WHERE IS MY GOVERNMENT, AND OTHER POEMS.

Summer is over. So is September. What gives?

The esteemed Gordon Highland has a collection of shorts coming out soon, called Submission Windows-- here's the link: http://gordonhighland.com/words/short/

I've been poking around "The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis." I started it while sitting on the beach a couple of years ago-- it's not really a beach book, you know? And so I got distracted. Know what other book I took to the beach that year? "Naked Lunch." Didn't get too far into that one either. I don't know why I just didn't take a book on French law, you know? Something light and engaging.

The following year I took Steinbeck's "The Pearl," which was an excellent beach book-- easily consumable in one afternoon, and not too heavy. Once that was I finished, I read most of "Things Fall Apart." That was a good summer of beach reading.

But "Naked Lunch"-- I don't know. I mean I'll probably read it someday, but not on the beach.

Anyway, why am I talking about the beach? Because it's October and I have to believe that in spite of the pox that is this infernal GOVERNMENT SHUTDOWN that beaches and human rapture still exist out there somewhere beyond this veil of uncertainty; I have to believe there is a land where humans can be free to visit national monuments and observe Mei Xiang the panda and her baby via the internet, as is our God-given right to do.

By the way, here's what you get when you attempt to visit the NASA website:

Due to the lapse in federal government funding, this website is not available.
We sincerely regret this inconvenience.

For information about available government services, visit USA.gov.

Why do you think that is? Was NASA seriously paying minute-to-minute on their internet domain, or are they just being prickly? They could at least put up a picture of some stars and have a MIDI playing "Dream  Weaver."

6/22 - 7/22 is up at Gone Lawn.

I've got a new one now live over at Gone Lawn #11. Read! My thanks to guest-editor-possibly-now-permanent-fixture, the mighty Yarrow Paisely.

Gone Lawn # 11

Blueprints.

If you've been at all thinking about reading Ryan Boudinot's "Blueprints of the Afterlife," I suggest you get to that immediately. What an insane wonder. What a hilarious misery. What an endlessly twisty rabbit hole.

Some of the elements of the book didn't resolve themselves fully in terms of the narrative-- as promised, I didn't care. They were evocative of the whole. They needed to be there. I would talk about them so as not to be cryptic, but that would be unfair to prospective readers.

It's the kind of book that's been in my head for days after finishing. I'm eager to read it again.

To The Raccoon That Keeps Eating My Garbage.

I know I'm sending mixed messages by continuing to leave unprotected bags of garbage outside while attempting to use two strategically placed deck chairs to kind of present the vague visual insinuation of a barrier, but obviously something needs to change. We can't go on this way. Last night was bad-- guacamole and tabouleh salad. And I don't know why you need to shove the expended Blu cigarette cartridges down in between the deck boards like that; it seems unnecessary and insulting. We both know this situation can't continue. It is evident that no feeble arrangement of deck chairs is going to be sufficiently unwelcoming as to keep you (or your rampaging raccoon family) away; the missing bin will need replaced. I acknowledge my culpability in enabling these crimes and promise you, you will find no more easy scores.

My remaining question is one of curiosity: what exactly is a raccoon's natural diet? Aromatic cartons of almond milk are not commonplace in the wild. Wikipedia informs me that your diet consists of 40% invertebrates, 33% plant foods, and 27% vertebrates. Which classification does a bread bag smeared with bacon grease fall into?

Vacation.

I am now officially on vacation. Here's my to-do list:

1) Select a color to paint the bathroom. I'm not talking about actually painting the bathroom, because I hate to feel rushed. But I will definitely pick out that color and probably buy the paint, because buying a thing feels like commitment even if you don't plan to actually start doing the work itself. It's an easy high, buying something at the hardware store. I'll probably also select the least crusty paintbrush from the shelf in the garage and lay it next to the can of paint, so it'll be like on deck. Progress!

2) Decide whether I'm staining the deck this year. That's right, deciding something is on my to-do list. It's like I'm my own congressional committee.

This is exciting!

3) I need to finish Moby Dick. I mean really. I'm embarrassed at how long it's taking me to read this. It was the first (and only) thing I downloaded onto my Kindle, which I got for Christmas. As a result I feel like the Kindle is a technological platform exclusively designed to provide readers with 21st century solutions for avoiding Moby Dick.

4) Mow the lawn. No committees for this one-- just hard labor. My lawn is small but would make an excellent endurance course for fresh-faced army recruits.

5) I saw this video on YouTube of a teenage girl playing Van Halen's Eruption. I suddenly felt woefully underaccomplished as a guitarist (which I am). I'm gonna learn some new tricks. then I'm gonna make a YouTube video and I'm gonna destroy your minds. (I'm not doing any of this.)

6) Arrested Development! I almost forgot! The rest of this list is suddenly looking pretty pale.

eBay, etc.

I like that my eBay feed now contains such items as a bust of Kraven the Hunter and rare Krokus posters.

What else is new? I've got a new short coming out in a few weeks at Gone Lawn, and a few more percolating out there in the Submittable ether; I'll post the links if/when stuff happens.

Not much else happening, of note. I am reading the following, simultaneously, at a laughably slow rate of speed:

Moby Dick, or, How I Learned Every F***ing Thing There Is To Know About Whales And You Can Too
The Greatest Show on Earth (Richard Dawkins)
Blueprints of the Afterlife (The first chapter was sort of gross but kept me going; now it's flat-out excellent. I don't know if it'll all tie together. I don't care if it does, honestly. It's hilarious. Ryan Boudinot needs to teach a class on how to have fun writing. Ryan! Teach that class. Although maybe he doesn't have fun writing at all, that's presumptuous. But it sure seems like he does.)

Fog Gorgeous Stag and a Shitty Breadbox.

My copy of Sean Lovelace's latest book "Fog Gorgeous Stag" has arrived from Amazon, along with a completely unacceptable bamboo breadbox that appears to have been kicked all the way to my door. That would imply that Lovelace's book was also punted into my hands. Indeed, it is slightly dog-eared.

I know there are probably more artist-friendly ways of purchasing writing, but I had an Amazon gift certificate that was burning a hole in my imagination.

Your next question is doubtlessly why I spent part of my gift certificate on a breadbox. I was trying to be a grown up. My typical mode of bread storage is to place it in a large bowl beneath the fruit until it is slowly compacted into dense, inedible bread balls. Why beneath the fruit? Because fruit gets plucked up on-the-go. I can't be moving bread all day to get at the bananas.

I'm returning it (the breadbox) and buying what I originally had in my cart: Atomik Aztex by Sesshu Foster and Flame Alphabet by Ben Marcus. Ben, Sesshu-- I'm sorry. What an indignity. I bought a shitty breadbox instead of your words, and now we're all paying the price. At least I'm making it right.

Aside from all that nonsense, I am looking forward to digging into some Lovelace.