doves are assholes.

it sounds really sweet and poetic when someone says that a dove is nesting on their porch. really. imagine waking up to the gentle, melodic coo of a bird that symbolizes peace and beauty. when i first saw the dove, i thought, "oh, that must be a positive omen. good energy. we're doing something right in this house."

the problem with this idealistic notion is that doves are assholes.

every time we try to leave or enter the house from the front porch, we face a pretty good chance that the dove will do a crazed, renegade fly-over - flapping at our heads with its evil wings and possibly pecking up a little of our hair in the process! doesn't sound much like the pure white fowl that carried an olive branch into the new world for noah, does it? now, this dove has had a chip on its feathery shoulder ever since a stray cat crawled up to its nest and killed its first batch of eggs. but that's not OUR fault. we felt bad for the damn thing. oh, she went away for a while. but now the bitch is back, and apparently out for blood. nobody in our little midtown tulsa home is safe!

my three-year-old daughter suddenly has a fear of birds. any birds. she thinks they will peck her head. why? because this seemingly sweet, cooing, piece of shit dove, DID try to peck her head! don't birds know that toddlers rank WAY HIGHER than them on the cuteness scale, and that this testimonial has the potential to vilify them forever? JUST WAIT TILL OPRAH READS THIS, YOU FANCIED-UP PIGEON! you're DONE for.

this feathered fiend has riddled with anxiety the hearts of everyone living in our house, and quite a few of our friends and family members. i've noticed that several people no longer come to our front door. why? scared of the damn dove. my roomie just walked into the house, from the SIDE door, frazzled and distraught because the dove attacked her as she fished her keys out of her purse and tried to shit on her head! that's just rude!

ok, so the dove's protective of her eggs. big deal. this B.W.A. (bird with attitude) has NO RIGHT to take out its vengeance over lost babies on US! go find the cat who had munched up your babies, since you're such a bad-ass!

i'll tell you what else, turd bird. you're not the only one around here protective of her eggs. and if you attack my child's head ONE MORE TIME, i'm gonna add a little scientific research to the prince song lyric and find out EXACTLY what it sounds like "when doves cry."

fuck doves!

i heart lil' jamie

the first time he called my phone, lil' jamie was positive i was sheena - his homie brandon's girlfriend. i assured him i wasn't, but he was positive that i knew him and was acting "all funny." after confirming that he wasn't one of my students playing a prank, i became relatively certain that he was some random jerk ... playing a prank. i hung up on lil' jamie.

he called back. i didn't answer.

he called back again. i didn't answer.

on the third call-back, my roomie took the phone. turns out lil' jamie's intentions were true - he really WAS trying to reach someone and thought for sure he had the right number. the number of the guy on whose couch he'd slept a couple days prior, the number of the guy to whose house he'd arrived in a four-wheeler. my roomie made it clear such was not the case. "we live in midtown," she said. the call ended with a few laughs.

perhaps two minutes later, lil' jamie called back. i asked for him by name. "is this lil' jamie?" he laughed nervously. "how'd you know my name?" i reminded him that he'd just called and that his name was quite memorable. i suggested he release a hit song and cash in on his new notoriety. he laughed again, this time a lot more relaxed.

we talked. he told me that there was, indeed, a "big jamie" - his dad, who was 43. lil' jamie was 25. he was distraught about brandon (the homie he was attempting to call when he reached me) giving him the wrong number a couple days prior. i checked the date. "brandon gave you this number on 420! he was high!" i could hear the grin in lil' jamie's voice. he was pleased i'd made that connection. i knew, in that moment, that if i extended the conversation for another 3-4 minutes, this kid would be inviting himself to my house for a smoke and herbal-induced philosophical ramblings. he was already crashing on my futon in his mind. i could hear it in his voice.

i cut the conversation short, wishing him luck in finding brandon's real number. i couldn't help but smile when i hung up.

i love lil' jamie.

he represents, for me, the hope that there's still some humanity floating around in all this presumptuous digital precision and social-networking-site-application-based friendship. there are still some people in the world who will talk to you on the phone even if they don't know you, and find your house at 10 pm on a thursday night to hang out if you let them. some people who will tell you their story.

this glass of wine is for you, my friend - may you always find a couch to cruise and a connection to miss, so that you might try to connect again. and again.

-m

NEWS!

i FINALLY bit the bullet and ordered my 100-copy run of "prayers of calcitrant" - my little self-published chapbook project vial Lulu. so, yeah, i'm HELLA excited to have it in my hand and to put it into the hands of others.

gonna sell it for $10 in-person and $15 if i have to mail it off to you (to cover shipping). i'll put up a pic of it later. i just wanted to shriek about having actually paid the money and ordered the copies more than anything.

triple arruh

got my rejection letter from Rattle a few minutes ago.

i need to take my redbox movies back before they end up costing me a fortune - yep, one dollar at a time.

rice krispies at 1 am are better than rice krispies in the morning = scientifically proven FACT.

just like the fact that any sandwich consumed after midnight becomes a SAMMICH. and chicken becomes CHIGGEN. these are important facts about the universe that everyone needs to know.

c'mon, mary, let's SKYPE!

day. care?

here's what i'm listening to right now:

just submitted to the cortland review.

i also submitted my child to an hourly drop-off daycare while i worked my five hours for the day, teaching a strategies class. she was wearing a white veil and a tutu over her sweatpants, and i was afraid. visions of mysterious bruises on baby brown skin danced in my head. tearful exits. fearful screams. soiled "big girl panties" and disoriented blank stares. all that rot. yeah ... i'm one of THOSE moms.

right. like anybody could punk THAT kid. hard to believe i almost named her "lotus." gentle flower she ain't. she enjoyed the drop-in place. when i walked in to get her, she was wandering about, singing her favorite paramore song, still in her tutu, drinking a capri-sun.

thanks to the following people for talking to me about poetry and bullsh*t: scott, mary, self. scott: i promise i won't drive myself crazy. mary: find me a poet to marry, ok? please and thanks in advance. self: clean the kitchen tomorrow before you get any more agitated than you already are.

"failing better' update 04-12-10

there are too many literary journals in the world! can you say "overwhelming"??!!

everyone's coming back from the AWP Conference in denver. my facebook is rather flooded with status messages from people boasting the fatigue of having "done" the conference. i feel like such an outsider. dammit, i'm gonna be there in 2011!!

i just sent five of my poems to Innisfree Poetry Journal. i don't know how to feel about that submission, but it's just one of many. and that's not even a journal from my FAILBETTER list!

and speaking of ... CHECK OUT THAT LIST!!! it's dwindling down to nothing (yeah right)!

i'll be sending off my submission to the Barrow Street book contest tomorrow.

there's coffee in queue in the coffeemaker. the baby will have instant oatmeal, fruit and possibly a little cheese (if she wants it) for brekkie in the morning. but i'm NOT cleaning that kitchen tonight. i've decided i should learn to appreciate the banalities of life as something more closely resembling a normal person. i'll never get rid of them, after all, but my time draws near ... i'm going back into the circus tent with the rest of the artist-types. meanwhile, refusing to clean the kitchen at 2 am is no small act of rebellion. i'll take what i can get.

trying to get back what i lost, maybe.

i am, as of about 15 minutes ago, reading Nota by Martin Corless-Smith. he put it in my hand several years ago at a poetry reading (i think i paid for it. either way, he signed it.) but i never actually tried to read it until just now.

why do i wait so long to do things? this poetry is difficult and wandering and musical and PEACEFUL somehow. martin was one of my professors at boise state, where i got my MFA. when i say that he was brilliant, what i mean is that i couldn't understand a fucking word he said, and even that isn't true. i understood some of the fucking words he said, and it was at those times (within my moments of grasping, even for a split second, the densely abstract thinkymadness with which martin tried to enrich me/us) that i KNEW poetry was about so much more than whatever was going on inside a head or a heart at any moment.

i could feel things outside the greedy realm of selves (students and a prof in a cramped classroom, let's say) converging and conspiring to create a moment of almost random purity i couldn't even articulate, let alone try to capture. i don't think i ever got to thank him for that, or for wine, or for food, or for crashings at his house, or for humoring me in any of the million ways in which he MUST have humored me during my three years under his tutelage. i'm bad at thanking people for things, and (sometimes) that's a shame.

all this to say, martin, i loved your classes and i dig your book. and thank you.

-m

"failing better" update 04-08-10

i haven't updated in a while, but i SWEAR i've been thinking about it!

i just found out today that i have slightly elevated blood pressure. i'm about to start taking something called a "water pill." gonna have to ask my grandmother about that one. wow.

i got a brochure in the mail from California Institute of the Arts. their poetry mfa looks pretty interesting. i'm still seriously considering applying for my second mfa.

and i STILL have no desire to be in a poetry slam. *bangs gavel on that one*

so, i'm going to send my most recent poetry manuscript, "getting (her) born" in to the Barrow Street Press 2010 Book Contest. the deadline for submission is june 30, 2010.

there's nothing that should stop me from having MY submission in the mail by MONDAY. if i lollygag even a little bit, it just won't get done. soooo, here's the plan:

- look through the MS tonight

- type up the necessary cover pages, etc. tomorrow and email a copy of all that stuff to myself.

- print off the MS and cover pages at work (don't judge me!) on saturday afternoon.

- get me a manila envelope from the wally-greens saturday after work.

- put the MS and such in the padded mailer and address it.

- take it to the post office by my grandmother's house on monday afternoon before work and mail it off.

no one should have to write bulleted lists like that to themselves. whatever. no one should procrastinate the way i do. i know myself too well. anyway, i'm gonna see if i can also submit some of my poems to Barrow Street's journal tonight. wish me luck.

check out the updates on the failbetter list! i'm making progress!