YOU ONLY HAVE CONTROL OVER THE CONDITIONS. NOT THE OUTCOME.

Whatever happens. Do your best. Um, but I'd really like you to win.

ELEPHANT CASTLE PING PONG

Grounding my cares sharp. I put to the test this space of being.

I become a post.

A SOUND POEM

Looking back at my old posts, saw this sound collage from 2006 that I did in collaboration with Kate Gorman as part of a yet-to-be-realized project called The Working Poor.

I'm pleasantly surprised by much of the piece. It's a tad slow, but harkens back to my days of digging Scanner.

THIS IS NOT A POEM

This is a piece of garbage.
Please. Pay attention.

If this were a real poem, I'd be sending out a mass email about it. If this were a real poem I'd care if words were right. If it were a real poem I'd have to do something subtle and arguably referential but not too referential.

Particularly involving a megaphone.

This is not a fucking poem. Because I've told you.

This is a piece of garbage. This a fucking sweat rag. This is a piece of me that was never born. This is John McCain's nightmare.

See, there, there I go, trying to be popculture referential. Screw that. I'm not looking for attention. I'm just looking out for this poem. Yeah, I'm being honest now. This is a poem. And I was trying to be modest. And I failed. And I was trying to trick myself. And I failed. Bags and bags and bags of weak sauce. Dripping onto the floor and never being cleaned up.

Good morning.

NEW THINGS WILL BE EASY

The first time, the mind deals in the real.
It's the real deal when mind meets matter.
The mind's real deal happens. It meets and greets.