After a particularly frustrating morning of trying to get formatting to behave for the serial I am thinking of pursuing, I wonder why in the name of gods’ turban and tutu I am bothering to worry about such things as formatting when I have so few readers who actually come to the site to read.
If anyone reads it as intended to appear at all (and formatting is stripped out of WP Reader, so ha ha ha), it will be a miracle. So why am I obsessing about such things?
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do not effusivate me.
i sun-bleached bone
on hardpan salts or
sage scrub windblown
in high plains more
rat-a-rat-a-rattlesnake me
with venom bite deep, for
that is how i know
the depth of love
wash me in moonlight
while smudging out thorn
sweat trails ribs after
black roads ride
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I’ve been revisiting some of my Minneapolis music past and there is one band that managed to evade all of my attempts in the past to locate any of their music in physical format or online: Dark Carnival.
This is not the superband from Detroit by the same name that involved Stooges members and had a female lead… yeller? (I was not impressed, suffice it to say.)
This iteration of Dark Carnival was from a slightly earlier period of 1983-1988, and probably classes as more as proto-goth than goth. I’m fairly certain I saw them live at least a few times at one of the many popup alley and record store gigs, outdoor block parties and all-age shows I managed to find when I was too young to be admitted to drinking shows.
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I am toying around with a writing idea that I’ve thrown out to other people because I like the idea of it, but have frankly been afraid of trying myself solo. With a writing partner, possibly. Solo? It seems well outside my wheelhouse.
As previously mentioned, I think I should overcome these reluctances of mine to go outside my usual writing and just do things that seem hard, but ones that also use my “natural voice”, whatever that might mean.
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the things we did in
the ruins of forebears
along rapids back then,
scaling backwalls by
the falls with flowers
in our heads
like those tools left out
in the rain, my friend
blood washed to rust in
our time flowing over
to the big river in
concrete broken gutters
now we are bloodless
again
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sometimes i am also downtown
in all undercity and brick
cigarette sidewalk sewer perfume
seedy bookstore, street chic boutique
standing, selling streetcorners
hey, gotta a dollar? i pay you
back next week
a river runs down the length
of my side, flowing swift and wide
sometimes i am also downtown
along with all this nature inside
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I was just doing some digging around into the past and stumbled across an item that was a fixture of my youth but I had completely forgotten about.
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It was only a week away from posting new material, although it seemed longer except when it felt shorter. I wrote daily; I didn’t post daily.
So, where is the flood of new material, Michael?
There is nothing I am willing to post here or elsewhere (i.e., discord) at this time, if ever.
So, what was the point?
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