What Is This Blog and A Sort of Poem

Have you ever read a book called Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott? It was big in writing classes when I was an undergrad. Fiction courses. Non-fiction course. Even the "Technical Writing" course we took where we honed the art of writing instruction manuals. Note two things about this. One, someone actually majored in Technical Writing. A guy nick named "Creepy Joe" on campus and you could swear he was the first model robot built by a budding evil scientist. And, two, you may scoff at this but think about the last time you put together something and wondered in frustration at the instruction manual. Or, more likely, screamed fuck and threatened to divorce whomever is stuck with you building that.

The most famous chapter in Bird by Bird  is "Shitty First Drafts." And the premise is simple. Everything, even Shakespeare, began as a "shitty first draft." So keep writing, guys.

That is what this blog is. A bunch of shitty first drafts. But, that's ok, because one day I will be big and I can mine this blog for content. Quickly feed the editor with a list of my favorite mecha or talking about how, at any given point, there are 4 headshops within eyeshot of each other on The Ithaca Commons. Couple of Mami jokes also.

Here is a shitty first draft. Its a poem I am working on inspired by some new "corporate speak" at work. Balls, I love poetry. I checked out a bunch of collections from the library and been pouring through them avoiding even my one major vice (Twitter) for a few days. One collection is American Sonnet for  My Past and Future Assassin and I have never heard something so bad ass.  

Anyway here is my shitty first draft....again.




I want to Circle Back
to a time before you coined that
Doublespeak like riddles, Words stretched
Past points of no return
Rumble
Lets get ready for it
Everyone at the table stripping down, raising arms
Stepping on throats proving their point
Is that what you mean because that is what I see
In my minds eye I've seen you already in your underwear
Its the action that fails to reverberate. Rumble.
The Soup
Which we all make, all stir through the nod of our heads and click of emails
Sent to taste bits of the pot but we can't have until it is ready
Don't tell anyone about The Soup, ok?
I don't think anyone would understand
Parking Lot
where we rumble
over Soup spilled
Onto ideas for which new words have not been made.