Monthly Archives: April 2015

A facebook post I would have published had I still been making the idiom…

So that last post project didn’t really work well for me…..I don’t know if any project ever will again….

But heres a facebook post by Bud Smith that I would have published if I had a magazine to publish it in….

Dropbox says it’s almost full and I was just looking through it seeing what I could delete. There’s a folder I have called SCRAPS. In it is Poetry Scraps and Short Story Scraps.

Just wanted to give a shout to all the people making stuff.

The stuff you make doesn’t make itself.

And you don’t have to like what you make. You don’t have to let it be seen by anybody. It’s for you.

It’s for you until you get it published, or you publish it like a DIY punk touring weird America in a smelly white white van covered in beautiful graffiti.

Maybe then it’s no longer for you.

I’ll take it.

The Short Story Scraps folder has a file in it with 78,000 words worth of short stories that I don’t like.

I’m not gonna delete them. They’ll just sit in dropbox.

I’ll delete pictures of a cat sitting on the fire escape across the street. I’ll delete a jpg I made to send to somebody on their birthday. I’ll delete the video in here of somebody talking in their sleep while passed out on a couch at a party.

But the SCRAPS folders can stay.

The Poetry Scraps folder has poems that didn’t make it into the working draft of Everything Neon that I sent out to initial people who looked it over. That same folder has poems that were cut after I sent it to readers. Even more that got cut by the editor. Some of those scrap poems I tried to put in a different manuscript I’m sending around, called High July, but … there they are back in the folder.

Scraps.

It’s fine.

MAKE STUFF.

I WANT TO SEE IT.

But also, keep fucking with the things you make. And don’t let it bother you that only 10% of what you make are things you like and want to share.

Had to write four novels before I liked one.

Writing or painting or singing or dancing or running from the cops takes practice.

I’m happy I have a folder with stuff that didn’t make it into the projects.

I want more and more folders like that.

I want you to have them too.

Dropbox: I just deleted ten photos of a glass of water that is half empty.

I hope you’re happy.

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Why I Am Not An Artist….

Well First Off I’m usually late….for everything….like this blog post….or perhaps like this blog post I’ve left everything in my car…

but besides all that thinking about this title alludes to that Frank O’hara Poem which then reminds me of one of my very first ever cover poems that I did for a class over at Stockton College…

Why I Am Not A Musician

After the Frank O’hara poem “I am not a painter, I am a poet”

I am not a musician, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a musician, but I am not. Well,
For instance, Mike Noordzy plays
Bass. I come by during practice
Sit and drink, make small talk
With the drummer during setup.
They begin to practice, continually
Trying to tune the bass and guitar.
“C’mon man get it right”
“You should have learned it by now”
“You’re to slow” “You’re to loud”
But me? I go home to a room
With a desk and poster of Kerouac
And no one to compare words with,
I think they sound good together
And my beat is alright alone. Days go by
And the band plays in a bar
The guitarist in tune with the bass
And the drummer slightly off.

So there’s that….

I began writing a little from the image sent…and writing a little is actually writing a lot compared to what I have been doing….but like I said it’s in my car…so from memory the few lines I did write:

Every animal has a brick wall under its skin

indestructible bleeding, even through floppy ears

The pictures mostly shaded grey but there is some color within it that may show itself when I expand this piece throughout the month….I’ve hung the picture up at my desk at work and will stare at it most of the day….