May I be matched with you again, uh no

One of my favorites from All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes record made back in the day. Great band with Pete, including the rhythm section of Big Country, on the album. This Deep End Live band is also exceptional, there's a guy named Dave on guitar. Some of this song he gets right, some not, but it's not my song.

Overall it's a great record, with one or two clunkers but the album starts with the above song and ends with this one.

And this song really hits home, despite him messing up the lyrics. 

Always a good walk

My son was generous enough to give me whatever sickness had been inside of him last weekend and that left me waking up this morning and deciding going to work was not in anyone's best interests.

After sleeping a bit longer than usual I figured it would be better for me to not sit on the coach and get outside to take advantage of the beautiful September weather. Even while sick, I could appreciate it.

So the decision was made to take a walk in Greenlawn Cemetery.

It had been awhile since I've been here. It's hard to maintain a large space effectively. A portion of the fence on the west side of the property has busted down and now anyone can get in easily, at anytime. They need funds to repair the property and I do not have them.

Still, it was a pleasant day for a walk and I picked some areas I do not usually wander in.



Would love to know the back story to Mr. Gene. How did he get that name?



I know Columbus has a vital Greek population but did not realize there was a section of the cemetery that had a lot of Greek people buried there. This made me chuckle, shoot me.



Away where now? She did not go out for a pack of cigarettes, or did she?



The grave of a woman in her early twenties who died in 2012. This type of decoration fascinates me, and it's all over the cemetery here, and I imagine elsewhere.



I know I've posted this before, but it makes me giggle, ok?



And this one is further down the row. I'm sorry, but this makes me laugh.



As far as I know, this is the only grave in the world of an Olympic gold medal winner who was executed for committing murder. Here's the story.

None of my visits here are complete without some reflection here.



I was very happy to see that a lot of the overgrowth that obstructed the view of the pond from this spot had been cut back.

And just a few steps from this spot is this humble gravestone.



Greenlawn has been one of my go to spots for some quiet reflection and inspiration. Sometimes some cool birdlife is spotted, or a sprinting ground hog as you drive out of the property.

Monday questions

Why do the people next door hate trees?

Why won't my kid poop in the toilet?

What the hell is wrong with my scanner? It will not scan at the actual size.



What makes a large family split into divisions, then into nothing at all?

Who did the picture of the child in my dead Great Uncle's wallet grow up to be?

Is it the weather or am I going mad?

Had a couple of disturbing dreams recently. A loved one came into the house, seems this person was shot in the forehead while mowing the lawn. It was not a large caliber bullet as their head was not blown off but a small weapon with a small, noticeable hole. No exit wound so it was suggested to go to the hospital to have the bullet removed. For some reason we went separately with the injured party going to Children's Hospital, which is odd because the victim is no longer a child and Mount Carmel West is closer.

The other dream involved me euthanizing a cat I once had in the bathtub, and that's about all I want to say except it really creeped me out.

Who knows what is going on in my head to produce these nightmares. The weather here has been freakishly warm. Thirty degrees warmer than normal. My rose bush is starting to bud six weeks ahead of schedule. The lawn is going to need mowing this weekend. I'll do that, and hope I do not get shot.

Been thinking about poetry slam recently and its effect on poets. Slam can kill you as quickly as it can resurrect. It can create heroes as easily as monsters. I do not know what I'm witnessing in slams these days. It's not supposed to be pretty but the joy has lessened for me and it's already making me lean cynically, not even five years into the game. All I can do is be me out there, and I'm perfectly ok with that. And by me I mean a writer with little self confidence who is not afraid to take risks. That is, when I infrequently write something that is a risk. So do I take a risk and write about these messed up dreams? I questioned putting them here for crying out loud!

Slam and poetry are different beasts that can interact. Sometimes they do not play nice.

A lot can happen in four years, just ask Florence Welch. This was one of the first videos I saw of her performing.



Said then that she was going to be indie big. Looks like that happened for her. All I'm doing it writing about that, and not very well.

In better news, while he's still in serious condition and intensive care, Fabrice Muamba is communicating and appears to be on the road to a long recovery.

Release of the Dead

This is from the last Spliz Enz album, which was never officially released in the U.S. It did get recorded on the first Crowded House album. I've probably posted it here before, but it's in my head now and needs a release into the blogosphere.

Had a very disturbing dream over the weekend. I was working at the cash register at Long's, a college bookstore and Ohio State merchandise emporium I came to despise working at in the late 90's. A group came to the register and had a number of expensive items to purchase. They all spread out at at some signal they all rushed me, got the register open and robbed the place. Next in the dream was another person trying to rob me, again. This time I had a heavy piece of glass Block-O thing in my hands and bashed the guy in the head, repeatedly. I work up with a start. Very upsetting dream.

In the midst of writing a short, nasty thing. You hear about people reclaiming their virginity, to mixed results. My question is can you unsleep with someone? If you can 'wash that man right out of your hair' can you kick someone out of your bed?

Probably not, but you wonder what you were thinking, too much I suppose. So I kick myself, again and again. This isn't about erasing the past, an Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind thing. Simply trying to write through a flood.

My brain needs a dehumidifier.

William Shatner is Eighty Years Old Today.

Two of my poems have been published in the online journal The Legendary. Fifth name down on the left if you do not know my name. There is also audio for one of the poems. You can do a lot with an iPod Touch.

It's exciting, something I've wanted to do but never quite had the gumption. Saw they were accepting submissions, found a couple of poems and sent them in. A couple of days later they contacted me and accepted both poems. Not the prestige of having your work put into a book, but this is a start. A small but significant goal achieved, you may say.

Here is an old poem. From late 1998, right after a divorce. I've been thinking of home poems recently as so many other poets have been writing them. I've primarily lived in three places in my life and feel a disconnect to all of them. I miss the one I lived in the shortest amount of time the most, and the one I lived in first not at all. I've more or less been in Columbus the longest, there are often times I feel like an outsider, even in my own community.


Islip Terrace in the Seventies

you could smell the salt in the air
when the wind came from the south
it was the only time you ever felt
if you were on an island
in the fall, or spring
when the night were cool and mist filled
and lots of thickening fog
late at night
i'd put on my raincoat
and walk
unaccompanied
through the suburban streets
houses all looking the same
washington, jefferson, garfield, roosevelt
who in the hell was stellenwerf?
the streets where i came from
i'd walk, and see the lights
of neighbors no one knew
going off as others prepared for
the next day
mine had just started
in the summers i'd be on ten speed
riding, riding in the darkness
through the mosquitoes, crickets, and squirrels
searching, fruitless
for one who didn't exist
those were my better times
i was fast then
i could run
rueful, brooding, wistful
i was best when alone

There's not much from the 1997-2005 period that I would consider revealing today. That was a long time ago.

Here's a Live Journal post from three years ago in which I call stardom for Florence and the Machine.

Got that one right.

My Own Worst Critic

I don’t have much desire to be a touring poet. I feel safer at home and grounded, somewhat. Would I do special features if the situation was right? Sure, and that includes locally at anytime. However, my material is not there yet. Not even close.

I do not think I could put together three decent feature length sets of all different poems. Will I ever be better than mediocre at best? Do I have the time to devote to the craft and the talent to develop it? Good questions.

Maybe I’m being hard on myself. Today though, I’m just a hobbyist, and I’m ok with that.

Philosophy, is the Talk on a Cereal Box

I haven't been punchy here for awhile. Or been self revealing in the form of navel gazing. While I'm in a good place, overall - there's always room for improvement.

There are things I'd like to write about, for instance, the Columbus Metropolitan Library levy, but anything I say, as a disgruntled former employee, would come across as me being bitter. So I do not criticize it, even though I'm more for the levy than I am against it. But, as I learned while working there, expressing any opposing view of that place was strictly forbidden.

It's not even that I'm censoring myself. I do not want to be negative. The trauma of being at my old workplace still exists. After three years I've finally found myself not flinching while being around my current coworkers when they talk to me, about anything. Only now am I coming to terms with it to find myself facing their levy campaign head on in the lives of the people around me. And I understand why it should pass, but there are still people there I want to slap with a dead fish. The bad stuff is not something that is easily let go, but this extension of my pain is not good either.

It's hard for me, like Edie Brickell, I don't get too deep. Yet, I do have my own passionate, yet often misinformed, opinions. Problem is, it comes out as anger, rage, a rant rather than anything with any real depth or intellect. Which is more about me than I care to admit but it's on the screen now.

The online interactions have all become a bunch of snarky one liners in lengthy Facebook threads, and they're starting to bore me. What's getting solved there? Opinions are not changing. I'm not going to retreat to this blog, shake my fist and give out links of things that I hate - there's nothing productive or remotely positive about that way of communicating.

The last thing I need, is a cell phone, another electronic addiction. I'm not a gamer. What I do here is the extent of my gaming. I watch very little actual television, outside of sports, and have no clue who these Jersey Shore people and their ilk are. Nor do I care. Why should I care about Heidi and Spencer, whoever they are? I read Entertainment Weekly and see the names and headlines and read that none of these reality people have done anything of any substance, other than making show. I'm not impressed. Television seems very boring now days and I'm better at entertaining myself than shouting old Nirvana lyrics at the world.

Sometimes I think even the poetry has suffered. Feel like it's rehash. Even when I challenge myself the results are mean. I can't even write a love poem. Should be grateful I'm not blocked. Stuff is coming out. Most of it I'd like to pitch. Some of it, I have not read in public and probably never will. Have I painted myself into a corner?

Never watched Lost. Don't watch Mad Men or anything on pay cable. Wish I saw The Wire, maybe I'll borrow the DVD from the library, but the rest seems a waste of my time. My dead boss used to say 'life's too short' before he dropped dead of a crack overdose at the age of 33 - and he was right.

I try not to pay attention to Glenn Beck, the group of inbred Palins or how the crazy folks in the Federal Reserve and Treasury have pushed this country into insolvency. At the same time it's so bad out there we've forgotten how to coexist. No one wants to share the $1,000 pizza though - and why should they? They paid for it. Then tweeted about it.

So do I lay on my deathbed wishing I had not wasted so much time on my laptop, or that I wasted too much time watching Gene Simmons' reality show? Heck, at least I did not do both. Now, if I could put myself in a situation to ditch both of those options for the real alternative - there's your hot action.

Over Fifty Pounds Ago

Today marks what would have been Prince Charles and Lady Diana's 29th wedding anniversary. This date would have also been the 25th wedding anniversary with my first wife.

Hindsight offers a lot of opportunities at excuses and what ifs, but it happened and cannot be changed. She and I are, by her choice, no longer on speaking terms. This day finds me thinking in terms of rituals that probably have no real meaning. So finding a narrow part of the Scioto River to throw a tarnished piece of silver across is of mixed metaphor and a pathetic stunt at best. Closure is a myth.



Last night was another IWPS qualifying slam at Writers' Block. Twelve poets took part and round one was close. I'm not sure if I was tied for seventh, eighth, or ninth. All I knew is that I was going 11th in round two. The one minute round.

One minute poems are a necessary evil of slam. Every slammer worth their salt onstage should have a few of them to rely on. It's like learning trigonometry in high school. As the teacher said, "You never know when you're going to need it on the Subway."

Such is the one minute poem. It's tough. It's quick. But it's a tool the good poet needs.

Scores in round two were once again weirdly consistent, and very tight. Had a feeling I could jump up the ladder with a high score. Did a poem I've been holding onto for this moment. It was inspired by an item in a friend's memory box, and essentially wrote itself in a thread on Live Journal. Went up and did it. Knocked it out well enough to get the highest score of the night (29.2) and vaulted up the standings like Beamon at the '68 Olympics to finish in second place.

All I'll say is that the poem is related to the image above and that I have forever changed the way many people in Kafe Kerouac think about said image.

Congratulations to Dain for winning the slam and Atticus for coming in third. Hot action all around!

That Darn Closure

Still thinking about Andyman's passing. My first wife was a disc jockey on his station for a brief time. Triggered me a bit with the question I was asked a couple of weeks ago. She made some very cruel posts about me on craigslist a few years back then accused me of spying on her when I called her on them.

I never did get an answer to my question. How is seeing posts made in a pubic message board, or a blog or website that is public and not password protected considered spying?

If you put material out there for the public to see you should be responsible and know who is going to be a part of the audience. It could be anyone. It often is someone you specifically do not want to see what you're ranting about. People do not like to be caught being jerkwads, or sticking their foot deeper and deeper into their mouths. I guess that's what makes them jerkwads. Lord knows I've stuck my keyboard up my ass too many times to mention.



Back to Andyman. Another time when he was the PA announcer for the OSU hockey games he announced a penalty on an opposing player as, "Two minutes for holding the steek."

You read the Facebook and Twitter tributes and you see the impact one person had on people in the city. It will be hard to replace someone who had the personality he had.

Now I'm getting word from wife2 that she does not want to keep the dog. There's nothing wrong with the dog, but she does not think she has the personality to be a fur-mother, or whatever term she used. Better to find out now than later I guess. Now she has to find a home for the sweet guy. Wonder if my son with notice the dog is gone? Something she should have thought through, like so many other schemes she has had, which I'm sure includes marrying me.

Maybe I won't be so damn angsty when the heat breaks, at this rate we're looking at October.

Keeping Heads Above Water

Yesterday was a very introspective day concerning my thoughts on the internet and social networking. The topic received a thorough and spirited discussion which got me thinking about Columbus and how it is perceived by outsiders.

It also was good for me to vent a little in a productive way. I did not like what Michael Ruhlmam said. I wrote him a reasonable email, not a blog post about wanting him to die in a fire. I got a respectful response. Lines of communication were kept open. Still, not enough for some people, but plenty for me. And it was not the 'celebrity' writing me back. It's the same situation as a poor business transaction, or part of a poetry slam you do not like - it's a good thing to offer on the spot constructive criticism. To find the person in charge and make concerns known. I guess it's easier to archive outrage in a blog or sit in internet purity on a message board than to be proactive.

What do you all think of Columbus? What are you initial reactions to it, especially if you have never lived here? What were your thoughts about it when you found out you were going to live here? I've lived here for twenty years and I'm learning things about it every day.

George Steinbrenner died yesterday. I'm no Yankee fan, while he made sure baseball players got paid well it also made it difficult for those who are not well off to attend a baseball game. In the mid nineties I was at a Clippers game with wife no.1, we were walking though the concourse and I saw a short, portly man. It was Steinbrenner, all by himself, putting ketchup on his burger. I was impressed that he was doing something ordinary, but also thought that the last person who did that for him incorrectly probably got fired, as did the person before that. She went to talk to him and had a casual conversation. She told me as she started talking to him she could see a look pass over him that meant that he wanted to be left alone but quickly changed to one in which he was dealing with the public. I'm not sure about the conversation, but it was short and not unpleasant.

Here's a video of my son swimming.

Another Year Older, a New One Just Begun

Survived another year. I might be in a new demographic now. Having a shot and a beer while the rest of the house should be asleep.

I don't know where aging is taking me. When it's hot outside I feel my age. The heat slows me down, makes me cranky. The usual things do not work the way they used to, maybe that's for the best. I eye the desks and tables at work and remember when I could jump on them in a single vertical leap - wonder if I can do that now, or break my leg trying?

My Scottish Wife does not like the heat either. This is an entirely new climate for her. She complained when she was here two years ago when the temperatures were in the low nineties. Then she visited friends in Austin when the temperatures were hitting record highs of 107, and the locals were complaining. When she came back, she did not say much about the weather.

We're staying here though. For obvious reasons. Even though there are many days when I feel stuck and trapped in this city there are more reasons for me to stay. This house is falling apart. Trees are growing in the gutters. Basement shelving is collapsing, taking out outdated media along with it and I have no idea what to do to make it all better. At least the roof is not failing, yet.

A road trip is not possible until October. An international air trip, which I really want to take, April 2011, if funds can be saved, if people can cooperate.

It Was Dying Anyway

Napping from seven to nine tonight, not a good idea. The boy went to bed just after nine, so he might be waking up early. Maybe we'll head up to Kafe Kerouac to see sunrise at Scott Woods' 24 hour reading.

Or maybe I'll just post links to things I read that I hate, and do nothing about. Archiving outrage in a blog, shaking my fist at the overlords did not really get me anywhere. Probably set me back more than anything as I look back at the old live journal experience. 2006 was bad. 2007 was freaking nuts. After that, comments slacked off drastically. It's been almost a year that I stopped posting.

The reports from here come in every morning. Some days only nine hits, some twelve, others it spikes to over twenty. Comments are very low though. Hey. Here's an idea. Write compelling things and people will comment. Wow. Why didn't I think of that before!

Maybe I'll be like my friend S. and only post x-rays of things that accidentally fly into people's heads. Blogs are supposed to be specialized, right? Too bad that idea has been taken. Guess I'll have to keep doing what I do, whatever that is.

Back on the Bank Block

On New Year's Eve, I find myself in Stauf's again, just like three years ago. The background music is The Pet Shop Boys and not a bad Hallelujah cover.

What have I, What have I, what have I done to deserve this?

I'm here because Emma's across the street at the dentist, not to sit and reflect on my life falling apart - as life was then.

Two years ago I was in Glasgow, wandering around a chilly damp city that was getting ready for Hogmanay. We drank champagne, hung out in a jacuzzi and watched Jools Holland ring in the new year. One month later my divorce was finalized.

Last year Emma was here, still on the tourist visa, and we went to Dave's and I sang The Candy Man. It was a perfect way to start the calendar year.

Today I wait here, post-bagel, drinking a french vanilla coffee and waiting to see what condition my wife will be in after her procedure. The music has changed.

Holiday, it would be so nice.

Oh man, now it's Shalamar.

I can tell by the look in your eye that you're a dead giveaway. I'm finding out what you're all about.

I did one of those year in review memes on Facebook, not going to subject it to you here. One thing though. There is a resolution. Something I need to do. Need is a very powerful words but when I see that number on a scale I know something has to change.

I see Limbaugh is in the hospital with chest pains. I do not want the man dead, but to live long enough so he can realize how wrong he is about so many things.

Speaking of death. Had only three hits in the deathpool this year, including the Farrah/MJ double. I know the day is not over but I have submitted next year's 40 to the proper compiler.

Had no idea at the beginning of last year that I'd abandon my live journal for this place. I think I'm happier here. It's hard to log on to live journal and see the deterioration. The people who have disappeared. If you're still there, I'm not picking on you for staying, not at all. It has changed, and it was a change that was hard for me to stay with. After the divorce, the drama stopped, comments dropped and I kept a lot of the personal stuff quiet. Good for me, bad for business. Losing a few friends was tough, and you miss some of that interaction. Moving forward is the new black though.

It's good to be here, on blogger. I see the number of hits increasing, but the comments are not increasing in proportion to the page views. I appreciate the readership. A lot. Thank you for coming. Please stay. Introduce yourselves. And have a happy new year.

And the train conduction says driver 8 take a break we can reach our destination, but we're still a ways away.

Baseball as a Subtext

Was thinking back to my seventh birthday. My parents took me to my first baseball game. Mets vs. Phillies at Shea Stadium. The greenness of the grass. The vastness of the field. So damn beautiful. The great Tom Seaver pitched. We sat on the left field line. Before the game, I got backup cather Duffy Dyer's autograph. I saw Rick Wise, the opposing pitcher. I saw Art Shamsky make a catch close to us. It was also utility player Bob Aspromonte's birthday. How cool was that, Sharing a birthday with a baseball player! He pinch hit, did not get on base. Then, I do not remember who hit it, but a line drive came toward us and it was hit hard. The man in front of me stuck up his hand and and the ball slammed into it with a sizzle that I can still hear to this day. It was the closest I came to a foul ball until twenty nine years later when my ex caught one at Cleveland Stadium in her Betty Boop tote bag.

Here's the box score!



That's me, at either age seven or eight. My brother is behind me, over my right shoulder. I wonder what memories my son will have of his seventh birthday, and how he we be able to communicate them when he turns forty five?



Had a staff lunch on campus today. I was goofing off with the camera by RPAC. There was a interesting reflection.



A picture of me that does not suck.

What's in My Thursday Head

Had a strange dream involving a friend who came over and told us she was divorced. Not getting a divorce, but a done deal. Very sudden for everyone it seems. He sold the house from under her, took all the money and left. She was calling her husband some strange things, a sad clown, a stupid birthday cowboy and other weird types of acting jobs. She also said her Mom had not been this upset since her factory was blown up. She said the whole process took less than four days.

Trying to wonder why people do the things they do (and I include myself in this pondering) isn’t worth the brain power and time is it? It’s hard to move forward when there’s a perception that stuff is unresolved. I’ve known closure is a myth for a long time now, but there’s still a lot of what the heck was that all about anyway going on. It’s very strange, knowing that one is so despised elsewhere. Ah what are ya gonna do?

Been taking Emma on an old school Italian food tour of the city, ok we just did a couple of pizza places actually. We went to the Florentine last week. I’ve lived here 19 years and had never been. I had no idea how big the place is. It goes deep into the lot, time and space may even be altered once inside. There are wall sized murals and dark furniture in back. The front looks like a Friday’s. It’s a shame. The bar area has a lot of potential but they may not want that type of business considering the dodgy neighborhood it’s in.

The food was plentiful, even my half portion of fettuccine alfredo that was served incredible hot was a huge portion. The glass of wine was a bit oxidized. The service forced but attentive. I’m glad they’ve been there for a long time; they’ll do fine without me.

I am by no means a golf fan, but seeing fifty nine year old Tom Watson in the lead after the first round of the British Open puts a smile on my face.

As winter returns to Ohio

All weekend I've been out of synch. Been flying all over the place, eating junk, not sleeping near enough. There's too much on my mind and it's not settling well inside me. Did manage to clean out a bunch of junk and garbage, there's still a long way to go.

In better news Scott Woods successfully completed his fourth consecutive 24 hour poetry marathon. Well done!



Managed to watch one film. Bottle Shock is based on a true story. A now famous wine tasting in 1976 that pitted the best that France had to offer vs. the best of the United States. The tasting was done blind and the American wines placed ahead of the French counterparts. This event put U.S. wine on the world map.

Alan Rickman was wonderful as Steven Spurrier, the British wine shop owner who sponsored the tasting.



It also starred Bill Pullman and Eliza Dushku, who was not in the film near enough, for many reasons.



While walking down the parking lot to work last week I heard the sound of geese honking. Not unusual, but I did not see any flying overhead. I'm not sure I've ever seen geese on a roof before, but there they were.



I also think they were taunting me.