I found myself at a work dinner talking about writing and drinking and even admitting that children are not in the cards when that topic came up and I’m realizing, man do I sound like a sad sack. And in a way I do.
This is how I work: when I am in like/love/lust/infatuation, the poems come, the fiction stays home, tapping its toes, arms crossed, waiting for me to come home drunk and rub my face in the mess I’m gonna make because I’ve had too much of whatever to whatever. When I am not in like/love/lust/infatuation, the fiction comes, the poems stay home, listen to The Cure (Dashboard Confessional for the early aughts, I guess Bon Iver for the late aughts) and cry that I don’t love them any more. There are always exceptions to the rule where I’ll do both regardless how I feel, but that’s how I normally work when I write.
Emotionally, I’m in a weird place. I know I’ve only been single for almost three months and it feels like forever but yet I know it isn’t forever. I work, come home, work some more, then sleep for fiveish hours, and then do it all over again. I disappoint and get disappointed. I could use a break from this cycle and I don’t know if I can push myself away sometimes. The hustle pays off and pays off well but I know I could use a mini-vacation of some kind. I don’t see that happening any time soon.
Enough of the personal – let’s talk business:
NOUNS OF ASSEMBLAGE is on the streets, and I’m one of a bajillon writers in this beautiful collection. HOUSEFIRE is doing some really special things and you should support. If you purchase NOUNS OF ASSEMBLAGE & Dodging Traffic from Amazon, I will handwrite you a poem and mail it to you. Just send me proof to my e-mail address. Below is the promo trailer. Here’s the link to buy it.
“Making a poetic reinterpretation of one of the ’90s most prolific odes to depravity, desolation, and decay is no easy feat, let alone trying to match the cocksure dischord that fueled Afghan Whigs’ frontman Greg Dulli to create Gentleman, but not only does J. Bradley capture it all, track-by-track, poem-by-poem, but he adds a relentless bruising that leaves you laughing into the darkness while looking for an understanding of a more sinister world.”
I’ve got seven poems memorized, four to go. The connection to them is so strong, especially with everything going on personally.
Parting question: why does someone want someone to keep killing these hoes? How would you dispose of all those bodies? How would you elude police capture? Just a thought.