The Blackwood Press DUB 'log

Radiohead plays as I write in my new home
I love it here, pros out way the cons
as much as the con is terrible
the absolute beauty here is undeniable
and now I have to shit
I should of thought of that before
I walked down here
now I’m forced to walk back to the main house
no big deal but it always seems to creep
back up by the time I get there
needless to say I look forward
to settling into a routine
now that I think about trading my
orange diamonds for white
do I need it? don’t know but
I’m willing to rely on a crutch
for a while
maybe I should just shit in a plastic bag
I have ass wipe
maybe I’d feel a lot better
maybe then I could concentrate on poetry
instead of this semi-autobiographical
account of boringness
ughhhh! so much better
aside from a few squito bites on my ass
today will be a day of cleaning
sorting the ‘Ranchita’ and pushing
dirt around giving the
aesthetic of cleanliness
we need a shop vac and washing machine
a propane stove and water heater
I think right now all we have is cold water

my second day descending
Big in the Sur
the cabin isn’t as small as I remembered
and we found out there is no money
for an addition, no biggie
I worked yesterday my first day
helped set up and put in
a 500 gal. water tank, hoo-wee fun
got to learn about building surveying
learned how to plumb a bit
and of course
putting in the water tank

this morning drinking my morning tea
up at the main house I noticed
every morning I’m here,
I wake up to inventory
inventory of the itches
is it mosquito is it spider
but always…is poison oak
I made a solid effort whilst working
to avoid any at all costs
but this morning I found
that I miserably failed
failed again, and failed forever
so now I realize I’m faced with a year
a full body year
of fanatical itching and
low grade irritability waking nights
scratching till bleeding
feeling like I want to
extract the first three layers of skin
with a razor because the sting
is easier than the itching

the last of my grass, once again down at the bottom of the bag
someday I shall live like I want to, and the world be damned
I’ll grow my own grass, sit in my own rooms
without interruption
sipping coffee and alcohol, smoking my pipe, writing these
letters to the air

I have come to realize that no matter what you do
they will always throw you back on trial
even if they have to put you through double-jeopardy
for any old already-argued experience

your coworkers, your boss, your friends and enemies
the institutions, the governments, the society tea clubs
your parents, your wife, your children, even grandma

and always, too,
yourself

so many court battles and conversations
echoing through the head
a man is always a defendant and first-hand witness
to his own innocent life
on the stand and specified in all directions and districts,
dynamic levels and
juries in alternate dimensions, lobbied-over, wobbling and
tumbling, cascading and crumbling into himself as he
stands living now, flesh and breath and
undeniable, undying, even when the flesh and breath have
gone and even the cold
grave has been forgotten, the trial goes on, and the man is not
decided

so the smoking pipe, the coffee, the phone calls, recess,
athletics in the yard
every proceeding receives its breaks, and still every open door
is another world

and so, your Honor, in the charge of pleading innocent first, I
find myself guilty
hereby sentencing myself to a long life and a carnivalous
multitude of hearings
and appeals;

may I suggest I find myself a good team of
lawyers and attorneys, take
comfort in the right places, and try to keep a friendly
demeanor with those I meet

now let us put down the drinking cups, smother the ashes and
get back;
another court marshall has arrived, the newsman says the
queen’s been beheaded,
natural disaster has struck the coasts of Sri Lanka, tonight a
singing organist is on
the late show

and this one’s in
the books

I waited all day to get here, through children, neighbors, lunch
with my wife, a short nap
The older I grow the less time I have, and the more
distractions to take me away

I wonder, before all the kids, and the wife, the ever-visiting
friends, what did I do with all of my
time?

well, here I am, finally
with nothing to say
nothing to do

I scrape the tar out of my pipe and smoke it
tastes like hell but it eases my mind

across the room lay two new cigar-box guitars
made by my father
I plan on writing and recording an album with those two and
an old toy Telleno, along with one of
my babies’ toy pianos, just as soon as I finish the
currently ongoing album project

yeah, music, recording, writing: I’m a professional amateur
living in low-fidelity chaos
here I am, looking at a lampshade I once painted, inside is a
glowing blue lightbulb; I painted
a lampshade at some point in my life, and installed a blue

lightbulb

looking into those paintstrokes, thinking back, I remember my
wife helped me with that lamp
there’s another lamp over there across the room, with no shade
or bulb, just bare, a socket on a stem
casting a shadow on the white-plaster wall

I guess I would need to focus on the poem structure, and the
form; I hardly know now what is a poem,
and the same with the novels, whatever they are, and the
songs, the guitar albums

all around me are stacks of printed and folded paper, printers
and computer parts, cables, from the
last time I believed I could forever mass-produce my written
works for all the people of the world
it’s amazing how much I’ve sat here, daydreaming, typing out
the occasional uniquely-worded thought

god damn my ass is numb
and now I see some flowers

such a place of paradise
to line highways with flowers

the way he flips me birds
makes me feel so at home

even though she’s there
I manage to still feel alone

but only on Tuesdays

tonight I’ll sip scotch
to ease the synaptic rush

closer to the life of the earth
the life of the ocean

my nose ceases to bleed
tonight I’ll feast a’ la’ yuppie

Cali-cuisine but fuck, it is so beautiful
maybe too nice like call me home

calling me names and throwing its own stones

my whole world is so scattered
the basement and the attic
the air has changed, my office is
a war zone, and more than ever
I’ve been picking my nose

I still drink cold coffee,
though I’ve decided to give up smoking
at least until the new year
that starts next week

I stare in out to nothing
at the floor, ’round the room,
out the window for three hours
waiting for someone, something
to come and start me flowing
once again

I’ve wanted to get back to reading, I’ve
known that I’ve stopped reading, my life
has sunken and dedynamicized to a solemn
sleeping stagnation, and it’s overly bored
and boring, writhing illishly before the tv

Palm trees and 3 hybrids
I talk about myself too much
four Acura’s and four pretty girls
five women with short cuts
in Toyota trucks with curly locks
six down out of 18 Bud-mules
seven of seventeen signs
for Best Western fools
8 nosebleeds some while driving
eight droppers of various items on my shirt
I fixed my bar slide and feeling funky
about to hit Sonoma and fall out
nine reps of nine push ups I’ll do
even if it takes till tomorrow noon
and 10 is 10 of the most true embraces
giving over to her every piece of my mind
my heart and soul
California

3 hours max
that’s all we have left
meeting friends in Sonoma
gunna have fun gunna rest
glad of a safe journ out West
wait wait
we should pull over and help that man
as we go speeding by and he pushes
his ‘dat brat’ up the street
50 feet from the scenic treat

I just broke the bar return
some how as I was smoking
another flaw of character
will I maintain my integrity?
while I’m here
wanting and living the ideal
there is nothing in my life
that doesn’t have something
good going for it

pulling in to another fill up
further down the snake back
20 cents separates the gas pack
so lines and lines impatient
pulled a maneuver and caused a foray
readjusted and pissed off an old lady
she confronted and took off
switching drivers almost hit a car
out of the blue Rain gave a laugh
and pulled my flips from below her lap
she called me a nut and pinched my butt
and kept on laughing
until the heat got us again
this was right as Cali came into sight
love it love it live this land
green trees and views, lakes and rivers
so much so that we stopped at the Yuba
it was so hot and the oasis
calmed with supple hands to caress our bodies

the water was cool and clear
we walked gentile rapids to a small pool
dipped our bodies
floated in the sun of the evening
reeling in happiness holding
each other a-float
washing the grime of a 3000 mile road

grinding through Nevada
stopping for gas at Winihaha
or Whinimecca

my baby wrapped her arms around my neck
as I supported her weight
and I rubbed the stiffness from her spine

as we were leaving I left
my water on the roof
gently stopped and retrieved it

would’ve been sad to have lost our bottle
baby just passed “Reno with the vitamin D”
creeping back to thoughts last week

my baby Rain asleep on the car seat
stopped for water to beat the heat
got out the car with nothing on my feet

I look and I look and realize
I left my flips standing by
at the gas station forever goodbye