so

yeah, february 3rd I had a poem on Verse Daily. thanks to Chet G. for telling me, otherwise I'm sure I would have had no idea.

A Parting Shot (Dedication)

to all my little climbers out there, and the people who grease the wheels for them.

find your own tree,

cola


Dear Twin Falls (& Co.)—

Now do you hear the thunder? It softens me into a milkshake
& so many straws are in my back. Drink up! When you’re all done,
we’ll walk out opposite doors: you to the awards show, me to the
funnel cloud. Was any of this ever in doubt? From the start I’ve
been all dressed up, nowhere to go. Dressed for success & does
success ever come? Missed congeniality, but I learned the golden
rule & guess I’ve nothing good to say. Now it’s my way, blue eyes—
at least that’ll be more than any speech can accept. My crowd
going wild is the tornado waiting outside & it's hungry.

I’d like to thank the academy,

Quad Cities

The Fix Is In

Between questionable red cards, bullshit suspensions and manufactured publication credits, it's been a strange few days, indeed. Fellow Shark, Ben Fong, tried to buy two Radiohead tickets last night & thought he had, in fact, purchased them. Then today, TicketsNow.com called him to say that the tickets, which the night before he had paid an absurd amount to have, did not exist. Not only did they not have the tickets he bought, but they were sold out of all tickets for both shows, even ones they had listed last night a $900 a piece (face value: $42.50). He got a refund, sure, and a $25 gift certificate for their website (thanks), but what the fuck?!! So no one out there use TicketsNow.com. In fact, if you know anyone who works for them or any other ticket brokerage, beat their ass. Set them on fire. Whatever. It's like Bill Hicks said about people who work in advertising: "You have no soul, there is no excuse for what you do, you are Satan's little helper. Kill yourself, kill yourself, kill yourself now."

& don't you think it's highly amusing that when a magazine you worked on, for which you and one other person did all the bitch work (solicitations, submission log, editorial meetings, rejections, acceptance letters, etc) that when the magazine is released, not only are you not notified, but that there are several other names on the same line as yours, some of whom did little or nothing at all, and that there's a "managing editor" credit for someone who, until you saw the magazine, you had no idea they had anything to do with the production of the magazine last summer. I guess you shouldn't be surprised to have been screwed out of financial compensation then, should you? All another day in the Land of Careerism. Hopefully, our bold & beloved Machinist is receiving better CORK than I, you or various sporting interests have been lately. I will, however, being seeing Radiohead tomorrow night, and that lifts my soul just a touch, despite the fact the theater is caddy-corner from CCC. How long, O Lord, how long?

ALERT: If anyone out there knows of poets we should be talking to for an interview or publishing a couple of their poems, PLEASE let us know. We want what you want & hopefully that is high-end writing. We want the new voices, people. Help us find them, and if you think you are one, help us find you. This site has gone collaborative & it's getting goddamned lonely around here. But I suppose there are plenty among us who know exactly how lonely hell can be. You know who you are, don't you?

A quote to end on. Something for referees on the take, scalping scum and careerist poets to take to heart: "We are all the custodians of our innocence, and we let it die at our peril." Consider yourself reminded. & warned.

Make That Change, RC

Are We There Yet?

I thought I was already there. Are they going to screen the remake of THE OMEN, too? Grab me some merch.

Hope everyone has a great Day of the Beast, or whatever you want to call it. Not sure how I'm celebrating yet.

Sharks playing soon. Details coming. Also there are new demos @ www.thesharx.com. Check them out.

Hey true believers-- let us know where & how you're going to celebrate Satan Day, assuming you're not going to the big bash in Hell, Mich. Thanks to Woody for the find.

(end transmission)

Show Me That Smile

Apologies for the delay, but as usual, technical difficulties plague me. All writing's been analog for your humble narrator, which is fine by me. Anyway...

apparently we are all witnesses. Holy playoffs! & apparently the Cubs (otherwise known as the Chicago Cancer) produce better prize-fighters than ball players. But i digress...

I shouldn't discuss sports on my blog I know. It's all about careerism here! "publicity is everything!" Or so I heard. Gee, I thought it was about imagination, ability & execution. But apparently I was wrong; it's all about putting your face forward, putting your mouth where your eyes should be.

Anyway, the letters persist. Letters letters letters. How May evaporates schoolless & underfunded. I know i should go corporate, but I'm waiting for corporate to come to me, so I can just say No! just like ol' Nancy learned me.

I had so much to say but sadly going to have to keep it brief, as I write you courtesy of B Love from the new Shark reef. Yes, the new practice digs are up to both snuff & fire code, which is an improvement of sorts. First, to our Machinist, who has been holding down nobly, yes?! & the rest of our dis-possessed friends everywhere:

it is wise, I think, to mourn what might have been, in our own ways, but then we must display faith in proving that the stories of our past, mourned loves & fortunes can be understood, made our own & realized. "No more dying."

Second, Kate found this little tidbit in Anime Insider & I thought I would, as I do, forward it on to you true believers for consideration & comment:

"Of the 50,000-plus kanji in use in Japan, there are only around 3,000 approved for use as personal names! Japan's Family Registration Law states that parents can only name their children from a government-maintained list of kanji. Applications that use kanji not on the list will be rejected."

Lastly, in response to reports of a press surfacing out of this ring of hell, yes. There shall be publication(s) afoot, eventually. To gain traction for larger future projects & to proliferate the circle, I proudly announce Fifth Circle's first running feature, FRIENDS OF V, referring to many things, specifically the Roman numeral for five. Ha! What is this beast, you ask? Well, details will follow shortly, after conference with your humble Machinist. Safe to say regular poems, interviews, ditties. New faces for sure. More later, as always.

from the hunting grounds, rc

Infernoland!

that's right. i'm a minor demon running an amusement park in the fifth circle of hell. shit, at times this semester it has certainly seemed like that is the case. but alas, after tonight's workshop, I am officially one class (plus) away from my MFA. anti-climatic? sure, but don't we all need something to look forward to these days?

anyway, here's something to look forward to: i just passed my username & password for this ol' nook of hell to your friend & mine, a pillar of Midwestern virtue, Woody Loverude (of Glamour Arrives fame). as i mentioned a couple days ago, he has, for the moment, abandoned his blog due to lack of available time. point is, now he has access to this blog (if he chooses to use it) & i am certain things will get severe & vastly more interesting the minute he shows up. i hope you're all still chanting his name-- WOOD-Y! WOOD-Y!

i'm also chanting his name 'cause he sent me a copy of his MFA thesis manuscript (speaking of being done) & i must say i am pretty moved. hopefully most of the poems will get out into the world via journals or, satan willing, in book form. he is my brother & my hero & one of the reasons i always feel compelled to write. so thank you woody. & speaking of done, tonight is (most unfortunately) Ed Roberson's last class at CCC. while i am always compelled to write, what usually has come out is rarely worth a damn. but thanks to Ed, i have learned to write. again. the way i want to write. so let me take a moment to publicly thank Ed Roberson for helping me to be more articulate, being incredibly generous with his poetic eye & ears, & his deep wisdom, and for raising the bar for me & i think everyone he comes in contact with, both as a craftsman & as a human being. my greatest hope for the summer is that he will be around the city awhile longer & hopefully we can keep in touch. he is easily the most significant influence on my work & in my opinion, one of the best poets alive in this country. probably anywhere, in any language. even in Infernoland.

sadly, though, i am sure his ticket's not been punched for this ride. hell has no place for that man. & he will be missed. woody & i will be here for the duration, so stayed tuned, true believers! things are about to get a whole lot more interesting in hell. who are the people in your neighborhood? bring 'em down for discount thursdays!!

oh yeah, we need a catchy nickname for woody if he's gonna be working here, like "the foundling" or "rc cola" or as Sharks call me, "the truth." suggestions welcome!

end transmission.

Correspondence

Greetings, all! So what are we learning so far this spring? The NBA is back, the Cubs are a disgrace & the White Sox will most likely repeat. The White House "shake-up" goes on & will soon be catching on with all the kids & replacing "grinding" as a popular form of dancing. The Red Line is completely fucked. Radiohead tickets are going to be ridiculously expensive, thanks to all you Nazi fucking ticket brokers out there. But don't anyone go jumping in front of a train just yet (unless if you are a ticket broker; then, be my guest). "Keep hope alive...

I've been keeping my hope alive in the form of these little "letters" I've been writing that are passing for poems. So far, two of them from the original addressee, Twin Falls, have been picked up for publication & have prompted responses from at least two other towns/cities/etc--Columbus & New Lennox. I've taken a shine to this lil' epistolary form & written to other bergs throughout the land & thought I'd take some space in my nook o' Hell to post the only one to be addressed to more than one person. I am always very interested to know what you good folks out there think about my ditties (& even those of you of ill repute!). So PLEASE, fire back any comments; have no fear, let me have it 'cause I'm dying to know what you all think. Of course, any kind of reply is always most welcome here in Infernoland. Thanks.

xoxoxo, your friendly neighborhood foundling


Dear Columbus, New Lennox, Twin Falls--

Hope everyone's Cinco de Mayo was on par w/
National Prayer & May Days. May oh my! So many anniver-
saries to keep & track. But doesn't everyone love a scoundrel?
Just a name, like forks n' knives, Guy Faux, a string section.
Midwives. We remember & birthday even for those we lose.
& lost. Just years, depending on ancestry & astrology. Except
for angels, for whom nothing earthly applies. Isn't it time we
develop better shoulders to carry______? Alas! I must tarry
off for tix to the hot ticket of the summer: feel good the getting
is not. But 5 years ago on the first of August (& hottest day of
summer, Aught One) I slept & tarried not. Suffered the sun's
duration, the recycled water. & after Radiohead walked off, I
stood in the middle of Michigan Ave, traffic blocked for miles
north & south, and despite all dis-, a victory. Achieved & able.
One night no one was a saint or a street or a thief. Just angels.
It was as it is: no holiday. But that victory's still out there, o'er
the ramparts, over the Lake. Just a song past the farthest pier.

Early to rise,

Quad Cities

Don't Call it a Comeback...

word is born.

yes, it's been that long true believers. Hope all in cyberland are well. Columbia Poetry Review #19 is out & the launch reading is today. At long last glory. Looking forward very much to seeing Bertram & hearing her read, welcoming B. Love back to CCC for the reading. Should be good times. Mi madre is even coming to the city for this little shindig. All's I know is I get to introduce Ed Roberson to kick off the reading. What's Wayne & Garth say? Oh, that's right: "We're not worthy!" My sentiments exactly.

But nothing sentimental today. Brief updates:

1. For anyone who doesn't know, I am no longer playing shakes suburban rock with Lifelike (& my apologies if you still get email from them. Write them & tell them to remove you from the list. Unless you don't want to). I am now a member (with B. Love) of Sharks. You can visit us here. Hopefully soon we'll have a couple tracks from a live recording we did uploaded, but for now it is what it 'tis.

2. I landed my first national print publication. I'm hesitant to say too much now, but suffice to say it's on the level & more details will be posted as they arrive.

3. No, I am not dead, nor was I ever dead. As Riley said on The Boondocks, "first of all, I'm a live forever." Not really, but I am, as far as I can tell, very much alive.

4. Woody is finishing his MFA at NYU, at let me be the first to extend to him public congratulations. We will miss him at the launch reading today, but shall toast him repeatedly once it's finished. & will also be the first to declare the Save Woody's Blog! Campaign; he's too busy to do it all himself, but we miss him so, don't we? With any luck, true believers, perhaps we can persuade him to occasionally visit my little nook of the Inferno & grace us with his verbiage. WOOD-Y! WOOD-Y!

5. Game 6 tonite in Chicago. Gotta have it. GO BULLS!!!!!!

6. Chloe turned 7 years old this past Sunday & we had a beautiful party down in Carbondale. The rain broke just long enough for her. & yes, she is getting big.

Anyway, time to run, but I promise to not be so neglectful in my duties this summer. Oh yeah, if anyone out there can help with getting Radiohead tix for June 19 & 20 in Chicago, PLEASE let me know. To close, here's a bit of interesting wire service. All love & best, my dearies...

R Collins


ALEXANDRIA, Va. (AP) — U.S. Judge Leonie Brinkema sent Zacarias Moussaoui to prison for life Thursday, to "die with a whimper," for his role in the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. The convicted terrorist declared: "God save Osama bin Laden — you will never get him."

Brinkema and the unrepentant Moussaoui capped the two-month trial with an intense exchange that will mark the defendant's last public words before his incarceration in a maximum security prison in Colorado.

A day earlier, a jury rejected the government's case to have Moussaoui executed, deciding instead to should spend life in prison with no chance of parole. Not all jurors were convinced that Moussaoui, who was in jail on immigration charges Sept. 11, had a significant part in the attacks, despite his boastful claims that he did.

Brinkema firmly refused to be interrupted by the 37-year-old defendant as she disputed his declaration from a day earlier: "America, you lost. ... I won."

"Mr. Moussaoui, when this proceeding is over, everyone else in this room will leave to see the sun ... hear the birds ... and they can associate with whomever they want," she said.

She went on: "You will spend the rest of your life in a supermax prison. It's absolutely clear who won."

And she said it was proper he will be kept away from outsiders, unable to speak publicly again.
"Mr. Moussaoui, you came here to be a martyr in a great big bang of glory," she said, "but to paraphrase the poet T.S. Eliot, instead you will die with a whimper."

At that point, Moussaoui tried again to interrupt her, but she raised her voice and spoke over him.

"You will never get a chance to speak again and that's an appropriate ending."

At Long Last

the semester ends. the magazine beat goes on. for anyone interested in a story of an awkward ending to an weak poetry workshop, check out this post. something like that.

may x-mas not be killing you all. at least not as much as the pink-freeze that has been this December so far in Chicago. just a bit unseasonable.

in honor of closure & hope in poetry:

Taught. As a wire which reaches. A silver wire which
reaches from the end of the beautiful as if elsewhere. A
metaphor. Metaphors are not for humans.

The wires dance in the wind of the noise our poems make.
The noise without an audience. Because the poems were written
for ghosts.

The ghosts the poems were written for are the ghosts of the
poems. We have it second-hand. They cannot hear the noise
they have been making.

Yet it is not a simple process like a mirror or a radio. They
try to give us circuits to see them, to hear them. Teaching an
audience.

The wires in the rose are beautiful.

--- Jack Spicer, "4" from "A Textbook of Poetry"

Wolves at the Door

Has it been a month?! Apologies to anyone who’s been here recently expecting some fresh verbiage. So where to begin? Mi madre sometimes sends me newspaper clippings she thinks I might find interesting (which rarely is the case). You can imagine, then what I thought when I saw “Dear Abby” atop her latest selection. In any case, it was more note-worthy than usual & thought I might share—


Dear Abby:

Please warn your readers that their Web pages & blogs could stand in the way of securing a job! Just as employers have learned to read e-mail & blogs, they have learned to screen candidates through their sites.
Many people in their 20s & 30s wrongly believe their creations are entertaining & informative. Employers are not seeking political activists, evangelizers, whiners or tattletales. They do not want to find themselves facing a lawsuit or on the front page of a newspaper because a client, patient or parent of a student discovered a comment written by an employee.
The job market is tight & job seekers must remember their computer skills can either help them land a position or destroy a job prospect.— Chicago Employer


I suppose such things are to be no surprise in our Patriot Act age. I do like the part about “evangelizers” though. What did Ben Franklin say about those willing to sacrifice freedom for safety? Anyway, I welcome all readers, come what may. If what I have to say didn’t put me at risk, it wouldn’t be worth saying. Just keep in mind, true believers, that when you come here to visit me, you are in fact in the Inferno. Just a head’s up.

With that, I’ll desist with a parting question: what do people think about the idea of poetry in crisis? There’s been so much said for & against the idea the poetry, or any art, is best created when the poet is in some form of crisis, be it personal or global in scope. Berryman advocated this frequently & much of Milosz deals with conflicts both he as an individual & human beings were facing throughout his life. So, how about you? Do you need tragedy to assist in creating art? What do you want &/or need to propel your creativity? I’m dying to know, but I won’t die to find out, if you follow.

O yeah, here are a couple of those “(Your Name) needs” Google search ditties, one for me & one for Kate. Thanks, as usual, to Woody, for being alert. Be well & warm…

Best, r collins

Kate so needs to get burned.
Kate needs to have her wings clipped.
Kate needs a shave.
Kate needs to be hooked up!
Kate needs our help.
Kate needs crew & projectors.
Kate needs to talk about the colour of paint.
Kate needs to go to rehab.
Kate needs to leave this homestay by herself.


Ryan needs special care.
Ryan needs a bra. Fast.*
Ryan needs a room.
Ryan needs your advice.
Ryan needs backers to go forward.
Ryan is cool.
Ryan needs a history lesson.
Ryan needs a caretaker.
Ryan needs to go sleep on some train tracks.


* in reference to Meg Ryan, the so-called actress.

So Much Lettuce

I want to know what all you cats out there think about metaphor. Is it the highest achievement of figurative language? Is it old hat? Have we not incorporated more interesting things into our American English? Please help. Some of us in Chicago are drowning in metaphor...

I couldn't agree more with Woody about goddamned poetry workshops. They can good conversations & they're not completely useless, especially when they're full of good people & quality work (i was in a workshop with Stephanie Strickland last spring & it was amazing, mostly because she's amazing!). But a workshop led by someone who only wants to talk metaphor & logical connection & reads everything literally is a serious fucking bore. I'm in such a workshop now & it's murder. I can't believe i have to miss the Bulls for such bullshit.

So please, someone, tell me there's more to word life than metaphor. Or break my heart.

Who's in a Bunker?

You know what sucks? Suburban yuppie rock. Fuck fake rock stars. Free at last, free at last

Yesterday I bought The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan & so far it's too gloriously over-whelming for me to really dig into. His book of "lectures" On the Level Everyday was really a life changing read for me & how i thought about writing & going about all the accompanying madness & living. Highly recommended for anyone engaged in creative thinking.

Speaking of life changing experiences, the first time I saw Radiohead in 2001 at Grant Park was more a holy pilgrimage than a concert, for many reasons which i'll omit here for momentum. saw a re-broadcast of a show in France Sunday afternoon & was reminded of their full glory & innovation. i stay away sometimes (perhaps we all do) from the things i love most, so that i might stave off falling out of love with them. Radiohead has been one such case for me. Kid A is one of my fav autumnal albums ever. check it out & tell me what you think.

Question: post-modernist or North American haberdasher?

peaches, cola