Passion Serves the Sacrament
5. Prescient Tense: Rose Petals
6. Pink Jade: Thin Skin
7. As I Slide Into You
8. Passion Sympoetique
9. Feral with Desire
10. Kisses for Karma
11. Bragi to Freya, on his deathbed
12. Sacred Smile
13. Heal Swift
14. Bragi, awakening in his tomb
15. Reborn
16. Waiting for the Pentecost
17. The Dragon Woke Last Night
18. In the Arms of the Dragon
19. A Vile Attar
20. Behind the Facade
21. From the Parapet
22. In the Memory of Lovers
23. The Satyr's Suit
24. My Electric Lady
25. Brisant Revelations
26. Shards of Light
27. Radiant Tigers
28. Aureate
29. Pellinore, watching from across the room
30. Glass Roses
31. Monument
32. Phoenix and Golem
33. TRANSCENDENCE

Still pondering the title for the thing, though...he sent me a short list to ponder...about 11 possibilities.

the last few visitors to the 'City

In the last little bit...these are the locations of the last ten visitors to the poet's website
The City of Legends:

Iceland
Ellenwood, Georgia, United States
Dundee, Scotland
Manila, Manila, Philippines
New Freedom, Pennsylvania, United States
Sugar Land, Texas, United States
Katowice, Slaskie, Poland
United Kingdom
Morgantown, West Virginia, United States
Roskilde, Roskilde, Denmark

International, you bet. I wonder how the person in Morgantown found us?

I count 4 US, 2 UK, 3 non-UK Europe and 1 Asia. That's a good spread. Impossible before the digital renaissance. Now a daily, hourly, minute by minute reality. Mind blowing.

59:06

I just finished the first pass edit on the pieces for this week's podcast/the CD.

Fifty nine minutes and six seconds (which is good as I can't go over 60 minutes).

Thirty three poems, more music than most musicals I have seen or heard.

I think he just bet his balls...and shook on it, to steal a line from "Bachelor Party" (one film Tom Hanks did not win an Oscar for).

I know the poet will be busy this evening, mourning the final episode of The West Wing (oh, good, with his favorite show going off the air he'll have just more time to write. Where's that brilliant, beautiful, sex-starved woman I ordered up...she's...two years late...? Oh, and leggy, he has a thing for loooooooooong legs.

Back to work...I want to smooth out some of the volume fluctuations (He doesn't like it when I do that, he says it spoils the "organics". Well, then he can edit the damn thing.

And we're pondering several possible titles, some mundane...some not so. We'll let you know in a day or two.

the free CD. yes, the free CD. yes, you heard me...

Miss me? You try having a life AND dealing with the Amazing Captain Amomancer, 24/7.

Case in point: Just received my marching orders from his royal poeticness. We're doing the CD.

No, we're not doing A CD. We're doing an hour long show, this week for the podcast, suitable for burning to your own CD. No filler, all music and poetry.

He's giving it away! He's giving it away? Is he nuts? You tell him, then.

I've got my editing console up, lights are green...shifting to red (he loves his emphatic tones, doesn't he?) It opens, as of this nanosecond, with "from out of the city" and will probably end with "Wordslinger"...with maybe an epilogue. There's stuff on this list I haven't even heard of...which means he's probably recording the tracks as I write this. Bastard. Brilliant bastard. But bastard, nonetheless. He'll let me know after I'm done...as usual.

This CD length program will be a compilation of his best recordings so far, with a few new ones thrown in. We're talking close to an hour in length...can we even do that?

My job to make it happen.

He does inform me that next week's show, barring a change in mind, a change in heart or the arrival of a mystery guest, will be a tribute to fidelity and commitment, in honor of what should have been his 26th wedding anniversary if he had "kept it zipped". His words.

Yes, but imagine all the poetry the digital renaissance would have lost out on if he had not, out of a restless heart born of that one great lost love, done "questionable things" (he loves it when you quote "Blade Runner").

He doesn't need a webmaster/sound editor. He needs a weekend in a sorority house. IMHO. He'll probably write a few thousand poems to his next lover and dedicate a few dozens books to her and leave her his intellectual property, of course he's so fracking durable he'd probably outlive her. Any nubile poetry groupies out there looking for immortality? My email address is trojanhearse@cityoflegends.com (you think I am kidding? try me.)

Hurry. Please. I'll owe you, big time.

Sincerely

E.J. Trelawny

the stealth poet

Watched the movie LOVE, ACTUALLY this morning...love that film, what a remarkable cast, from Billy Bob Thornton in a tiny role as the President of the United States to Hugh Grant, Keira Knightly, Emma Thompson and the always fun Bill Nighy as an aging rocker (a role he owns). I pop it in from time to time, just to feel the vibes of all the different characters as they explore the ins and outs and ups and downs of love, actually.

Then listened to a medley of my favourite songs on iTunes, capped by Bryan Adams' remarkable CUTS LIKE A KNIFE...heading for church now.

My mom informs me that her minister came up to her and said "I didn't know you had a son who wrote poetry..." He had seen THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES out at the bookstore. That's me, the stealth poet.

My best Mother's Day story

I didn't go in to see my boys this weekend, out of deference to their mother, who wanted to have them for Mother's Day weekend to herself (I had asked if she would prefer I postpone a week...). She has been a terrific mother to all three of my children, and I wanted to share with you the story I told my son, Dante, yesterday, that he had not heard before. My ex and I joked she had been saving it up for guilting purposes later in life.

When the boys (my twin sons) were still babies, they got sick with the flu. Dante, when he gets nausea, we have discovered, keeps throwing up and throwing up. Dehydration is always a concern. But this was the first time they had been sick, so we did not previously know this or how to deal with it...and it was the weekend of Mother's Day.

Elric was getting better, but Dante still seemed unable to stop thowing up. So, we took him to the emergency room, where they managed to get that under control, but they came to the conclusion he would need intravenous fluids, so they would need to keep him in the emergency room, overnight.

Jan, their mother, my ex, stayed with him. They put her up on a hospital bed in the ER and laid the sad-faced boy on her, face down, on her torso, then set to work getting the fluids back into him. Jan spent the night into Mother's Day, laying on a hospital bed with a softly whimpering baby atop her, safe in her arms, as fluids dripped into him to restore his strength.

I know of no more vivid depiction of a Mother's love than that. And people have asked me why I didn't try to take the kids when we divorced? I was a lousy husband, and when I wasn't working 16 hours a day or moving three thousand miles to maintain my obligations, a good father...but there was no way I could compete with her zeal for the job and it would have been both wrong of me, and tactically stupid to fight with her over it.

Happy Mother's Day to mothers everywhere. Thanks to Anna Jarvis, from just down the road from where I am sitting this moment, who in Grafton, West Virginia, started the modern observance of such a holiday in the US.

Oh, and to my own Mom...

my commencement address

In keeping with my tradition of not being a commencement speaker anywhere (so far, an unblemished streak...but let's be fair, who'd want to have to deal with reputation? Besides, do you want to be the teacher or professor who has to follow me to the mike? It would be like getting the draw to open your stand up act after Robin Williams...not the best place to be...)

But I feel like writing a commencement address, so bear with me, while I address myself to all students everywhere, on all continents, in all schools, colleges and universities. Because, let's face it, I'm global...the web, the digital renaissance, made me that way, you should see the United Nations that slips into my website to read my poems and blogs and download my recordings, every day.

One moment...ah, there, that's better...my iTunes had just slipped over to Taylor Dayne from T'pau...and the incredibly hot Ms. Dayne is just not good meditative music for writing to. I digress. I've cut over to Dire Straits and Van Morrison.

Here goes.

"Persons of every continent, country, political and sociological and theological bent, flavour, hue and mettle, I could thank you for a great spectrum of things. In the first case, I must humbly thank you for your attention at this moment, we live in a world rife with distractions and to have your focus for even an instant is a great compliment and a great obligation. Will the student in the third row playing with his GameBoy at least pretend to listen?

In the main case, I must thank you for your efforts. By stepping forward, stepping out and stepping to the next stage of your life you are doing what is most necessary for this world and this mortal species, you are getting on with it. You are seeking to improve, polish, advance and perfect yourself. Brava and bravo. If every man, woman and child on Planet Earth made it part of their daily life to seek improvement, we would be a better sphere.

That is not to say we are a hell-pit, but all things can bear improvement, and so it is with the world we inhabit as stewards of a wiser sentience, who must have had some purpose in allowing our very existence. Sometimes unimaginable, but there is a plan, I suspect. I hope. I pray.

Take what you have gained here. Build on it. Nurture it. You achieved some element of a formal education here, but that is only a sliver of the life experience you have taken into yourself while here. Move forward with a fierce and passionate will to climb, to seek, to dream, to feel again and again and again the joy of accomplishment.

To paraphrase "Chariots of Fire": God made you, but He made you intelligent. When you use your minds, you will feel His pleasure.

And mine. I take pleasure in your accomplishments. I feel no regret at any death, any lost lover, and feuding friend as deeply as I feel the loss of a person's failure to strive to achieve their potential. It is a fire within me, a prayer to the universe that everyone receives the opportunity to explore their talents and capabilities, and having found them, develops them, as ore to metal, metal to the mold, sword to the wheel to be honed to a thing of both beauty and utility.

Intelligence without purpose is an abomination. Purpose without intelligence is blasphemy.

Go forward, rise higher, nurture the fire within you and do not be afraid, for we are all kin to the phoenix, able to rebuild ourselves with knowledge and passion and hope.

You will fall and curse and struggle and with couer rage walk through places you never imagined existed. You will wrestle with your own demons and those of others. You will live and die as an example, leaving a legacy for your younger brothers and sisters, your children, their children, and even strangers who hear your story. Let that be a lesson of accomplishment.

Be brave. Be bold. Be passionate. If all else fails...you won't."

There it is, my open Commencement Address to students from Central Missouri State University to West Virginia University, from Pierce College to University of Southern Mississippi, from Morgantown High to North Salinas High to Santa Monica High, from Harden Middle School to Sterling Middle School, all places that have played some part in my life, or do so now.

Good night and God bless. I've said my piece. Where's the limo to my hotel?

the new podcast is up

This week's podcast, with a theme of 'Commencement' is now available via the Radio City of Legends page.

last minute commencement gift?

Need a last minute graduation gift for someone graduating from West Virginia University (WVU) tomorrow?

Barnes and Noble in Morgantown (about five-10 minutes from the Coliseum and the Stadium) has a selection of some of my books, pre-signed...including 101 GREAT LOVE POEMS and THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES. Just a quick gift suggestion. If your graduate isn't coming out of WVU, just go to Amazon.com or BN.com, or even stop by the store at cityoflegends.com and get what you need...the ones from my store come custom autographed.

Overslept this morning, but I was having some interesting dreams and made the decision to go back to sleep in order to see what else my brain wanted to dump. The headache is worth it, some good material.

becoming me

What a remarkable world. Truly remarkable. I was jut reflecting on that, on some of the beautiful things I have been witness to and part of. I understand how someone can feel lost or overwhelmed in the moment, but when you pull back and see what there is, really is, out there, it is a miracle.

I feel sorry, in a non-condescending, empathetic way, for those mired in their pain, in their fear, in their hate. They don't get it...and unfortunately, it probably isn't their fault that they don't get it. Experience sometimes teaches us faux conclusions about the nature of the world, the meaning of life, the intentions of others, and we believe what is convenient to believe.

I know of no one, no one, that I hate. Anger in the moment, yes, but hatred? I worked through that years ago. I had to, if I was to be any kind of sentient lifeform as I define it, or capable of helping others. One of the biggest complaints a former lover had about me was that I'd put myself out for a stranger, or even someone who had wounded me or those I love. I gae my office numbr to the man who had been trading her drugs for sex and told him if her ever needed help, to call. Then I told him to go away and never bother her again.

Is there any other way to be and still take any pride in being human? I can only shake a sad head when I hear of others surrendering their dignity, their souls, their lives, to fear and hatred. My friend Thomas calls me the most fearless human being he has ever met, and if you knew the kind of life he has lived, that's an incredible label. I have my neuroses, my doubts, but on what he considers the big stuff I wake up every morning ready to lay it out there. Fearless is a great compliment, as I believe fear to be the great disabler, but it also makes me reckless and foolish sometimes.

I have had lovers I will never unlove (I don;t stop loving, that's not possible for who or what I am) leave me for that aspect of who and what I am. I have been criticized, accused, smacked down and kicked for being fearless, for loving everyone, even those whom I have come face to face with who have sought my pain, or the pain of those I love and protect. That's not to say I haven't also had all those things happen to me at times when I truly deserved it, because I have. I'm still working on me, still making adjustments with the tools I can fashion from the materials life places in my path.

I'm not giving up, giving out, or giving in.

To my daughter, whom I love all the more for her absence from my life, I will be at your wedding. To the lover who made the right choice between me and her children, I am always here for you if you need a friend. To the lover who was disappointed when her genie only saved her life but didn't make her rich, I'm sorry, but if there is ever anything I can do for you, you can find me, I do not hide.

To anyone and everyone who has either lied to me or about me, or who has, for convenience's sake, believed a lie about me, you are forgiven. I'm laying down some baggage, because I don't want to walk this road for the rest of the distance and the time left to me, I want to run it, unfettered with the madness of other people's follies.

I just want to be me, as God perceives me to be when I am at my best.

just warming up

It's Friday...time for my "It's Friday" dance.

The podcast should be up later today...relax, I know I have been slow these last few weeks...I'm working on it. You be the one man band I am compelled to be and always meet your deadlines.

Somebody asked me the other day what the best thing was about being 50. Yeah, that's right, I am 50 (I pass for mid-thirties, thank you DNA). I said that I stopped thinking about growing older so much. It's true. I look back on my life and see where I have sired three incredible heirs, each remarkable in their own right. I've known the love of a handful of truly lovely people and the admiration and respect of readers and audiences. I've written a mountain of legacy works. I've published eight books. I've made over a million dollars. I've been to New York, New Orleans and Los Angeles.

All in all, if I died tonight, I would only regret leaving things undone. I've already had an absurdly successful life.

That having been said...get out da way. I'm just warming up.

the mark of the ronin

Interesting day, but busy. Of course, I like them that way.

Met with my friend Scott. He just graduated WVU and is heading home to prepare for his next great adventure...this fall he is going to go to China to work as an English as a second language teacher. Funny, Arachne, last I heard, was in Japan teaching business people English as a second language. It's a plague. I drive people to leave the country.

Got a frantic note from my publisher this evening about the layout of the covers for THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS. No problem, I dove into Photoshop and made quick work of the issue. We are now fully BOT (Back On Track)...the book should be accessible via all major sales venues in a matter of a few weeks.

I have decided to get another tattoo when I am in LA...I'll ask my daughter for a recommendation...or I will drive to Pacific Grove to Paul, my tattoo artist. I will have my new symbol, the Katakana "Ronin" character, placed on my left shouder, to signify my status and to mark the publication of my book RONIN IN THE TEMPLE OF APHRODITE. It is becoming my identity, and one I accept and embrace.

I can already feel the weight of my publication schedule upon me...it will be brutal, but I find peace and fulfillment in it, a peace and fulfillment that evaded me while I was playing janitor of the human soul to abused people. I think I just wore myself out trying to save everyone from their own folly and ignorance. I took it into myself and was poisoned by it. I'm stronger now, but it has been a difficult road to walk alone.

Had a nice conversation at lunch with an Eastern European woman-friend of mine, she makes my disillusioned friend Alan sound like he just won the lottery, but I still find her charming.

I have not heard from Alan in several days and am becoming concerned, but at the same time I know he sometimes cloisters, especially when he has a lot on his plate, and I wish to honor his privacy.

dancing the wallatamba

Gooooooooooood morning, cyberworld.

I am up and mobile. The newspaper is in, as are the empty garbage cans (I want to give a Nobel prize to whomever invented the plastic garbage can...I recall when metal cans made trash day a loud and inconvenient time). I've checked the headlines on CNN (wow, Lou Dobbs can lay it on, can't he? I haven't seen a legitimat journalist whack a President like that in decades...), sorted through my emails and even doublechecked hit volume on my website.

Goals for the day: hmmm...survive, prosper, fall in love, write something immortal. Fight a battle that I'm going to lose but was worth winning, on someone else's behalf. Finish this week'd podcast later tonight and start the promotion process for it to be available to listeners, tomorrow. Ponder last night's "LOST" episode.

I haven't done a television interview since I left Mississippi (thanks, WLOX) or a radio spot since California (KDON and KBTU, as I recall)...maybe I need to do some local media. I've been told I have a face for radio (old joke). I admit I find it a bit wounding when a local event is put on for local artists (Morgantown or Monongalias County) and I am not even approached. How different it is here, rather than in the South or California, where I was sought out. It's not humbling, its just saddening. So much resource is wasted by the subcultural insularity. I know dozens of local poets, musicians and creative artists who still scratch their heads about it...Michael Paxton was right.

this evening

I wandered up to the local bookstore of note (Barnes & Noble) this evening, intent on just getting out and breathing. I purchased a cookie and an iced tea (I refused to ask for "Venti", I called it "large") and sat for an hour or so, perusing recent magazines: Discovery, Make, Mental Floss, and others...

when I finished my snack I wandered outside.

There, in the gloaming sky, was a great greyness of an approaching rainstorm. And the wind that heralded its approach was charged with an ionization not unlike my beloved Santa Ana Winds.

And it was good.

For just a moment I stood at the edge of the parking lot, my face turned to the sky, feeling the soft tingle of the winds as they passed over me and passed onto and into me their energy. I smiled. I smiled and knew things I only know in those moments. Wordless poems and tuneless songs and thoughts in dimensions and colours and textures I do not have words for.

I celebrated the birth of my children, every woman I've ever kissed, every poem I've ever written. I mourned lost friends and lost friendships. I wondered of past lovers that are no more and loves that never were. I remembered a voice I'd forgotten and the feeling of a suede skirt against my hand. The smell of a stranger's perfume. The taste of a snowflake.

And I was reborn, recharged and transfigured, in that moment.

Thanks, God.

Friends may pass away. Children may turn away. Lovers may lie. Poems may be lost between synapse and pen-tip. But you have never failed me.

I am most, most grateful.

free pdf from Art&Soul

I got something I had been waiting for, today. A copy of the PDF for my profile in the Appalachian Education Initiative's "Art&Soul" book, which profiles 50 outstanding creative artists who were educated in West Virginia, the Mountain State.

From Jennifer Garner to Squire Parsons, Paul Dooley to Brad Dourif, Homer Hickam to Don Knotts, Michael Paxton to Irene McKinney, it's great company to keep. It's a nice volume for your coffeetable (I am slowly collecting signatures of fellow honorees), with double page spreadson each of the artists..

I have been given permission to share this file, as a download, on the condition I share a link to the book's information at the AEI site, which I do gladly.

The Art & Soul Project links you to information, including ordering info, of this volume.

Click here, to download just the pdf of yours truly

Special thanks to Brooke A. Brown at byran boyd creative group for his assistance.

the word police attack

Remember kids, you thrown down the gauntlet, but run a gantlet.

It always used to bug me, Clint Eastwood driving an armored bus, with action hottie Sondra Locke at his side, into a glove.

No, considering her character's profession (high-priced callgirl) Clint needed to deal with a different type of glove, for safety's sake.

But a gauntlet is a glove. A gantlet is a channel to be run or navigated as a rite of passge or challenge to survival. You can throw down the gauntlet to demand someone run a gantlet.

And I'm being a bit of a prig this morning. Bite me.

poetry as bloodmucking

I'm in the horse latitudes of creativity...by choice. I've read my recent works and decreed that I am in a toxic zone.

I don't like being in a toxic zone.

The best thing I can do when those moods come upon me is to stop writing, focus on editing and site revisions and other non-provocative things, and allow that part of me that is spewing bile to drown in it. Intellectually, emotionally, it is pretty brutal and messy. But, fortunately, I'm the only one who has to witness it. I don't like muddying my legacy with the demons. It ticks me off enough that I have them, I don't have to let them out to play.

So, for the next day or so, the workaday part of me will take over operational control of my life while the creative side in me is busy beating it's own offspring to death with a large thigh bone of some extinct beast. Ugly but necessary. Actually, it's pretty cool to watch inside my own head, all I have to do is kick back into play any stray mobiles.

First up, I am doing some retrofitting on my website The City of Legends. Just some design changes, mostly colour, to begin with. Grey and white are the new black, and aqua is going away over the next few days...

then I will be making some wholesale changes to the poetic contents.

Check by from time to time and see what I do. It isn't as interested in watching the batter-scarred immortal thwacking on a bile-spitting pitfiend, but it is much cleaner. Do you have any effing idea what it cost to get ichor out of suede? And, I will have you know, I do my own laundry, even when I have a lover. Which I do't, right now, which is another reason to slap the free-willed incubi within me around for fun.

It gets pretty grim. But as my old editor, Jan Innes used to say about me, I don't write poetry. I live it. I actually feel sorry for the people who don't have to wrestle with the adrenaline surge of throwing oneself from an impossible emotional height to dive at the jagged, ragged rocks below, tempting fate and sanity. They don't really live life, they just occupy space. And force housing prices up.

::Thwack::

Sorry, one of the smaller hellhounds was just running around my chair...had to kick back into the void. As I was saying...

I got an email today from the local Barnes & Noble, something about West Virginia Day next month and wanting to have writers from the state do appearances at their store. Why not? At least they, unlike the Monongalia County Schools, the Morgantown Public Library and West Virgina University, seem vaguely aware of my presence. My ego isn't bruised, I am just perplexed at the wasting of resource.

"The existence of a single atheist does not disprove the existence of God." Their failures do not change my nature.

Hold it...

::Thwack:: ::Thwack::

Sorry, something slimy was trying to tie my shoelaces together as a prelude to eating my leg. Gotta run...the hellmouth is leaking. I have to go stand in the tea chest and sing "Jerusalem".

"And did those feet, in ancient times..."

the left-alignment versus center-alignment of poems

It was not that long ago an editor acquaintance of mine bashed a manuscript I sent her for blurb (that's when someone gives you a quote about the book to place on the cover or advertsiements...both parties benefit from the networking as it serves as a two-way conduit of readers).

She sent me a note back stating she could not, of good conscience, say anything good about it, as I was centering the poems on the pages, rather than left-justifying them (aligning all the lines to start on the left). I wasn't flabbergasted, I was bemused and let her go on her way unmolested.

I was thinking about that incident the other evening as I was reviewing a few pieces on mine in one of my books, and I realized one of the key reasons why I like the "Christmas tree" effect of center the lines, the way both sides are uneven, unless you are obsessive-compulsive about all your lines being exactly the same length: It makes it easier to find your place when doing a live reading.

Really. You could make the argument that it is being selfish, it is for my convenience. With an uneven left margin, it is much more difficult to lose your way, especially in a work where multiple lines start with the same letter or even word. You take your eyes off the page for a moment to make eye-contact with the audience (or at least the liberal-arts major in the second row with the patchwork skirt and the peasant blouse who seems to be making eye contact back and slowly sliding down further into her chair during the more flagrantly, fragrantly erotic works in the set) and when your eyes dart back, you do not want to have to take a second to find where you left off.

So, to anyone who wonders why I seem so fond of this, there's your answer. If you're an editor or a publisher who doesn't like it? Sorry, but be reconciled to the fact that while I am out promoting my works in other people's publications or the sales of my books, at least you don't have to answer for me.