hey we go . . . one hour . . . two trains . . . plane . . .london well, Milton Keynes for a while . . . interview for a marketing gig in North London Tuesday. If I got the job, I would be the marketing fella for an English language school in…

dipping feet into dead holes: polski pani polski pani zoo wee su zesh gee oh wee ma me pling plang ol la ba na na the eye socket does not contain a rainbowbut the informer keeps on informing coins on the table, flight delayed, & still trying to simplify my lifeI’ve the restless disease with…

cruel spring is on the way and my savage old identity is in the making, three years of foreign lands, my action is mental,don’t jump outta airplanes ‘cept in my mindget natural, get funny, get off, get your tailin a hairspin, tis insanity hence sane ached-up falliable nauticalhot-splotch rollerwheels &squeels& a dummytit to shutthe trap…

Throngs of people in the centre of katowice scuttling down the street. Legs don’t work right around here. My energies are dispersed and can’t keep ahead of the curve. Nothing is not enough. A saturation and then repulsion of selves. Reading and writing and being awake are a survival strategy. A pull toward the pit.…

three more hard days of teaching in Poland. Then a few days in krakow and then London. Trying to stay calm. No idea what kind of job I can get in London. But I must awaken again. need to get some roots. hunker down and create. meet my basic needs and write write write .…

it was a very hard, sad and beautiful funeral. it was nice to see my mum for a little while. It had been almost six years since I had seen my mum. i fly back to Poland tomorrow. then london at the end of next week. I am hoping to find a community of artists…

My Granny helped raise me when I was little. I will miss her terribly. I never got to say goodbye. from my uncle Stan: Georgina Phyllis Wilson (Gibson)Monday 21st April 2008My Mummy died this morning at approximately 6.25am, after a very long disturbed night. Thankfully after an additional injection she passed away peacefully in her…

In the daily minutiae picking up, picking out, packing up, freedom is a force multiplier still increasing in importance, where you going with your lazy eye in central Europe rollerblading on love’s highway got no action to declare wszystkiego naylepszego dream on, dream churned out in a post-bomb haze, what about ya, little legs twisted…

From that moment on the body refused its movement and there was the feeling of everything left to do. What am I going to show you now? A protoclysmic eye? A terrestial invasion? Everything wise is broken. Non-instrumental potential. you must sitdown in this tunneland trya new breath you must vacate the storm’s lecture yr…

Looks like it is back to America in May or June. It has been over five years since I have seen my family (mum dad and three brothers and three sisters). Arranging tickets. Salt lake City, Utah and living with my folks for the summer in a place called Spanish Fork (Utah). Earn some money…

The Secret of Why We First Took to Our Feet the brain weaves a strange kind of music and our bodiesseem unable to forgetthe memory of what it feels liketo be properly seenall I have said is truly a conversation with light as a shadow puppet among the livingwe can find breathing but we can’t…

The Secret of Why We First Took to Our Feet the brain weaves a strange kind of music and our bodiesseem unable to forgetthe memory of what it feels liketo be properly wholeall I have said is truly a conversation with light as a shadow puppet among the livingwe can find breathing but we can’t…

it is pleasant to breathe after strangulation it is pleasant to clink a wishbottle against yr yellowing teeth it is pleasant to tie boredom to the bed and whip the shit out of it it is pleasant to walk on cold ground with defective spaces in yr mind it is pleasant to dance in the…

Kultura It’s a milkshake dream. Chocolate chunks in a pool of milk. What will prevail upon the tongue when human time is disappearing from the universe? And so the large self is proud of no-nation. They are all little shits. I’m a chain. A chain around grotesque nipples. I myself did love, did leave a…

Shame Ladies and gentlemen, better wake up and hijack these images. Don’t wake up too old for experience. You’re beginning to believe in the past detached from the body. I have found ergo I am dead. A damned birth needs continual shock. An exaggeration of subtle truths. Here beneath the house of language a bat…

Saturday morning Pre-CAE class. Great students.

Shame I am full of shame. All my work is a forgery. I don’t thinkI’ve said one important thingin my entire life I’m back in a body crumbling within the prism of white supremacy. Purity is for dummies. *******************************************************************************************Ladies and gentlemen, better wake up and hijak these images. Don’t wake up too old for experience.…

We’ve talked a little about the horsepenis and change and luck and the way things come down. There are cartoon voices and a jangle of keys at the station. The penis is abandoned or postponed for old age. Sop up the sperm of these swift cheap words. Through any window piss is raining from the…

Most Fridays only contain three or four hours of teaching and then the afternoon and evening are free. God it is nice. Here is a revision of an earlier poem. Still in the works, but moving in a better direction. Think the manuscript is changing. Prodigal Drift is no longer the right title. Primal Verge…

it is announcements like these that make me wish I were still in North Carolina with the Lucifer Poetics folk: Announcing MIXTAPE (the Reading Series) #4 Mark you calendars now! Mixtape is a salon-style reading series, where invited poets will read “mixes” of work by writers other than themselves. Host: Chris VitielloWhere: 1106 Ninth St.,…

There’s a he and a she separated by slender wood. The graver engraves and the wood isbitten into. Who carves and who is carved really doesn’t matter. Who bites and who is bitten depends on the occasion. Please observe the sound of a broken flip-flop from your bedroom window. It is summer and a city…

There’s a he and a she separated by slender wood. The graver engraves and the wood isbitten into. Who carves and who is carved really doesn’t matter. Who bites and who is bitten depends on the occasion. Please observe the sound of a broken flip-flop from your bedroom window. It is summer and a city…

There’s a he and a she separated by slender wood: engraved and bitten into.One broken flip-flop clops along the wooden floor.Each footfall sinksinto sand. A final whistle cutsthe air as eachmemory chugsaway on forgottentracks. Romanticrubbish is stuffedinto recycle bins.To have been is to becarried away and pushedopen by the lidless.I must mind my memories, minethe…

Scene Speak Katowice centre has the highest percentage of limping people per capita. The table in this café keeps tipping. Hands won’t get warm. Ice cobra of the mind. Caution for the darkness that rumbles from the post-communist trams. Glops of kebab stick to the pavement. Fingers null. Old homes mold holes. Word my brain.…

Maybe you had wooden fingers in a past life

Bloodlump bit my tongue on some thinned-outPolish bread and it’s a bloodlumpagainst the invertebratemovements of the tongue when with contempt the exposure of dust in the daylight: a fertile stasis abovethe hills of a shelled-out city: the liver deposits unconscious memory: from bloodsimple that wish in the water: to think it’s true asleep among the…

have to tilt a little to the right but new glasses are back with a new lens . . .

Neighbors 1 no eternity without mythical speechtotem mud paints the brainclay codingsseven to nine stiches suture the minda paradise of blemishesmusic drawn like conceptsbetween meaningsvisions in the mudpit Neighbors 2 crazy oblivion terminates in the nude bathing in pine needlesskin stripped from the bumthe most inquisitive childrenon the sundial of the dead all good people…

In fact, there are only two things in the universe which are simple, and one of them is the universe taken as a whole; and the other is its language, because its language is its capacity for love. And the capacity of the universe for love is that for which man was born. Oh yes,…

The third half SHIT HAPPENS, that’s howthe writing on men’s toilet wall ends.This is the worst –to walk with such hungerof at least minimal glow – to findonly this, the writing at night toilet,that’s how it looks, pussycatand that’s how it ends Dogs make love on the pavement. I pretended a tenorfor fifteen minutes, till…

Memory Clouds . . . the most benign symptom (Roland Barthes) memory clouds, as the say, feedon mountains, endlesshover that dwells, or dwelledelsewhere, and yeahbehold a punctured tyre, nightfeet acrossswollen floorboards, eachperception divides itself intoearth and air. In the theatreof crashing streets there is: a ladder of bird feathers children mock smoking with brokentwigs a…

Went to a club last Thursday with my friend Andrew. My friend is 30 and they wanted his id. He was visiting Poland and did not bring his id to the club. I have never shown id in a Polish club before. There was a bit of an argument with the bouncer but nothing serious.…

Detergents force out dirt and foam makes something out of nothing. Foam is the spirituality of luxury. The emperor’s new clothes are a reflexive lyric of the bodysoul. The washing machine is a house of memory and clothes are washed in epistemological soap bubbles. Lost socks for a new medium. Music hall of tumbling cycles.…

I have been thinking about old patterns. In marriage therapy towards the end of my marriage I realised I needed to be more assertive. To tell my wife no sometimes. To take on more “masculine” traits in terms of being decisive and a bit less open etc. I believe in freedom. I hate jealousy. it…

I did not teach today. It helped. I cleared a space for thinking and writing and reading. I am taking an 8 hour train to Gdansk tomorrow morning. I will need to find bananas before departing. I read some of Clayton Eshleman’s Companion Spider on Google reader. It inspired me to order some books. I…

Auspicious Wanderings Auspicious Wanderings a lemmon seed floats in my milkauspicious wedding rings fall into drainpipesshadows stick to the branchescigarette butts smell like rotten peanuts Irish flem leaves my throat recovery is only partially responsible I might dance spermatic tissues block the heating ventsas an answer mercy swallows the cat’s tonguethe story of our masks…

performing childhood is something elsewhere light is a lonesome hymntouching commits to memoryrhetorical proof in perpetual motionlove’s unbroken compositionapproaching the furthest moonsalvation among the borders of civilisationso tonight the gaps are graced migration to memory inside the praxis of livinga mongrel shake-downon the milk-stained carpet

new issue of onedit is out today. It features complete works by Miles ChampionKhaled HakimHarry GilonisStephen RodeferEleni Sikelianos It is at: onedit

Katowice is the city of mud. The Polish just throw a shit load of dirt on snow maybe to save money on salt and when it melts it mixes with the coal grime and it is just one big mess. Slipping and sliding in mud all over the city . . .

http://www.youtube.com/p/D1597C2CAB3870FD

still recovering. zofia got me a new shirt. dig it.

got back to poland last night. fantastic new year’s eve party at Spencer Pub in Katowice. Lots and lots of wine and food and dancing. Now I have a serious hangover. it is 1:30PM. I am going back to bed :-)

home for the holidays. a bit of rain. much warmer than poland. the airport took all my liquids so gotta find some more. trying to clear my head. hope it works.

Godzeenie samples

Routine. Just the right amount. I always try to time when I can eat so I have enough energy to get through my classes. Working split shifts makes it hard. I know when I teach a six hour shift in the afternoon with quick breaks I don’t have time to eat anything. The morning shift…

Then:Now I loaned out my voice to a crumbling city and prepared kielbasa for the magic road to childhood. Along the way I found pecans in the irrigation ditch. I sold goldfish to teddybears. It isn’t easy to outlift the dust or outshift the universe. The nightbridge carries one-half the city and my soul is…

Ice Age Debris yawning into eldervisions the priests honeyed their veins and hung their passions behind the cough on the snowed-out television. they nailed opposable thumbs on their wall to indicate their degree of passion and spray painted roses on the table. one day their folds of Jesusflesh sprung a leak. On the first day,…

In Another Post-Communist Hotel the moon is a grenade in the Polish landscapesetting against the coal-smudged windowsone toilet and one shower for twenty minersthe truth is something that is re-castan orphic revolution in the grayed-out buildings and boot-smeared shitto become human is a continual inter-subjective projectart is non-instrumental communication in the darknesssarcasm may be a…

I am ready for a break. Very ready. Walking through one of the world’s ugliest train stations four times a day is taking a toll. Worn out for sure. I am going to Portadown a week from Sunday for Christmas. Ah to hear English. Clean air. Green. Irish sausages. Butter. Bread. Counting down the days.…

Expansions in the effects of grief memory was worthdoing over to arrive again in scattered kingdoms in the nameless book ofentwinementpronouns outnumber us&the heartis helixed can you troubleyourself enough to feelyour self expanding?

Did a lot of reading and re-connecting and writing. Read some of Tost’s Complex Sleep, Theodore Enslin’s Then, And Now, and Susan Steward’s Poetry and the Fate of the Senses. God I miss reading and thinking. Only teaching for four hours on a Friday is helping me recover. The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy is…

Lust In the sun the body bakesin extreme heatleftoverbonesare wrappedin tinfoiland disposedin the properreceptacle

Water Circles The Eyes in the myopic arrivalof endtime thought beganin the soulless desert looking for lightbeneathrocks

new direction for my manuscript. cleaning it up. finding my feet. forced language in previous versions felt forced. yes. the other versions were false starts. All new now. Here is the rough draft of the beginning: Because It Was Corporeal They Did It With Marvelous Sublimity our minds were not so much closed as unready…

the new manuscript in process is now called Prodigal Drift rather than Memory Swerve. I am tightening it before moving on. Or actually I tighten it as I move. Clear out the space. Shed some light. Re-shuffle and re-organise and then get lost in the sweet chaos of language. I need both tendencies while writing…

check out the poemfilms Rabbit light movies

I am enjoying Alice Blue Review

I woke up this morning at 6 am feeling the rut. A lot of teaching and little time or energy for reflection. I drank my white tea with honey. I spread some yellow paste on my Polish bread but the bread had hardened and it stuck to the roof my mouth. I walked out my…

memory is tricky. geting wrapped up in the moment can be both good and dangerous. I have been re-reading my poetry manuscripts Hermit Kingdom and Godzeenie. I feel quite good about Godzeenie now that I have about five months distance from the manuscript. I need to send it out to publishers. I think part of…

memory— —pulled up—like dandelions— fluffed and blown— memory —dead tree floating on a mountainof water— life does not beginauspicious

a german football song on the train from regensberg :-)

25 hours on trains this weekend but it was fab. Went to Prague and had a good night on the town hanging with Zofia and Andrew. Then we went to Regensberg in Bavaria on Saturday. It was my first time in Germany and it was quite a contrast to Poland and Czech Republic. Everything was…

Things are different this time in the industrial city of Katowice. Slowly I am making some social contacts. But still no face to face contact with artists and writers. The internet has been a life saver. I went to a Halloween party last night at a local pub and it wasn’t too bad. It was…

“pain and patience in the annealed life/ preceding harvest” (Theodore Enslin) by what cracked chimney does the would-be mercyescape in the Polish nightscape? pouring or pouredendlessly away, it was as yet caught betweenthe lit and unlit, ball of sandpaper, hewn at the edge of it throated soul wanting verge as yet to go elsewhereor no-where

“. . . thought is a violent, cataclysmic operation, of which sweat is the most benign symptom” (Roland Barthes) shaven priest are supposedto be more temporal like clouds- as the say– or saidfeedon mountains, god-turned endlesshover who dwells– or dwelledelsewhere mountain fish– fresh– strangers in the headlights, eyeslow’ed better as yetnot to be seen

from Memory Swerve gravewrangled in the night’srites embalmedhead dreamtimmunity held-oncatch whateverwas caught had been singingnot enough on punativewings local football team scribbled on Polishrocks thin linesnodding out returned lagg’d humm’d and drawnmade it a roadmade it a windflaghad it nowhere boundloose unanswered shout of ships blue back – – blueloose occupied in the descent orbiting…

Verb patterns help to convincemake payencourage finishing

The word passion derives from the Greek for “suffering.”

a new project with gnostic undertones. And sound is a priority again. Right now it’s called Memory Swerve. Here’s a small sample: The question is: is there lifebefore death alwaysa tightropebetweeninnocence & rapture knowing throughnegation it wasor could beseenwiththe departingtrainor suspended with the blow-awaywhistle nighttracks washedin breathmicyonder tumbled out tumbling as from lightnotes hostage strings…

in the classroom teaching ESL 34 hours a week. Which means a lot more hours with grading and prep etc. Also 7 days a week. Can’t think or do anything else for a while. but I should find a groove soon

I am in my new flat in Katowice. It is nice and clean. I also got internet yesterday. I am working for a friendly and professional school. Fingers crossed for a good ride this year.

New issue of word for / word with some interesting visual poems and some poems from my manuscript Godzeenie. Check it out: word for /word

British accents looped me back to childhood————————————————————————- effulgent push of the wheel————————————————————————entrance and exit cannot be differentiated ————————————————————————i read as if I’ve readnothing———————————————————————— what you’ve stollen from methere’s no point in taking ————————————————————————- the beginning of wisdomis loveofwisdom ————————————————————————- bowtoyrpost-poned corpse————————————————————————— we are childrenwho playon high balconies——————————————————————————– sunshoes&moonpants—————————————————————————–the centeris everyoneand no one ——————————————————————————–false unitycripplesthe imagination…

we want what we can’thaveand thenwe wantsome more how to knowwhat isinsideandoutside the cave? authentic and sincerein the dingyrubbish-filledstreets and splatteredtoilets or the wonderfully satisfactory voodo uproars droolingbones with a groan yeseven the earthhas orgasms lying in the metro slumped against eggcartoons what is the point of livingexcept to haveno fixed point the only way…

“ultimately the greatest source of emotional power in art lies not in any particular subject matter, however passionate, however universal. It lies in form.” (Susan Sontag) both religious vocation and crime lead to the cell. the cell is singular. but without the cell there is no body . . . what is inner style? style…

“to dream is not to dream/ if waking up is never finished.” (Ed Roberson) To replace waking with realisation? had mild panics today. loud morning rush in my hotel. two toilets and one showerfor over twenty people. crowds of faceless nameless people in the centre. stale golabki at the Milky Bar. So many bad memories…

I’ve tried integrating myselfinto the blond barbie cultureand it’s sucking me dry to become human is a continualinter-subjectiveproject the truth is something that is told notsomething that is known what the public wantsis the image ofpassion not passionitself art isnon-instrumentalcommunicationin the darkness sarcasm may bea condition of truth

I am leaning toward living and teaching in Krakow. I have another interview tomorrow morning. It seems like a very good school. Good feedback from a former teacher that worked there for a few years. And very friendly director. Yeah . . . things could come together . . . fingers crossed

so I finished two teaching contracts in Poland. The second contract was only for three months in Bielsko to see if we both wanted to continue. So here is the big news. My contract for the next school year was made “null and void” not because I am a bad teacher or misbehaved but BECAUSE…

two good shows. Monday we saw Kevin Devine and last night we saw And You Will Know Them by the Trail of Dead. My ears are still ringing from that show. I liked kevin Devine a lot more than Trail of Dead, but both shows were good. It feels so good to see live music…

Just chillin in the living room of the hostel. They have wireless so I am using my laptop. Feels great. YEAH. Internet. Went to British Library yesterday. Amazing. Love the old books. Also picked up an old copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost (printed in 1801). Inside the old book there are newspaper clippings from some…

a lot of walking. typing on an indian keyboard. hard to type. heading to oxford street and charing cross for the used bookshops. dali exhibition on friday at the tate with some surrealism and film as well . . . London is crazy cool . . . my nose is a bit rough though .…

how not to lose my capacity to be surprised???? It’s work damn hard work

Some very interesting essays in the new Octopus magazine. I am looking forward to reading: 1)Gabriel Gudding’s: “On Kindness and Hipness as They Relate to Cultural Production” 2) Dean Gorman’s “You Were Like Skyscrapers Veering Away: My First Time with Ted Berrigan’s Sonnets” 3) Noah Eli Gordon’s “Written and Rewritten to Order: The Gift of…

End of my teaching day and I feel a little better than usual. I see a bit of light. It’s almost the end of July and then a nice holiday in London. Tomorrow is the hump. Wednesday. Intensive teaching of ceo/directors at a local company and intesive three hour English class in the evening and…

Some nice scary shit. LOVE IT!!! download or stream the remix at: GLOSSOLALIA Just click the “Katowice” link on the right. THANK YOU BRIAN HOWE!!!!