November

You were shown dresses that morning before we went birdwatching, and we came back in the evening having seen nothing, hungry, waiting for Beulah to finish cooking those beans with eggs. A picture I took of you was falling off the wall, sort of misplaced in its frame. The dresses of that morning were still laid out on the couch in the living room. Beulah would sew your modifications later that week. After supper, I went down to the barn to feed Molly. She was out in the backwoods so I waited and smoked a rolled cigarette.

Fall was coming to an end. Your prom was on the way. Ever since Mom died, I keep thinking how many times she’d have cried over nothing. Over the simple joys of evenings and Sunday noons, like last year, last November. The big tears all over our simple lives in the old house.

Going back to the house I saw your old boot hanging on a nail next to the door. It was getting windier. They’d be dry by next morning when I’d be driving you to school.

some drunken ramble on cinema

Cinema really is the greatest art. It has so many extentions to it, to which you need the most human sensibility. You are dealing with actors/ actresses, with production design, with narrative concepts, with notions of visual placement. I really think only intelligent people can make good films. There are a lot of stupid people making films who think it’s like painting. It’s nothing like painting. It’s nothing like photography. It’s nothing like theater. It’s more like having dinner with your family. Fixing your uncle’s car. Starting conversations at bars. Being warm.

the personal etched on…

copywrite - “june” 2nd verse

copywrite - “size 12’s” 1st verse and chorus

sage francis - “inherited scars”
this is a masterwork and probably the only of its kind. self-mutilation as metaphor for the permanancy of writing as metaphor for the wounds of life, as metaphor for poetry.

bob dylan - “one of us must know”

a book is a series of found poems

some evenings you spend rehashing
that old feeling of something missing
those evenings segue into nights
and when you finally get to bed,
nothing found.

that nothing is the emptiness
that takes its place
when you put the work aside

but it can be beautiful
cuz you end up pennin’ some poems out of sheer soul

one good poem, every three months
a few okay ones, thrice a week

and when you finally get to bed that empty night
you realize its that poem
that had been missing.

List of Movie Cliches To Avoid

1. Using impersonal image of children to symbolize purity or innocence. (Fact is I do recall my own personal naivety but never innocence or purity).