Thursday, May 08, 2008

The Future

I had dinner tonight with a world renowned psychic. It was awesome. We at a little French place, he paid, he ordered our food, and he told me that I am like a vacuum. Apparently I'm soon to be massively successful, and it's just going to come to me. Here's the kicker though, it won't be because of my writing... Which I guess should be assumed since, as Zachary Schomburg said in an interview I read today, "If [you're] famous, [you're] famous to a sliver of a sliver of the population." And a sliver of a sliver ain't going to pay the bills...which is all the success I can imagine anymore.

What he said surprised me, partly because of what it was, but mostly because I believed it all. He was a weird, cool, interesting, frightening cat and I can honestly say that I love him. He also told
Anne and I that we were like two trees whose branches touch here and there, and that we will never grow into or on top of each other. Ultimately, he felt he couldn't give me the details of my life, because it was necessary for me to allow things to come to me, rather than go and pursue them, which at first I was certain was bullshit, but then he launched into Anne and was acutely detailed. Crazy.

Besides not being a writer he told me that Kansas City and Salt Lake City were going to be important to my life.

Otherwise, I still haven't received my orders from Kitchen Press, or Dancing Girl Press and it's been over two weeks...c'mon!

You can read that Schomburg interview and many others at Kate Greenstreet's blog:

I'm still wading through Beachy-Quick's "Spell," and I'm still wading somewhere between loving it, and kind of liking it...though I've yet to take that bath with it, so maybe that has something to do with it.

Today I got "A little touch of SCHMILSSON in the night" from my psychic friend. It's pretty much the best thing I've ever heard. Harry Nilsson at the top of his game performing over a massive orchestra arranged and conducted by Gordon Jenkins, who did some of Sinatra's best albums.

Oh, one more thing...Dorothea Lasky has a new chapbook out on transmission press. It's called, "Tourmaline." Here is a poem from it:


In the middle of the night, Olympia took a gun and blew me up
Blew up the whole house in sparks of blue and orange
All I could do is wait
For her to get over the whole thing
As the bits of me flew up into the nightsky
I looked so pretty as I floated away
Kind of like that one time the man I wanted liked me back
Or at least tolerated me
For one night at least
What you all don’t know is that I am quite accomplished at hiding
At masquerading
Alongside the highway, you will think you see a sick clown
Really it is me inside that thing, scowling at you
Also, I didn’t know that you liked the real me
I thought you only knew of the scientist in me
Who dissects and displays the whole season long
Still, sparks rang out of me
On every occasion
It was your birthday, a holiday even
I thought it was my day that you all had come here for
I thought I was the thing you were celebrating

Buy it here:

1 comment:

Jonathan Barrett said...

Kansas City? Hmmm...