Notes from Richard Tuttle Lecture/ Naropa/ July 3, 2008, 1:30-3pm
[Richard wears bright hibiscus-pink button-down over sea-blue t-shirt--he's been reading poets in Latin--Ovid, Catullus, Virgil--Mei Mei wears interesting yellow-green snake-skin slippers with drab jeans silver watch cuddles toy poodle holds head in her hands]
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The 3 Types of Writing Are:
1. To dig something out.
2.
3. To point toward what cannot be said.
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from Richard Tuttle's reading (read in a very halting, cadenced voice):
"the flowering evil... why should people be annoying to each other?... there was never a romantic solution... I can please myself then I can please you... the rigorous green that makes the world round... I do not do this to make sense... sacrifice to the hidden gods... I don't feel ok... yes we can take it back... colossal... even the forest empty in what you say... take care of something small... we see with our own eyes... my pleasure is there what would you do?... a novel progressive enough... I would do anything to know an angel like that... even if no one watching... they don't care because they're not artists"
The Future Mr. Scotch & myself have been trying to find a good wedding song for our first dance as husband and wife. Well, that's a simplification. He said he has no opinion, but vetoed my choice, which was Little Red Corvette by Prince. Now, I haven't been to many weddings, but the ones I have attended have featured a LAME first dance song. I want something that's funky, soulful, and romantic. Any and all suggestions will be considered. We have 35 days left and I'm getting really antsy to pick one. Keep in mind, the first dance will take place at an outdoor luau here:
Alternately, if you agree with me that Little Red Corvette is an AWESOME first song, please post that sentiment here and perhaps my man friend can be convinced.
I just called the airport parking hotline to see what lots are still open.
A real person answered the phone and gave me the information.
Whoa.
I was taken aback and didn't really know what to say.
"Um, is this the airport parking hotline?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Oh. Um. Can you tell me what lots are still open?"
And he did.
I didn't even think it was possible to get a real person to answer the phone on an info line anymore. Does that mean we are customer service friendly or way behind in technological efficiencies?
Either way, it was quite the surprise.
And with that, I'm off. Have a great weekend wherever you are and be safe.
Remember, don't eat the potato salad if it's been sitting out in the sun for over an hour. Otherwise, it will be giving those beans a run for their money.
Har.
ink & watercolour, 8x10 inches (SOLD)
God bless truth in advertising.
Have a great holiday everybody!
Could write of fucking--
rather its instant or the slow
longing at times of its approach--
how the young man desires
how, older, it is never known
but, familiar, comes to be so.
How your breasts, love,
fall in a rhythm also familiar,
neither tired nor so young they
push forward. I hate the metaphors.
I want you. I am still alone,
but want you with me.
. . .
AMERICA
America, you ode for reality!
Give back the people you took.
. . .
Allen's saying as we fly out of NYC--the look of the city
underneath us like a cellular growth, "cancer"--so that
senses of men on the earth as an investment of it radiates
a world cancer--Burrough's "law" finally quite clear.
. . .
CITIZEN
Write a giggly ode about
motherfuckers--Oedipus--
or Lysergic Acid--a word
for an experience, verb
. . .
"But now it's come to distances..."
--Leonard Cohen.
Here's a news story about how a Venezuelan TV station was punished for airing "The Simpsons" during children's programming time.
In the end, "The Simpsons" went back to the night shift and was replaced in the morning slot by - Baywatch Hawaii.
*scratches head*
Maybe they are using Baywatch as an anatomy education show?
I am nothing more than a poet: I love all of you.
Let none think of me.
Let us think of the entire earth
and pound the table with love.
I don't want blood again
to saturate bread, beans, music:
I wish they would come with me:
the miner, the little girl,
the lawyer, the seaman,
the doll-maker,
to go into a movie and come out
to drink the reddest wine.
I did not come to solve anything.
I came here to sing
and for you to sing with me.
--from "Let the Rail-Splitter Awake"
At Uluru, which is a big rock surrounded by jerky tourists (myself not excluded).
Camels, dingos, wedge-tailed eagles, galahs, and more stars than I will ever see again in my life. Seriously--did you know that the Southern Hemisphere actually looks towards more stars than the Northern? Lucky jerks. Anyway, there's also a big bloody emu up there.
Will catch up when I have more time!
