This Side of the City

purity

2008-06-19T19:40:00.000-04:00

So You Want To Be A Writer?
by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.

if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.

if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.

if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.

if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.

if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.

if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.

the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.

don't add to that.

don't do it.

unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

excogitative

2008-05-30T22:32:00.003-04:00

Friday night, red wine and fatigue and much-desired solitude…

Strange how it all works, that is, if it even works at all. But, I suppose it does, somehow. This moment we call life. And it IS a moment. The greater time-line of it all makes that a perfunctory fact. Here we are now, in our lives, as seconds tick into minutes tick into hours and days and weeks. And before we know it, life is something we can look back on. It's relative. Really, the theory of relativity involves more than physics.

So. Yes. A Friday night in because I am too damn tired to make the foray into social circles. So tired that I can't sleep. At a middle-place outside reality on a bottle of red wine yet so ensconced, so enshrouded in the depths of all of this... whatever "this" is.

I often feel... isolated. Sometimes by choice, but also by who I am. That feeling is invoked to such an extent in the first book I wrote, "Ache." I can be incendiary. I can be temperamental and stubborn, acerbic and cynical, vindictive and wrathful. I brood. I theorize and philosophize and reason. Occasionally, it all makes a sliver of sense. As my friend Dave once wrote to me in an email, "You're so jaded, it’s a shame. I know there is marshmallow center under the bad-ass exterior." And he’s right. There is generosity and loyalty and love in me. I embrace those feelings as much as I do the darker side of my emotions. They fit – they work in tandem. All that I am is a culmination of where I have been and who I have known and what I have experienced. Through it all, I seek only truth. I want those who will be true to me to keep me warm. I'm a Leo and pride dictates. Leo - born to rule. Better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.

I raise my glass and this next gulp of wine is for you, whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever brought you to these words.

currently

2008-05-17T19:28:00.006-04:00

Since the debacle that was Easter weekend (that's a story unto itself not meant for the pages of this blog -- yet), I've been back in the city, going about the motions of life - work, play, and what lies between. I took the train upstate for a disastrous three-day visit, and the next time I leave the city will be for my friend Dave's wedding in San Francisco in July. Back to the city by the Bay. My city. The city that I will always consider my second home (Buffalo would take third place by rank), unless I decide to make San Francisco home again.

Here and now, present tense, in New York, yes, there are the motions - the motions that keep a roof overhead, food in the cupboard, and new clothes in the closet. Somnolent at sunrise, thoughts inchoate, on the elevated platform so damn early in the morning. The bonus is that the subway almost always runs on time pre-rush hour. There's always a seat, and I close my eyes and relax before the fluorescent rigors of the workday and lose myself in the music piped through my earbuds. Now and then you're unfortunate enough to find yourself on "the crazy train" (as I did on Friday morning). A jolly fella was whooping it up, laughing heartily at his own perceived comedy stylings, and calling himself the "n-word." There I sat, eyes slit, turning up the volume, thinking, "Please, I beg of thee, get off the train, Mr. Forgot-His-Meds-This-Morning." And his apparent insanity must have picked up the psionic waves of my fervent telepathic wish, and the gent took his controversial, race-inflected stand-up act onto the Queensboro Plaza platform. Thank you. The rest of the morning went as usual - sign out keys, open office, power everything on, slump into the chair at my assigned cubicle, stare at the ceiling, determine with little precision my sarcasm/arrogance quotient for the rest of the morning (read: defense mechanisms/self-deprecation), and contemplate existence.

Job search! Yes, that is an exclamation point. You don't see me using many of those, and that would make grammarians everywhere pleased. Anyway, the job search! Yes, it continues. But with this economy... sheesh. Jobs are not in flux. Then I factor in the narrow and competitive market to which I apply. No excuses - I simply won't settle and I won't sell myself short. So, I sleepwalk through the morning job with caffeine and a chemical buoy. Alternately, I actually like the afternoon job. I earn more than enough to maintain my lifestyle, which isn't necessarily high maintenance, but I do have a certain comfort level I enjoy. So it goes.

The book! No elaboration on that exclamation point. My book. Ache. Yes, it's coming. There is no doubt, so shut down those synapses in the skeptical area of your brain before they even fire off. Delays, edits, rewrites, renewed submissions, work-induced fatigue, and a social life contribute to the delays. Most importantly, it needs to be the best it can be. That takes time and patience. Why rush and release something below my high standards? I write. The standards I hold myself to in my life are no different for my writing.

And, finally, this website has given me an abundance of uncomfortable chortles, unsettled belly laughs, and pained grimaces for the past couple days: Hot Chicks with Douchebags. It's hilarious. Gasp in wonderment at the (ahem) finest specimens of humanity on display in all of their post-modern foppish, pseudo-gangsta, trainwrecked, steroid-pumped glory. By "finest," I mean "the most cringe-worthy" and "abominable." I'm sure they are all avid readers and have devoured many, many books and are prepared for intelligent discourse at the drop of a halter top. Prepare yourself for "the Warthog," "Fish Slap," "Dung Beetle," and "Magilla Scrotilla." You have been warned.

I am off into the night. Until next time...

symbolic

2008-05-03T19:28:00.003-04:00

Check out the Birthday Calculator.

My results:

You were born on a Wednesday
under the astrological sign Leo.
Your Life path number is 3.

Your fortune cookie reads:
Your blessing is no more than being safe and sound for the whole lifetime.
Life Path Compatibility:
You are most compatible with those with the Life Path numbers 3, 6 & 9.
You should get along well with those with the Life Path numbers 1, 2, 5 & 11.
You are least compatible with those with the Life Path numbers 4, 7, 8 & 22.

You were born in the Chinese year of the Monkey.

Your Native American Zodiac sign is Salmon; your plant is Raspberry.

Celebrities who share your birthday:
Charlize Theron (1975)
David Duchovny (1960)
Garrison Keillor (1942)
Mata Hari (1876)

Your lucky day is Sunday.
Your lucky number is 1 & 4.
Your ruling "planet" is Sun.
Your lucky dates are 1st, 10th, 19th, 28th.
Your opposition sign is Aquarius.
Your opposition number is 8.

There are 96 days till your next birthday

Your birthstone is Peridot

Peridot is used to help dreams become a reality.

Some lists consider these stones to be your birthstone. (Birthstone lists come from Jewelers, Tibet, Ayurvedic Indian medicine, and other sources): Sardonyx, Diamond, Jade

Your birth tree is Poplar, the Uncertainty

Looks very decorative, no self-confident behaviour, only courageous if necessary, needs goodwill and pleasant surroundings, very choosy, often lonely, great animosity, artistic nature, good organiser, tends to philosophy, reliable in any situation, takes partnership serious.

The moon's phase on the day you were born was waxing gibbous.

verstoteling

2008-04-24T19:56:00.003-04:00

black sheep by definition:

"In psychology, a black sheep is the member of a rigidly triangulated family, who holds the rest tightly together by being identified as the bad/sick/deviant one who causes all the family problems. In this situation, the rule enforcer in the family is charged with the job of controlling the black sheep from revealing the family secrets. The black sheep is seen as an outsider, but only because he is a teller of truth."

reflective

2008-03-08T16:01:00.006-05:00

An enjoyable night out. A late night, late morning. A divergence from the state of things. Not that "the state of things" has been particularly poor, overall. The focus is on what matters right now - the fulfillment of ambitions steadily approaches. The focus on the writing and new work. Other distractions? Well, I actually have a social life. Otherwise, I don't play video games - I outgrew that when "Galaga" was no longer the rage at the arcade. Nowadays it's all about something known as "Guitar Hero." I have no interest. My television viewing is sporadic, at best. Movies still hold a prominent place in this film geek's heart - they accompany me through all muck and mire, much like books. The best films I've seen in years are certainly "There Will Be Blood" and "No Country for Old Men," friend-o.

Nothing is obfuscated anymore. Better to die on your feet than live on your knees, right? The ego, the perceived arrogance, the sarcasm, the detachment - it might seem unsavory, but those mechanisms defend acute emotion against the wicked whims or wiles of the world. When I remove the facade, there I am exposed but unafraid. This heart will take all comers because this heart is resilient. It can be hurt but it cannot be crushed. Do as you will... but try to be kind. Thank you.

Here on a soggy Saturday afternoon, the rain reflects. I light a candle. The words escape my mind and my fingertips. You see them now. It will be dusk soon and the sun will find itself elsewhere. The damp dark will edge across the city and this restless night owl will do it all over again.

fop

2008-02-06T20:45:00.005-05:00

My favorite images of the year (so far). Call them clotheshorse, coxcomb, dasher, swell, or toff, but I prefer "fop" or dandy." And why the sudden fascination with the "fop" or the "dandy"? I haven't watched Mel Brooks' "History of the World: Part I" recently, so... I don't know. What I do know is that these images definitely make me chuckle...

editred.

2008-01-17T21:55:00.000-05:00

interregnum

2008-01-04T13:25:00.000-05:00

Out of the city and upstate (again) for the 2007 holidays...

Magicians

Luke

The boys and their uncle huddled for the snapshot

High winds and lashing rain on December 23rd

The ersatz glory of suburbia

Outside the front door

Cute 'n' hungry strays

Church, Christmas Eve (no, an invisible holy barrier at the front doors did not deny me access to the inner sanctum)

Evan

Content "Gray Cat" in my lap during Shrek 3

tabula rasa

2007-12-22T20:03:00.000-05:00

I've never ascribed much credence to the romantic notions of the New Year holiday. In the past, though I might have made halfhearted remarks about a "fresh start," a new year has actually always seemed to me like the simple continuation of the old. It's a new chapter in the novel that entails our lives, but it's a also furtherance of the same story. Not so now. 2007 was a turbulent year for your occasionally humble and frequently self-deprecating scribe. So, the imminent arrival of 2008 imbues me with a... different... ineffable type of feeling. It feels like it matters more this time 'round.

Tabula rasa.

2007. The year may have been tumultuous in spots, but it was not a waste. Lessons were learned and certain goals achieved. However, my focus and ambition will not allow me to rest on any proverbial laurels. Yes, I finished my duties as the editor of the "Falling From the Sky" short story anthology - a labor of love and a groovy credit on my résumé. I managed to hold on to two jobs... but I suppose that's not necessarily a grand accomplishment. I decided to finally publish my debut novel, Ache. I don't want it to be just mine any longer. I want the words I crafted from my heart to belong to other people - and to possibly mean as much to other people as it means to me.

Writing. The word flow in 2007 was desultory - I will accomplish more writing in 2008. It has already begun, actually. I plan a collection of my short stories as a follow-up to Ache, which will be released in late winter. I already have fragments of several stories which must be fleshed-out, and an abundance of ideas for several others. I must thank a coworker for the concept of one story, a post-modern tip of my risible hat to Franz Kafka, titled "Radioactive Testicle" (yes, it is a humor piece). There will be another which is entirely dialogue between two (or more) characters - no descriptive prose. With yet another I want to experiment with the "stream of consciousness" style of writing, such as that made famous (or infamous, depending on your literary viewpoint) by James Joyce. And why the delay on the aforementioned Ache? Rewrites and editing take time. It has to be done properly, or it's not worth doing at all. But that novel will come out, followed by a promotional and PR campaign and public readings. Focus. Complacency dies a swift death.

Absolution. I eschew resentment and guilt. Pernicious events in 2007 briefly dragged me into a dark, inimical place I do not care to revisit. I am not proud of my actions or reactions. Hindsight flaunts my missteps. But I never adopted a victim's mentality and I will not reside in self-righteous denial or repression. I accept my culpability and resolve feelings of guilt and acrimony and I rise above. Any lingering antipathy is released, replaced with empathy. I can merely forgive now. I am not proud of what I allowed to happen, but I am stronger and better for it. Sure, my ego was wounded, but there was no tactile reason since I won't devalue myself, nor will anyone who truly knows the benevolent soul I possess. And it's a pretty damn resilient ego. I also realize that the only person who can damage or destroy me - or unequivocally hurt me - is me. It's done. No self-flagellation. No regrets. Tabula rasa.

Employment. Ah, the office. No, not the droll television show (though there might be some accurate comparisons between their comedy fiction and my workplace reality). I couldn't let this "2007 Year in Review and Renewal" blog post pass without a mention of the workplace. I was still with the two jobs - one in the a.m. and the other in the p.m. and making enough money between the two to live comfortably. But there's been a shift in my thinking and a change in my attitude and now something new looms. Yes, it is out there on my horizon, and it is almost tangible. 2008 is the time to move forward. And, I might add, with employment far removed from the lodging and hotel industry (that would be the phlegmatic morning job).

Bridges. No burning the bridges that still matter. And though I dedicated a lot of time to myself in the latter part of 2007, I also drew my friends closer and opened up to new (and renewed) relationships. Sometimes I can delude myself into believing I am a completely autonomous, self-reliant human machine. Sure, I often enjoy solitude, isolated from the world beyond my front door, with time for my words and my books and my thoughts. When all is said and done, as the new dawn fades, I still have me. But I know that any sense I have of abolition or disengagement is false. Without friends, both old and new, I become a much lesser and weaker person. So in 2008 I plan to nurture and keep these friendships alive and dynamic.

Tomorrow I begin a full week off from the jobs. I head upstate to celebrate the holiday and spend an abundance of time playing with my nephews. When I return to the city, the new year will be upon us.

New beginnings. Strides into a new life in a new year. Focus. Super-connected.

Tabula rasa.

respite

2007-12-01T17:00:00.000-05:00

Out of the city and upstate for the holiday:

Poughkeepsie

View from the train

Another view from the train

Schenectady

Albany

Station stop Albany

Gray Cat

The boys on their sled and Uncle Craig pulling them along

combat!

2007-11-26T21:41:00.001-05:00

here

2007-11-03T00:40:00.000-04:00

Home by myself on a Friday night. By choice. A bit of solitude after a stupid week at work. I care so little that it makes me care about everything else even more. Maybe that's a good thing? Vodka siphoned into my bloodstream. Synthetic supplement. Lit up. A night of isolation does my soul some good, I think. Only distracted by the music here. Peter Murphy with "Cuts You Up" plays - a dolorous piece that puts me into a reflective place with that close-mouthed smile of mirth and memory on my face.

Rhythm and rhyme. Some of the time I feel like I am out of time. Balanced on the precipice I chose, nudged to the edge by circumstance of the path I've chosen. I look down, out, and about, and I feel as if I can see everything from within the confinement of these walls. I know everything, but know nothing. That's the paradox. Sing to myself, talk to myself, jot my words down on a scrap of paper. Never mistake weirdness for insanity. I am fragmented and I am whole.

What comes next? Oh, the anticipation of chance. There is nothing like being in the moment. Whatever that moment brings or means has its own impact. And there is an emotional edification [of any sort] just to be there, to know it, to experience it, to remember it. For better. For worse. But often for better in the end.

We are matter. We are here and we seem to exist in whatever this is, and then we are gone and our matter decays. But I truly believe the spirit lives on.

You're reading this right now. You might wonder why. But you already know.

Kierkegaard

2007-10-30T20:39:00.000-04:00

People understand me so poorly that they don't even understand my complaint about them not understanding me.

Lately I have delved into the works of Søren Kierkegaard (May 5, 1813 - November 11, 1855), the Danish philosopher and theologian. Kierkegaard is often regarded as a founder of existentialist thought. Though his entire body of work is worthy of reading (and/or study), for the neophyte or aspirant start with "Fear and Trembling." Also, read a biography, or at least an overview or précis of the man's life, to gain greater insights into the man behind the ideas. There is an intriguing rift in his thinking - a dichotomy between his religious faith and his theoretical logic (another dichotomy presents itself there, because many might characterize religion and faith as theory, as well).

Now, some assorted aphorisms from Kierkegaard... words of wisdom to place in a mental recall pattern:

I must find a truth that is true for me.

Only one deception is possible in the infinite sense - self-deception.

Face the facts of being what you are, for that is what changes what you are.

Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.

Since my earliest childhood a barb of sorrow has lodged in my heart. As long as it stays I am ironic — if it is pulled out I shall die.

It is so hard to believe because it is so hard to obey.

Above all do not forget your duty to love yourself.

The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly one you can never have.

imagery

2007-10-13T16:36:00.000-04:00

A random assortment of recent images from around the city:

Times Square in the rain (October 11, 2007).

Outside Amsterdam Billiards, a cart of miscellaneous detritus on 11th Street (October 7, 2007).

Blurry and from a distance - Freddy Krueger on 46th Street (October 1, 2007).

An ironing board at dawn, set up and ready-to-use on 45th Street (September 27, 2007).

A close-up of the enigmatic ironing board.

religion

2007-09-27T20:06:00.000-04:00

'Right' branded on my brow
'Wrong' graven on my mind
You see, the sin is in me
When will it stop unfolding
When will I ever be face to face
With the devil in me

Let me burn you... let me burn you...
Let me burn you down...
Let me burn you... let me burn you...
Let me burn you down...
Burn you down...
Let me... let me...

Brain wants to rule the heart
Heart wants to tie the hands
Unseat the assassin in me
So you cry, not to give it away
So you lie...

Born with a wicked charm
Torn by this driving harm
You see, it moves into me
So you lie, not to give it away
So you cry

Let me burn you... let me burn you...
Let me burn you down...
Burn you down...

Front 242, "Religion"

belief

2007-09-16T15:51:00.000-04:00

The boys. My nephews. They help keep me from a descent into utter cynicism when the world around me crashes down - when my thoughts become foreboding and my mind turns claustrophobic. They help me embrace a gentle nature and sense of optimism whenever life seems dark and disquieted. They rule.

Craig

2007-08-28T19:50:00.000-04:00

From today's news, on the Internet and otherwise:

"Craig denies inappropriate conduct"

Hey, I never denied anything. Okay, I've denied some things over time, but I often (too often) bare my heart for all to see.

"Craig 'agitated and demeaning'"

Yes, I can become agitated when provoked. I'm the first to admit I have a lot of pride, and when that pride is threatened, my temperamental nature can roar forth... but I do not consider myself demeaning.

"Conservative leader says Craig should resign"

Resign? From what? Fine. Doesn't matter. Whatever it is, I'm not a Conservative, so no problem.

"Craig Denies Wrongdoing in Airport Bathroom"

Um. Hmm. I've not been in an airport, let alone an airport bathroom, in several years.

Wait. This isn't about me. It's about some hebetudinous Republican Senator from Idaho named Larry Craig.

I'll resign anyway.

Did you find this post humorous?

1) _____ Yes, you're a brilliant blend of Chaplin, Hicks, and Pryor incarnate!

2) _____ No, Craig. You may be slightly hebetudinous yourself.

3) _____ What blog is this exactly, and how did I get here?

contusion

2007-08-22T13:03:00.000-04:00

Have no confusion... this is a major contusion. Cheesy puns aside, this picture shows the bruise inflicted on my coworker Victoria by a crazed cab driver last weekend. This driver obviously deserves a tire iron upside the head.

Hang in there, Victoria - bruises to the body heal far more quickly than bruises to the heart. Hey, I had to put something "writerly" in this post, right?

process

2007-08-18T20:15:00.000-04:00

my opinion remains the
same: writing is done
one person
at a time
one place
at a time

and all the gatherings
of
the
flock
have very little
to do
with
anything.

-Charles Bukowski

071907

2007-07-21T16:00:00.001-04:00

45th Street

Astoria, Queens

odds

2007-07-15T15:54:00.000-04:00

Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards. - Soren Kierkegaard

Always outnumbered, always outgunned. The odds might be stacked, but that's never been a deterrent. The challenge is welcome.

Post-college in Buffalo, lucky if I had forty dollars in my wallet. Working the McJob for rent, bills, gas, and the next six pack and Chinese take-out order. But I had ideas, and sketched a plan, and off I went across the country to San Francisco to attend film school. Fifteen hundred dollars to my name. The student loan came through, and a job and a place to live followed. I spent over three years there. I succeeded, against the odds and the expectations of other people.

Off to New York City in mid-'97. This time with a few grand to get started. The apartment came quickly, and work a couple months later. Ten years and a couple jobs and a few emotional trials and tribulations later, a new transition. New circumstances, new possibilities. Oh, I remain rooted here in New York, for now. But the book. My book. It's coming. How will potential readers react to it? What about the reviews? How will it sell? Will the promotion plans and the PR firm help spread the word of Ache like a meme?

I've done it myself for so long. Now there's help. Support. It doesn't mean it's going to be easy. It means it lowers the odds.

Yeah, there's those odds again. Here I sit on a muggy Sunday afternoon and I smirk as I write this. Then I have to smile as the reality sinks in and takes hold. The challenge actually makes me happy.

Outnumbered. Outgunned. So what? I'm ready.

enkindle

2007-07-09T19:20:00.000-04:00

The heat. The sweltering heat. It's a good thing I bought a pair of loose linen pants to wear in this oppressive weather.

Summer turns me upside down. And other than suffering in the throes of summer...

The rewrite and edits of Ache continue in preparation for its publication. Presently, we are aiming for a release date at the beginning of Autumn - hopefully September 25, 2007. So many small changes make such a large difference in the overall tone and scope of the story.

The Empty Spaces short story cycle (to initially appear on editred.com) is underway. The first, Office, is almost ready to be posted. I wasn't certain about my ability to write short stories at first. Many of my ideas are grand in scheme and usually could encompass the span of a novel. But I have found that writing short stories - or at least the attempt to do so - helps to hone the craft and purge a build-up of ideas. These ideas, of course, can be spun into longer works if they lend themselves to such.

Back into the fray of the workweek after a relaxing and... desultory... five days off.

And there's an amusing anecdote (well, I found it amusing) I must relate - a spam email today in my inbox with the subject line: "Get a new pair of clogs-they're super comfy." Tempting... but my Dutch heritage notwithstanding, I'll stick with my current footwear, thanks.

Oh, did I mention the heat?

haven

2007-06-21T21:30:00.000-04:00

Sometimes the journey is what counts...

Hey, I'm a writer. Sometimes we're not the most pleasant people to be around.

Huddled over, pressing these keys, focused entirely on the word, everything else gone away. Do my eyes even blink? Is anything actually happening in the world outside? White noise background buzz.

I keep a personal journal. I've typed entries on a regular basis since late 1997. Yes, it has become quite extensive - and detailed. Though I delve into highly personal territory with this blog, sometimes in an abstract manner, there are facets of the journal that are too... involved and private... to make it into this public forum. It's not self-censorship in any way - it's a personal safeguard (some things should not be widely known), and a protection of people in my life who might not enjoy secrets and blemishes revealed.

It's all a journey. For me, much of it entails the written word. The writer uses experiences accrued along the way and feeds off the vitality of emotion. The writer expels demons through the word. Sometimes the overactive mind reaches the breaking point and it manifests in words of vitriol, phrases of hostility. Other times the word comes in a kind word, or the low, soothing note spoken to a lover in the dark - the heart's gentle release.

My gaze takes on a sharp scrutiny missing for too long. Negativity extricated. The words from my mouth soften. Always the pessimistic optimist. As has been said, "Life is too short to be pissed off all the time." I explore new avenues with a sense of adventure. I see hope in tomorrow.

There is a return. The din in my head recedes. I focus now on my life as it has been presented to me. It's too short to spiral downward into fear and doubt's murky cesspool. When I drown, there is help beyond the words. Those who save me are the people who know me - who truly knew me all along and not some vague facsimile or a misplaced creation of someone I am not. They keep me above the surface. They provide safety and a haven in their hearts.

Another return to what has been absent - benevolence, affection, mirth. A balance - or an antithesis - to the me whose mind reflects the dark and whose imagination broods, ruminates, speculates. Words and actions to soothe, to support, to sustain.

Alpha and Omega, the symbols of eternity, the first and the last. It's inside us. When it's all run down, when emotions are frayed, when the world is shrouded in shades of gray, when all seems so evasive and intangible and weak, what do I have left? Me.

Alpha and Omega. The bringer of balance. The inside opens. Light pours outward and life tilts upward.

The snake behind me hisses
What my damage could have been.
My blood before me begs me
Open up my heart again.

And I feel this coming over like a storm again.

permutation

2007-06-02T00:36:00.000-04:00

With a new name and logo, the Small Press Center became the Center for Independent Publishing on May 31, 2007. Being associated, to an extent, with the publishing community (I'm one of those fringe purist writers - don't mess with my words), I was in attendance. After all, I've been to a variety of events at the (former) Small press Center, and I know Lloyd Jassin, a publishing attorney and the Chair of the NYCIP Executive Committee.

The event was well-attended, scattered with those of us who have a love for books, writing, and the spirit of independence - and wine. Ah, yes, there was a cocktail reception consisting of, from what I could see, wine. There weren't any cocktails. Still, I indulged in several plastic cups of the red stuff. I also felt compelled to engage in a Fight Club gag:

The guest of honor was Barney Rosset. Who is Barney Rosset? Read closely and learn, ye in need of a publishing history lesson. He is the man responsible for bringing literary classics such as "Lady Chatterley's Lover" (D.H. Lawrence), "Naked Lunch" (William S. Burroughs), and "Tropic of Cancer" (Henry Miller) to the United States when those books were still banned due to alleged obscenity due to provocative cotent and so-called scatalogical themes. In other words, these books had balls, and the Puritanical sect of the mid-20th Century U.S. couldn't handle it.

Adversity and the long arm of the law shoved aside, Rosset founded the independent Grove Press and published these works, among others. In doing so, he subjected himself to years of costly legal hassles. But in the end, he broke through the heavy lead curtain of censorship and created new paths and possibilities for the independent publishing community. Here is your blog writer meeting Mr. Rosset:

"Our new name more accurately describes who we are," said Lloyd J. Jassin (below).

More here about the Center for Independent Publishing and the opening night cocktail reception.