to buy or not to buy....a house....

So I had a reading last night at Most Wanted Fine Arts Gallery in Garfield (Pittsburgh). They recorded the reading, and then had me get up again to do an official recording of one of my newer "hits" which is in itself a strange and awkward concept. The request from people was "Things Ive Left" which was actually a blog entry posted on here a while back, if you feel like scrolling. Here's a link to the video if you want to see it. I think it's less energetic and entertaining than the original performance, since I was out of the groove, but I also think I'm probably trying to talk myself up and pretend that I'm a better performer when, actually, I'm probably pretty lousy at it. Mike Simms was there, founder/editor/publisher of Autumn House Press, for whom I used to work until last week when I was finally begrudgingly but inevitably laid off. He gave me astounding praise afterwards, which I wasn't expecting. He must have seen the look on my face because he added, "I don't think you even realize how gifted you are. Please, I mean it, send me your work as you can, I'd like to stay in your loop." That doesn't mean I will be an Autumn House poet, in fact I think that by working for them I am guaranteed to never be published by them, but it is nice to know that someone out there who knows poetry thinks I'm something, even if I can't get published. Later, he also wrote me an email to reiterate that sentiment. I believe this is at least partially because I was so recently let go that it's important to keep the lines of communication open and positive - like a break up when people are still trying "to be friends." Oh well.


I also got my first real fan mail today, from someone who's read my thesis all the way through and isn't a friend of mine past that I got tipsy on Belgiums and moulles with him when he was in town for a reading at my school a while back. I'd read his manuscript and gave my opinion and some tips, and he graciously paid me the same attention. The letter remarked how I reminded him of an old whimsical friend from whom he'd been estranged due to a jealous wife, how he never got to grab a final beer with her and how reading my manuscript was like sharing that final beer and final laugh. It was the nicest letter I've ever received, except perhaps for a letter Anastasia Dubrowsky wrote me in high school that I still have saved at my parents house in a drawer. Certainly the nicest regarding my poetry, if only because he has no reason at all to stroke my ego He said to let him know with some lead-time when I will next be in New York, because he will set up a reading for me. The Big Time! I am heading to Massachusetts in September for my cousin's wedding - maybe I can do a reading en route, or while Evan heads north to visit cyclocross heartthrob Adam Myerson.



While on the topic, I still have chapbooks (or, Glass Key Press does, as I left all mine at the art gallery to be purchased) so if anyone would like one, as if anyone reads this thing, let me know! It's good I promise!



In other news, Evan and I are still in search of a house. We lost one bid on a perfect house in Regent Square, but that's all over and done with. Now there is a new perfect house, that is beautiful on the inside, and about $20k cheaper than the first house. It is in Greenfield in the Hollow, which means our back yard would literally be Schenly Park - there's even single-track that goes right from our yard, and an 8-point buck stared at us while we were checking the place out the other day. The only thing, though, is that I am getting cold feet because I am bad at decisions and if there's anything I'm worse at, it's commitment. Maybe to me they are the same thing. Once a decision is made, commitment to that decision is involved. I don't like the idea of having to say I like vanilla or I like chocolate, I want to live in the desert or by the ocean, I am a poet or a punk. I don't want to "other" any part of my personality, and I feel that any decision, in general really, has that effect. Purchasing a house certainly does. By saying, "I will own property here, with someone else," I am also saying, "I will live here, and not 'there' wherever that is; with this person, and not 'that' person, whoever that is." The great thing about this house is that it is in the middle of the city, generally speaking, but also in the woods. It is relatively cheap, so the financial burden isn't so great. It's only one bedroom, so we can't take on another roommate, but Evan assured me that if I freak out and have to move - for any of the billion reasons why I may freak out and have to move, almost all of which have to do with the eternal internal struggle of the poetpunk, he can build a wall so the master bedroom is more sealed off and someone can live in the office space. That does make me feel ions better about it all.

It's hard because this is the first house where I've really pictured myself living, and enjoying the space, and having a wonderful life. But for how long? That is always the question. It's like I am an optimist on a circular graph almost to the point of being a pessimist. Perhaps its my struggle with paranoia that swings it into that foggy and uncomfortable territory. But anyway, really, look at it - isn't it darling?



The other day, I went to see the Subhumans at Altar Bar in the Strip District. This band has been a favorite of mine for probably 13 years now, and I've seen them probably five times and it's always been incredible. I haven't even spent so much time watching them, because I go nuts and dance and laugh and rekindle friendships and release energy and agression and refind myself. This band makes me feel punk, makes me remember why I was punk and why I am punk. They cause me to question the directions I take in life, whether they are because they are easy, or because they are what I truly want, or because what I've learned I ought to want. I talked extensively with my good friend Ted about it (amongst other things) and it helped sort things out in my head about. How a lot of songs that are still anthemic to me are by/about/for teenagers, and how I'm not a teen anymore by almost ten years, but still can relate deeply - then it flips the coin a bit on why I still hold punk dear, whether it's because it's something I've conditioned myself to love, or whether it's something that still reigns true despite so much change in my life, that still forces me to answer back to myself and remember what I know to be bullshit and unacceptible.



Anyway, it's bedtime now and I've decided to buy the house, hang out with the turkeyfriends I will make in the new yard in the woods, and roam freely wherever I want/need. At least my rent will be paying off my own mortgage, not someone else's. I am putting my punk foot forward. Plus, of course, this place has plenty of writing space.

log cabin rd. ride

After battling a migraine that kept me from work, drinking some recovery Coffeetree, checking out some houses, and eating cart food, I road my bike 42 miles (mainly in the dark and in the rain, due to the obviously late start). If you have Oscar Swan's book, it's in there under Log Cabin Rd. Ride, though Soupie contests that perhaps we made a wrong turn, in that at some point the rode went at a 90 degree angle, and perhaps we were not supposed to do that on this ride. Oh well, after a good hearty ride, my head's starting to hurt again so I need more water and some sleep, and I can surely put my fork down on the day and say, "Satisfecho!"



In other news, I have been trying to get more upper body strength. More swimming back in my schedule, and more free weights with the arms. I have a hard time holding bikes over my head at work, which I have to do more often in a day than you'd think, and while some arm muscles I can do reps of 10 or 20 lbs., others I can only do reps of 3lbs. How embarassing! But I will be a fearless killer soon, and by fearless I mean able to mountain bike in the mud without hyperventilating, and by a killer I mean lean and svelt. Sure, I have two jobs, work on a farm, and have poetry to write, publish, and read at scheduled events (such at July 10th, if you're in the PGH area, at Most Wanted Fine Arts Gallery), but a little tough love on the bod will do me good.


A good added rule is to think, every time I go to eat something, "what is this doing for my body?" and sometimes the answer is, "something awful!" and I resist. Other times the answer is, "giving me a lot of sugar and fat, which I need right now," and I eat, but in somewhat more sensible amount. Most of the time, though, knowing the question is about to come up helps to pre-emtively choose more healthful foods, such as vegetables from the garden and a side of tempeh and pasta rather than pizza, or the pho tofu (soup) rather than the sesame tofu (deep fried).


I've also added aloe vera juice to my regimen, and drink it a few times daily with my water. It's fairly citrus-y in flavor, and I like it best with some Gatorade powder as well. The benefits of aloe vera juice are muscle recovery, organ/intestine strength, proper bowels, and is an over-all internal healer. While I do still get headaches (see above), my knees have been bothering me, and I am still fairly convinced that I broke my lower rib a while ago, I feel quite healthy in general and have been riding strong.