"The drink takes you:" Contemplations on Alcoholism and the Artistic Temperament

When we offer up our admiration, our praise, even our jealousy to the great American writers of the 20th century, we are largely doing so to a group of alcoholics, drug addicts, and general delinquents.  As Hunter Thompson said, "I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." There is a key point made in that declaration: just because I write about something, just because I convey my life the way it is, does not mean I'm telling you to do the same.  But this point eludes many who admire men like Thompson.  I'd love to argue that we should admire his writing alone, not him for all the shit he got himself into, but I know it is precisely that shit that made Thompson a great man, a different man and therefore a noteworthy man.  What would he have been without all the alcohol and drugs? Those things were integral parts of his life, his philosophy. 

And there we have it.  We so easily move from admiration of a talent to mythologizing a defect on the grounds that the two must be related.  My theory as to why we artist admirers and maybe even artists ourselves take part in this never-ending deluded admiration is that many of us are sufferers too; we all want to believe that our diseases, our defaults, our dysfunctions have some purpose. 

There's really nothing wrong with this desire as long as one does not inadvertently become dependent on their diseases, defaults, and dysfunctions and as long as one does not begin to see them as defining features of who they are.  Scott Fitzgerald wrote, "First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you."  I see this as applying to more than just a specific instance of drunkenness; rather, it's the whole process of becoming an addict, of wrapping up our identity so tightly in something, something harmful, that we disappear. 

What does all of this have to do specifically with writing? Well, I recently read Stephen King's On Writing, in which he intimately discusses his severe bout with alcoholism.  What I realized is that it's only natural for writers, people who spend their days inside their heads, to struggle with addiction.  Let's face it, it's downright painful to be quietly with our thoughts that much of the time.  As I've mentioned in previous blogs, it is this very fact that has often prevented me from throwing myself into writing, particularly poetry, as much as I know I am capable.  Hell, it is that fact that holds me back now.  It's not an issue of time or dedication.  It's an issue of being willing or not willing to sacrifice a bit of my mental health for a craft.  I'm sure some will contend with me on the inevitability of that occurrence, and on certain days, I might too, but as for today, I know myself.    

So maybe it is a connection, not just admiration, that many readers and fellow artists feel toward men like Thompson.  But a point that King makes that bears repeating is that the suffering, the addiction, all those dysfunctional things, are not required to be an artist, to be a writer.  He contends that the life of the mind is one that inevitably gets along with the tendencies of alcoholism and drug dependence but that natural attraction is not one we must succumb to, and that to fight it is not to fight against creativity. 

Letter to the Leaves: Stop, Collaborate and Listen

My Fellow Contributors,

I'm in the process of preparing a series of video blogs where I am going to demonstrate some of the poetic vocal skills I learned under the guidance of Dr. Liam Corley in two of his American poetry classes. I hope to have some of the videos up on both this blog as well as on my personal blog at matthewrazo.wordpress.com.

But for now I want to go off of Alli's last blog where she discussed the importance of writing every chance you get and write about the importance of not just sharing your work vocally with others but surrounding yourself with individuals who are also working on projects.

When I am not working for the magazine I am moonlighting as a security guard for a noteworthy company you may have heard of, Target. Now besides catching shoplifters, helping old ladies to their cars and riding a segway (with a helmet and yellow safety vest...winning!) I also have to walk with the Guest Service Team Leader at the end of the night to close down the registers and prep them for the next morning.

One of the GSTL's that I work with is going to be a film student at USC next year where he wants to pursue a career in entertainment as a director.  And as everyone knows directors not only direct films, but they also have plenty of screen plays they have written or are working on in hopes of getting them green lighted.

My buddy, Richard, has handed me numerous screen plays and I have handed him countless short stories. And in the hour or so we have at the end of the night we are able to bounce ideas off of each; telling him that worked or that didn't, him telling me that my ending was obscure but that there were a few lines that really blew him away.

The main thing I want to express to your through this personal story is the importance of getting quality feedback. Yeah its great to get your stuff read, but if it is not read by someone who is willing to give you honest feedback and give you the old "this is great...wow...I really liked it" then really what are you accomplishing? What value is added?

You need to get someone who is isn't afraid to get some dirt under their fingernails. Someone who is willing and able to provide you will meaningful constructive criticism.

And it doesn't matter what medium they produce in. Music, movies or short stories. All of these mediums must tell a story, connect with and capture the attention of their audience. Anyone who is capable of producing these types of individual expressions is certainly qualified to give you some advice.

So with that I want to say go out and have your voice heard and share. I look forward to presenting you with my Vblog next week about poetic vocal techniques,

and as always

Undoubtedly Yours,

Bermuda the Man

"What are you gonna do with thaaat?": My Useless English MA

The validity of an English degree is constantly debated.  And the validity of a graduate English degree is always hotly contested. And, ironically, the viability of pursing an English masters or PhD is even sometimes brought under fire by those holding BA's in English. Some argue that they don't need to pursue such degrees since they won't learn any hardskills; they can sit down and read a book and “get it” without having a higher degree.  Such arguments are humorous in that you have to wonder if these people needed a BA to do such a thing.  But there in lies the rub.  People who make this argument tend to see their BA's as groundwork to the "real work" they must move onto.  Their undergraduate college years were the last bit of frivolous fun before adulthood.  This reasoning is of course extremely dismissive of anyone who chooses a career in English.      

It also assumes that people who pursue English degrees must only do so for the love of simply reading literature; it doesn't even consider the fact that any rational person who chooses to pursue anything at the graduate level does so with a career at least partly in mind, with the desire to hone skills for a particular life and profession.  No, again Rational, person pursues a graduate level degree for dick measuring purposes.  Now, that said, let me explain the multiple reasons I chose to complete a masters in English.

Approaching completion of my BA in English, it became apparent to me that the degree wasn't going to improve my job prospects, at least not for any kind of job that I wanted.  When you realize that, you have to do one of three things: get really creative, work in customer service, or pursue further education.  Well, I kinda wanted to go to grad school.  I looked forward to studying alongside peers who were interested in the same things as me, and I looked forward to looking at literature in whole new ways- ones that had little to do with personal interpretation and everything to do with entering a discourse of professional scholarship.  You see, literature is more to me than something I'll do alone before bed at night, after my day is done.  It is my day.  It is one of the things my life is centered on.  It always has been.  I want to talk to people about stories. I want to write about stories.  I want to tell them.  I want to teach about them. I want that to be my bread and butter.

Another reason I wanted to go to grad school for an English degree was so that I could study something totally new to me at the time: rhetoric and composition.  This portion of my MA is how I learned a true trade: the teaching of composition.  This was how I learned about something closely related to my love of literature but so much different.  And I honed my skills teaching the English language.  As a result of pursuing my "frivolous" English MA, I've spent three summers in China and Taiwan teaching students to speak English.  Grad school turned out to be exactly the right decision for me.  I was able to further pursue my love and to learn about something new- both paths that took me to the place I am now: employed doing things that, regardless of growing pains, I enjoy and that I'm good at.

I didn't go to prove anything or to enter an elite club or to continue doing the exact same things I'd done as an undergrad: I went to learn the different aspects of the things I love, and I came out with knowledge and experience of things I'd never expected.  You pursue what you love, prepare for disappointment, and don't make excuses for what you choose not to do.          

Forcing it - If you can't write, write anyway

I've had a miserable time writing recently. I have ideas, I have the phrasing I want, I have characters and storylines laid out in my head. What I don't have is time.

I was going strong for a while - I was writing thousands of words for this blog, I was trying to use twitter effectively (that's actually never worked well for me), I was writing a long piece of fiction and finishing several pages every day and it all went to shit over one tiny thing.

My boss changed my lunch break.

I know that sounds more like a shitty excuse than something that should completely upset my writing paradigm, but hear me out: I work nine to five, five days a week with a commute that's between one hour and two hours each way, so my day varies from ten to twelve hours of working time; making and consuming breakfast and dinner takes up another two hours, checking up on all of the blogs and the store for Rough Writers takes another hour or so, emailing people and calling family is another hour, and I'm designing a chapbook at the moment so I've decided to give up a couple hours sleep a night to make that go faster for the sake of everyone involved. Not counting showering, writing my weekly blog, reading a couple of webcomics and maybe talking to a friend once in a while, if I try to get seven hours worth of sleep I'm at more than twenty four hours a day, and so I've started wishing for a time turner.

About a month a go my boss changed my lunch break to half an hour from an hour and I've lost all my free time for the day.

So what do I do? I can't even force my lazy ass to do a couple of situps every day because I'm stretched so thin on time, how the hell can I write?

I write anyway.

There is never a perfect situation for writing. You'll never have six months to yourself in a European cafe with a stack of notebooks and no impositions on your time. You're always going to have to work, eat, sleep, and shit, and so there will always be some demand that pulls you away from the perfect metaphor at just the moment that you can't afford to be distracted.

Am I pissed that I lost the half-hour I used to use to write a couple of pages? Yes. Have I lost some of my momentum? Yes. Is that going to stop me? Fuck no.

When you lose your writing time, whether it's because of work, an eighteen hour class load, a cross-country move, or anything else that may get in your way you simply have to make more time.

Do you know why it takes some authors decades to get published? Because it takes them days to get a page down on paper. When you've got a full time job, any kind of a social life, and basic human needs that must be met it's terribly inconvenient to sit down and write out a story. Even if you ditch your friends (and if any of my friends are reading this, I'm sorry, I'm aware that I'm a terrible friend) it's not going to be easy to polish a poem or lay down a chapter or transcribe an interview, but we don't write because it's easy or convenient. We write because we're writers, and if we don't at least make an attempt to put a pen to paper we'll go batshit crazy and start stabbing co-workers at some point.

My stories are more important to me than sleep, and writing these blogs means more to me than eating a decent meal. I want to write more than I want to do almost anything in my life and I'm not going to let a truncated lunch break get in the way of that, even if it means that I have to change the focus of my writing or go without things like vegetables or a relaxing weekend.

So if you're finding yourself pressed for time, or if you think you're too busy to sit down and sketch out a story, write anyway.

Change what you're writing if it helps - since I haven't had time to work on longer stuff I've been thinking more about these blogs and attempting to put more effort into drawing, when I have a second, and I've even started a humor blog that lets me combine silly drawings and silly words in a short format - if it doesn't help then write what you were writing before and just understand that it'll take a week to write a page where it used to take an hour. You may not have an hour to sit down and think through what you're doing, but I'm willing to bet that you've got a smartphone that you can type on while you're sitting on the john.  

Write anyway. Write when you've got a couple minutes between classes, take smoke breaks even if you aren't a smoker and write on your break, write while you're waiting for your coffee at Starbucks, write while you're letting your nail polish dry, write while you're in line, write in the bathroom (but please wash you hands) and write when you're waiting for the oven timer to tell you that dinner is done.

Write because if you let anything get in your way and keep you from writing completely, you're not a writer anymore.

Good luck, I mean it. And keep writing.

If you'd like to see the short-format blog I've started, or if you hate hipsters, you can visit my new side project: Hipstlator - the hipster translator.

If you'd like to see how the cover for John Brantingham's upcoming chapbook, Study Abroad, got started you can watch the black and white sketch being made.

If you don't want to look at either of those things, I like you anyway. Have a good day.

Cheers,
     - Alli

Letter to the Leaves: Get Your Name Out There

My Fellow Contributors,


I have my first job interview as a recent grad later this week. It is for a company who needs someone to write product reviews, product and service summaries and just a few lines here and there. This whole process has taught me one important part of the job world, having a presence on the web.

When I was going back and forth with them they asked me to send them a copy of some of my work. I was fortunate enough though because I maintain a blog for just such a purpose. You see in one of my classes at Cal Poly my professor had us create a blog for the class. Using the blog we posted several assignments and were able to get feedback from both the professor and other students.

After the class was over, I continued to post on the site. As of today I have twenty-four posts of both non-fiction, poetry, short stories, flash fiction and academic essays. It has become for me an electronic portfolio to show potential clients.

Having a web presence is very important especially as a writer. Having a blog is more about creating a medium through which you can store finished pieces. However there is one down side to this. Many publications will not accepted submissions that are posted on a personal website. So you either have to take the piece off of your personal blog or not submit the piece.

In my opinion it is definitely worth having a collection of pieces that you strictly have on your blog. Pieces that represent you as a creative writer and demonstrate both your mastery of the language and your desire to write.


Also remember to put your Web Presence as part of your resume if the particular job you are applying for requires some writing component. It's good to show people that your not just wasting your time stumbling on random pages or tweeting your life away one character at a time. 

So where is your web presence?

In the comments please post a link to your blog.

The stronger of a community we create together, the brighter we will all shine.


As Always

Undoubtedly Yours,

Bermuda the Man

In Defense of Bukowski

On this Father’s day I thought I would discuss what reminds me most of my father, disagreements. I love Charles Bukowski. My father hates him. We have reoccurring debates about Bukowski’s relevance as a writer, his style or lack of style as my father puts it, and whether he is under or overrated. You see, my dad prefers the finer things in life; Fancy swordfish atop a crostini and not ham on rye. He thinks Bukowski is a womanizing jerk. I assure my father that Bukowski, in part, can be a misogynistic asshole. But I don’t want to date him; I just want to read him. Bukowski is unpolished, terse, and self-aggrandizing, but he is also powerful, humorous, and vulnerable. He has a cult following of disillusioned misanthropes for a reason. He speaks for those trapped within the confines of an artificial soul-sucking capitalist society. He has become the hero, partly because he has written himself into the part, and hence has a throng of imitators that are searching for their own heroic bravado. According to my dad the exact opposite is true. Bukowski relies on being unnecessarily gross. He has followers that are simply degenerates that want an excuse to hate the world that has given them so much opportunity. His writing is bleak and uninspiring.

While I agree that Bukowski is shockingly provocative, I don’t think this aspect of his writing is his only redeeming quality. There are those that outright dismiss Bukowski and then there are those that immaturely cling to the fact that his poems use vulgar words such as “cock” and “cunt.” Primarily, his imitators fail to identify the larger themes within Bukowski’s writing which perpetuates a great misunderstanding of the validity of him as an artist. Take for instance the poem, “The Shower.” Sure, it is sexually explicit, but if you closely examine the last thirteen lines of the poem you see that there is so much more to his writing than just being a crude pervert. He explores loss, longing, and a desire to escape the immanent doom of the ticking clock through love and human interaction. It is hardly easy to just dismiss his writing as hateful misanthropic dribble when you fully examine the breadth of his work. Although, I must admit I do like watching people squirm with discomfort as they read his poems. Death, fear, sex, can all make us gun shy from time to time. I enjoy confronting these themes. The anxiety makes me feel as though something honest is being explored.  My point is, don’t merely write Bukowski off as a one-dimensional perverse goon; Dig deeper.

That being said, I won’t bring up Bukowski tonight when I take my father out to a fancy over-priced dinner that I am sure will only come close to pleasing his highly critical taste. Instead I will tell him that I love him for being nothing like Bukowski. I will tell him that I love him for allowing me to be so disagreeable, and for engaging in that volatile dialogue that most fathers and daughters awkwardly avoid. I may even order swordfish on a crostini and save the ham and rye for another day.

The Pirate Bay Changing Art As We Know It

Before diving into this issue, let me first say that I don’t agree with illegal downloading; I don’t mean to make that the message of this blog: fight big industry, steal all the media! What I really mean to get across from this post is that both sides of this battle, the individuals and the industry,  are in the wrong and that the system needs to be altered.

****************************

 “We’re staying put where we are. We’re going no-where. But we have a message to Hollywood, the investigators and the prosecutors: LOL.” – The Pirate Bay

                                    ****************************

There is really no stopping The Pirate Bay, a BitTorrent site which is busy taking the steps to ensure that their file-sharing agenda doesn’t get shut down by another government raid. The legal battle between big money media and The Pirate Bay may even become an all-out war now that The Pirate Bay has considered – perhaps jokingly – moving their raid-worthy servers into drone planes above Greece. And as this ridiculous show unfolds, I can’t help but ‘LOL’ alongside The Pirate Bay as they fight the dying business model that is the corporate ownership of art. What the entertainment industry doesn’t seem to understand is that, while they are desperately fighting to maintain their ability to bring in massive amounts of profit (a huge motivator I’m sure), The Pirate Bay is having a great time being the worst kind of unbeatable opponent: an internet troll.

            The Pirate Bay is technically doing nothing illegal – that doesn’t mean the site’s visitors aren’t thieves, though. It’s important to note that the trolls at The Pirate Bay are fighting not for the freedom to steal from the entertainment industry, but for the freedom to share one’s property. It is arguable whether this is ethical because so many artists are going without compensation for the work of their skill and craft, but, regardless of the morality of the issue, it is undeniable – in my opinion at least – that The Pirate Bay is not the wrong-doer here. It is the individuals who are breaking the law, not the host.

To use a very simple analogy, let’s say I bought a book. That book is now mine to do with as I please. I can read it again and again, or, if I fancy, I can lend it to a friend and allow them to read it. It is perfectly legal to share the things I own, and that is what The Pirate Bay stands for. They don’t wish to steal book from shelves; they wish to share books with friends, and they are providing a community to do so.

The problem with my example – and the problem with the industry – is that the product that the industry is putting out is not a physical thing like a book, but an imaginary product that is both intangible and infinitely copy-able. There is absolutely no value in a computer file other than its content; the thing itself, which is own-able, is worthless. In the case of a book, there is value in the paper it is printed on, and it is easy to charge for the printed physical product. Even better, it is easy to place a royalty for both the publisher, to compensate the work it took to compile the book, and the artist, to compensate the creative work.

Because we are moving toward a digital age, where everything – even books – is beginning to be intangible, the system must shift to make up for the difference in value. Prosecution of individuals who copy invisible, worthless computer files will never end because there will always be lawless individuals so long as the internet is free and anonymous.

Perhaps the true solution lies in the problem itself. Maybe it’s time for the industry to monetize a site like The Pirate Bay, offering a service rather than a worthless product. Until then, people will steal what they will.

The Great American Novel

So the other day I was on Facebook and I saw an article linked through The Great Gatsby fan page. It was an article Jay McInerney talking about why The Great Gatsby is the best American novel of all time. I skimmed through what he said and I found myself in agreement with much of what he said, but then it got me thinking about the larger category of novels Fitzgerald’s book belongs to – the Great American novels.

Huck Finn, I believe, was the first book to be called the Great American novel, and since then people like Fitzgerald, Pynchon, and Wallace have been inducted into this club. The interesting thing about the Great American novels is that they are so very different from one another. Huck Finn is worlds different from Gravity’s Rainbow, and all the others are equally different in their own way. So, what is it about these novels that make them all so great?

Well, I think a lot of it – and I think this sort of goes without saying – has to do with the way that these books encapsulate the current feeling of the American paradigm. America is an ever-changing nation, and that is perhaps the main reason why all of the Great American novels are all so different. But, who is to say that the novels in this club are the best representations of America? Is that even the standard?

I’m not sure.

I do know, however, that the books on the list that I have explored are rather interesting, and I think that some are very deserving of the title and some I’m just okay with. I think there are other novels that better capture the state of America. Thompson’s Rum Diary, for instance, is a great novel when it comes to the whole capturing America bit.

So, folks, what do you think a novel needs to express in order to be called the Great American novel? Do you think some of the novels on the list are less deserving than others? What are some you wish were on the list? You tell me.

Until Next Time,

J

Letter To the Leaves: God Does Exist. And It's Spelled W-E

My Fellow Contributors,


One of the books I am reading at this time is Eckhart Tolle's book, The Power of Now. This book was actually recommend to me by Slick a few months ago and I have been devouring it every since. The tagline for the book is, "A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment". I recommend it to everyone who is searching for their own inner voice and presence.

I bring this book up not to discuss philosophies, but because their is a section of the book that I feel resonates with what I have discussed in several of my previous blogs.

Here is the section I want to point at today,

"Don't get stuck on the level of words. A word is no more than a means to and end. It's an abstraction. Not unlike a signpost, it points beyond itself. The word honey isn't honey. You can study and talk about honey for as long as you like, but you won't really know it until you taste it. After you have tasted it, the word becomes less important to you. You won't be attached to it anymore. Similarly, you can talk or think about God continuously for the rest of you life, but does that mean you know or have even glimpsed the reality to which the word points? It really is no more than an obsessive attachment to a signpost, a mental idol....

...If you had a strong aversion to the word God, which is a negative form of attachment, you may be denying not just the word but also the reality to which it points. You would be cutting yourself off from the possibility of experiencing that reality."

 Jack and I were having a conversation after the last open mic. You see he's been writing a bunch of physics poetry lately and asked me if I believed in God. I told him, that I was raised Roman Catholic and my views aren't as simple as whether or not there is a God. I told him that I view organized religion as a medium through which I can find my spiritual enlightenment or presence.

In rebuttal he told me that I had to acknowledge that science is the only universal truth. That God is only used as a weapon against groups and that it is worth not believing in because it is only used for evil. He told me that he was raised christian but has now come to the realization that there is not a God.

I read the passage from The Power of Now after this conversation, and felt that these were a few lines I should have quoted in defense of my position.

The way I see it, God is only a signpost used to get everyone connected to a universal truth. Jack, and other people like him, are asking the wrong question. Its not whether there is a God, but why would a God be created.

I was doing some research for an article on the relationship between business and religion. In my research I came across an article about Karl Marx. He held the view that God was created by men, and was used to keep the laborer in the chains of the capitalist. I agree with Marx in one respect, that God was created (the word and the way its delivered) but rather than a means of oppression it is a means of liberation.

It is a way for all of us to "be on the same page"; to focus our attention on one idea. Rather than getting caught up in the how of religion, we need to get focused on the Now of religion. The feeling that it makes us experience and the sense of freedom, warmth, love, and tenderness it opens us up to feeling.

So don't get caught up in words. Don't get caught up in other peoples opinions or in their religion. Everyone is searching for the universal truth. They are searching for their own god-essence and they are teaching us that we are all connected.

Physics, God, Science or Religion. These are only tools teaching us to transcend.


As Always

Undoubtedly Yours,

Bermuda the Man

A Cosmonaut's View of Earth

I was lucky enough to view both an annular eclipse  and the transit of Venus over the last three weeks. I find it incredible that I was at the right position at the right time to witness both of these rare cosmic events. Viewing these phenomena really got me thinking about our position in our universe, and where we stand in our pursuit of its exploration. It also got me thinking a lot about Cosmonauts and the Cold War.

I often wonder what it must have been like living through such a risky power struggle during such a turbulent period of time as the Cold War, when everyone’s gaze was pointed up towards the heavens not only out of fear of attack but also out of a desire to explore.When William Winfield Wright read his chapbook at Cal Poly Pomona I remember seeing the arms/space race in a new perspective that made me really consider the growth that came out of the danger of the war (if you haven’t already, you need to check out Cosmonauts). The Cold War has since seemed like an intriguing point in history to me; as our culture was tottering between both great destruction and great discovery, our species rapidly developed and fought its way off the Earth -- and we may have even found some peace in space.

One of my favorite parts of Wright’s title poem, “Cosmonauts,” separates a space explorer from the rest of the inhabitants of the Earth.  Here is “Perestroika”:

“Up in space it is still

the Soviet Union, the idea

however broken that

this blue world is all connected.

Perhaps they will leave me here,

an icon at my little window

passing over what once were

our 2½ oceans,

resetting my watch

for each of our 11 time zones.”

What I find most amazing is that after all of the tension that existed between the two powers of the Cold War, the scientific community has put aside all differences to come together and operate the International Space Station. Perhaps because they saw that it was silly to struggle over things like imaginary lines and 11 different time zones in outer space, or perhaps leaving the Earth allowed them the opportunity to look back and make some kind of sense of the things we can’t see from our terrestrial seats, or perhaps they saw in space that we’re simply all the same.

It’s sad that our culture doesn’t possess the same desire to explore the cosmos that existed during that time, and it's disturbing that the U.S. Military budget for the last 2 years is more than the total amount of funding for NASA's 50 years of operation. It seems that we would much rather stay and fight each other than go off to explore and learn from the universe.

Working together to move our species to space will allow us to look at the messes we’ve made on Earth, and hopefully when we look down from the heavens we will be able to also see the greatness and potential that we have as a species. Getting back into space will re-position our culture and will likely cause us to rapidly adapt like we did the last time, but in order for us to get there we must first choose to explore rather than stay and struggle against one other. We must always choose to take another giant leap.

                                                                                                  --S.pine

The final words of Ray Bradbury to an ever captive audience

As everyone knows by now, Ray Bradbury died a few days ago.  But, as some of you may not know, his final editorial was published in The New Yorker less than two days before his passing.  Not only is it amazing that he was writing until the end, but the subject of his final piece is beautiful considering what happened just days later.

In his last column, "Take Me Home," Bradbury recalls his first encounter with death when he was a child and his first inklings that all things must end.  In this short piece, he also remembers what first inspired him to eventually write sci-fi pieces, such as The Martian Chronicles. He explains that many of his stories can be traced back to an experience as a child with fire balloons, paper lanterns that are lit and set free into the night sky.    

Reminiscing on the fervent imaginative days of his childhood leads him to recall the "letting go" of these lit paper lanterns in which he took part with his grandfather.  He explains that even though his grandfather died when he himself was just five years old, he "remember(s) him so well," and that this event clearly stood out in his mind for years to follow.  The title of the article connects to this event in that he saw the balloons as beautiful things that he did not want to release, but he knew, upon his grandfather's quiet urgings, that he must; they had to passed on, with all the connotations of such an expression.  He explains that he dreamed himself of being taken away "home" to Mars after first reading Edgar Rice Burroughs' John Carter books.  And now, just days before his own passing, he says again, "take me home."

It is this sense of memory and reverence for all moments of life that comes through strongest in Bradbury's words here.  Everything that has been experienced and remembered is present in us, not passed, for as long as we live.  And if we are able to so eloquently put our experiences to paper as Bradbury did, they will live to see many days beyond our own.     

I am so overwhelmed by my sense of Bradbury as an author and an inspiration and a man who lived and lives a beautiful life through his words.  I never met him, and I never saw him speak, but I feel an intimate connection to the man, as if he had sat next to me and told me stories.  When I was 8-years-old, he painted a future world that terrified me and amplified by love of books for the rest of my life.  When I was a bit older, The Halloween Tree fascinated and haunted my imagination, recalling itself to me every cold October night.  Years later, Something Wicked This Way Comes is still evoked every time I see a makeshift suburban carnival come quietly to town; the horrors that could be lurking there!  Ray Bradbury, you've made the world more interesting; you've infused the mundane with mystery; you put life itself in a paper lantern. And I am sure that many of you feel the same.  How extraordinary to have such an impact. 

And what wonderful icing on the cake of a life well lived to sign off with a piece recalling moments from the beginning and how they intimately connected to so much that came later.  What a beautiful commentary on life, its fragility and its possibilities.  And on the fact that it does all, sooner or later, conclude.   

As Alli pointed out yesterday, humans are just pretty cool.  Ray Bradbury was certainly no exception.  Check out his final gift to his world of readers at http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2012/06/04/120604fa_fact_bradbury#ixzz1x1oaNChW  .    

Humans are Just Pretty Cool

I'm not really sure who it was who got me thinking about this, because positivity isn't usually my thing, but whether it was Jack or Leena or some of my computer friends or some of my artist friends, here's the thing: people are rad.

It's grad season, we've been publishing the magazine for a year, we've been posting daily blogs for months now, views are up and responses are good. As soon as we opened chapbook submissions there was an explosion of chapbook submissions. We've been getting a huge number of great submissions to the magazine, our contributors are really starting to grow into a tidy little community with us, our poetry readings continue to be a big success and  we the editors are reaping tremendous emotional and personal (though not yet financial) benefits from deciding to run down this path together.

And as odd as it all is, I'm pretty sure that we can lay most of the blame and the gratitude for all of this at the feet of the internet.

If it weren't for the web we couldn't make the magazine we've been making. We could probably put out a little zine, hand-selling copies to family and people at coffee shops, but we couldn't ensure that people around the world have a chance to see it. We wouldn't have submissions from India and photography from England and readers in Russia if we only had open mic nights as our platform. For that, we can thank the web.

I've been coming across this sort of thing a lot recently. I joined Kickstarter and was able to contribute to a print book from a group of my favorite web-artists. I was reading Cracked.com the other day and came across an article about comic books; I was interested in reading one of the story arcs that was mentioned and by the end of the day I was able to purchase all of the related issues in a compilation from Amazon - why? because I found a website devoted to posting summaries of each issue of the series: this wasn't from Marvel or DC or anything like that - it was a fan-based site that ensures people are able to find what they want. I found a New York Times series about the basics of drawing that taught more about technique and inspiration in eleven articles than my freshman art class did in a year. I love ballet but don't have the time or money to sign up for a serious class; I can, however,  spare an hour or so a night to dance along to tutorials on YouTube (if you're interested search for the Ballet 101 playlist and don't hurt yourself) to keep myself in shape and try to maintain my lines. I can use the web to keep up with what's going on in Roller Derby locally and see if there are teams looking for players, I can do a Google search for local life drawing groups, I can Skype with cartoonists in Minnesota who give me technique pointers and I can download a ton of free programs that will allow me to lay out e-books for sale to specialized markets of people who are interested in the e-books I'm selling. Hell, I found a forum that gave me step-by-step directions for replacing the water pump on my Saturn that was better than the mechanic's manual for my vehicle.

What I'm trying to get at here is that the web is full of awesome people who are actively engaged in helping other people become more awesome. You can learn anything from scratch if you just run a search for it, and become proficient at it more quickly than ever before thanks to the petabytes of information that take up all of the space on the internet that isn't devoted to porn.

And I'm happy to be a part of this. I'm happy that our magazine is open to newcomers, that we offer criticism and instruction to writers, that anybody can stand up and test drive their work at our poetry readings. And I want to know what you're doing. What are we putting into the world and what is coming back from it?

I really think that we're at a turning point in human intellectual/emotional evolution: we have this wonderful, just absolutely fantastic tool that allows us to communicate and share with a kind of purity that has never before been imagined - we often don't need to know anything more about an artist or a dancer or a singer than that we love their work for them to improve our lives. But for all of that, the people you hear the most about when it comes to the internet are the trolls and bullies who shit on the people who are sharing and creating.  I believe the Troll's hour in the sun is drawing to a close - there's too much good stuff out there for them to shit on all of it, and too many people are discovering that the internet is a vast ocean of wonder to be bullied for much longer.

So ignore the trolls in the world, and go find something awesome. Learn to fold origami, learn to speak Arabic, learn interior decorating or calculus or fire eating or juggling or any of the myriad things there are to learn that people on the web are trying to teach you. And if there's nothing you want to learn, then go online and try to teach something - somebody out there will be happy to learn it and you will have contributed to making the world a better, more educated, more talented place.

And if none of that inspires you, watch this video of awesome people doing awesome stuff and tell me that you don't want to see more of this kind of thing in the world:

Now go make something cool.

Cheers,
     - Alli

The Point of Poetry

I'm gonna keep this short because I want to know what you folks have to say about the question I'm posing in my blog. This is something I've been wondering about for the last quarter because I read a shitload of poetry that was written for a very specific purpose. With that being said, I'll just get right into it.

Writing poetry for the sake of writing poetry is a fairly new phenomenon. In the past, writing verse was chiefly something one did for a very specific reason. If you pick up an anthology of English Renaissance verse, you’ll find a lot of commissioned poetry (i.e. epithalamion, shit about the church, etc.) and poetry that was written – to put it crudely, though perhaps in the way a modern Marvell or Donne would put it – to get pussy.  Other poems were written to commemorate events. This sort of poetry, in particular, is all over the place in early American poetry. However, most of the poetry I read today isn’t setting out to do these types of things (an exception of this, though, is the poetry of witness).

So, why do you guys write poetry? What is it that compels you to put pen to paper? Personally, I’ve recently been writing some poems that deal with physics. A lot of these poems are attempts for people to embrace scientific principles.  I recently wrote a poem about the Schrödinger’s cat experiment. I did this because I really like that particular experiment and because there is a lot to be said about the poetic implications of the experiment as a whole. When I read it at our last poetry reading, only one or two people in the audience knew what the experiment was. Since then, I’ve decided that my next collection of poetry will be based around science so that my friends, most of whom are poetry fanatics, may become more interested in thinking about things like theoretical physics.

This is sort of a unique endeavor, though; and, as far as I know, most modern poetry isn’t seeking to do something like that. So, please, let me know what you guys are hoping to accomplish through your work. I know that poetry is often something that people do because of therapeutic reasons, but surely some of you write it for reasons other than that, right? Let me know your thoughts.

J    

Letter To the Leaves: You Don't Need a Masters to Understand This

My Fellow Contributors,

I am graduating in less than a week. I think it is finally sinking in that I will no longer be an English-centered undergrad. This is a bit disheartening but I have a theory. My theory is that I don't need to be an English grad student to further my understanding of Literature. I have this crazy idea that I over these past five years I have been trained to read, analyze and think critically about any piece of literature that is put in front of me.

And it's this idea I want to explore in this blog.

But before I begin I have a question for you.

What added value does reading a book in a classroom give you?

If you take away the other students, many of whom have misinterpreted the text to begin with, and the professor, who if he or she is any good will undoubtedly remain silent and let you struggle through the material on your own, what are you left with?

Yourself and the book.

And this is exactly my point. One thing about English, which sets it apart from other majors is that you don't need someone over your shoulder explaining the importance of this symbol or that. Now it should be noted that of course, someone who is practicing English and reading texts on a daily basis will be better at it than someone who is not putting in as much time. And it does help to have a tour guide. Who helps you to pick out the books you should read, tells you which aspects you should look out for and who provides accountability. Also you need to be trained. You need to have the right tools in order to complete the job.

But after four years of English classes, I don't need a tour guide. I can venture out on my own and find my own enlightenment through books just like countless others. And so can you (and when in doubt claim Reader Response).

So even though I am going to be studying law next year, I am still going to be studying literature and learning and growing as an artist. I may not have a master's at the end of it, or a Ph.d (although a Ph.d in American Literature is on the to-do list), but I will have that knowledge. I will earn those merit badges you get after reading a work from the literary cannon.

This pursuit is further made possible because of the internet. Rather than having to go to a professor to put a particular image in context, a quick Google search and a peruse of the hits will give me the answers I need.

I guess this blog seemingly is just a long-winded denial of the claim that learning stops once you have a degree.

Because, at least for me, the most important thing college taught me wasn't anything in a book. But how to get knowledge out of a book and convey that clearly and confidently.

The books will always be there. Just be driven enough to read them. Stay on top of yourself. There is no reason why you can't have the knowledge people go to grad school for. No reason why you can't understand civil war poetry. No reason why you can continue your love for literature and pursue other interests.

English is not physics (although many of us would have you believe that). It's just a few lines on a page which put pictures in your head.

So I challenge you to go out there read valuable books and teach yourself the wisdom in words.


As Always

Undoubtedly Yours,

Bermuda the Man

The Problem with Literary Biopics

Reading the creative work of another is one of the most intimate acts two people can engage in- the author and the reader that is.  More so than even the specific details we imagine for a character in a book we read, we create a relationship with the author- and the relationships an author has with his readers varies from reader to reader.  So even if one reader has a clear idea of T.S. Eliot- the man, the author- in his head, the next reader may pick up on very different aspects of the writing and on different word choices and therefore create a very different man in his head. 

If we love someone's writing, the relationship we forge with that writer is complex and nuanced.  It is probably safe to say that you have digested more words from your favorite author than from many of the people you'll physically encounter in your life.  These relationships have been developed and made all the more complicated by time. Anyone whom you've spent that much time just listening to you're bound to feel that you know pretty well- you're bound to feel that you understand their voice.  That's precisely why it can be so shocking (horrific?) to see authors with whom you're intimate brought to the screen. 

Earlier this week, HBO premiered a new movie for which I have been awaiting anxiously, Hemingway & Gellhorn.  After getting over my initial apprehension regarding the casting choice of Clive Owen for Ernest Hemingway, I began to warm considerably to the whole idea of the film to the point of being quite impatient for its Memorial Day premiere.

But, alas, horror did indeed ensue.  Rather than the nuanced, tortured, moody, violent, interesting man I've come to know as Hemingway, there was more of a cartoon of him than anything.  This is not to say that a cartoony nature was not the filmmakers' intent; but, intent or no, this was not what I'd expected.  Yes, we got the moody down. The violence is replaced with boisterousness that seems to always end in friendly drinks. Nicole Kidman's Martha Gellhorn seems to find him sexually interesting and sure he looks like fun to be around for the most part.  But as far as the tortured goes- it is really nowhere to be found with the exception of the inevitable electroshock and subsequent suicide scenes, which frankly feel completely out of place in the narrative in this story. 

I could go on to lament the horrendous shift this film took toward forced suffering, only to rebound with a quirky Indiana Jones-goes-on-an-adventure feel at the end. It's really quite bad.  But let's stay focused on the Hemingway portrayal.  I like to imagine my Hemingway actually writing: spending a lot of time doing it, thinking about it, being immersed in it.  And despite all the lines about writing and despite all the repurposed quotations, we don't for one second see Hemingway as a man who lived and breathed the written word.  Nor Martha for that matter.  In one of the few scenes in the movie in which she's writing, she gets one sentence out before she is interrupted by an explosion outside the building.              

It's strange to say, once again, but the Hemingway of last year's Midnight in Paris was far more effective if for no other reason than being in the hands of writers and filmmakers (namely Woody Allen) who understood their purpose in portraying Hemingway and his friends- to show a heightened, humorous version fueled by a demonstrated understanding of the man's writing style.  And because Allen and Corey Stoll, the actor who portrays Papa, did such wonderful jobs making their Hemingway sound like a Hemingway novel, he actual came out more real, more Hemingway, than Owen's seemingly more serious portrayal. 

Now, obviously, I never knew Ernest Hemingway, and for all I know Clive Owen could be spot on.  But that's the thing- all any of us really know about Hemingway now is his writing.  To piece together his mismatched quotations and call it is dialogue is a far greater sin than to simply portray him generally speaking as he wrote. 

Maybe what we should be doing with our great authors after all is simply reading them and honoring their writing, not trying to make their lives into entertainment.     

Until next time,

Leena