and it's a wrap plus a riff on ol' Wild Bill- to not sleep per chance to scream.
And as the immortal Wobby bard and organizer once noted: DON'T MOURN. ORGANIZE.
I just finished Alex Kuo's magesterial The Man Who Dammed the Yangtze. GODDAM! Here is yet another magnificent writer seldom taught in highschools or colleges, still stuck in the snotleaking cannon of tragic, humorless literature full of bloated dorks smothering the few living jewels. lord what foals these virgin mortals be. They have no idea what they are missing- your work, Linda Hogan's Mean Spirit( and People of The Whale, Susan Powers' Grass Dancers, james welch's Fool's Crow, Simson Ortiz' Fightin', Trevino Brings Plenty's Real Indian Junk Jewelry, Janet Campbell Hale's The Jailing of Celia Capture, Leslie Silko's Storyteller and Ceremony, anything by Christos, Louise Erdrich's Love Medicine and She Had Some Horses, and many others- N.cott Momaday, Greg Sarris, Louis Owens,,Wendy Rose, Beth Brant, Maurice Kkenny, and Thomas Sanchez (RABBIT BOSS, David Treuer, and one of the most underrated American writers - Elizabeth Cook-Lynn.
I pretty much only sleep with a top sheet. The last two winters in Texas did have enough butt-freezing-offness to where I needed to really bundle up. Of course our power often shut down. Much like in Honduras where I lived for a time. Also, most days sleeping in is just not possible because our old cat is extremely verbal and needy. Perhaps this is something age brings to us all.
I had a good friend, an American, who lived in Honduras for a year. When she moved back to California, she would wax nostalgic about all those times they lost power and the neighborhood would gather to sing and play guitar…
When I lived was a bit scary when the power went out. Just before I moved there a girl had been murdered by a gang. One of my good friends was held up at gun point. Yet there was something about the place that I now miss. Yes, guns were openly carried but we learned many weren’t loaded. The cost of ammo. The streets were cobblestone and dirty. Some folks road mules in their the daily market. I’d look down my street sometimes and smile. Yet I never was oblivious to the injurious poverty people suffered.
They really tick me off! My wife warned me about our cats. They would urinate on all our watches, clocks, and sundials siimply to piss the time away until I gave them a time out and threw them into the backyard where we grew a patch of catnip hoping they'd nap in the nip and get nappy and happy and look like cat hippies.
ps Have you read Truong Tran's The Book of Other poems, a blazing lyrical racism to Asians?
Or how about the maestro of whimsical surrealism and genre-gender poemfictions wth turns and twist as if she's swallowed a permananent pinatakaleidiscopee. Her best titles: Swimming With DeadStars, and Oh God You're Babies Are So Delicious! (gourmet reading!)!
so familiar.I call it, some times, maybe many times, "the brooding stillness whose crankiness seems almost threatening, a presence you wish would disappear, with the disturbing knowledge that your blankets have betrayed you, and left you blank.
and it's a wrap plus a riff on ol' Wild Bill- to not sleep per chance to scream.
And as the immortal Wobby bard and organizer once noted: DON'T MOURN. ORGANIZE.
I just finished Alex Kuo's magesterial The Man Who Dammed the Yangtze. GODDAM! Here is yet another magnificent writer seldom taught in highschools or colleges, still stuck in the snotleaking cannon of tragic, humorless literature full of bloated dorks smothering the few living jewels. lord what foals these virgin mortals be. They have no idea what they are missing- your work, Linda Hogan's Mean Spirit( and People of The Whale, Susan Powers' Grass Dancers, james welch's Fool's Crow, Simson Ortiz' Fightin', Trevino Brings Plenty's Real Indian Junk Jewelry, Janet Campbell Hale's The Jailing of Celia Capture, Leslie Silko's Storyteller and Ceremony, anything by Christos, Louise Erdrich's Love Medicine and She Had Some Horses, and many others- N.cott Momaday, Greg Sarris, Louis Owens,,Wendy Rose, Beth Brant, Maurice Kkenny, and Thomas Sanchez (RABBIT BOSS, David Treuer, and one of the most underrated American writers - Elizabeth Cook-Lynn.
Sounds like you might need the ‘Mr. Robot mantra’ for lucid dreaming:
“mind awake
body asleep”
or probably not.
Universality. This.
What a great poem to start the day—any day—Thanks, Sherman!
Love this!
This is my life most days, especially since my sleeping schedule has changed drastically.
Thanks for a great poem for the day...
Very cold Sunday morning in the east...I was definitely sleeping in but not till noon.
Based on when you posted, it seems you were also up before noon.
Love the play on the old Mama and Papa's song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h81Ojd3d2rY. Great to hear your voice. XO
I'd love to claim credit for that! But it was unintentional or deeply subconscious.
I pretty much only sleep with a top sheet. The last two winters in Texas did have enough butt-freezing-offness to where I needed to really bundle up. Of course our power often shut down. Much like in Honduras where I lived for a time. Also, most days sleeping in is just not possible because our old cat is extremely verbal and needy. Perhaps this is something age brings to us all.
I had a good friend, an American, who lived in Honduras for a year. When she moved back to California, she would wax nostalgic about all those times they lost power and the neighborhood would gather to sing and play guitar…
When I lived was a bit scary when the power went out. Just before I moved there a girl had been murdered by a gang. One of my good friends was held up at gun point. Yet there was something about the place that I now miss. Yes, guns were openly carried but we learned many weren’t loaded. The cost of ammo. The streets were cobblestone and dirty. Some folks road mules in their the daily market. I’d look down my street sometimes and smile. Yet I never was oblivious to the injurious poverty people suffered.
I understood Honduras more when I read the compelling poetry of the terrific Roberto Sosa.
Those pets as alarm clocks!
They really tick me off! My wife warned me about our cats. They would urinate on all our watches, clocks, and sundials siimply to piss the time away until I gave them a time out and threw them into the backyard where we grew a patch of catnip hoping they'd nap in the nip and get nappy and happy and look like cat hippies.
ps Have you read Truong Tran's The Book of Other poems, a blazing lyrical racism to Asians?
Or how about the maestro of whimsical surrealism and genre-gender poemfictions wth turns and twist as if she's swallowed a permananent pinatakaleidiscopee. Her best titles: Swimming With DeadStars, and Oh God You're Babies Are So Delicious! (gourmet reading!)!
Amen.
Amen.
It's the writer's privilege to spend extra time in bed.
Thanks, Blake!
I had to laugh. I did exactly that today. And it felt good. 🫣🙃
Thanks, Gael.
so familiar.I call it, some times, maybe many times, "the brooding stillness whose crankiness seems almost threatening, a presence you wish would disappear, with the disturbing knowledge that your blankets have betrayed you, and left you blank.
Those traitorous blankets!
You just described my morning. But I did get up.
So do I! Eventually!
I can so relate man!
Thanks, Eunice.
Brilliant as always. I can so relate, but I’m well retired and my Monday, Mondays are like that too
I've been a full-time writer for 32 years! Every day is sorta Monday and Friday!