Monday, September 08, 2003

broken Iowa promise is okay afterall...it seems 

"The lost fragments are perhaps stacked in the closets, the archives, but then the codes, the keys are locked up also."
--Jacques Roubaud, from SOME THING BLACK

had promised myself that i'd never step foot in this state again, anywhere near my insane born again christian drunk ass relatives.

have been on the road with Magdalena Zurawski. helping her drive her van load of belongings, and herself, to San Francisco. there's been this beautiful tension between Elvis and Bruce Springsteen on the CD player for several states now. nothing better than a couple of lustful titans duking it out through their obsessed fans in the heat and heart of a fast food-filled country during Mercury Retrograde. tension keeps it all honest, in my honest interpretation of tension.

i could bore you with little poems found on the many bathroom walls between here and Philadelphia. sorry i won't bore you. except, the one that was especially odd was "6 QUEERS OVER TEXAS" and 6 little stick figures with rather large stick penises all hung by their necks floating over a crude drawing of the state. and i'm of course glad --for a moment-- that we took the Northern route. but there're plenty of queers in Texas i've met, none of them walking around with the rope necklace, not for lack of fashion.

last night three men with broken fingers and leather pants circled the gas pumps looking for a way to get the pumps to work, and one of them gave up, brushed his slicked hair with a bandaged hand, throwing lines of Rimbaud's A SEASON IN HELL out to us, as though that's the natural thing to do when you've simply had it with the gasoline. i asked him how much of it he had stored in his memory, and he yelled, "MAN WE JUST WANT SOME FUCKING GAS! OKAY!?" okay, nevermind i thought, walking into Crazy D's with Maggie.

we're staying with poet Greta Byrum outside Iowa City. Lee Ann Brown is also staying here, with her 9 month old daughter Miranda Reality Torn Brown. we're going to hear Lee Ann read with Monica Youn tonight at Prairie Lights.

woke this morning in this giant old farmhouse to two crows diving at something in the soybean rows at the edge of the yard. cawwing and diving and pecking. the violence of the country, but especially THIS part of the country, comes back.

only have about ten minutes to click this out, borrowing a computer.
more later,

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