Poncho Peligroso’s “the romantic”

                Poncho Peligroso is a poet worth blogging about. Besides working tirelessly in his newly appointed position of 2011 Poet Laureate he managed to come out with a book called “the romantic”. At 10,000 words, this is the largest offering of Poncho I’ve ever seen, a gathering of some of Poncho’s previous poems. Usually I get smaller portions. But the main question should be: Is “the romantic” good? Having read this book a few times, I can answer with a resounding yes. 

                The book is structured in an emotional way. Besides his humorous poems you’re treated to some extremely personal, anxious and oftentimes sad poems dedicated to an unknown girl. Whoever this girl is must be someone the narrator cares deeply about and perhaps even loves, hence the title. Some of the saddest ones involve the pains of distance, of moving away, and of finding out exactly how to care about other people. Common themes running throughout the poetry book include paranoia, humorous violence (in absurd chaos fashions involving personal hygiene and boners, boner chaos if you will), death, geography, love, beauty, and the emotional attachment that comes with the internet. 

                My favorite poems are those which effectively create an implied space or story. In poems like “watching you type” you get the feeling of an entire story behind these few interactions. Little lines reference what may or may not be a relationship. By not explicitly stating it the reader can make their own inference into what the poem is trying to convey. Towards the end of “the romantic” the humor is stripped away to a large degree revealing its heart. Reading the final poem entitled “the romantic” I peered into Poncho’s past, not as a poet, but as a person. It chronicled his evolution into the poet, the same one I wrote about months ago, about how he was a person who had just discovered himself. Upon finishing this chapbook I stand by that earlier statement: he has found himself in this language.

                I laughed and had tears well up a little bit. This may be due how much of this applies to me: I’m leaving the state I grew up in, much like Poncho is leaving the house he lived in for most of his life. We’re both traveling to new places. Even the way he writes about love is how I would like to if I could. But I’m not sure if I could.

                You may not know this due to a lack of Podcasts but I’m an even-tempered sloth rare to show any glimpses of ‘genuine emotion’. Lately I’ve begun to experience this emotion commonly known as ‘love’. Actually I’m not certain if I’m doing it right: oftentimes I can’t speak, despite being perfectly articulate. I feel it is tough for me to say exactly what I mean, to cut through all these words to a few, simple direct phrases. Oftentimes I feel our language limits us by providing so many options. We skirt around the words we want to say rather than use those direct, easily definable ones. Sometimes I’m asked a question an extremely personal one and I can’t answer. My eyes dart, I don’t want her to see my tears welling up. My voice stays silent; I can’t have my voice crack. Staying silent allows me to retain the idea in my mind that I’m macho, something that I’m definitely not via reality. Finally, once I answer and have my voice nearly crack from the emotional pressure I immediately go in for a hug and press my face against her shoulder. I love that hug. I love that person. They can’t see my tears rolling down my face. Better they feel them on their shoulder. After they hug back I know they understand, like they said ‘yes’ but with a physical confirmation. 

                “the romantic” makes me realize I’m not alone in feeling this way. Poncho cuts through all the circular speaking we employ in our day to day lives. Often this direct language can be extremely powerful, ungarnished by superfluous words. It can be difficult to read, harder to write. When writing it is hard to be honest with oneself but Poncho is perhaps one of the most honest writers I’ve read in quite some time. It’s a beautiful book.

Firehouse Neckbrace by Josh Spilker

                Josh Spilker distributes chapbooks and critiques music. These are two of my favorite things. I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who feels music and poetry are compatible forms. While he appears to focus more heavily on literature now (also reviewing books at Impose Magazine) I can’t help but to feel a certain sense of a kindred spirit with him. Music reviewing is extremely difficult work as there are literally thousands of references to make, with roughly 8 of those being something most people would understand. I figure that’s why he focuses more on literature than anything else. Besides merely distributing work he creates his own. “Firehouse Neckbrace” is release 2.5 from Deckfight Press. 

                “Firehouse Neckbrace” reminds me of the quiet, disturbed nature of the suburbs. Growing up in the suburbs you don’t realize how strange it is. You see cars pass by on an infrequent basis most of the time. People on the sidewalks don’t have the same warm feeling they do in cities. Instead of thinking “How nice all these people on the sidewalks. Glad they are enjoying the nice day.” you grow paranoid about why they aren’t in cars. No rhythm exists in the suburbs. Cities have a natural rhythm to them. Suburbs feel artificial because they are. Suburbs were created for the sole purpose of escape making a false reality with a fake history about a rich developer who tore apart virgin land to make cookie-cutter homes with enough variation to make people feel like individuals. 

                I feel that needs to be said before getting into Josh’s work. For all of “Firehouse Neckbrace” gives me the impression of a creepy place where nobody bothers learning about each other. Rather you have a cast of characters who don’t seem to sync up or interact with each other properly. Every few pages you return to that desolate picture of a burned-out house. Occasionally larger fonts barge through almost shouting at you. The larger fonts appear to be flarf or flarf-like and break up the story with random interjections.  Dialogue is extremely, almost painfully realistic. Really I’m not certain exactly how to classify this as but I lean towards a short story or a particularly long-form poem. 

                A few character are introduced in refreshing slow way. Josh paces the story properly. I’m a sloth so pacing is pretty important to me. Sometimes I read stories where too many characters are shown to me at once. This can lead to confusion.  Having this pace makes it possible for me to care about these characters. Eventually the chapbook becomes more and more surreal (or real). Lines become blurred between what is occurring and what they are thinking. It’s an interesting mix and since the characters are made for us to understand them makes the experiment feel worth it. 

                Suburbs prove to be the main character in it at least for me. I enjoyed Josh’s description of the community right down to its shopping habits and various zones of control. Despite growing up in suburbs and reading probably an unhealthy amount of fiction and non-fiction about them, I haven’t seen them portrayed this way before. This is the way I talk about them, the way I feel about them and the way I felt living in them. I’m glad Josh Spilker literally captured suburban life for me so accurately and vividly, adorned only with the starkest of facts.

Stephen Tully Dierks

                Stephen Tully Dierks appears on the internet with alarming frequency. In fact, he’s been known to roam around this very blog, commenting with near-abandon. Along with Steve Roggenbuck, he forms the dynamic heroic duo known as the “Steve-Team” where they fight crime in the Chicago metropolitan area. Together they work to bring literature to the internet. Besides this, they show the internet how it itself is a form of literature, with varying degrees of belief and disbelief being displayed by those fortunate enough to live in the internet (such as myself). Flarf is one of many examples. 

                “Pop Serial” is an art/literary magazine edited by Mr. Dierks. With Pop Serial, Stephen manages to bring together the written and online literary world into a single magazine. Oddly, not many people have tried to bridge that gap. I have nothing but the utmost respect for what Mr. Dierks does so diligently. You can actually go to the Tumblr created on the literary magazine’s behalf. The tumblr serves as a ‘Daily Post’ of online literary happenings. An added bonus is the entire first edition of Pop Serial available for free download.

                This isn’t all Stephen does. Besides his tireless support of others he’s also a writer. On his honestly titled blog “What I like is a book that’s at least a little funny once in while” he has some of his poetry available for the reading pleasure of passers-by. You are treated to a vast array of styles, formats, but they are at least a little funny.

                I’ll start with the most recent one, a poem he read live at the “Cool Dogs” session. “The Death Section” references famous deaths, such as JFK, but also incredibly stupid deaths, such as the embarrassing ‘death by autoerotic asphyxiation’. We alternate between these two scenarios. Laughing at the idiot who killed himself while masturbating is one thing, but getting shot in the back of a limo while in Texas is entirely different. Part of what makes this poem so interesting is how it requires some participation from the reader to figure out who the line references, if anyone. Watch the clip of Stephen as well; he has a good reading voice. 

                “I fell asleep during Winter’s Bone” takes up a controversial stance. Here our young lad Stephen talks about falling asleep during the movie “Winter’s Bone” one of the critical darlings of 2010. “Enter the Void” bored Stephen. The mere presence of the lovely Paz de la Huerta gave him hope. Hope existed strongly enough for Stephen to skip through the movie in the hope that such a beautiful American actress would have a ‘nude scene’. He then moves onto movies where she is nude (The Limits of Control) and finally onto a scathing critique of “Broken Flowers”. Unlike Stephen, I am a huge proponent of Bill Murray doing the exact same thing in every movie. Someday I hope a style of acting is created around Bill Murray of staring dejectedly into a camera for roughly one to two minutes. 

                Everyday Genius published a piece by Stephen called “Serious European Art Film”. The beginning is incredibly, almost farcically bleak. Stephen mocks the slow pacing. In the movie the main character is called Sven. Sven contemplates his dreadful life. We’re reminded it is just a film with Stephen fidgeting in his seat. Once the movie is over we’re brought back down to reality through a stereotypical text message. After all that despair on screen we’re reminded just how mundane and comfortable our lives really are. 

                Stephen is prolific. Hopefully he continues to encourage others through his literary magazine “Pop Serial”. Thankfully we’re guaranteed to continue seeing him on ustreams.  

Paul Hanson Clark

                Who is Paul Hanson Clark? According to his blog, he lives in Omaha, Nebraska. That’s all I know about him. I don’t even know if that is true. Otherwise he remains an online mystery. Most of the comments on his poems are additional poems by him. No one knows why he does this, creating his own world to comment on. It forms a loop of work which is constantly feeding off itself. Honestly, it is a pretty interesting world.

                Paul Clark wrote his first piece “Fat” on February 22^nd, 2011. After he wrote it, he kept on adding to it. “Skinny” and “Average (in two parts)” came next. The final addition mentioned how he never wants to be famous. I like the language in it; it feels stark, harsh, bitter and sarcastic. Staying anonymous may help him remain obscured behind countless words and phrases. Note this title is repeated twice. 

                “It Makes You Think “Which Wolf”” takes a different approach. Here we’re treated to a really bizarre mash-up of various themes. Wolves after the three pigs go into a bar. Already we have the wolves bored of violence. Instead they revel in agitation. The entire poem has some bizarre circular logic to it. If a joke and fairytale came together with Catch-22’s perverse logic it might look something like this poem. 

                Mortality is faced in “That’s Annoying, But Whatever”. He bothers people with checking his phone. The comments (which are larger than the poem itself) explain visiting an old childhood friend. My favorite comment of his comes at the end, as he thinks about how he almost got electrocuted. Somehow he knew his body was conditioned to live its life. Towards the end of the comment poem we see a certain ‘flashing before my eyes’ about the ocean.

                In “Gatorade” he is pretty funny. He makes $800,000 a year insulting others. Perhaps he is Tosh.0. Of course in such a mocking poem he needs to mention Sarah Palin, frog legs, disappointment, and passing out in front of a church. The words used are strong, difficult but funny. His comments yet again compliment his original piece.  

                Mountain Dew garners his attention in “Oh a Goodie!” He mentions the great beverage in a tweet to Mountain Dew’s official account. In that tweet he mentions why he’d be a good handler of the Mountain Dew twitter account. For Paul Clark is a humanitarian who believes Mountain Dew can change the world, he knows what joy it brings to extreme sports. Mountain Dew never tweeted back at him, showing Mountain Dew doesn’t care about twitter people. 

                 This was a great discovery for me. I enjoy randomly stumbling upon something on the internet and just exploring every nook and cranny. Since Paul comments on his own posts it creates a sort of commentary on commentary. Most of the work serves as an endless hall of mirrors with the emotions getting reflected over and over again constantly shifting into something new. My recommendation would be to explore it for a little bit, follow him on twitter, and explore the alien landscape. Following him on twitter provides a more condensed version of his ideas or perhaps the roots of his main thoughts. 

I guarantee you it will be weird. 

Poncho Peligroso’s Back!

                Many social media platforms missed Poncho during his vacation from the internet. Suddenly going from a tweet an hour to nothing is jarring to say the least. Writing a thesis paper isn’t the same as being the 2011 Poet Laureate. People expect to come to your presence on Facebook, on Twitter, on Tumblr, on Wordpress, or on Goodreads. 

                I remember where I was when I heard he was printing out his thesis. Everyone in the thread made specifically for online literary types grew excited. As we pictured his thesis, all hot and naked on the printer, unseemly images poured into our minds. We imagined his thesis as a being, a beautiful being with the gender we were attracted to, waiting for us. The thesis began discussing Frank Hinton’s poetry, it began discussing his poetry, and it began to subtly belittle critics of boykittens. Our eyes glazed over as his thesis did a little dance for us. Clearly that time spent practicing yoga paid off as it was infinitely flexible. 

                That time is over. We have him back to his rightful habitat not in some silly school learning things, but on here, on the internet, with us. A lot happened during his time away. First, in an attempt to garner him even more fame occurred in two deft swoops. We saw a Facebook fan page created in his honor, celebrating the 2011 Poet Laureate. Pictures were put up, celebrating him. Each time I saw an update I thought “Omar De Col, that macro fiend, is probably behind this page”. "Cutestboykitten" gave away the creator fairly quickly.  Of course this pales in comparison to the second, infinitely more epic leap to internet stardom.

                Google acknowledged Poncho’s status as the undisputed 2011 Poet Laureate. Wikipedia hadn’t gotten the memo. So we had to bring it to them. The first edit of his page proved to be effective. Eventually the article fell into some form of information anarchy. Reading the discussion page gave me the impression I was watching our gridlocked government decide how to screw people over by raising taxes or eliminating basic social services. After the article got deleted (though the supporters of Poncho’s Literary Activism were strong) the argument remains encased for all to remember in glossy internet amber. Perhaps one day we may extract that Wikipedia DNA to make a new page. 

                May 5^th officially announced Poncho had returned as the undisputed champion of the 2011 Poet Laureate Google bomb. For on that day, he released new poetry. It had been a while but finally I got new Poncho. “4 Bee Poems” is what I found on ‘AllWriteThen’ a twee name for a poetry blog. The poems themselves were great.

                Bees were the focus of each one. Poncho paid close attention to their smallness and sweetness rather than the stinger. In the first one, the bee transfers knowledge over to other bees. Realizing its own weakness it still manages to help others. The consecutive three go into even more affectionate territory, even a certain longing for affection of wanting love. For being a bee is not something we normally associate with kindness. More often we think about the pain they close instead of the care they have for flowers, for pollination. They are responsible for so much in agriculture. If you want to be nice to them, it would be real swell if you didn’t shriek and scream hysterically if they want to drink your Sunkist beverage. Let them. They have earned it.

                Twitter is a big part of Poncho’s appeal. His twitter tweets at some unfathomably fast rate. Over 12,000 tweets is something to be proud of, I think. Especially considering how many of them are so weird, so interesting, devoid of links, just thoughts. A poem of his called “Show Your Horse The Internet. What have you done” on the knitcore blog displays his skill of re-configuring the tweets of horse_ebooks and Google searches into a poem. Meaningless phrases are woven together to form a total whole. It feels sad, playful, weird and, like much of Poncho’s work, somewhat funny. 

                Reading new stuff from Poncho is a real treat. He seems to be in touch with his surroundings and his perspective on house plants and bees makes me happy. Too often we ignore what’s around us for what is considered important or relevant to our daily lives. Poncho’s work reminds us to pay attention to the little details.

Brett Gallagher

                Brett Gallagher is a twenty-three year old vegan coffee enthusiast living in what is referred to as “Real America” as opposed to my New York, false America to many, if not all. Most of his work can be found on his blog “As You Recognize Your Transience” or indirectly linked to it. I first noticed his work through the bizarrely packaged “Loop Loop Endogenous” which is pretty trippy even without words, but the words and pictures work well together.

                On Lamination Colony, you see his first published work. The words flow at some obscenely fast pace. For certain pieces, you mind tries to make sense out of the missing pieces. Brett leaves them there intentionally. Words are missing vowels; endings aren’t where they normally are. Everything mentioned feels ridiculous things, processors, UPS, FedEx, elephants, faux news and so on. Allowing so much freedom with the words creates multiple meanings and scenarios for the work. 

                “I looked out my window to see myself pulling a horse on a string through the open sky at dusk” has a slightly more grounded language. Don’t worry; it retains a great deal of freedom. Only this time the language is slightly more structured. Like his previous poem, it moves very quickly. A few feelings are present in this poem, particularly a disdain for consumerism, as noted in the third part. Purchases don’t make up happy according to the poem but contemplation does. Staring at the night sky slows things down, as does extended periods of time spent with less productive vegetation. 

                Going into “Bless” then is a bit of a shock. Here a concrete, near linear plot exists. Sure, it is fantasy, but by having a narrator and someone the narrator addresses it comes across as direct. The imagery of space may suggest a greater place but for this poem it suggests a hope in a dream world. 

                By far my favorite would be “Loop Loop Endogenous Nightscape”. Illustrations are done by Elizabeth Arnold, aka Neon Glittery. Here all his previous ideas, the fast-pace and emotional content come into a swelling whole or, as he states in his chapbook “wordish barrages”. With the visuals and the words themselves, they conjure up a reality almost but not quite graspable. Images are remixed into illustrations and so forth. Brett uses the idea of a loop to continue on themes or ideas, such as water, the night, and plenty others. Though it is experimental, it is probably the most enjoyable thing I’ve seen of his thus far.

                Thankfully though, this is not the end. According to his blog he appears to have a few other projects in the works. “Vessels” his latest project, is proving to be his biggest and most promising. During various Ustreams he showed them off. Each one of those Ustreams offered a glimpse at what it has to offer, sounding very rhythmic, almost hypnotic. His attention to language is remarkable. When I jokingly called him a “Post-Bro” he had all the connotations of what that word might mean. Immediately I got a rise out of him. He doesn't shy away from provocation himself, having declared a poke war on Facebook.

 Unlike a great deal of his compatriots, his online presence appears to be small, with a seldom used twitter and now deleted Tumblr. I think this will help him focus on creating new work or at the very least that is my hope. See the below for an excerpt from his upcoming work "Vessel".

vi. vessel at midnight, an observation

and kjellfrid begins counting fingernails kept in her birdnest and she imagines she is a mother bird who is taking care of her young and she slowly carefully lovingly places more nails into the nest and looks out towards the center of the fjord and kjellfrid feels herself becoming undone and this is all too much and as taped joints begin sagging from sockets her glued frame begins losing it’s shape erland can be seen rowing his vessel ever closer to the center of the fjord and kjellfrid realizes the moon is sharp and a great sadness fills her diaphram and by the light of the projector’s flickering nebula-pattern refracted over the desolate topography of a continuous blackness settling over the fjord kjellfrid writes the scaline angles of her mind with her most prized fingernails


and the half life of this vessel a flotation
above body levitated above body
dusk over forest seen from below
is equivalent to the thought
that i am out somewhere apart from myself
and i am investigating the sea bed
and on calm evenings i row out to you
this heaviness the night
is yours
ours

and kjellfrid raises her head and watches erland rowing with oars that are tusks of pine shaped as colonies of trails as paint-dripping quasars at night and erland has become in triplicate and his body flickers gently and it is though kjellfrid can see through him if only momentarily and kjellfrid looks down at her hands and remembers when he pulled her aside by the window when these great iron-fastened nights were fewer and said i want to be there with you now and year from now and a year from now into infinity and kjellfrid remembers sleep patterns of dream sequences filled with forest families and tender angles

endless darkness, says kjellfrid

almost probably, says kjellfrid as erland

why has it become so quiet, says kjellfrid

take my hand, says kjellfrid as erland

listen, says kjellfrid

the sounds of moonlight cratering against the pines and, says kjellfrid as erland

will this, we, says kjellfrid

soon we will row out to each other and make quiet introductions with lips of heavy water that will hold the way under moon light of indian summer sky, says kjellfrid as erland

yes, says kjellfrid

soon, i must leave, says kjellfrid as erland

but, says kjellfrid

and erland begins walking and kjellfrid stands and erland continues walking and kjellfrid hides her face from view and erland keeps walking and keeps walking and keeps walking and keeps walking

and kjellfrid lifts her head and erland is resting his oars and looking back at kjellfrid but kjellfrid is again unable to speak and only understands language in fingernails muscles cavities airways and mucus secretions and the water is still and the far wall of the horizon flutters and a dim glow appears towards one extreme of the horizon and taped floorboards nails hastily hammered glued sheets of darkness tacked orbs of cotton as crescent moon begin crumbling and kjellfrid opens her mouth again to shout to her beloved but her vessel begins closing around her and her folds and cavities ache and the darkness of her vessel

Lee Patterson

               Lee Patterson is one of the first poets I’m reviewing from my neck of the woods, the tri-state metropolitan area. While he does live in Madison, NJ I won’t hold his NJ roots against him, as some of my favorite people are from New Jersey. In fact, there’s a certain weird charm I feel every time I take NJ transit on one of my many trips to that exotic land.

                What Lee does is quite clear: he delves into regular poetry on his more traditional poetry blog and engages with Flarf poetry (poetry derived partly or entirely from the internet on his larger, more updated blog). I find it interesting how he felt the need to divide the two into two separate blogs as I feel internet writing can often be just as good, if not better, than what counts as ‘officially published’ writing. Besides maintaining these two blogs, he has been published in “The Columbia Review” and “West 10^th”. Having become aware of him through Steve Roggenbuck’s #poetrybyemilydickinson project, something tailor-made for his interests, most of my focus will center on his No Name Key blog which gives me more information.

                Beginning with the “Independence Day Rain” he shows a certain flair for the readymade nature of Flarf poetry. Managing to avoid sounding forced or unnecessarily pointing attention to their origins, he creates the illusion of a relationship between the two characters in the poem. It’s sort of unusual, but I enjoy seeing the language used outside of context to create something more substantial.

                   One of my favorites has to be his only December poem called “Amazing Bundler Opiating”. In this he shows off one of the results of too much Google information. Cobbled together is information about an amazing Christian rock band, dissatisfaction on Obama’s healthcare plan, Opium, and the Taliban. None of that should make sense together, but a reader’s external information about any of those events or ideas is virtually unavoidable. A reader can manage to make sense out of it; much in the same way our brains are wired to understand words without vowels or with slight misspellings. 

                “I can smell your Heirlooms from here” is great for other reasons. He takes all these internet phenomena and creates a situation, a story. Originally starting with a de-friended friend on Facebook, the narrator tells us about how this awful Facebook friend once slipped acid in his beer. As he begins freaking out he thinks of ‘you’, a person never defined. Smelling heirlooms and the description of synesthesia gives it a surreal quality. 

                For his less-internet based poetry, I’d say the title poem of “Anonimo Key” is the best of the bunch. I’ve never been to the Florida Keys but I enjoyed the feel of the words and confusion chosen. Now that I haven’t been on a road trip for such a long time I kind of miss the bizarre nature of getting lost in new places, rather than getting lost in vaguely familiar places, which is far more common with me. 

                Strangely, I like both forms. Obviously I have a focus on here of internet based poetry, but I appreciated the fact he tried to differentiate between the two forms. That way I get a better idea of what the process must be. Having read both, I’d be interested in how one is decided for one or the other blog, what the criteria is for an ‘internet based’ versus ‘writing based’ poem, since so much of what I read and process is mostly through the internet at this point. I guess not knowing makes it more interesting. 

Love Storming Bebe Zeva

Courtesy of Steve Roggenbuck

              Love Storming is when you care about someone very much. Telling them “I care about you” doesn’t always cut it. Sometimes it takes a village. A village can be hard to assemble in real life, so you have to go to the internet. What you then do is tag a picture with roughly 50 or more people. Once this is done, you feel the love of roughly 10,000 or so comments existing as a broken up narrative. But this number only increases, if slower than before, never stopping to think why it exists, but simply being a part of the Facebook experience. It is in fact a living breathing internet organism, feeding off the participants’ wit and verve. 

                Steve Roggenbuck may be the genius of our interconnected generation. Without any sort of external help, he’s managed to become a force to be reckoned with on and offline. Twitter feeds, Facebook, Blogging, Chapbooks, he does it all with an enthusiasm which is contagious. I don’t know how he does it, but unlike many other writers, he invites participation. Most of his work and projects function only with outside participation. Plus, he adds a sense of humor and mischief that so many other writers lack. In case that wasn’t enough, he has confidence like you wouldn’t believe. Follow me on Twitter; Follow me on Facebook takes on a new importance with his work. 

                Bebe Zeva ended up being the love stormed person this week. Using a single photo of her, Steve then proceeded to tag about 35 people. Of course, this being Facebook, there’s really no limit to how many people can continuously post on the same picture, over and over again. Choosing Bebe was a wise decision as it is impossible to dislike her. If you don’t like her, it may be a problem you have, not a problem she has. There’s a reason Tao Lin and Megan Boyle made a documentary about her that I covered in extensive detail on this very site, or why they opened up a Kombucha bottle before giving it to her. MDMA Films might consider her documentary to be their ‘crown jewel’ of their ever-increasing collection of DVD releases. 

                The picture was simple. A screenshot, literally the most basic of internet skills was employed of Steve adding Bebe as a friend on Facebook. This was nothing too unusual for either participant, as they are both online personalities. Next came the tricky part. How can you tag the kind of people who will take an idea and run with it especially an idea as absurd as constantly commenting on a Facebook picture and transforming it into a full-fledged conversation, if not actual chat room? Can those people do online improvisation if required? 

Walt Whitman once said “For great poetry, there must be great audiences.” Picking your audience is probably one of the most important things you can do once you try to create such an epic experience. Not like this was the first time such a thing had been done, apparently there had been tens of thousands of comments on pictures and statuses before. Steve’s goal differed in that he consciously want this to be a memorable, enjoyable experience that could have participants leave and enter while keeping up the velocity of the comments. Getting a group of people diverse enough to comment during the Earth’s full rotation meant people outside of the US, in the UK, in New Zealand, and countless other countries in other time zones.

                “Feel the Inspiration” is the name of Steve’s Tumblr, but the chat felt more like “Feel the Love” as the project progressed. A natural flow of a chat room emerged, with Bebe even joining the conversation time to time. In fact, Bebe said she’ll be posting up an article on “Thought Catalog” about the entire enjoyable experience. Hover around Thought Catalog for when her version of the events comes out.  Megan Boyle stopped by to say hi as well, along with the older Rachel Zeva. While a few characters came and went, a hardcore group of people emerged to keep things going. Steve served as a director of the event, calling it an “anti-shitstorm” and “meta-chat thread”. 

                How did the love exactly spread? Over the course of the chat, everyone made new friends, thus continuing the original intention of Steve adding Bebe as a friend. I met new people, added 17 friends on Facebook as the love storm progressed. People swam in and out of different ideas. Sometimes it would be about finding a new soundtrack by putting up a youtube clip. Having music play in the background makes staring at a computer screen with a near-religious devotion that much easier. 

Focus turned to the giant thread itself, with people excited about who got which thousandth post (I was lucky enough to get four thousand, Louise Joy got the pivotal number of ten thousand, allegedly the cut-off point, but it continued after that with toe holes, a topic introduced by one half of the blogging crew “Philolzophy”). People even created youtube clips based on the excitement created by such a small articulate part of the internet, this moving clip being just one of many examples (thank you Jim Rowley!). One happy marriage came out of this intense experience. We wondered whether the thread could get a MacArthur genius grant, end world hunger, usher in an era of peace, win a Nobel Prize for Literature (beating Thomas Pynchon’s ‘Gravity’s Rainbow’), or get some sweet blog coverage. At least the last topic was almost guaranteed. In case the thread wins a MacArthur genius grant, the thread will be able to focus on that novel it’s always wanted to write. 

                Summarizing such an epic thread is impossible. Can I summarize a living, breathing thread? Figuring that out is like summarizing someone’s future. I will avoid making light of this important event on the internet, in the confines of internet poetry. Internet poetry has never seen anything so great; I’m moved to tears by this event. Visit it here, keep it going strong, and see the genius behind such an event which comes along as often as Hayley’s Comet. Think of it as the Woodstock of Flarf, the Boykittens Family, or, how I put it:

               

Courtesy of Je Sk

“This is the most important comment thread I’ve ever participated in.”

Cassandra Nguyen

                 Cassandra Nguyen describes her blog as ‘a collection of random prose and bullshit’. I think that description kind of shows the attitude she has towards her poems. Most of them show certain forcefulness or genuine ‘fuck it attitude which I enjoy, with one of her poems being literally a photo with the words “Caution Fuck It”. Some of my closest friends employ this kind of attitude in their work, so I’m glad to see others following in the proud tradition. Even her twitter notices this, as the emotional style of her tweets tends to be “Angry” and “Depressed” in that order. 

                What’s the work like then? Well, going through her blog, she has a definite affinity for beat writers and poets. Allen Ginsberg, William S. Burroughs (a personal favorite of mine), Jack Kerouac appear with surprising frequency. Non-writers are shown off as well, to give an idea of what her other interests are. David Lynch shows up, which makes sense considering her photos.

                The photos she does tend to be lost in a haze. Part of this is obviously due to what she uses, which tends to be film. Some of the pictures have real warmth to them, and remind me of one of the joys of film, something I’ve yet to see accurately captured by digital. Having an app which pretends to capture the feeling of film isn’t the same, I’m sorry Apple but you failed.    

                Her poems appear either on her blog or, more conveniently, on the LETPEOPLEPOEMS project I’ve been following. Actually, they are pretty heavy. They mess with your head, at least “‘Suffer Baby’ – Friday Night Metal Black” does. If you want to read a ‘metal’ poem, this would more than satisfy that need. Keep in mind the theme of this month for LETPEOPLEPOEMS is ‘caution’. Keep in mind as well her picture is an adorable picture of her in the center of a hex with the number “666” on it, written in internet blood. “Jonestown” a longer length indicates a healthily deranged sense of humor. Either that or a more blunt answer: You don’t fuck with Cassandra Nguyen ever. 

                “Stomach is not invisible” is dark yet again. Here it focuses on death but in a more indifferent way. A boathouse is the solution. Every extremity isn’t doing so hot. When the poem focuses away from the subject, its bleak attitude and hopes to start a punk band, it congratulates the winner of “Top Chef”. The different focuses help lighten the otherwise brooding nature of the poem. 

                Despite being her shortest one, “Bong Life” might be my favorite one. It doesn’t have very many words in it. With so little, it manages to create a certain mood of defiance. As one person stated “this is badass”. I’d have to agree with them. 

                Unicorns seem to be a thing with her as well. In her poem “Re Clinically Depressed Unicorns” she has fun in hell. She meets famous evil people. While in hell, she’s relatively prolific with her poetry output. The unicorn and her become friends. Life becomes good while in the literal embodiment of misery, pain, and suffering. But then, Cassandra is pretty metal. 

                I feel her poetry helps me out when I’m feeling upset or pissed off. Sometimes I’m not very good at articulating this emotion, since I try to be a generally happy sloth. Cassandra’s work is weird, confrontational, depressed and a bit angry. That’s what I like about it. It does it well. I hope she continues to do this, since she appears to have just gotten started. Who knows where she’ll be, though she will not be the 2011 Poet Laureate, I think 2016 Poet Laureate is a goal within her reach.

Ustream: Stephen Tully Dierks and Steve Roggenbuck

                 Ustream is a place where you can do lifecasting, or, as Steve Roggenbuck say “Live your Life” but this time on the internet with people watching. Some political events on Ustream get a lot of attention. It is those smaller events that really change the world. Remember the first Velvet Underground concert? You probably don’t, since you’re reading my blog. But you probably are aware that in the first Velvet Underground concert only about 100 people were there, and they all either became musicians, rock critics, or some other part of the great rock n’ roll machine. 

                Sunday, April 17^th at 8:00 CST could be easily compared to that first Velvet Underground concert. Everyone in the chat either was a poet a writer or a critic (Am I a critic? I feel I may be considered one). All of us are going onto bigger and better things, but this might be the first time we truly interacted in a meaningful, semi-anonymous way. Keep in mind the cooler things are the ones that don’t always get the most attention. Though small in number, we are strong in spirit. We are boykittens, hear us meow. 

                You could taste the anticipation. Part of the anticipation came from the Ustream’s various technical difficulties. It was interesting staring at Stephen and Steve’s faces showing expressions of disappointment. As Dierks went off in search of a more cooperative computer, I learned a lot about Roggenbuck’s face. Staring at it, the calm polite Midwest accurately depicted in Steve’s eyes, I felt reassured. Everything was going to be okay. This wasn’t going to be an ordinary poetry reading. When Dierks busted back into the room, I knew things were about to get real. 

                Things got very real. I’ve never heard Dierks voice before, but it was a powerful reading voice. A voice like that used to do the morning announcements in High School. You pay attention when that voice reads an excerpt from “Naked Lunch” even if the material strikes you as a bit unsettling. Suck it up. William S Burroughs would’ve messed you up if he had the chance and needed the money. Burroughs was addicted to heroin, so that may have been a common occurrence. 

                Inside their apartment felt strange. MTV, if you’re reading this, perhaps you could do a “Cribs” about the sort of bling online poets have. You can look through their fridge and freezer, gasping at the multitude of vegetarian eating options. As was their wont, they decided to list off all the food they had, as if to show off their ability to cook, a skill I lack completely (excluding microwaving). 

                Roggenbuck did not disappoint with his physicality. I feel Steve is an extremely active person, twisting this way and that. Whenever I see Steve perform a poem, I think of James Chance’s song “Contort Yourself”. Unlike lazy people staring blankly at their computer screens, Steve probably engages in some sort of physical activity while he’s flarfing. See his YouTube videos which teach us the importance of poetry, micro-flarf, gaining twitter followers, and so on.

                Many important questions were asked but not answered in the chat. Questions about David Foster Wallace, popping popcorn (which was shown in vivid detail), Omar De Col, LetPeoplePoems (a poetry site I’m very fond of), Zen Buddhism, writing, ‘A Walk to Remember’, problems with being a teenager in love, Pauly Shore, Live Tweeting of “The Notebook” and others. They were perhaps too numerous to even mention, you had to be there. I was there.

                Allegedly I was “dominating” the chat. I’m not entirely certain if this was true. The poems might have moved me, such as the visceral reading of “So Hawny” which makes you think: if given the chance, would you fuck a jar of peanut butter? Or is such an action kind of nuts? Beauty doesn’t have to be based on physical attraction, it could be textural.

                Watching them, I wanted Cassandra Nguyen to join them. I thought it would be funny to urge both sides to have Cassandra join the reading, despite the fact neither party showed a remote interest in letting that happen. Thankfully they both found it a humorous, bizarre proposition.  Apparently my lewd comments were considered the most successful but they were so of the moment that to republish them would lose the context. Suffice it to say someone mentioned the act of “spooning” with questions arising. 

                Together Stephen and Steve worked together to interact with the chat audience. Usually this is done to a large degree on Ustream. Somehow the couple managed to make it work when conventionally it shouldn’t have worked. Running in and out of the closet, removing footwear, it was a true rush to be there, if only electronically. 

                Pop Serial is a literary magazine run by Stephen Tully Dierks. Steve Roggenbuck is such a multi-faceted creature I’m at a loss of how to describe him, other than awesomeness personified and unleashed onto the internet, creating joyful abandon. I was there to see it all.

Frank Hinton

               I have focused on Steve Roggenbuck’s latest endeavor, Internet Poetry on this blog before. While the whole site offers a plethora of material yanked from the internet’s general indifference, one piece got stuck in my head. That was Frank Hinton’s piece, which apparently is called “unrequested livejasmin.com pop-up”. I thought about it a lot and decided to find out a little more about this person.

                Frank Hinton keeps busy. Halifax, Nova Scotia doesn’t really offer a great deal of activities, excluding an airline (Air Canada Jazz) which elicits some of the angriest emotions I can muster out of my near-uniform polite attitude. I reckon Frank Hinton is the chief exporter of poetry and literature for the general Halifax metropolitan area.  Besides writing her own poetry, she’s also an editor and founder of the online literary journal Metazen. Metazen is probably one of the best places to publish literature online, since they tend to curate the work and apply such abnormal things like standards. Originally it started as a place to post her drunken writing. As someone who created a Facebook group for this sole purpose, it is reassuring to know some drunken thoughts transform themselves into full-bodied literary journals.

                Obviously she is a female and writes under a male pseudonym Frank who she refers to as “A sad man, a pathetic man”. How she explains it is her enjoyment of ambiguity. Living on a gender pendulum, it allows a greater amount of freedom than simply being thought of as a ‘male’ or ‘female’ writer. There are countless articles explaining how this kind of perception (either as a male or female writer) can create a certain expectation. By using an obvious pseudonym, it makes things more interesting. Her online persona is extremely shadowy, mysterious. We don’t really know much about her besides her writing. Keeping mysterious yet accessible makes the work more interesting, as I find it can be easier to write something when I know I’m anonymous. The pain of writing something with your actual name attached probably contributes to a great deal of dishonesty within literature, as if the writer is trying to impress you in some small way. Frank Hinton’s writing is direct painfully so at times. 

                She has a few poems lying around in odds and ends. Apparently she also has a chapbook called “I don’t respect female expression” coming out around the end of April from Safety Third Enterprises. But I haven’t read it. So I won’t go over it. Instead, I’ll go over her poems she’s had lying around, whatever I could find basically. Most of these I found on her Spartan-style Tumblr which you can access here. Though I won’t review every one of these, I do recommend reading all of them. 

                Her piece for Lamination Colony, called “How to be Me, an Instructional Video narrated by Frank Hinton” shows a certain playfulness. In here you learn how to hate people on a bus, chew off your fingernail in public (which is an actual skill) and how to avoid negative thinking upon waking up. Since she does have this on the internet, she explains how to post online in order to flame or remain anonymous (both good choices). Along with these apparent instructions is the final sentence which states “You were once a child and you had it all”. That’s probably one of my favorite lines of hers. Children get lucky with the amount of happiness they get. Then come teenage years they grow overly angst-ridden and depressed. Finally, in their twenties they begin trying to improve themselves through questionable practices of self-help, self-improvement and other endeavors of dubious merit. 

                Relationships get a lot of attention in her poetry. Every word she uses has a distinct meaning or conveys a particular meaning. In “I’d be a Barbie without him” she takes on a female persona. Frank becomes one of the antagonists in this story/poem. Jumping between ages, you see the evolving attitude and increasing knowledge of sexuality. Some of it is humorous, like at age 17 when she tried to return the rock to Glenn but Glenn didn’t live there anymore. Other instances show Frank as a 12 year old, then what I’d think was a first-time at 18, I could be wrong. Everything is in shadows here. Nothing really is fully explained, but as time progresses; certain numbness sets in followed by a plea at the end. 

                Part of my joy reading these are how well she describes various feelings about love. Love is a difficult thing to write about without falling into the extremes of anger, sadness, despair, happiness, coy, and so on. Frank Hinton avoids these. She writes things with an honesty that’s hard to find. Being honest could be funny or tragic, it depends on the circumstances and often her work can be both.  Her chapbook will explore these themes even further.

Omar De Col

                Omar De Col is some British poetry guy. When I look at his name, I think he could be a historical figure who was well known for collecting exotic insects. I don’t know why his name does this for me. Perhaps it’s the “De” which creates an unnecessary pause in my mind. Also, I want to call him Omar De LOL for when he does something funny.

                Most of what he does is genuinely funny. Even his Tumblr shows off his mix of honesty and humor. It gives off a feeling of sweetness and confidence in short concise sentences or phrases. Plus the name of it “Avant-Garde Bagpipe Solos” goes well with my fictitious genre “Polka Noise”. The explanation of his work is 

                “this a collection of thoughts/stories/poems inspired mostly by red bull, residual (post/pre-masturbation) horniness and boredom” 

                Most of Tumblr should have this as a warning. At least Omar had the good sense of stating the obvious. It’s this humor which makes his limited amount of work so enjoyable. Most of his poetry appears either on his Tumblr or on LetPeoplePoems, a sweet site which allows people to submit their poetry. His poem about a deaf pigeon was the first submission.

                “Re Frank Hinton” was based off of his internet affection for Frank Hinton. For those of you unaware of her work, Frank Hinton runs Metazen. I like her poetry. She lives in a cloud of smoke in a part of Canada which other Canadians consider really boring. Internet crushes are hard he tells us. Having a crush on an internet enigma like Frank Hinton is even harder. As an added addition, he had this one go viral on Steve Roggenbuck’s Facebook wall. While it went viral, various individuals mentioned new poetic ways of using social media. I told someone to get a Cherry Coke.

                Two of his other poems are even more absurd. “Right before I come” mentions 60s movies stars and why he can’t bring M&Ms to work. His Omar.com one on LetPeoplePoems is fantastic. Instead of it being pure text, he uses a screen-shot of his poem, similar to how Frank Hinton used in “unrequested livejasmin.com pop-up”. Unlike that one, he openly wanted to use the Omar.com site to branch out to every part of the Omar demographic. Plus, he’ll monetize it hard and bring about joy through social networking.

                Another one of his poems “so hawny” expresses his joy at being aroused sexually. Food items become objects of affection. The mention of marmalade helps me remember just how British he is because we don’t believe in that shit here in America. In America we fuck pies. By the end we get to the age old question of whether or not life is better having fucked a jar of peanut butter or simply leaving it alone. Personally, I feel it is better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all. He expresses similar feelings in the poem "long distance relationships" where sex is had over Skype. Omar is a dreamer.

                I’ve only been exposed to a little more than this from his Tumblr. Most of his Tumblr is made up of ridiculous images with even more ridiculous captions. Out of all of them, I enjoyed the Buddha statue the most. Omar is just beginning, but I want him to continue. Continue with this train of thought Omar De Col, I want to continue using your sweet name. Holy crap he’s also on twitter as “Holiecrap”. 

                PS: Let me know if you prefer to be called Omar De LOL

Stacey Teague

                 Whenever I think about the usefulness of twitter (a thought I have a lot) I think about a few people who actually make the experience worth it. These people are precious few, since so many twitter accounts appear to be bots or just shameless promotion. Encountering one of these people is akin to finding a four-leaf clover, you’re very lucky if you do. 

                Stacey Teague happens to be one of those people who make my twitter feed a better place. Thanks to Steve Roggenbuck’s wonderful project (#poetrybyemilydickinson) I noticed she was in on that digital poetry orgasm. Not sure if she was a poet, I checked her blogspot which she shares with her friend Susan. She is. 

                A lot of her poems seem to focus on animals. Perhaps she’s an animal person or enjoys thinking about their perspective on our overburdened life, all of its complications. Yet those animals have no idea how hard we have to work so they can just lollygag around the house, eating and sleeping. Things I should be doing.

                 “Post-Coitus” is the feeling of melancholy after coitus. It is also the name of Stacey’s first poem for NewWaveVomit. The poem’s focus seems to be on one of those low-key, mellow days which are tailor made for reflection. Even the sentence within the poem mentions how she talked about nothing much with her sister, who she loves. 

                “I Remember Everything” recollects a relationship in smeared details. Little bits and pieces of personality are displayed in the strangest of memories, for squishy moles and salts. Her line about “I love you” and how it can mean that or not mean that was particularly enjoyable. It makes me think of the words we say out of obligation rather than actual affection. Or the opposite could be true, where someone knows of the value of the words and refrains from saying it. 

                The last poem “Here are some of my “statement poems” feels like it should have another position, definitely before “I Remember Everything”. Perhaps it was Stacey’s intention to have thoughts on a previous relationship to come before details of the relationship, of making breakfasts and wet skinny jeans. 

                For LetPeoplePoems, she continues these thoughts on relationships. Dinosaurs are involved, actively listening. Since they are only dinosaurs, they don’t have to listen very hard. They only need to say ‘hmm’. “Brachiosaurus” appears to be a kind-hearted leaf-eater, who tries to comfort Stacey as she looks out on the harbor. Plus, she gets to climb on his back and find out about the bands he’s listening to, though we never hear any specific bands mentioned. 

                The other dinosaur poem “Diplodocus” expresses the narrator as a dinosaur. She expresses how we are vegetarians for moral reasons. Humans are aware of our own existence, making us feel a little crummier than the dinosaurs.  Due to this awareness, we feel heavier than several-ton extinct creatures. That is a bummer. 

                Her poems have a few running themes or conditions. I notice for nearly all of them it is raining or the words give an impression of rain. This may be due to her location in general, I’m not sure, and I’ve never been to New Zealand since I’m not a huge Lord of the Rings fan. Umbrellas get a great deal of mention, as do harbors and being wet in general. Animals are revered, particularly dinosaurs. Relationships form the basis of most of her poems. These are shown off in realistic ways, without being too happy or unhappy. It is a rare feat to capture a relationship in poetry without veering too heavily towards positivity or negativity. 

                She’s currently making a poetry anthology and needs submissions from New Zealand and Australia. Anyone from either of those locations should join immediately.

“I am Shaun Gannon” Review

                 Who is this guy? Who does he think he is? Honestly, I don’t know many people who could get away with this kind of performance. Precious few people have the ability to pull it off. This performance does it in spades. He is Shaun Gannon, co-creator of LetPeoplePoems. 

                I’ve been to a few poetry readings. Usually they consist of a painfully awkward, borderline hermit trying to emit some of their personality in the reading. Or, what is more commonly the case, to speak in as dry a tone as possible. As this goes on, people generally stare into their beers hoping to avoid any painful eye contact. Shaun Gannon does not follow this formula.

                Coming up onto the stage, you know this is going to be a loud performance. You could feel a psychic presence of something loud about to go down. Almost the entire room is filled with his voice as he completely ignores the microphone placed in front of him, that useless instrument explicitly created for the weak and feeble. Microphones are not for Shaun Gannon. 

                Humor is all over the confounded thing. Delivery of each line could not be more perfect. After describing our world in painstakingly bleak language, he then has the punch line of “pretty fucking crappy”. It’s perfect. Somehow he manages to convey the idea that not only is each word capitalized, every single letter is. Translating the caps lock from writing to speaking is no easy task. Shaun Gannon is more than up for the challenge. 

                By using the repeating phrase “I am Shaun Gannon” he creates a specific flow for the poem. When he wants to build up the tension in the reading, he uses the line several times in quick succession. Or, if he wants to punctuate the absurdity of the exercise, he’ll mention how he is the archbishop of the church of Bowie or how we must be quiet. Shaun Gannon cannot be silenced however.

                Some of these lines are fantastic. One of them I don’t want to quote, but I have no choice. You really should listen to him shout them at the top of his lungs. 

                “I am Shaun Gannon and I am your guardian angel but don’t expect me to do much because I hate you.”

                The work builds up so heavily that after a while you get bludgeoned into submission. But you’re fine. Why not have Shaun Gannon announce his presence to the world. Let him tell you about when he first found out about justice. 

                Poets could learn something from Shaun Gannon. Knowing how to deliver material is important. Since you have an emotional connection with it, it in theory should be easy but in practice it is hard. Shaun Gannon doesn’t have this problem. No connection exists between Shaun and his poetry, no; rather Shaun Gannon birthed this half-crazed creature out of the recesses of a demented and strange mind. And the world is better off for it. 

                Watch it here! There is a lot of good in this, and hopefully I did not ruin it for you. 

                If there was ever a poetry reading that deserved to go viral, this would be that poetry reading.

Neon Glittery

                The way I understand people on the internet is the same way I do in real life: through music. Knowing whether or not they have similar musical interests to me means a great deal to me. So when I saw they not only had ‘Super’ compatibility to me on Last.FM but had their own abstract DIY electronic project as well (see here) meant I probably should check out more for the potential hope she might be awesome. She is. 

                Neon Glittery (aka Elizabeth Ashley Arnold), the name suits the Arkansas native well. Whether it is her music, photography, or poetry, she radiates happy colors. The music comes across as some lo-fi experimentation which references bits of glitch, particularly my favorite song “dragonflies”. The pictures are this weird combination from a multitude of sources. You can see what I mean by looking at the illustrations she did for Loop Loop Endogenous Nightscape. She did the lettering as well, painfully reminding me how awful I did in calligraphy class.

                Besides all of these accomplishments, she’s also a poet. Her writing is published on her own blog and in various online publications such as Metazen and NewWaveVomit. I’d suggest reading both, but I’ll go over her NewWaveVomit submissions.

                “SHHHH…..” makes me hope someday I can see the Gulf of Mexico, a place I’ve never visited. I really liked “Untitled 3” a lot. A kid sleeping in for weeks on grey cotton sheets reminds me of May 2006. Somehow I find its short length to be reassuring, like comforting me that such behavior is okay, a kind of ‘Virtue of Laziness’. Personally I think laziness is underrated but then I’m a sloth.

                “Untitled 7” is perfect. I just want to republish it because it is exactly what I wish I could have as an email signature for some office job where I’ve developed senioritis and no longer care about my responsibilities because I’ll be gone shortly. Of course, that’s just a fictional made-up scenario with no basis in reality. Personally I’ve never done that and gotten sat down by a supervisor being asked to politely not do it again. 

As I put this poem down via copy and paste, I want Neon Glittery to know this made me so absolutely happy. It conjures up the spirit of the CoBRA art movement. CoBRA drew inspiration from children’s paintings and such, so I feel it’s a somewhat apt comparison. For wonderful work see the below:

.make sense of this (NON)sense-tence.

i g0T p0CKETFULLS &

L0CKet(r0CKETFueLS)fuLLs

0

big

DREAMs.

                Dedicating a poem to a compost rock n’ roll (Untitled Haiku) and drawing inspiration from Valentine’s Day are both great. I like how she’s able to pack so much into such little statements. The rest of the poems express the happy images of hammocks and greasers. Good memories to capture. 

                Going through all her material, she’s a one-person art movement. It is pretty impressive resume to touch upon poetry, music and poetry with the same attitude. You could call it flippant. That wouldn’t exactly capture the sheer overflowing, over-pouring of ideas. She maintains six TUMBLRS, several blogs, and has collaborated with others over the internet. I like what she does. You should too.

Richard Chiem

                When I first met heard of Richard Chiem, I noticed he began following me on Twitter. Then he invaded my blog with a question for Steve Roggenbuck for an interview called the “Pseudo-Social Scavenger Hunt” for the (Youth is Write Series). After I discovered why a question was on my blog for someone named Steve Roggenbuck, I told him it was awesome. He thanked me for using my site. 

                “Old Tampons” is the first short story of Richard’s I’ve encountered. It is about long distance relationships. Richard originally submitted it on “NewWaveVomit” and it resonated with a lot of people. First he read it aloud and you can hear it here. Personally, I enjoy his delivery of it. If it is possible for someone to sound like a poet, Richard Chiem sounds like one. He sounds similar to my college poetry teacher. Though my college poetry teacher was called “Mr. Beardsley” (which he might have legally done in order to teach poetry more ironically) one of the most ridiculous names I’ve encountered in my entire life besides “Bea Trout”. Richard’s work is well-thought out with an emotional core that makes the effort more than worth it. 

                A few fine individuals created a short film based off of his poem. Michael Inscoe, Meggie Green, and Melinda Wheeler star in it. All of them match the energy I get from reading the poem. If you’re more of a visual person, or don’t enjoy reading poetry, then you can watch the Youtube video right here. They have a well-chosen soundtrack as well, which is important to someone as obsessed with music as I. 

                “Long distance relationships are like believing in God and do you want to believe in God again?”

                The above introduces you to the poem. For me, it was strong. I’ve never been in a long-distance relationship. I wonder; what if I fell in love with someone. Could I manage to have the faith needed to let that connection stay strong, or would I just let it be, parting with one last hurrah as I moved away. I’m happy then that Richard’s story basically ruminates on that very emotional decision.

                A lot of religious metaphors are in the poem as well. They are beautiful. Using “Christ” in two different situations gives both the absolute highs and lows of a single word with all the baggage it entails. Having it mean the hurt and suffering Christ had at being so alone. Having it mean the pure joy and kindness he literally embodied as he embraced others to make them whole again. 

                Personally, I adored this poem. The hurt both of them feel is vividly portrayed. I couldn’t have asked for more direct language. As I read it, I feel sad at the amount of space and time countless others must have felt as they started out on a long-distance relationship. Both parties feel an unequal amount of hurt as they leave each other, her to go to Boston, him to stay on the West Coast. It was well-paced and gorgeous. Even as it was sad, it had hope for the times they met and were happy together. 

                I’d strongly suggest checking him out. He’s number #23 on Online Literary Power along with the editor of Vertebrae, an online journal of literature and art. If none of this means anything to you, he’s also really nice. That counts the most.