Thursday, October 8, 2009

DeWolf Terrier


Sometimes I wonder what's stopping me from acting on impulses at inappropriate times. Case in point: anytime a poet reads at Good Thunder, I feel the urge to bark. Not like a doberman or a lab. No. When the poets read, I want to yelp like a terrier. Or any of those small, yappity little shits that obviously have anxiety issues.

After the readings, I have an idea as to why I didn't bark during the event. There's the whole social decency aspect, and the fear of being yelled at by some faculty member I don't know. But while the reading's taking place, I think, "What's stopping me from letting out a harmless little bark?"

Absolutely nothing. And don't think I haven't come close, either. Holy shit. During Beth Ann Fennelly, I almost cracked. When Bob Hicok read, I looked around and thought, "I am actually about to do this." And when Li-Young Lee was here, well, that time I almost burst into flames. But there may have been other forces at work that time.

I've never barked during a Good Thunder reading. What I find to be odd is the fact that this impulse only occurs when the reader is a poet. Though, in a similar sense, I always wanted to yell in church when I was a kid. Mainly during the congregational prayer. That would have been amazing.

Anyway, I believe the reason I want to bark during the poets' readings has to do with their deliveries. It's nothing against the poets or their work. But let's face it: many poets have that fluttery, deliberate way of reading. Not all poets, but a whole hell of a lot of them do this. You know exactly where their line breaks occur, and the end result is a boatload of downtime.

Downtime makes me antsy. Nervous. Jittery. Anxious.

ARF!

Shut In

My neighbors from across the street are watching me; they have been all summer. Every time I look outside at night, I see a red dot in their second-story window. It's a video camera, I'm convinced. I've pretended to go on late night walks just to get different angles on the red dot. It's definitely coming from some sort of dark box that's propped up on a tripod. At least, that's what I've pieced together from my recon missions. I'm guessing there's a bench or night stand on the other side of that window, since the tripod is small and needs the help of a table in order for the camera to overlook the window sill.

That damn camera's on all night, too. I've never seen a cord, so it must get some charge out of the battery. If I wasn't so worried about the reason why my neighbors are videotaping me, I'd ask them what kind of camera it is and how long the battery lasts. I could use a video camera. I've got ideas. Ideas that could find their way onto YouTube. And then...I guess that's it.

They're videotaping me in case they pick up footage that proves I'm breaking my lease. They're doing this because I'm assuming they're friends with my landlord. I recently found out that my landlord has been taken to court eight times by previous tenants. My former downstairs neighbors were the last to do it, and they won their case. Now, my landlord is pissed. He wants to get back at all of the assholes that have wronged him through misdirected voyeurism. And I'm his victim. I've been sued by a landlord before, but that jackass didn't count on the fact that one of my roommates happened to be the son of a district court judge. We ended up settling, but ever since I've become increasingly defensive and paranoid when it comes to renting.

Tonight, I don't see a red light from my window. So I go outside. It's damn cold out there right now, even for October. The clouds look like ice sheets drifting over the moon, and the wind reminds me that my wool coat won't be enough tomorrow. Get ready for the winter cold, for closed windows, and drawn shades. My neighbors blinds are down. They have no need to watch me in winter. Apparently, this is the time of year they think I don't do anything too exciting. They might be right.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Private Parts


I'm not sure how many people even look at this anymore. There really hasn't been a reason to, of late; it's just Youtube videos. But I will start writing on here again. And soon. Also, this bitch is going private. So if you'd like access, please shoot me an email (jirkface@hotmail.com) so I can add you to the list. I think I just need your email address, the one that you use when browsing or commenting on blogger. I'll be closing the doors to the general public by the end of the weekend.

RIP, Les Paul



Friday, July 31, 2009

Wednesday, July 29, 2009