what a wonderful night for a mind fuck

before i get to all the juicy details of where the title comes from...

welcome to the 14th day of National Poetry Month. today, i'm shining the light on my friend Rebecca Schumejda. a wonderful poet who just happened to be the first person to ever publish me. so if you don't like my writing, blame her. below are some links to her work and then a video from last year of her reading:
http://www.rebeccaschumejda.com/
http://www.rattle.com/poetry/tag/rebecca-schumejda/
http://www.wordriot.org/template_2.php?ID=1014
http://www.amazon.com/Cadillac-Men-Rebecca-Schumejda/dp/1935520687
http://www.karenjweyant.com/book-picks/summer-poetry-pick-waiting-at-the-dead-end-diner-by-rebecca-schumejda

now on to my evening. i'm sitting in my chair watching wrestling last night and the phone rings. mom answers it and has a conversation. i think nothing of it. ten minutes later mom comes in the room and tells me that was my dad's sister. apparently, my father is in the VA Hospice with dementia and has stopped eating and in one of his lucid moments, asked to see his kids before he dies. that certainly caught me off guard. now i'm going to tell the rest of this out of sequence as i have some fucking venting to do. so, this morning my sister and i talk and decide that we should go see him. Thursday works best for her so i said fine. my sister called my dad's sister back and found out some more info. apparently he was in a nursing home but that got too expensive so they moved him to the VA. he's been there for THREE WEEKS. why the fuck we're just now getting called about this really pisses me off. but what should i expect from a person who hasn't been a part of my life for 20 years. so i call the VA to see what room he is in. they can't tell me because i'm not listed anywhere in any of his paperwork. but, they can't stop me from seeing him as long as i can prove that i'm his son. that was the last fucking straw i have in my back. i called my sister back and told her that i wasn't going to see him. i'll see the fucker when they put him in the dirt. later on in the day, my mother tries to talk me into seeing him, going with the angle that i might regret this later on. i asked her how many fucking wishes of mine did dad grant? and i'm supposed to grant his final one. the same fuck that nearly choked me to death at 13. that tried to have me put in jail at 17 when he blamed his hit and run accident on me. the same fuck that has held it against me my entire life that he had to wait a fucking year to write me off on the taxes because i was born a month later than i was supposed to be. i will gladly go to the funeral and i will even help put dirt on the fucking casket. i'm fucking done with letting that piece of fucking shit ruin my fucking life. now, i figure my sister will try her best to talk me into going since she'll be in town for a funeral on Thursday. as of right now, there is no chance in hell of it happening. as i told my mother, i've waited over 30 fucking years for that man to die. my patience is nowhere near running out. all i want is for the casket to be open so i can actually make sure that piece of shit is in it.

part two of the mind fuck was when i got those poems published at Bold Monkey. one of the poems, "the pain of not being good enough", just happens to be my actual suicide note i wrote a few weeks back. that poem has one of the coldest fucking endings i have ever written. i have no doubts that if i would have had a gun near me after writing that, i would have put a bullet right between my eyes. each time i read it it takes me back to that very dark place. a friend was worried that this move was going to be the death of me. i can't let her know just how fucking close she is to being right.

needless to say, i haven't slept well.

Gotham was great last night. i'm so happy that show is back.

The Voice actually had two performances that made me hop on iTunes and actually spend some money:

i'm very interested to see who makes it to the next round tonight.

Monday Night Raw was pretty good last night. one match especially was fucking great:

on the DVR tonight, especially since mom is going to miss some of the shows since she's at work, will be The Voice, Undateable and Deadliest Catch. those three shows certainly scream sophisticated white trash to me.

that's all for today. hopefully your family is less dysfunctional than mine.

be well. be creative. be cool. be quick to send me CASH, panties, hate mail, love letters, broken promises and dirty pennies from heaven.

peace and chicken grease...

music:

Beth Hart - Mechanical Heart
Tei Shi - Verde (EP)
Kimberly Nichole - House of the Rising Sun (The Voice Performance)
Meghan Linsey - Girl Crush (The Voice Performance)
Sarah Bethe Nelson - Paying

"I can never leave a bookstore without buying a book. I read four or five at a time." - Mireille Guiliano

and your pro wrestling video of the day:

as the days start to bleed together

i was trying to fall asleep last night/this morning when i realized i had been up for longer than 24 hours. and i really couldn't believe it when i was up again just 4 hours after falling asleep. i figured i better write today's post before the eventual collapse comes.

i was very thankful for the poems that got accepted and the poem that got published last night. that really did a nice job of lifting my mood. 3 of the 4 poems accepted came from the writing session of the previous day. always nice to know i can still turn it on when i need to.

while on the topic of poetry, the poet of the day on my Google+ page is Rebecca Schumejda. she was one of the first people to ever publish me. please don't hold that against her. i urge you to find her work and check it out. a good place to start is her website:
http://www.rebeccaschumejda.com/.

the Manchester United loss yesterday really got me down. i know the lead in the league is 12 points and i don't feel like another epic collapse is in the works like last year, but still... any loss to City is a bad one. especially at home. oh well.......

on top of that the New York Rangers lost a game in Toronto last night, 4-3. a game they really couldn't afford to lose as they are now giving away the games in hand they had over all the other teams fighting for the final playoff spots. and after reading the quotes from the game, i had to question why the fuck do they even have a backup goalie? a capable one at that. to read that Hank felt some fatigue and basically blamed that for giving up 4 goals really pisses me off.

i always think about the line i learned as a child. show me someone who doesn't hate to lose and i'll show you a fucking loser.

thankfully, the Yankees won their slow-pitch softball game with Cleveland yesterday 11-6. always nice when the bats wake up, especially Robinson Cano. i will try to savor these offensive outbursts as i don't think i will see very many of them this year. hopefully they can win their third in a row this evening.

what did have me howling last night was Monday Night Raw. the Raw right after Wrestlemania is usually one of the best ones of the year. it's usually the day when the WWE realizes they have to do something to win back all the fans they pissed off the night before after a lackluster $70 ppv. they didn't disappoint. from Dolph Ziggler cashing in his money in the bank contract to a Ryback heel turn, it had a bit of everything. what really made the night was the fans. all the chants and the true European feel to the crowd made for a big-time feel. plus, you know me, any show that ends with John Cena face down on the mat, beaten to a pulp, gets 2 thumbs up from me.

i was in and out of The Voice last night. i guess i'll be doing some catching up on YouTube here in a bit.

i did get the national championship game right for the 3rd year in a row. i saw most of the second half. a pretty damn good game. i finished with a record of 34-29 for the tournament. not great, but certainly better than my  worst.

i was saddened to read in the paper this morning that the Downtown Dayton Revival will not be happening again this year. i had so much fun at that festival last year. it's really a shame. but, like most things that fail in this area, it didn't get supported enough by the same people that will be bitching and moaning that it's gone. funny how that works.

and lastly, hello again spring. welcome back. temps today in the mid 70's with a hot southern wind that makes it feel like the low 80's. of course, since i'm out here in the sticks, the wind makes it basically impossible to enjoy. all the trash flying around from other farms and not to mention, all the farmers getting their fields ready to plant here soon. nothing like trying to enjoy the sun when you have mountains of dirt flying around at 40 m.p.h. fun.

music today:

ZZ Top - Tres Hombres
Sonic Youth - Washing Machine
Beastie Boys - The Mix-Up

"Always be a poet, even in prose." - Charles Baudelaire

an email from Rebecca Schumejda

-----Original Message-----
From: Rebecca Schumejda <rschume@hotmail.com>
To: Rebecca Schumejda <rschume@hotmail.com>
Sent: Fri, Dec 7, 2012 8:01 pm
Subject: Reading

Happy Holidays! I can't believe it is already December. I just wanted to let you know, if you are in the area,  that I will be reading from my new collection Cadillac Men tomorrow at the Colony Cafe in Woodstock at 2pm.

If not and you are interested, my new book is available: http://www.nyqbooks.org/title/cadillacmen
at spd:http://www.spdbooks.org/Producte/9781935520689/cadillac-men.aspx?rf=1
at amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Cadillac-Men-Rebecca-Schumejda/dp/1935520687/?_encoding=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&keywords=9781935520689&linkCode=ur2&qid=1350461689&sr=8-1&tag=poetscraftcom-20
at powells" http://www.powells.com/biblio/9781935520689?&PID=29591
at Barnes and Nobles: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cadillac-men-rebecca-schumejda/1113244126?ean=9781935520689&cm_mmc=AFFILIATES-_-Linkshare-_-B9ULI30VrRs-_-10:1&r=1
and also at a bunch of other independent booksellers.

Here is some info about the book if you are interested. Please feel free to pass this along to anyone who may be interested.

Hope you have an awesome holiday season!

Best,
B

Rebecca Schumejda's second full-length collection, Cadillac Men, explores the pool hall subculture before the economic downturn in 2008, when the narrator and her husband took a calculated risk and purchased a pool hall in downtown Kingston, New York. During their arduous planning, they did not consider that their business and livelihood would depend on men who threw pebbles in church collection plates, shot up in the bathroom, and had nicknames like Bobby-Balls-in-Hand, The Butcher, and Mikey Meatballs. Cadillac Men is a fractured poetic memoir about the year the narrator's husband chased his lifelong dream by starting Crazy Eights, and the recessions that occurred as her family, the economy, her health and The Cadillac Men all took downward spirals.

"Rebecca Schumejda, a poet who has already shown some considerable chops, has penned a breakthrough collection with Cadillac Men. With unflinching honesty, Becky has the unique ability to make this cast of debauched and indigent pool hustlers sympathetic without ever fishing for sentimentality. Cadillac Men is the poetic mosaic of an aborted American Dream, and like all good art, Becky brings to the forefront our collective humanity."

—Nathan Graziano, author of After the Honeymoon

"It has been my great honor to watch the evolution of Rebecca Schumejda's writing for nearly two decades now. What has always struck me about her work is the quiet beauty she infuses into every word. A dignity that comes from growing up with a little dirt under your fingernails.

The poems in this latest collection come at a price, there is a struggle here, not just the author's, but out there in the world, they take the reader beyond the pages. They are cool and deliberate, with a steady hand and a warm heart, they are the life we all live in one way or another, as sweet and painful as breathing, they are human, they are love songs for a working class culture that is sadly disappearing from our landscape. I adore this book as much as I do its author, which is to say a lot."

—John Dorsey, author of White Girl Problems: Poems & Stories

"Rebecca Schumejda has long been one of my favorite poets, and her new book Cadillac Men is her best yet. These poems are rendered beautifully and with a keen eye. It's refreshing to read a book of poems where the author has taken the time to observe the people around her with such uncanny insight and empathy. The stories and character portraits in Cadillac Men build upon each other to reveal a larger story—one not only of a struggling underclass, but of when we rest our hopes and dreams on one final gamble. It's the kind of book one reads all the way through like a good novel and then starts right back at the beginning. I really love this collection."

—Daniel Crocker, author of Like a Fish

"Rebecca Schumejda has written an amazing collection of poems that reads like a novel. A poet of place, she sets her writing in a neighborhood pool hall. Like an act out of the series Cheers, the players come in with their attitudes, their names (Mikey Meatball, Artistotle, Bobby Balls-In-Hand), their ruinous and marginal lives, and their game. They come to play pool, tell lies, fill the hours, and play it straight. It rains, it snows, and who can deny the beauty of Schumejda's version of snow: '…lonely women/disappearing quietly.' There is a strange love going on between all, never spoken out loud. It's impossible to select one line from this powerful, fascinating collection, but I chose: 'We are trying to collect what we can from what we lost.' If this collection doesn't garner its author wider recognition, I would be surprised."

—Ann Menebroker