Are you blind when you're born?

Been scanning some old pictures today. Found some pictures from Christmas' past, first and fifth grade class pictures. Here are a few pet pictures.

I'm not a cat person, but the first wife was. They were sweet, and photogenic.



Eli liked to eat, and play with the feather duster.



Percival was the most skittish, angst-ridden creature ever. He also liked to chase reflected light. This was the eighties, before the laser pointer. It's also one of the coolest pictures I've ever taken.



They were also litter mates. This was taken sometime in the mid nineties.

I think this is the first blog post in which I've posted cat pictures.

Narrowing the Decision

Working on my submission to the Columbus Arts Festival poetry competition. Came in second place last year and have to defend, or something.. I've got the two poems chosen. One needed a bit of editing, taking out the curse words, giving the line breaks more eye appeal. I'm fairly confident.



My son's toilet training is a step forward and slightly back. We're getting number one eliminated most of the time. Number two involves too much time on the toilet, then when we give up and pull his pants up - ten minutes later there is poop. That has not happened tonight. Not yet anyway.

My Scottish Wife is upstairs watching Law and Order. The Scots love crime shows. She's also eating Cadbury creme eggs. We found some more at Kroger last night. She was having withdrawal. Son is watching his They Might Be Giants DVD. I've been editing. That's Friday night.

This Slam Sponsored By Dayquil

Last night was the first qualifying round for the National Poetry Slam team at Writers' Block. Twelve poets entered, which is the maximum allowed. That's a lot of poetry in a night, let alone one round.

The room was packed. I drew twelfth, the last poet in the first round. It's hard to play strategy with so many poets, and waiting forty minutes is agonizing. I'd been sick all week and was on cold meds all day.

You've been reading about my frustration in getting anything decent written since IWPS and my anxiety about bringing something new to the stage has been looming over me. Scores were high and there was work to do after phenom Shamika went on before me and put herself into the lead.

I went up there and let it rip. It's a poem I've been struggling with for months. Kind of a praise/love/poetry saved my life poem inspired by work Kim Johnson did in the finals at IWPS. You never know how something brand new will go over, but I could hear the crowd grunt approval. I think they even roared along with me once or twice and then someone threw something on stage.



It was not fruit, or rotten vegetables, but a set of keys. Tossed up there by a dude. Apparently I was onto something as the poem (Flying Over Cincinnati after IWPS) put me into second place.

There was not much time to prepare for round two since I was going second. Ended up going with the coworker poem, did a very confident performance and stayed in second. I really felt I had to prove that IWPS was not a fluke. After last night's marathon, which included the city's finest poets, I did that.

I've seen Shamika a few times now and she's got some chops for being, I think, seventeen. She's not able to qualify for national teams at this point, but she's going to.

There was a poem about oral sex that J.G. did, etching the words vagina diner into my skull for way too long. This was immediately followed by Scott Woods' 'Oral, Elemental'. Sparks were flying on that stage last night!

A Cincinnati poet named Black Falcon came in third. He was checking out our scene and was not competing for team contention so I was the only poet to earn points this round. This means that, as of this morning, I am the slam team. This is not good! I either need three teammates, or someone to knock me out.

Rose Smith had the thankless task of drawing first slot. She did an amazing poem about race, and woman's restrooms that knocked me out. It's hard being first in any slam, let alone one with a dozen poets. In a later slot she may have moved on to round two. What a fantastic piece.

Also, thanks to the crowd, who kept the energy high all night and stayed for a lengthy slam. They made the night. I love when that room is full and Joanna has to bring out the cooler for seating.

Next slam is February 24th.

To Redeem the Earth From Fools

Took the Jeopardy online test again. I'm not confident.

Check this out.



She's someone I've always wanted to see live. I'd sit at her feet, touch the hem of her garment, anoint her feet in my hair, whatever it takes.

I'm reading her new book, Just Kids, a memoir of her friendship with Robert Mapplethope and it's as poetic, beautiful and mysterious as Bob Dylan's Chronicles.

In other news, the ban on Haggis is being lifted!

Big Week Ahead, Good News is Coming

The changes in temperatures have given me a cold and sinus pain. I've barely slept. So I'm putting the kid on the bus and headed back to bed

Tried to walk it off yesterday, but the weather did not cooperate. Was looking for one of the cemeteries of the old insane asylum not too far from where a body was found yesteday afternoon. The rain came down and I aborted the search. There was stream that had to be crossed too. Ended up in a conversation with a couple who were thinking of buying a house in that part of town.



The area we were in was no better, or worse, than any other in the city. There may be a bit more mischief with the rec center so close, but that's it. We talked about the lack of culture on the west side. No place to grocery shop, a sorely lacking coffee shop.

Afterward I went to Stauf's (see?) and did some editing. Got to stay healthy this week, or get it back.

Less Cranky

It's 12:45 and there has been no gunfire yet. The night's still young though.

Managed to get some editing done. Also did some culling of the pile of work in my bag. So many duplicates.



Found a couple of poems stashed away deep in the back of a file folder.

Started reading Andre Agassi's book. First few pages and I'm wondering who his ghost writer is. I look in the back in the acknowledgments section and see that it's J. R. Moehringer, who wrote this gem a few years back. It's a decent book, and he pulls no punches towards his adversaries - and he's rather hard on himself, the way his father was toward him, but not as hard as Clapton was on himself in his autobiography.

I'd Like to Thank You for Nothing at All

Left work early. Might be picking up some crud, or not enough sleep after the neighbor's car alarm went off at 4AM. The alarm going off was one thing, the gunshot that followed was another. There were no screams afterward.

So I'm in a bit of a fog.



The writing is coming, the feedback is minimal. Nothing like sending an email or message and not getting a response. Then I get accused of being passive aggressive, or if I get loud enough, an ass. So be it. Life's too short. I've got other things on my mind.

Last night's open mic, was just weird. Right from the start when a poet put on an MP3 from his phone of a MLK speech then left the stage until it was done. I said to him after that George Wallace gave that piece a 2.1 at the Atlanta Slam, and he did not know who George Wallace was.

The collaborative work we did may have gone over better with more rehearsal. In any case, what's done is done. Slam season starts next week and it's time to prove that going to IWPS was not me being Edison Lighthouse.