Best 99 Cent Store Ever!

I love when awesome pranks are called Public Art.




http://www.genartpulse.com/archives/2007/04/90210h_hell_no.php#001804

Published!

(The Old Beehive Living Quarters, Paulus Hook, Jersey City)

Look under poetry, here: www.burrowmag.com.

It's a new magazine out of sweet-ass Brooklyn. If you look back, those haiku had origins right here on this sweet-ass blog. And all right, I know, the plural form of haiku is haiku, not haikus. Forgive me.

Hallelujah. I've broken my publication fast. Stay tuned, more to come.

Reading: Richard Wright's Haiku. Delectable accidental find in the Mid-Manhattan stacks. Libraries = love.

Urban Homesick Blues

Today I miss New Orleans. My friend Mead called me to tell me that on his way to work this morning he saw a transvestite getting hassled by a cop. The hassle part wasn't so nice to hear, but it's always comforting to know that drag queens will always be in the quarter, and so will silly vampire people and book fiends and record collectors and Tennessee Williams fanatics and street corner philosophers and musicians, and jasmine and rot on the air.

I'm a little homesick.

Words in the Condo Ghetto

The photo above is what's going on on the waterfront of Jersey City. I call it the Condo Ghetto, or alternately the Condo Jungle. One of the things I love most about Jersey is its waterfront. I mean, really, the illicit, free view you get of the low tip of Manhattan is amazing and at times breathtaking. And part of it is getting clogged by blocks and blocks of these trash-can condos in the making. It's crazy to watch these things go up: all plywood and sheets of insulation that look like nothing more than cardboard--and these are going to go for nearly $1 million! So many conversations I've had about how and why. Who will move in? How many millionaires do we really have? And why, if you're a millionaire, would you want to live in a cheaply made condo? Some say it's corporations creating their own market, or housing for their employees, or it's for aging baby boomers who want to get closer to the action and not have a rambling house to care for. I'm sure a little more news and periodical reading would help me answer these questions. But my time is currently being spent reading books.

Currently on the agenda: Darkness Visible by William Styron, How to Solve Our Human Problems: The Four Noble Truths by Geshe Kelsang Gyatso, and Neon Vernacular by Yusef Komunyakaa. Believe me, this is a combo that packs a punch. Almost makes me feel like I'm in college again. I loved the synchronicity that would take place between classes randomly selected; at some point their messages and readings would naturally complement one another, counter each other's arguments, elucidate and answer questions that were raised by the others. So, how's that working here, in my own private university?

The William Styron book has been on my list for ages. A short volume, it was handed to me by my friend Matthew at a diner after us not seeing each other for more than a year. The subtitle: A Memoir of Madness. It's about Styron's (who recently passed away just a few months back) struggle with depression. It lays bare the social taboo of suicidal thoughts and self-doubt. He doubts his own talent when he's being given Prix Mondial Cino del Luca, a literary prize, in Paris. It's a Persephone journey through that darkness. I love that title, too, Darkness Visible. It's wonderful, considering the nature of depression, so fleeting yet consistent, so intangible, and our desire to ignore it. A brave book, surely. And an inspiration too, this book he wrote because he realized people were responding to an op-ed piece he wrote for the New York Times about the subject, feeling as if they were coming out of a "closet," as it were, of hiding their depression. It gave people courage. The idea turned into a Vanity Fair piece, then this book.

And how does that relate to my Buddhist study, How to Solve Our Human Problems? Well, these are principles for living. Buddhisms whole premise is to eliminate suffering. I wonder what Styron would've done had he found Buddhism and meditation? Possibly nothing, but I have to say I'm finding it to be a wonderful thing. It's good for self-esteem; it's good for compassion. But the main way I'm seeing these two relate, at least today, is the way in which they both help people, and were written for that express purpose. And this goes back to the way I'm beginning to feel about the goal of my writing. I think back to Dorothy Allison frequently: Speak, and make your world palpable to others (as Styron does; as Allison does). It's the transformative nature of literature. You can take difficult experiences and not only use it to help and transform yourself, but give others the courage to do so.

Which leads me to inspiration, something to aspire to. Yusef Komunyakaa. I have not been affected by poetry this much in years. Komunyakaa is brilliant. An African-American from Bogalusa, Louisiana, once a hotbed of Klan activity, he's also a Vietnam veteran. He translates what his eyes have seen and his heart has traversed, and has, I'm not afraid to admit, moved me to tears with his work. It speaks to the same place I'm trying to speak to with my work. One example of the power of his words, as he describes returning home in a way that hit the bulls-eye to my own feeling about returning to my small, rural Southern towns that I never felt I belonged to:
I am back here, interfaced
With a dead phosphorescence;
The whole town smells
Like the world's oldest anger.

That's something that sits on my tongue and dissolves slowly.