Cult members, I am like a kid on Christmas. Many of you know that I eat political speech like some people eat Pringles™ or Fritos Flavor-Twists™–basically, to excess, to the point where my mouth becomes a swollen tundra of salty regret.

So naturally, I am a little beside myself right now. The speeches. The speeches!!! The historicity of it all. The epic-ness of it all. My neck is stiff from straining towards the incredibleness. Plus I’ve been crying all week, thanks to those incredibly touching propaganda pieces put together by the Democratic National Committee. My dreams are a mix of all the very heady metaphors being used against me–like last night, I was sailing a beautiful yacht with the whole Kennedy family, a yacht called “the moral police is still the police,” which is a weird name for a yacht, I know, until you see it in that cursive blue boat writing. (more…)

It’s been ten years since Bruce Mau stuffed his Canadian design-guru Jedi wisdom down our collective throats with his Incomplete Manifesto for Growth. But the sting still feels fresh. In fact, I’m staring at it right now, where I have taped sections of it above my computer monitor. It’s part of how I tattoo shit to my unconscious mind. I write it down (that’s step one, because I learn best through the physical, kinesthetic act of writing) and I tape little notes up where I will see them without even knowing I am seeing them. (more…)

alright, so I’ve had a bit more time to process. I am still feeling very overwhelmed by what a great show we had on Saturday night, by the six great poets the four great musicians and one brilliant host and the magician, and the 30 or so amazing volunteers and crew members it took to pull it off. and since I didn’t say it in the last post, (more…)

It’s Sunday, August 3rd. And the ice pick to my head that is four cups of flavored Svedka vodka has started to subside somewhat, or at least become less ice-pick-y. This post is about to be grossly fuzzy and optimistic, so if you’re just not in the mood for love, I suggest you go somewhere else.

Last night’s Drums Inside Your Chest show made me fall deeply in love. With this community of poets, with good poetry, with Keeli Shaw and everyone that knows Keeli Shaw. I think I have to start, though, with the amazingness of Beau Sia. If you were there, you know what I mean. And the poets…guh. Brendan Constantine gave the best performance I’ve ever seen from him. Mike McGee was f***ing inspired. you know what? I’m too emotional to do this right now…stay tuned for more thoughts after I’ve eaten something starchy and delicious.

sometimes, i like to start my day reading the articles linked to the “Living” section of the Huffington Post. and by sometimes, i mean everyday i wake up at home, though i will not be posting that statistic here. if you’re not familiar, the HuffPo’s “Living” section is a daily collection of feel good self-help articles and blog posts, all about how being happy is a choice, or how you’re 20% better looking than you think you are, or how cheese has been proven to cure shyness or whatever. (more…)

It’s true. Drums Inside Your Chest is back. With an all new line-up of poets that make me want to quit my job and hump paperbacks all day. And more magic from Rob Zabrecky. At an all-new venue in downtown LA (literally, as the Los Angeles Theatre Center just built a big brand new beautiful space).

But before I tell you about this poetry show that will perform surgery on your cynicism, let’s back up for a second, and rewind to last summer, when this show was first being imagined (more…)

it’s noon and i’m drinking my third half-cup of coffee and trying to wrap my head around why all national holidays give me asthma attacks. America, you are a woman in heady perfume who is also smoking an imported cigar!

tonight though. TONIGHT!!!! Derrick Brown and Amber Tamblyn and Michael Roberts and i reunite for the first time since the last time Derrick was in town. Derrick’s throwing a shindig show at OPEN BOOKS in Long Beach, easily my favorite independent bookstore in town. there will be wine, there will be a DIY sundae bar, there will be music by Grand Elegance and Scott Huckaby, there will be some poems that make you feel swelling in your chest region:

OPEN BOOKS
4th St. and Junipero in Long Beach
8pm till nonsense
dance party after, if we’re lucky