The fiercest hearts are in love with a wild perfection.
—Stanley Kunitz
A few months ago, Erica O., one of my fellow former Wisconsin Institute Fellows
sent me an article that she had recently had published. The writing, of
course, was lovely, and one sentence really jumped out at me. I knew
immediately that I wanted to use that sentence as a basis for a poem.
New tides of immigration have so transformed New York City that classic
ethnic foods and drinks are increasingly being prepared by people whose
ethnicity does not necessarily match the menu's.
Submitted by Blas Manuel on 30 July, 2005 - 5:29pm.
This post starts out with some cursing in the first sentence, which is always
a fabulous way to start any piece of writing. Seriously, the next time
that you have to write a resume or an affidavit or a sermon, try to
work a fuck in there somewhere.Parishioners will fall out of
their pews, yes, but they will be falling out because of pure
transgressive joy.
I haven't been posting shit for the past two weeks. Hey, I'm traveling, so give me a break. When I get back, toward the end of the week, I'll be posting about my last trip to Las Vegas and about the Pacific Northwest Museum Tour, which has so far been a blast.
Yeah, I know this bad boy is a little over two weeks late, but I was in Las Vegas, taking care of my poker business,
the week after the game, and I’m typing this while I’m sitting in Blenz, a Vancouver, B.C. coffee shop, coming down from a day that
started in a scary-ass SeaTac motel, went through Seattle [props to the
Emerald City, currently my third-favorite city in the world], and ended
up with my walking for what felt like at least fifteen miles, but which
I was informed was probably closer to five. Whatever; it felt like ten.
Lawyers for the Defense Department are refusing to cooperate with a
federal judge's order to release secret photographs and videotapes
related to the Abu Ghraib prison abuse scandal.
Submitted by Blas Manuel on 19 July, 2005 - 3:02pm.
The noblest exercise of the mind within doors, and most befitting a person of quality, is study.
—William Ramsay, Scottish chemist
I started this story 23 July 2001, finished it shortly thereafter, and sent it to Esquire.
I figured, since the story was trivial and sort of stupid, that it
would be right up their alley. A few short weeks later, I got the story
back with a note that said that they, whoever "they" are, thought the
title was pretty funny, but that they were taking a pass. That note is
one of the most fucked up rejection letters I've ever gotten.
Apparently, on that story, I did my best work on the first ten words
that I wrote; it was all downhill from there.
Okay, I didn't get a chance to post a poem when I was in Las Vegas.
Sorry about that, but here's a poem that I'll be reading tomorrow
at a taping for a local PBS show coming out of Fresno. I'm not sure
when the show will be on, but I'll update once I do know.
The poem's in three sections, and the first section was the first thing that I ever wrote in a creative writing class.
Hello, my people. In about eight hours, I'll be driving out to Las Vegas to work on my poker game and to check out the World Series of Poker
again. I've found a couple of Starbucks that have T-Mobile HotSpots, so
I'm going to try to post little updates of how my trip is going. I'm
also going to try to post the weekly poem and story tomorrow, but I
make no promises. It's a lot of work trying to produce five content
streams. How many other one-person outfits can keep up with that kind
of pace? Exactly. Also, I might be too worn out to actually put
together coherent sentences and/or narratives anyway.
|