Tag Archives: Alcohol

Punch Yourself in the Face

“I went out and told the woman what a rum punch was and how to make it. In a few minutes a girl brought a stone pitcher, steaming, into the room. Bill came over from the piano and we drank the hot punch and listened to the wind.

“There isn’t too much rum in that.”

I went over to the cupboard and brought the rum bottle and poured a half-tumblerful into the pitcher.

“Direct action,” said Bill. “It beats legislation.”

The Sun Also Rises

  1. Get a big-ass crock pot.
  2. Pour in some apple cider.
  3. Add three cinnamon sticks. Break them up. It’s fun, sort of like knocking a battery off a man’s shoulder.
  4. Shove some cloves into orange. Think about sex with Martha Stewart.
  5. Cut up the orange and fling it in.
  6. Add some lime juice and some pineapple juice.
  7. Heat it all up to make your house smell happy.
  8. Pour two big-ass dollops of rum into Ball jars or that beer glass you stole from Applebees because you are so crazy.
  9. Pour the mix over.
  10. Call your mom.

50 Life Sentences AWP 2009 (my head is a chewing leg)

I couldn’t blog in Chicago. I was too drunk or too busy with work or too compartmentalized. No, that wasn’t it. The hotel’s internet was slow like boiled sugar. A lot of people told me their Internet didn’t work in Chicago. Didn’t work well. I think I heard the term sluggish. I heard a lot of great terms in Chicago. I heard Painbis, hip-swinging, also annihilates. Words and writers of words appeared in front of me like kicked doors, or armored saints growing day to day.

I am going to blog now; I call this:

50 Life Sentences AWP 2009

1.) I have arguments inside my compartments.

2.) Shards inside I feel the need to fill, with alcohol, rationalizations blue, interstitial fluid, food.

3.) My many Chicago meals were triangles.

4.) A goal of mine was triangles…


5.) A goal of mine was to meet Kim Chinquee.

6.) Why didn’t I take a photo?

7.) Why was I too afraid to take a photo, to seal my memory in everlasting angles, perfect ghosts, in queens and hearts of glimmer?

8.) The poker game was a ghost everyone was talking about but no one had actually seen (like sustained love?).

9.) The poker game was mystical as a flower (on the moon).

10.) Listeners at readings whoop, laugh, bloom and flutter.

11.) Listeners at readings will buy you bourbon, will buy you shots of congratulatory bourbon, and you will drink that golden sun-struck poison like a harness-maker, like a household of leaking cells, drink them all and all and very well…

12.) In the swanky hotel lobby of the Hilton, Blake Butler voiced an opinion that authors shouldn’t just pick humorous work for a reading, just to be funny, etc., and I agree and disagree: They shouldn’t pick just funny work; they should pick funny work that is also sexual.

13.) I have arguments at Abjective.

14.) I have arguments inside my compartments, my flux and flow.

15.) Why didn’t I take the photo?

16.) I can’t get my head around Chicago, my actions, non-actions, and faulty do/do not/residue.

17.) Right alongside my heart, a nick of rib bone, I keep shaking inside like the El.

18.) I was intimidated by the El then learned to observe, conform, climb aboard, overcome something, or some thought inside my skull rolling.

19.) To meet (drift and swerve) with Samuel Ligon was glacial, as in very very cool.

20.) To meet Jac Jemc was glacial, as in very, very cool.

21.) To meet Molly and Matt and all others glowing was glacial, as in very, very cool.


22.) My many Chicago meals were fermented/distilled liquid.

23.) My many Chicago meals were squid, were prawn.


24.) My co-eaters were 1.) a woman who was raised in a “town” (my quotes) of 92 people, who runs marathons and swims with whale sharks; and 2.) a woman who writes drafts of poems about experience so recent (the El looping) so quickly and fine it makes me shiver.

25.) I bought sake and rode its candy-cane high.

26.) I bought more sake, diet cola and books (stored in my car, a Shane Jones signed book, Barry Graham signed book, Mary Miller, others…).


27.) I bought a form of hesitation, medication, some other ation.

28.) I bought the poison and inhaled the poison.

29.) I bought the books; I bought the books in front of the SmokeLong table.


30.) Mary Miller signed the books.

31.) Why didn’t I know she was awesome?

32.) At my age, why don’t I know what I am doing?

33.) I read her book immediately, last night, such likable object, such simpatico of scene and non-scene (I know so well, beer cap moth-ing through air), such castles of crickets and leftover wine.

34.) Sometimes I watched, in all my hours shifting weightless.

35.) Sometimes I watched others and wanted to be with them, or be them.

36.) Sometimes, less often, I felt watched, or should I say observed.


37.) To be my age and feel lostly.

38.) To feel hesitation and unrest.

39.) the photo…

40.) Why do you think I didn’t take the photo?

41.) Honestly.

42.) Why?

43.) I felt this blue crackling in the air.

44.) I felt this moment after.

45.) Of course I took the photo!


46.) (A man can only shelter so much regret…)

47.) (I am learning.)

48.) (and now.)

49.) and now.

50.) And..well, now.

More Tips For Teaching English Composition: Grading.

To foresee the outcome of grading before the outcome is obtained is indeed an egregious error. Listen! The “Fish-Scale” formation must be deeply pondered. It has nine fins. Let us discuss the Nine Fins of Grading.

1.) The fin of red ink is the realm of the Taimen, a mighty fish known as “river wolf.” Tread lightly about the Taimen, wear a bell. Feelings may be hurt, and also retinas. Criteria may change, in rubric circles, as the orbit of planets. If you use red ink, allowed, but never hot sauce, cranberries, rose hips, Christmas lights, lipstick, or Sam Pink‘s blood. Once I rode a camel two days through a Sirocco to pick up Confucius at the airport. His flight was delayed three days and so I sat in the bar and drank as a fire drinks air—one of every bottle. The night flickered, days melted into pools of mechanical flower. Hunger came for me like a great sneeze. I never left my barstool; I never slept. For several hours I was convinced I was a toadstool in the dark hollow of a log within a cave beneath a lost sea, on Mars. Finally, Confucius arrived, tapped me on the shoulder, and we returned home. He never thanked me. He simply bowed and advised I should stop talking to myself in public.

“Ok, but may I think to myself?” I asked.

His answer: “As you wish.”

2.) The fin of lost-to-knowing is the F student. Were we not all young, moons ago? Kendra Grant Malone broke her arm three times one weekend while paragliding drunk in a thunderstorm, but so? Never once did she leave the heavens. Until she passed out. Even the Korean tern seeks a stronger draft, and will change altitude to leave still air. This is a powerful lesson. How could a student hand in 2.4 pages—the assignment clearly stated three. Yet your credit card bill sits on the kitchen floor in a pool of oily coffee, ten days overdue. Or is that coffee?

3.) The fin of mist is all remaining students. What can you see? What can you know? Are you qualified to mar the blackboard? Sometimes dark beer brings forth the light; light beer reveals the darkness. What I can’t stand is when some guy like Billy Collins orders a Corona in the middle of a snowstorm. Have a sense of mood. I wish Blake Butler would punch B.C. in the spleen. Even the bear prefers sleep in winter. Even the heavy glissando. This is what I mean by mist.

5.) In marking essays, do use the word terrible, when you mean terribly good. This is the fin of Splish.

Do not use the word AWK, when you mean awkward. AWK is the mating call of an Eurasian Wild Ass. This is also the fin of Splish.

6.) Do not the dull coin and the shiny coin hold the same value? Now you know the fin of hummingbird.

7.) The fin of unawareness is critical to grading. When Noah Cicero greets Dick Cheney do they talk pheasant, or duel with skillet, or just politely avoid one another? How pleasantly pissed off is Sara Crowley? (I would like to meet her over biscuits and tequila.) When the Burmese python greets a fellow python, are they troubled to hug? Maybe. I don’t like when some bartender at an airport comments on somebody’s drinking. Really, I don’t. Like she’ll stand in front of you, slide you another beer, and say, “You’re really putting in a shift tonight.” And later she’ll say, “Wow! I bet you’re trying to drink some girl off your mind.” Bartender’s a big woman, bright, loud, shouts everything, but I don’t want to criticize. I’ll call her brassy. Now I’m depressed. This taste in my mouth like campground. Who can say why? Not me. I don’t know all the duties of a bartender, all those white rags they carry, the little openers and spoons. I can’t change out a keg. Sometimes two stag will fight for a certain vein of salt. They battle until their antlers entangle. Now neither can feed; they starve. Now you see the fin of awareness.

8.) You say enough has been written about alcohol and writing. I could answer enough has been driven about cars, but I don’t see you walking home tonight.

9.) No mark taken in vain. No grade submitted lightly. One time I saw Matt Bell eating KFC inside a Mobil Station (oxymoron). Tip: Microsoft DOES NOT work. Etc. One time, late in the dawn of the first frost, Confucius told me to gather—what? No! No way! Yes way. Mia Farrow just floated past my window. Like some marvelous meteor, a shooting star. Dandelion seeds. To where is she floating? She wears a flowing dress, a flock of bluebirds, much too unique for a Friday in Indiana. Hmm…Look, seriously, I have to go.

shhhh…I am reading Mr. Lovelace