This whole Craig Arnold situation has me thinking about how much community matters. Especially with poets.
I don't like that word poet.
But I think if you try to write poetry, if it hits a nerve while reading, writing, or reading and writing or any combination of all of them, then community should matter.
Especially at this point.
There will be a lot on this in the future from others.
I hope Craig Arnold is alive and well somewhere and holding on and this whole thing is some fluke. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
The Bull Celtics game tonight was amazing.
3 OT. A lot of insanity. I'm usually not an NBA follower, but all of my high school friends, or at least most of them, were basketball players, and continue to be, however seriously or recreationally.
And despite how much money a lot of these guys get paid (for example, seeing that Joakim Noah made $2,295,480 in 2009)... See, then I just copied and pasted $2,295,480 and felt maybe that I shouldn't say "despite" anything, so I won't.
All professional athletes get paid too much money for the most part.
But goddamn that was a good game.
And you may see me in Binghamton next year with my Hakeem Nicks jersey on...
After listening to the Snow Angels soundtrack too many times, I finally emailed Lusine, aka Jeff McIlwain, to see if there's going to be another collaboration with David Wingo, AKA another full length record.
He told me something along lines that something is in the works.
For that I am happy. But it's still not much.
Something about Johann Johannson's "Forlandia," meaning the first track on the record, makes it opposite-ends-of-the-spectrum ultimately sad and anthematic.
I had a poem just accepted for publication that involves both my first girlfriend and my future wife.
I just don't understand violence. I can't comprehend most of it. If not all of it. And therefore I am obsessed with it.
My oldest brother is getting married on May 9th. Jess and I are leaving on Thursday, May 8th, to go down to Savannah.
I'm pretty happy about the whole situation, needless to say.
I saved $10 by finding a coupon via Google for the hotel where we're staying the Thursday we're going down. (I always say "up" instead of down, when usually it's down.)
The first time I drove down to Savannah I got a ticket.
The second time I almost got a ticket. I got stopped, but the cop let me go.
The first time I can't remember what I was listening to.
The second time I was listening to Voivoid.
I will not be listening to Voivoid anymore in the car. Anywhere.
Sometimes you can see a whole world after waiting on customers for eight hours.
I don't know what it is about Beautiful Girls, but I've been obsessed with it lately.
I think it was one of the original jaded late 20-something movies to come out of Hollywood before all the awful ones did.
I just heard what I thought was a gunshot, multiple gunshots, and it's some jackass lighting fireworks, because I heard the raining shimmer from whatever the end of it's called...
But seriously: after 1 AM on a Thursday (now Friday)?
(Jess just woke up, because she has to get up early in the morning, and even though I don't have to get up as early but still fairly early, and when I told her it was fireworks, said, "Who would do that? It sounded like gunshots...")