I’m Trying to Become Unstuck or Read Y: The Last Man Right Now

I’m going to pretend like it hasn’t been 8 months since the last time I wrote a post.

Here’s a picture of Geoff!

I had a huge post written ready to post a few weeks ago, but it was too negative, and I hated it. So, in short: this year has been really, really hard. I thought that moving somewhere new and totally awesome would make most of the cobwebs keeping me stuck, go away. But they didn’t, and instead I’m left with a head full of even more spiders. I know that so much of this uphill battle is just growing up and getting older. You’re going to have to deal with bills, and sickness, and people you love not being there anymore your whole life. But it’s not always so heavy, right? Or is that just wishful thinking? IDK DUDE. I guess what I’m trying to say is that Chicago is beautiful, I have the best job nannying 3 sweetie girls (4,3, and 10 months ahhh), but sometimes I get sad, and that’s okay.

In other news, I read at an open mic poetry reading back in July, and it was my first time reading without any of my fellow Chickz or really anyone I knew for that matter.

My Heart Looks Like a Baby Squirrel

So guys, I haven’t had time to write anything besides school papers this week (which sucks but will be over soon). Since National Poetry Month is coming to an end, I want to share this poem by Andrea Gibson with you. SHE’S SO GREAT, RIGHT? Go ahead: read, listen, love.

A Letter to the Playground Bully from Andrea Age 8 1/2

maybe your words will grow up to be a gymnasts
maybe you have been kicking people with them by accident

I know some people get a whole lot of rocking in the rocking chair
and the ones who don’t sometimes get rocks in their voice boxes,
and their voice boxes become slingshots.
maybe you think my heart looks like a baby squirrel.

THANKSSSSSSSsssss

Great big hugs and thanks and loves to all of you that came out to our reading.

This is for you:

so yeah. WHOA YEAH. Thanks to Jill Christman, Ben Rogers (and crew), Travis Harvey, Maria Hines (and family), Laura LaVal, Debbie Mix, etc, etc.

Thanks to everyone who came out to hear us read. You guys were a great crowd. I for one, really enjoyed myself and I hope y’all did too. We will try to track down some pictures for those of you who couldn’t make it. Also, if you want a chapbook, let one of us know. You can find our emails on the “email the chickz” page.

Now, for the real question of the day, Why do self-publishers usually suck?

I am a tumblr fan. I spend hours clicking links, liking pictures, etc. I think my experience with tumblr allows me to say with confidence that if tumblr has three hot things they are as follows: Lesbians, Cats, Poets. And even sometimes, lesbian-cat-poets. And, of course, I don’t have a problem with the lesbians, or the cats. But, the god damn poets.

I get all excited thinking, she’s cute, oh god, she writes!? No. She doesn’t write. She journals lyrically. That’s what I typically see with poems that people post on blogs. I know of a few exceptions. My best friend used to post poetry and that was good (maybe I’m biased, but many would agree she’s talented). Also a few writers I know operate blogs that are enjoyable. But, but, but, they are rare. How many times has a friend put up poetry on facebook that was pretty bad, yet they expected you to say something about it?

What is it about the internet that makes people think their writing is worth reading? Is that harsh? I mean, I posted some pretty bad stuff on facebook a while back but that was mostly for family and I deleted it when I realized I had improved. The thing about posting on the internet is that it follows you. When you’re a prominent writer and you go on the oprah show, they’ll pull up the story you wrote about your dog in the tenth grade. Just because you can post it, doesn’t mean you should.

Am I right? I mean, is this a trend other people have noticed?

Everything Good

I didn’t have the chance to read as much as I would have liked to this break, BUT what I did read was grand. For example, Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz’s newest book of poetry “Everything is Everything”. HOLY WOW IS IT GREAT. Aptowicz is best known for her slam poetry. Personally, I’ve found that with slam poetry and spoken word– when I don’t like it, I really don’t like it, but when I like it, I really really like it (examples: Andrea Gibson and Taylor Mali) Two years ago I stumbled upon Aptowicz, and I was like omigodyes every time I listened to one of her poems; she instantly fell into the really really like category.

SO. “Everything is Everything” is everything I hoped for. She combined history and science and pop culture and love, and mushed
them all into these claymation poems that are three dimensional and goofy, but also beautiful. I want to post every poem on here and say why I love each one, but that would be long and weird and defeat the purpose of you buying/borrowing the book and reading it
for yourself. So I won’t. But I will quote some of my favorite sections:

 

Because sometimes the poem punches its way off my tongue, and other times it needs to be dragged out of my ribcage by its hair… Because I have heard poets say things in front of a room full of strangers that made me pulse, made me sweat, made me want to push further, risk everything, be that beautiful. Because sometimes I have felt that beautiful.Because sometimes I have felt ugly too and it was okay. -FOR THE PEOPLE WHO KEEP ASKING ME WHY I’M STILL IN SLAM

But girl, you beautiful brute don’t mistake the knife’s glint for God’s brassy horn, don’t assume that your apocalypse road is the only one, don’t slit every calf’s throat just because you can, just ’cause you’ve got a clean apron and a hungry blade, just ’cause it begs to be done, wriggles in front of you, one less heart beating, one less mouth in the field to worry about. – HOG BUTCHER OF THE WORKSHOP TABLE

AND FINALLY

This must be why my hand fluttered from my brow to heart to my neck with so much sad electricity this morning, your latest book slouching weak and mournful on my lap, a road map of your broken heart, without you once saying broken without you once saying heart. All your usual wandering, all the cups and spoons and dogs and beds, all the things which once wriggled under your winking eye, now sit heavy in your verse, steeped. You, quiet and alone in your kitchen, cigaretteless. Me, left tapping on your rain-streaked window, wanting you to know that everything is going to get better and really hoping that it does. -BALLISTIC

 

Those quotes were too big. I’m sorry. Just read the book so you can be as excited as me. Another thing I want to mention is this: TODAY IS MISS ASHLEY CASSANDRA FORD’S BIRTHDAY. Happy birthday sweet lady! I know I can speak for all the rest of the chicks when I say I am thankful for you and all the beautiful things you do!