Rocks, Lake, Rocks, Lake, Building

Lake, Lake, City, Lake

Yesterday I went to the lake. I live right by there and since I only have about 3 months left here I figured I should take advantage of that. These are pictures of lake and the city. These are the only pictures I took that don't look just like U2's new album, or Joshua Beckman's book, "Your Time Has Come."

I read Kate Greenstreet's "This is Why I Hurt You," twice this weekend. It's quick, but dense. It's what I imagine quicksand to be like, or tornadoes...which is kind of how the book hits you; there is an unsettling rumble, there are circumstances that one would consider ominous, and then there are lines that make you duck and cover. The situations in which a biting honesty is thrust upon us aren't so much surprising as they are a complete rediscovery of what honest is and can be. They say that in trepidation our true selves are exposed, and this is what I believe Greenstreet is after, only, without the usual dramatization, and though I will leave her version of this for you to discover, I will say that it is just as terrifying and grotesque as anything you could imagine.

Yesterday my nephews came to town to take in St. Patrick's Day in Chicago. Promise me you'll never do that to your kids. The green river freaked them out, their dad's wallet almost got stolen, and seconds later they were in the midst of a completely unrelated fight. People swear loudly in these situations, including myself...and people throw bottles and then kick people for throwing bottles...this I did not do. Anyway, you mix that many drunk people with Kermit the frog and you're just asking for trouble.

You buy books = I buy books.

About 10 copies of the Pingel/Wilkinson chap have sold thus far. This means that over the last week I've had (10 x 6 - .47 x 10...60 - 4.70= 55.30, right?) some money to spend on books myself. What follows is a list of the books I've chosen to spend that money on:

Light Boxes, Shane Jones

The Pond, Zachary Schomburg

Someone Else's Body, Claire Donato

Lining, Lisa Fishman

This is Why I Hurt You, Kate Greenstreet

I'm still waiting on some, others are already here...either way, this is shaping up to be a pretty sweet weekend...well, that and the fact that this is St. Patrick's Weekend here in Chicago. Guinness, Bushmill's and poetry, hell, maybe I'll even read a little Seamus Heaney for good measure. Actually, I shouldn't even say that. Heaney is on my lame list, though he's not a "permanent" member. If you feel strongly the other way, I'd listen to your arguments.

Finally getting to see CA Conrad in person made this the raddest March on record. He told stories about Franks, cunts and abortions, but they were all so tender and sad I missed them when they were gone. Aaron Kunin was really entertaining too and I felt inadequate not leaving with his book, but money is tight and I'm not getting any smaller...which actually just leads to more feelings of inadequacy. I feel bad about Magdalena Zurawaski. Her voice was almost a perfect tonal match to the espresso machine and a lot of her reading got lost because of it.

I realized, just today after receiving an email rejection from Brown, that applying to graduate school is a lot like playing baseball...you can fail most of the time and still be considered successful. You just need that one big hit and every other at bat is forgotten...I stepped into the batter's box 4 times and got a single solitary hit, which equates to a .250 average...which is more than enough to keep me in the show, and at the end of the day, that's all that matters.

I fucking love baseball...especially the Cardinals, and I think this year is a good year to be a Cardinal fan.

I got Shane Jones' novel, "Light Boxes" in the mail yesterday. Two tremendous things happened immediately afterwards. One, was reading the first 15 pages of that book. In a sense, it was like the difference between looking at pictures and seeing it for yourself...meaning, the poems of Jones' I've thus far read were awesome but telling of a much grander place, and this novel is the realization of that idea. Jones' style needs room to breathe...is like a goldfish willing to grow as big as his space allows...and though in most cases his poems are perfect enough, its nice to see what he does with the extra room. In short, I'm really looking forward to spending a little more time with this book.
The second tremendous thing was what the protective sleeve around the book had written on it. "HEY THANK YOU BENJAMIN." I immediately decided that was what my manuscript was now called, and I wrote two more poems towards its completion. So...I think I owe Adam Robinson a bit of gratitude...

thanks.

My official acceptance letter from Iowa came in the mail over the weekend. It didn't say anything too much...at least nothing I hadn't already heard in my conversations with Jim Galvin, but there was one little piece of info I was really excited about...Dan Beachy-Quick is on the visiting faculty list for 2009. There have been spurts over the last few years that I have been completely fascinated with Beachy-Quick's work, beginning with "Spell," and continuing through his "Whaler's Dictionary." His use of established narratives, the way he redecorates certain spaces within them, is genius. That said, the level of literacy one must have to fully appreciate this work is a little daunting...and I know I'm no where close to it. Regardless, it will be nice to work with him in whatever capacity I'm allowed.

Hey, are you going to the Rabbit Light Live reading tomorrow? Information about that would look like this: The second iteration of Rabbit Light Live is this Tuesday 8pm at New Wave Coffee (2557 N. Milwaukee Ave in Chicago) featuring 3 stellar writers:

Aaron Kunin (Los Angeles), author of a new novel The Mandarin (Fence) and Folding Ruler Star (Fence).

CAConrad (Philadelphia), author of a new collection of poetry: The Book of Frank (Chax)

Magdalena Zurawaski (Maine), author of a new novel The Bruise (FC2).

Happy Birthday, Daddy.

Things I learned from you:

• How to appreciate cheap, canned, but cold, beer.
• How to shoot underhanded free throws.
• How to mess-up, but ultimately complete (how ever crooked), a thousand different household projects.
• How to play records without scratching them, and then how to listen to them with thanks that they, and the music they hold, exist at all.
• How to take a punch...in theory. My dad never punched me...to be clear.
• How to support your children, emotionally and financially, though mostly financially, while they try to be poets, bass players, or filmmakers well into "adulthood."

I've been thinking a lot lately about Dean Young. Specifically, the words Dean Young left with the patrons of The Empty Bottle the night of the No Thousands reading. In fairness, I must admit to having already left (I was trying to squeeze in both this and JMW's Rabbit Light Live), but there have been rumblings of it ever since, like how dog shit, if not properly avoided, winds up getting everywhere.

Janaka Stucky said this: Dean Young gave a great little speech before his closing reading at our event on Friday night (which packed the bar with roughly 200 people, causing the Fire Marshall to come and make them stop serving drinks) and talked about the declining publishing “industry” and the growing “tribe” of poets. In a nutshell: it’s not publishing that’s on the decline, but the big industry built around it—which was never designed for poets, who should revel in their growing numbers despite the doom-and-gloom predictions for the business around them. It was moving to see him step into the role of that night’s poet laureate unabashedly, but with humility. Bravo Dean.

This isn't necessarily a new idea; those of us working and living in the tribe have been aware of this for some time. However, I think its still significant in the sense that here was a man who can easily exist outside the tribe and is a commodity in the "big industry," finally recognizing all the work that is happening below him...and not just recognizing, but celebrating it. There are many writers in this world who bash the small press outfits for inundating the market...making it so there are more books than one can possibly ever hope to get their hands on. Saying that it takes the significance out of "properly" placing a manuscript. The big hiccup in this argument is that I, a poor-small-press-founding-blogger/poet, probably spend more money on poetry books in a year than Ted Kooser and fucking Billy Collins combined, but none of that is spent on presses like Random House or Penguin or Harper Collins, because they don't usually publish work that is of interest to me....most of my money goes to Octopus, Black Ocean, Cannibal, Greying Ghost or into my own press to make books that, I hope, others will find interesting. The important distinction to make though, is that the big publishing houses hope for broad audiences, the Barnes & Noble readers...them. Most of these small presses, would love for their books to be read by as many as possible, but we realize and market to our actual audiences...other poets...us. I have theories that this might be an extension of MFA workshops and the consistency of new work always floating around, a subconscious, but powerful interest in all things contemporary...but that seems a different post altogether. Anyway and in conclusion, I like the tribal nature of this community, and though you do have to prove your worth to be accepted, in the sense of the more traditional (read: actual) tribes won't bring in another mouth to feed if that personal has no skills benefiting the group. The upside? Once your in, you've got this ever growing community around you that actually wants you to succeed...like the New Pornographers or Broken Social Scene. And, we don't exist within a business model...we break them...like Rocky vs. Drago.

I've been listening to "Paul's Boutique" for about a week straight now...yesterday, I was walking home (taking pictures of dead things) and I caught a lady staring at me. At first I thought maybe she was concerned about the fact that I was photographing a dead squirrel, but then I realized that it was because I photographing a dead squirrel and mouthing the words to High Plains Drifter, which, if you weren't also listening to High Plains Drifter, I was photographing a dead squirrel and talking to myself rather excitedly.

I've sold 7 books so far (yeah...), get yours here: FAC&P. One thing I've noticed during this whole process...poetry is (maybe) sadly a self sustaining community. Example: People buy the Pingel/Wilkinson chap. That "money" is stored in Paypal where I can either transfer it to a debit card, OR have my own small press purchases deducted from it...which I do. In essence, the transactions become more or less like bartering and trading...books for books, in other words. If I make it into PhD school, I'm going to write a disertation about this.

Speaking of school, I got my rejection from UMass, which was a real close second to Iowa in my point scale (yes, Jon, I did use a point scale to whittle down my MFA list). What took the sting out of it was being able to talk to Jim Galvin a little bit more about the Writer's Workshop. He gave me lots of things to be "happy about," not the least of which was full funding for the two years I'm there. He also told me that I can take book making classes at UI and they will count towards the MFA (I think that counts as the super bonus).

AT made me socks and then made me pose for this picture...she's a totally boss lady.

B.J.'s Pictures of Dead Things

I just read over on Joshua Marie Wilkinson's blog that he has a few new books out.

This one here looks really good.

Actually, they all look really good. I've been looking forward to reading the 12x12 book for some time, and the other chap looks really pretty.

That said, I'd swing by the Further Adventures site and pick one of these up. After all, this is the only book that comes with the awesomeness of Lucas Pingel, and all you have to do to get that awesomeness is pick up the book in a different way...easy, right?

As a side note, I've been really humbled over the last few days by everyone's congratulations to me.

Thanks...

Just a quick note to tell you that if you haven't read or aren't currently reading James Tate's "Memoir of the Hawk," than you're dumb.

Dummy.

I'm kidding, but you should read this book. I haven't read enough of Tate to say that this is the definitive collection in his body of work, but just reading this book you get the sense that he was firing on all cylinders here. No poem seems, well, almost no poem, is easily overlooked...feels like something you've seen before. By this time Tate's shtick is well known: the crafting of odd or alternate universes out of everyday phrases and places. However, I do think of this book as being the essential example of that ideal.

Anyway, I gotta go to work.

I'm going to start with this:

Two days ago I released upon the world Joshua Marie Wilkinson's and Lucas Pingel's newest chapbooks bound together in a single volume. Buy it here: clicking this will take you directly to the raddest shit on the planet.

Poets are poor. Poets need money. This is how we make it...

I was reading the Black Ocean blog today and am enthralled by Chris Tonelli's idea of a bizzaro AWP that is made of entirely of "off-site" events. Personally, of the three AWP's that I've been to, I've never seen a panel that I was really interested in, and the ones I usually go to (just so I can feel I've gotten my money's worth) have almost all been really bad. This last year I was a big fan of the No Thousands reading and the year before the Steal This Reading rejuvinated my interest, not only in poetry, but in the community that comes with it.

Anyway, I'm saying it here now, I am in. Tonelli, you have my interest and with that comes my enthusiasm...watch out.

In other news, yesterday I got a phone call from James Galvin welcoming me into the Writer's Workshop at Iowa. Today, I got an automatically generated, electronically signed rejection letter from Minnesota. The upside to that is the decision has already been made. Sorry Luke... I'm still waiting on UMass Amherst and Brown, but in all honesty, I'm probably going to Iowa. Not only would I need to get accepted into those programs, but they would need to come with pretty sweet packages to get me out there.

One thing I've realized over the last 36 hours...saying Iowa Writers Workshop in casual conversation is really hard. Go on, try it.

Some apologies you just have to make. Like this:

I'm sorry but there is a book that you must buy. The more books you buy, the more money Further Adventures has. The more money Further Adventures has, the nicer the books become.

It's a capitalist based system, folks...

Wilkinson/Pingel Pingel/Wilkinson

Things, and how they come together...1

This is pretty much the most perfect thing I'll see today.

It might have made me cry. That, or my eyes were just real dry.

And my tears overcompensated.

I don't know.

sick dogs suk

• My dog was sick this week. Real sick. $500.00 at the vet sick.
• I didn' t then, nor do I have now, that $500.00.
• Thus, this entire weekend will be spent at home.
• Thus, this entire weekend will be spent making books.
• Thus, by Monday I will have books for you to buy.
• My dog won't buy books and even if she did I'd tell her, "You have a large vet bill, you shouldn't be spending any money on books. Bad dog! No, no books!"
• Be on the lookout for a couple of large FA announcements coming in the next few days...LARGE.
• My dog being sick led to a weird coincidence: See that Stanford quote up there? Yeah, weird.
• My nephew draws funny pictures, this is one:

Tonight...

...I paint Indians. I also read, or re-read, rather, Eric Baus' Tuned Droves. Why? Because I'm curious as to the structure of the book. The first section, per my first reading, functions in one of three ways: either its like the slo-mo demo of a game you're just learning, or it's like the first 10 min. of a Lord of the Rings movie where you're allowed to become acclimated to the major plot points, or its the first moments with a friend you haven't seen in a few years. In other words, that section reads a little easy, a little open, and at times, even a little awkward...like trying to find your way back in, you know? Most likely I'm projecting a few different personal relationships into this particular reading whether it be my relationship with Baus, with his work, or with The Lord of the Rings, but any which way, this is one of the best poetic overtures I've ever read, especially considering how perfectly it sets up the rest of the text.

More later. Both on the Indian front and on the Baus front...

This is Jack Kennedy. Rather, a rendering of Jack Kennedy. I found this in Dubuque last week. The owner's of the bar that I found it in, found it under their walls when they were stripping the plaster off the brick. Some guy who fancied himself painter 40 years ago, couldn't pay his tab with cash, so paid it with paint (a quick aside, I'm always willing to pay bar tabs with poems). Now, this portrait of JFK sits in this bar surrounded by tin and neon beer signs. I can't tell you the name of the bar as I forgot. I also can't tell you exactly where it's at as I was never sure where I was, but I did want to share this with you to help us celebrate President's Day and to give you hope in case you have an outstanding bar tab and no actual income.

I would be remiss to not mention that I had a great time at AWP this year. I may have picked all the wrong sessions to sit in on, and could only afford to buy one book (Eric Baus' "Tuned Droves"), but it was good to see friends and peers and remember why I want to be a writer and publisher of poems. Lots of people hate AWP, and though I do think it's rather pretentious, as my old friends become more and more spread out across the nation, it's nice to have a reason to get everyone in the same place...especially when it's my living room.

Thanks FK for all the wonderful stuff, including the Rope-a-dope broadside, and for bringing your awesome girlfriend.

Thanks JB for all the beer and food and beer and cab rides and beer.

Thanks EB for the hug and encouragement and signing my book.

Thanks MD for sitting up with me until 4:30 in the morning just to shoot the breeze.

And thanks to my surprisingly understanding wife who did not freak out once as I irresponsibly gallivanted around the city.

DFK arrived late this evening (that's him there, he's a whisker baby who enjoys dressing in fuzzy costumes). He drove from Alabama. Where did you drive from? I bet it wasn't Alabama. From what I understand Alabama is wicked far from here. Point is, an old and dear friend is currently curling up on an air mattress in my living room. Amongst other things, that makes me happy. One of the other things is that he brought me Cuban baseball shirt...which I think is illegal? Anyway, my friend, DFK, is the sole proprietor of Small Fires Press and he is here to sell you books. I've seen them, and brother, they are sweet!
He's got this one that's a box of recipe cards and you can arrange and rearrange them however you want AND it's cowritten by one of my future authors Joshua Ware.

Speaking of MY stuff, I've had a small hiccup and don't think I'll have any books ready to go for AWP...I had to walk in the rain today and everything got wet. Now, I'll do a lot of things, but I won't sell you wet, wrinkled books...I just won't. So, I'm hoping to salvage a few of the pages and if you see me, tell me you'd like one and I'll make sure it finds its way into your soft, poet hands...

Tomorrow, I'm going to the Ahsahta + TYPO reading at the Empty Bottle from 6-9, you should too!


I don't know about flames and stained glass, but I do know about poetry and this will be a keeper.

With a bullet

That was my parking space...

This is my work space...

In other news, my good friend Dan Perry has come up with some wicked images for the next FA chappy...wicked. I'm in the midst of printing; covers done, everything else not. I probably won't have too many to go around during AWP, but hopefully enough for all who want one... That's the nice thing about living here during AWP, everything I need will be right here with me. Tomorrow I hope to stamp this on roughly 30 covers, "Cold Faction," "Joshua Marie Wilkinson," "All Types of Breath Included," "Lucas Pingel."

Speaking of AWP, I hope to see you around: at the bookfair, at the panels, or at a reading or two. If you can't find me, just follow the sound of babbling praise and an inability to come up with something more creative to say than, "I really love your work, no really, I love it..." Most likely that will lead you directly to me.

I Dubuqued all over myself

A little bit of me and a little bit of FA on UTNE.com

I've always liked Bruce Springsteen, but until yesterday's halftime show, I'd never loved him.

That's all changed...it's forever Boss-time in my heart from here on out.

Yesterday, I dumped a whole 32 oz. soda on my floor and my dog hid under the bed. 32 oz. beverages are scary. I would have hid under the bed too, but I can't afford to throw away my rug, and I was hungry.

Is there any fatal disease that has a symptom akin to always smelling onion...it's everywhere, the onion, I mean. Though, I guess the disease could be everywhere too. Is there a disease that smells like onion?

AWP is in about a week, like 10 days, I guess. I'm working hard to share some really awesome poetry with you. This past week proofs were handed off to the authors and creative was done on the cover. It's getting close. I hope you're excited. My dog is not...she's still hiding under the bed, reliving the shock of fallen soda.

I have fears that my dog is my best friend. She just gets me, you know?