pasquinade

Yeah, I found this pretty humorous - a motley assemblage of has-beens, no-talents, and one hit wonders. But, admittedly, there are a few - and just a few - decent bands listed on this parody poster:


Even with the authentic Coachella lineup, you'll never top the early Lollapalooza festivals, kids. Sorry.

combustion

Work. Too much of it this past week, clocking in at around fifty-seven hours. Oh yes, this included two training sessions, which constituted all of Friday afternoon and a good portion of Saturday. Does this sound like a scenario that might send me wide-eyed and screaming? Of course it does, but I expected much worse (and I was paid for the time).

Here in the apartment, with the company of the lava lamp, music, and my words, my own work continues with the editing of the Falling From the Sky anthology (which is now available for pre-order). I'm excited about this collection of imaginative and unconventional short stories, and happy to be an integral part of the project (er, yeah, that makes sense since I'm the editor). The release date has been set for mid-March. After the book is finished, I will take some time to work on sporadic edits for my own novel Ache, and continue with the other two manuscripts I have on the hot plate. Later this year, I will embark on my second editorial project with the Another Sky, this one a Cyberpunk anthology.

As these words remove themselves from my mind, I set aside my overlay of cynicism and acerbity. An inspirited, buoyant soul emerges. I turn away from the jagged, turbulent path of 2006, and in front of me I see the open artery of 2007, profuse with possibilities of renewal.


Well there’s a light in your eye that keeps shining
Like a star that can’t wait for the night
I hate to think I’ve been blinded baby
Why can’t I see you tonight?

And the warmth of your smile starts a-burnin’
And the thrill of your touch gives me fright
And I’m shaking so much, really yearning
Why don’t you show up, make it all right?
-Led Zeppelin, "Fool in the Rain"

spark

I'm here, yes I am. Here on the fringe, outside the bright lights and neon reflection. Drunk on red wine and alone in a warm, empty room of January night. Warm, you ask? Yes, 63 degrees and raining in winter. Rain. It placates and lulls and stirs my passion. Passion reigned in like horses at the gates. Drink helps to wash it away, temporarily - like the rain. Wash away conflict and indecision and all that self-flagellation of the mind.

And I am going to post a Charles Bukowski poem again, whether you, my unknown readers, like it or not. Because he runs in the blood. Because he was a scarred warrior and a survivor and genius and he deserves tribute. Because only he has ever been able to reflect my moods and emotions with any degree of accuracy when I need it.

So I pour more wine. I scowl to hide my ache. I clench one fist, and with the other I raise my lonely, half-filled glass to the ceiling, to the wet sky, to the flaxen heavens, and I thank Bukowski for helping me survive with his words.

Who the hell is going to save me? "You're going to have to save yourself." My thoughts, as I picture the drugged, the drunken, the diseased, and the derelicts, and I drink to them, as well.

From "The Last Night of the Earth Poems":

"Spark" by Charles Bukowski

I always resented all the years, the hours, the
minutes I gave them as a working stiff, it
actually hurt my head, my insides, it made me
dizzy and a bit crazy -- I couldn't understand the
murdering of my years
yet my fellow workers gave no signs of
agony, many of them even seemed satisfied, and
seeing them that way drove me almost as crazy as
the dull and senseless work.

the workers submitted.
the work pounded them to nothingness, they were
scooped-out and thrown away.

I resented each minute, every minute as it was
mutilated
and nothing relieved the monotonous ever-
structure.

I considered suicide.
I drank away my few leisure hours.

I worked for decades.

I knew that I was dying.
something in me said, go ahead, die, sleep, become
them, accept.

then something else in me said, no, save the tiniest
bit.
it needn't be much, just a spark.
a spark can set a whole forest on
fire.
just a spark.
save it.

I think I did.
I'm glad I did.
what a lucky god damned
thing.