2. Flew out of Indy. Drank 2.4 beers at sports bar to calm my think-dragons. Think-dragons throat of fire like “Steel tubes should not fly” or “Humans build airplanes and humans, without a doubt, 100% throughout history, fuck up everything” or “My car breaks all the time, why not this jet?”
Sports bar full of Butler basketball fans. They looked stunned like empty shotguns. Even the ceiling fans were sighing.
3. Fiction writers eavesdrop. That is what we do. I went and sat in a chair and read a running book and overheard three flight attendants. They were arguing over Prose Poem versus Flash Fiction.
She: “…but the poem is a throat, an opening and a closing, not an event. Flash is when the gun fires.”
He: “Do you have to go Chekhov? Huh? Must you. This is Indianapolis International Airport! And what about The Colonel? How can you dismiss the artifact of the language in its content. It’s a poet and you know it.”
She: “Hey, hey, shut your porthole. I could say the same thing about that Ashley Toliver piece, the way the phone rings, its sparkling beauty, right? Flash, flash fiction. It’s like pornography or a tipsy pilot–I know it when I see it!”
He: Have you worked the new Boeing 7?
She: No, no. But if I did I would treat that thing like my new car. One vomit stain and it’s your ass.”
He: I heard that.
4. The simple fact is I will most likely never join the Mile High Club. I just have to live with that.
5. I bought every issue of 3rd bed (so can you). On page 101 of issue 8 I found “Barn Song” by Corey Mead. Enjoy.
Liquid trees? and Edgar doesn’t know
even a part of Anna
To rise and go to the field and cut off his head.
Like, the more they talk
in fields this constant: nature is lost.
Edgar almost…the mind.
And risen never
returned to the barn.
6. Got into Denver late. Ander phoned and I said “Dinner or disc? We could just do dinner, but that wouldn’t be hardcore. It’s too dark to play disc but that would be hardcore.”
To just fly in half-tipsy/flung-out exhausted and hit the course while the sun is falling like a detached retina.
Ander said we should hit the course.
I don’t remember much. I could not see. We threw discs into the darkness. The night was iron oxide and thunks.
7. Wynkoop for beer, nachos. “Build your own Nachos” Vegetarian green chili and pinto beans with cheddar & American cheese served piping hot, topped with chipotle salsa, roast corn salsa, sour cream and a basket of chips for dipping. 6.95
The build-your-own as gimmick? I barely missed John Wang (interview here). He ate Wynkoop nachos the next night. I wish we could have broke tortilla chips together. Next time, John. These nachos were level 7. Solid.
8. Next day. There is fucking snow on the ground. Now what? What do you think?
What about now? Do you think that water was cold? Do you think it’s snow-melt and I can’t feel my feet, my hands, I can’t feel anything but little stingers of rice, little wooden bowls of my feet all cloddy off the rocks and rill and glass (?) and what do you think, Ander?
(Yes, he retrieves that uphill shot from the river behind him.)
9. Interview people all day, interview people all day…
10. Golden ticket at our hotel. You hold this ticket, you get free drinks for one hour. How many drinks can you drink in one hour. Wait. How many FREE drinks can you drink?
IT FEELS GOOD HERE
I met a Texan man named Kelly. If you are Texan, your name should not be Kelly. I noticed people tip less if the drinks are free. That’s not right. You should tip MORE. Think about it, folks.
11. Rose by Lyn Lishin at deComp
when it’s behind my knees
you’d have to fall to the
floor, lower your whole
body like horses in a field of nachos
to smell it. White Rose,
Bulgarian rose. I think of
sheets I’ve left my scent in
as if to stake a claim for
someone who could never
care for anything alive.
This Bulgarian rose,
spicy, pungent, rose as my
16th birthday party dress,
rose lips, nipples. If you
won’t fall to your knees, at
least, please, nuzzle like those
horses, these roses, somewhere
12. Interviews, interviews. Then I did a quick Eggs signing. Abagail Beckel and Kathleen Rooney are two very nice human beings. Cheerful. Professional. Cool. We sold many books. I thank all. Enjoy.
Here is my POV pic from behind the table.
I saw Blake Butler and Adam Robinson and Wendy Rawlings and a bunch of others. I saw everyone for seven seconds. Only seven. Sad.
13. The best Mexican food in Denver is the Lo Do Rio.
It be sick like stomping off the porch. Glow.
14. Met a guy named Josh. I got a kick out of when he drove his disc right exactly here. He almost fell into a river.
15. The very worst Mexican food in Denver is Cilantro Fusion. Poor food, poor service, margaritas weak like Popsicle-slushies. As I told my friends, this restaurant fused SUCK to LAME. Avoid. Avoid. Do not enter.
16. This Pasha Malla story be great at Hobart.
Bear with me here: I don’t know shit about baseball. I honestly don’t think I could name a single player in the entire professional baseball league, whatever it’s called now.
17. They freaked on my disc bag in Kansas City. They said, “Sir, what is this?” Then they swabbed the interior for drugs or bombs or something. What the fuck? It’s a bag full of discs! No fucking terrorist is going to have the common sense to play disc golf. Our community is one of friendship and glow…
18. Interviews, interviews…
19. I want my life to end this way. Just walk off into a disc course…