COMPLAINT 16.6

 

Happy President's Day! The Bureau of Complaint has published my work "Here’s a Special Note." Read it and maybe you too will learn the secrets of the universe. 

The Luck of Submitting to the Irish

 

The second issue of Beir Bua journal is out with my poem "Accordion Grimes" in it. Open the PDF to read it. In case you're wondering, Beir means "bring" and Bua means "victory, talent, or virtue."

Quote the Raven in its Cage: "Here's Your 5 Poems, Evermore"

Don't let the skulls put you off. I have five poems in issue 48 from Raven Cage Zine. Click on the link to read them. Another literary mention of Ditmas Park thanks to me. (Scroll down on issue 48 to see my works)

Your Word of the Day Is Mehfil

A Mehfil is a festive gathering where people gather to perform music and poetry, often of a religious nature. They are commonly seen (or heard) in Pakistan, India, and Bangladesh. It is also the name of a journal that has published a poem of mine called "A Solid Theory."

Brooklyn Is Berning, Bernie Sanders’ First Campaign Rally: A Review

He's above the blue hoodie

Of course it had to snow. As Bernie Sanders would put it, we got Vermont weather in honor of his visit to Brooklyn. Of course, it’s not that strange to get snow in March. Oregon Trail taught me that, which is why it’s better to leave Independence, Missouri in April. We think somehow because there’s been a change in the page of the calendar, spring is suddenly supposed to be here. March is as good as May, just as early September should be exactly like late November. Nevertheless, I went to the rally this Saturday at Brooklyn College.

Authentic Brooklyn snow

I couldn’t trust the sidewalks. Otherwise I would’ve walked there. Many of them were slushy and icy, while every intersection seemed to have the kind of puddles made famous by Groundhog Day. That meant using the buses or trains to get to the rally. I opted for the train since taking buses involved transfers, and I would be above ground, dealing with the cold and snow all over again. But using a train wasn’t’ a quick fix either. Thanks to the legacy of Manhattan’s imperialism over Brooklyn, there wasn’t a direct way to get there. All lines lead into the city, instead of crisscrossing the borough. I had to take the Q north, then get on the 2, and using Atlantic Avenue as a slingshot to get down to the campus.

The weather gave me mixed feelings. I’m not sure if there’s a name for it. The snow was a disappointment on one hand, and a blessing for me on the other. I wanted there to be a big turnout so the event would be a success and get coverage. On the other hand, I wanted fewer people there so I could get a good view. It’s like how you want everyone in the world to use public transportation, just not when you want to get on the train or the bus. When I reached the end of the 2 line and got off, I saw lots of people moving with me. That was the first time I got a sense of how many people were going to the rally. It was a lot.

Of course, none of us knew exactly where to go or how to get in. As I left the Flatbush Avenue Station, I headed into the part of Brooklyn I call Little America. Traffic was coming in all directions and Berniecrats stumbled around looking for the college. Eventually, I got my bearings and found a side street that took me to the entrance. That was not enough though, there was a line to get in, and it snaked around the block and then some. I’d never seen anything like it before. It just went on and on with no end in sight. At one point I thought maybe I would end up all the way in Canarsie, or Dead Horse Bay, freezing and hardly feeling the Bern.

I didn’t have to travel that far, but it was still a good distance. Good for Bernie, I thought, good for America, bad for me, but then again, I too am America or something like that. It was hard not to be in a Whitmanesque mood. Everyone was upbeat, including the campaign volunteers. Even the people selling buttons stuck to umbrellas seemed happier than normal, as well as the cranks shoving newspapers and poorly xeroxed manifestos in our faces. Sure it was cold and wet, with snow clinging to the branches. Nevertheless there was a sense of excitement and anticipation.

It only grew as the line inched closer to the East Quad, the site of the rally. The path to the event was lined with campaign volunteers who thanked us all for coming, then high-fived us. I admit I was a little restrained at first. What was I getting myself into here? So many genuine people, what was the catch? As a Millennial, I’m not used to such displays without a catch. I remember plenty of occasions of forced fun throughout my years in school, college, work retreats, and summer camp bondings. Energy and enthusiasm for the lamest of things like new regulation coasters, corporate sponsored trust falls, and cheers about how one particular student government association was going to kick the ass of another particular student government association.

In my head I went through the possibilities. Was I being led into a cult? I know a thing or two about them and I couldn’t say this was one. There were no matching uniforms or rhetoric. I heard no code words and twisted forms of grammar. I had a clear example of a cult outside of the event too. In addition to the members of other Leftwing groups, there were LaRouche supporters. I saw them while I was waiting in line to get in. One of them had a sign that read: THE GREEN NEW DEAL IS SUICIDE. Another had a shirt that asked WHO IS LYNDON H. LAROUCHE? “A dead man!” I wanted to yell at him, but I didn’t. (Don’t engage with LaRouche supporters folks, just blast music at a non-scientific pitch at them).

The other possibility? My mind went to Disney. That’s the only other example I had to go with. All these smiling people, excited, and welcoming me forward, they were leading me to Bernieland. Or maybe Sandersworld. On the other side of the gate would be rides and games. I could play whack-a-Bezos and go on the equality-coaster, which would just go in a circle on a level track. Of course, this idea was nonsense. As soon as I reached the East Quad, I saw nothing but signs, bleachers, flags, and a crowd of people nervously waiting for Bernie to take the stage. This is what faith in democracy looks like, I guess.

It was a diverse group, though it was younger and Whiter than Brooklyn as a whole. It was still a far cry from the stereotypes from 2016. College-aged Berniebros were there for sure but their voices didn’t dominate or drown out anyone else during the event. I saw people from all walks of life from the borough, including people too young to vote. There was also a snowman covered in merchandise for the campaign. Bernie Snowmanders, if you will.

The Whitest Berniebro 

The event opened with the Star-Spangled Banner. It reminded me how much I hate the Star-Spangled Banner. It’s a terrible tune about a mostly forgotten war that expresses nothing of value about America. We fought, the flag was still there, we’re great. Don’t ask any questions about the people in chains living in the shacks next to the home of the brave. Plus it just leads to people showing off when they can manage to sing it. I wasn’t sure why Bernie needed to open with it or who would be convinced by it. I mean, who is on the fence thinking he’s the incarnation of Lenin but would support him now because of that song? From now on it’s going to be This Land Is Your Land (including the verse about private property), and nothing else.

A series of speakers went before Bernie. I understand why they were there and they all said good things. However, it was cold and I wish the introductions were a little bit shorter. I’m sure everybody prepared their remarks for warmer weather. Jane Sanders went on and talked about Bernie’s roots in Brooklyn. I learned about Bernie’s support for a strike in Pennsylvania from a union official, and received pep talks from Nina Turner and Terry Alexander. Shaun King spoke about Bernie’s history in the Civil Rights movement in the 1960s. I learned about his protests against the Willis Wagons, which were substandard trailers used to house Black students in overcrowded redlined schools in Chicago.

Waiting for Bernie

Throughout the whole time, any mention of Brooklyn led to massive cheers from everyone, because it’s the law that when somebody says Brooklyn, people from there have to make noise. None of the other boroughs do this, I think. Anyway, this habit backfired at least for one person in the crowd. Shaun said that Bernie was “born in Brooklyn, the year the Holocaust started.” He paused after saying Brooklyn, and somebody cheered right after, which made it sound they were happy about the Holocaust. Who knows if that will be used for fodder to claim Sanders or his supporters are anti-Semites?

Then it was finally time for Bernie. I was losing feeling in my fingers, but I soldiered on. I had a rolled-up copy of the Independent and used it to make noise by rapping against my hands. That kept the frostbite at bay. I didn’t have a sign and I don’t know where they came from. They were everywhere though, and they came out to welcome the candidate. I was fortunate to have a good view of Bernie and saw him embrace his wife while surrounded by a sea of signs. They were white or blue, and the blue was either, sky, navy, or Dodger. It was a nice image. Sometimes you come across them in real life and wonder if you’re in a movie.

Bernie looked energetic, although I could see the pink in his face all the way from the back of the East Quad. At one point we began chanting his name and he shushed us. It was not about him, he said, it was about us and what we were going to do together. He pulled no punches and went after Trump directly. However, he didn’t just go on and on about norms and how the Orange man was bad. He made his attacks and then pivoted to the kind of campaign he wanted to run and what he was running for. He mentioned Medicare for All, college for everyone, a reduction in American intervention abroad, criminal justice reform, a $15 minimum wage, ending the Drug War,  and making it easier for workers to join a union.

We were all enthused, cheering, shouting, clapping, and pumping fists. I never thought I would ever get to hear a major party candidate say these things, and use this kind of rhetoric. Of course, he did in 2016 as well, but here I was in public, hearing it directly from Bernie Sanders. Talking about labor rights, and the struggle against the oligarchy in particular. Plus the military industrial complex. Who was the last to sue that phrase? Kucinich in 2008?  No vague platitudes and bromides about “opportunity” and the “American Dream.” A real vision and a road map to getting us to the kind of hope we need and real change we can use. Did he whip out charts and crunch the numbers in front of us? Certainly not.

This was no TED Talk. This was no corporate presentation. This was something more. It was a rally, in the sense that it gathered us together and boosted our beleaguered spirits. But it also needs to be pointed out that it was all about the ideas. Sanders had no slick production behind him (there were no Bernie Babe Dancers). He wasn’t young and bouncing around the stage, his hair was white, thin, and disheveled in the wind. There were no pithy or memorable turns of phrase. Just as in 2016, we were for Bernie because of the vision, not the man. It’s something a lot of pundits and commentators still fail to understand. He has charisma through his ideas, not apart from them.

After Sanders left the stage, we shuffled out through the campus. The Doobie Brothers’ “Takin It to the Streets” played overhead. Perhaps it was a nod to Sanders call for decriminalization of marijuana. It was followed by Jon Lennon’s “Power to the People” and Neil Young’s “Rockin’ in the Free World.” All of these superior to the Star-Spangled Banner. It was jarring to leave the collective warmth of the Brooklyn College campus for the hustle and bustle of Little America (i.e. Flatbush Junction). I watched as people carried their Sanders signs through the neighborhood and did their best to disburse. Some people waved the signs at the cars and buses, others held them close.

Since all the places to eat were packed by Berniecrats, I started walking back to Ditmas Park. The snow had started to melt, and I thought I could make it smoothly along the sidewalks. But it hadn’t melted enough. There were plenty of patches that remained, along with piles blocking the intersections. People hadn’t shoveled and it left glistening hazards behind. I guess it was evidence against the twin pillars of today’s Left. The snow was proof Global Warming is a hoax, and the fact nobody wanted to remove it showed Bernie Sanders’ socialism can’t work. Checkmate liberals...

...nevertheless the specter of Communism still haunts us

Nardo Goes West, Part Four

After my first night on the train I woke up to North Dakota in all its broad splendor.  Sure, there were plenty of cereal crops across the horizon, but all lots of small ponds, perhaps left by the retreat of glaciers many thousands of years ago. They were all in use by various birds. I don't think I've ever seen so many ducklings. I'm just used to pigeons in New York City. They're never old or young. they're always middle-aged adults, just like the people in the sitcoms that take place there.

I looked over the instructions and the metal pieces sticking out of the furniture. I figured out how to put the bed back and turn it into seats, how to turn the seats into a bed, and how to lower the bunk. I used the last trick in case I needed something that could serve as a shelf. I decided to leave the bed down. That way I could sit up or lay down to work or read. I preferred to lie down. Why? Because I could feel the motions of the train sliding under me. When I looked to the side, I could see the world flying on by and it was easy to imagine I was flying too, like some kind of Amtrak superman.

Most of what I saw involved agriculture of one kind or another. It was interesting to be so close to the food supply, at least as grain, dairy, and meat are concerned. I didn't see much in the way of fruit or vegetable production until we reached Washington. Not only did I see the crops, I saw how the crops get to market. There were silos everywhere and occasionally I saw train cars getting filed with the bounty they stored inside.

Where last night's steak came from

This is where last night's dinner may have gotten its lunch from.
It could be anywhere from Fargo to Missoula 

For breakfast, I had a quesadilla with eggs and green tomatillo sauce. It was the only thing on the menu that looked like it had any kick to it. My suspicions were confirmed when the two gentleman I sat with ordered eggs and then ordered salsa to put on them after they saw my dish in all its glory.

This dish is called the Battle of Puebla, because the Mexican
quesadilla is displacing the occupying French Croissant

There is plenty of salsa to go around (I had an extra container of red salsa in addition to what was on my plate) so don't be afraid to ask! During breakfast I sat with two older gentlemen. One was from North Dakota, near Rugby, the other was from Juneau, Alaska. The man from North Dakota was a doctor for an Indian Reservation and talked about the health challenges facing the local tribes because of sugary foods, in addition to alcohol. He also told us the various legends and stories (and I assume jokes) behind how Devils Lake got its name. He also pointed out the different kinds of birds and mentioned the area was popular with hunters. The traveler from Juneau asked the man from North Dakota what he liked about living there. He laughed and said it was because there were no people.

After breakfast, I went to the observation car, to well, observe. The sky was clear above me and the land was fertile in all directions. With nothing else to distract me, or even tempt me, I saw and looked out at the country rolling on by.

The upper windows

North Dakota, not to be confused with South Dakota

Rugby, North Dakota. It's the geographical center of North America

We passed through several small cities and large towns such as Rugby and Minot. It was probably the farthest I've ever been from the ocean. I live right near Ruby Road in Brooklyn and I guess I can sum up my summer as going from Rugby Road to Rugby town. When I think about it, more people probably live on that street than live in Rugby, North Dakota. Okay, that's enough talking about Rugby or rugby.

We continued moving through North Dakota and into Montana. I saw Fort Union, which straddles the boundary between the two states.

Fort Union, preserving the uneasy peace between
Montana and North Dakota

We reached Wolf Point by lunchtime. Next to it was the Fort Peck Indian Reservation. I had lunch with an Australian couple from Brisbane. They were on a trip around the world. Like me, they were yearning to see the mountains, especially any with snow on them. They told me they don't get to see much of either in Australia. I had a tortilla dish with chorizo while the couple had the mussels. Despite our distance from the sea, they said the shellfish was good. According to our waitress, the mussels are the secret dish that nobody orders but those who do always enjoy. I didn't mind my meal. It seems the most interesting options for eating on the train involve Mexican cooking. Well, at least until they bring back the gnocchi. I had the caramel parfait for dessert.

I hung around my roomette car after lunch. Working, taking pictures, and reading as we went through the great expanse of Montana. People forget how big the state is (number four). Near Malta, the train had to go through a "duck and tuck" in order to let a freight train get by. We often had to manuever around them on the trip. Pretty soon, Carlo was coming around to take dinner reservations. He continued to promote it with the phrase "real meals with real people." I put in a reservation for dinner with him for a later time 6:45. I had trouble getting power for my laptop, and with no signal for my phone, I decided to go to the observation car and have a drink.

Having wine on the train

More Montana. The state's name is a lie.

The new state capitol of Montana

Switching into Mountain Time

Sitting Bull

By this point I had enough with amber waves. I wanted purple mountains majesty!

But there were penguins

Maybe not the but certainly an Overlook Hotel

I had dinner with a couple from outside Fargo, ND and a woman originally from Minot, but who now lived outside Seattle. I had the risotto because there was no gnocchi, again. We all had wine with dinner. Some of it was corked, others had a screw-on (or off) cap. The risotto was decent. I had the fruit and cheese plate for dessert. I got a sense of how small a world North Dakota is because my dinner companions realized they had mutual acquaintances. I must say I've learned more about life in the Flickertail State on this trip than ever before. 

By the end of dinner we started to see the mountains. The real mountains. Not the lumpy hills of central Montana, but the real peaks of Glacier National Park. I spent the rest of the evening looking at the mountains and the tall trees that grow around them. At least until we lost all daylight. I admit I felt nervous around the evergreens growing by the rails. I wondered if they knew what we had done to their shorter cousins back East during Christmas time. Were they ready to lay their branches on us? I realized then I'd had too much wine.

More mountains

Unfortunately, I had to sleep through large parts of the trip through the mountains. When I woke up, I was on the other side of Glacier National Park. There were still plenty of visual glories awaiting me in the Cascades. I also had a phone signal for the first time in a day. At this point in the trip, the most of the sleeping cars had emptied out, at least on my level. I guess a number of people got off at Whitefish or Spokane. On my way to the shower, Carl, the sleeping car attendant, said I looked like a young John Hodgeman. This was the highlight of the trip, until we reached the next mountain range.

I had breakfast with a father and son from Janesville, Wisconsin. I saw orchards filled with pear and apple trees, as well as homesteads scattered around the shade of the mountain. I thought it looked like the end of the Oregon Trail and tried to see if I could find a tombstone with "pepperoni and cheese" on it. I wasn't in Oregon but the geography is similar.

We stopped in Leavenworth, which is supposed to look like a Bavarian village. I couldn't see it from the tracks. I did see Bigfoot though. I can't wait for my check from the National Enquirer.

The lounge car was closed, which was lame. I wonder if it was because it was no longer part of the train. In Spokane, the Empire Builder splits in half, just like Rome and Constantinople. My part of the train goes onto Seattle. The other half heads on to Portland. We get to keep the dining car, while the folks heading to Portland have to deal with a pre-made breakfast box. I stayed in my roomette for the rest of the trip. The views were good, except when we went into the Cascade Tunnel, the longest train tunnel in North America. It's 7.89 miles of darkness all the way through.

Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest

We began to make our descent towards the coast. My ears actually popped because of the change in air pressure. We went along rives and streams. I saw some of the bluest moving waters I've ever seen. 

The water out here makes Poland Spring look like backwash from
a spittoon used by an Antebellum Senator

Now it was time for the trip to come to an end. The Empire Builder reached Puget sound and traveled south along the shoreline. There were forest fires going on, so visibility was reduced. Even in the city you could see it. Everything seemed hazy and people wore masks over their mouths.

Puget Sound, it's foggy because of the wildfires going on

Finally, we came to Seattle and I saw several landmarks as the train snaked its way into the King Street Station.

The people of Seattle loved Frasier so much they built
a miniature version of the logo

I wonder if I could sell this picture to Getty images?

We pulled in with a slight delay. I went into the station and enjoyed its splendor, a far cry from the Pittsburgh station. I didn't check my bags, so I was able to pick up my things and head right out into the Emerald City.

Hello Seattle!

Overall, I would rate the experience highly, especially for a city-slicker such as myself. I got to see a lot of the country I've never seen before, met different kinds of people, and learned to adjust a different kind of lifestyle. Riding the train let me appreciate the countryside and the way that we as Americans use it. I wish the train did have WiFi on board. Not that I would've spent the whole time just watching old episodes of the Simpsons. It would've been nice to listen to some music while the country went by. I also wish there had been communication ahead of time about the lack of a sundries pack. Nevertheless, it was fun and (here it the survey answer) I would recommend the trip to my family and/or friends. Now it's time to try out the southern route from LA to New Orleans, or maybe head through the middle of the country through Denver.

Nardo Goes West, Part Two

I spent most of my time on the Capitol Limited sleeping. I went to sleep outside of Pittsburgh and woke up around Elkhart, Indiana. Along the way I woke up briefly in Toledo, then went back to bed. It wasn't the most comfortable sleep, and I think I would've slept better if I took the upper bunk instead of stretching out on the lower bed they made from the seats. The advantage of this one is that I could get up and use the bathroom without breaking my neck. There was also less of a risk of rolling out and also breaking my neck. 

Unbeknownst to me, there were three settings for the light in my roomette. There was complete darkness, complete light, and a third that I left on by mistake. It was the "night light" setting. This left a blue light on. I guess it's supposed to help you find your things before going out to use the bathroom, or meeting someone for a clandestine roomette rendez-vous. I didn't have to do either of those things. I just needed to sleep and rest my body after doing so much walking in Pittsburgh. The blue light made it difficult. I tossed and turned, and not just because of the gyrations of the train.

I got enough sleep to function in the morning. I explored the train as much as I could, and watched as my phone switched from Eastern to Central Time. Walking though the empty corridors of the sleeper car made me feel like I was in a murder mystery. Was I the perpetrator or the detective, or both? All I knew was that I was thirsty, so I went to get myself a drink. They have water on the trains, with little cut to put it in. However, it's difficult to get a hold or them and pull them out of the hole they hang down from. You end up crumpling them and they look like Garth's cup from Wayne's World.

Hey Mr. Spigot, if you're gonna spew, spew into this

One difference between the trains out West and those back East, is that they honk so much more. It doesn't matter if you're in the city, a town, or out in the countryside. The train sounds the alarm more often than I ever heard it on the line between New York and DC. I think it's because the railroad out here is more integrated into the community it goes through. The railroad wasn't built off to the side from places that were already developed, cities and towns grew up around the rails. This means there's more streets crossing the tracks, with cars that have to be alerted. It also means the train runs right by places with kids, such as parks, playgrounds, and backyards. There are times you feel so close to the houses out here, you expect the families inside to invite you in for dinner.

That morning I also made use of the showers. It's not as hard as you might think. You just have to keep pressing this little metal cylinder on the wall to get water. But they give you towels and the supply of hot water is plentiful. If the train banks ones way or another too hard, there's a sturdy metal bar to hold onto. Remember to use your used towels, and the used towels of other people to clean the excess water on the floor in front of the shower. This way people won't slip on what's dripped off your body.

I guess the shower symbol is supposed to be someone either washing their armpits
or singing. I kinda see a guy giving a Nazi salute, which is not
exactly the best look for the door to a shower on a train. Or any shower for that matter.

This is the real Amber Alert. It lets you know
When you've locked the door
to the bathroom or the shower (showers and bathrooms are separate)

Breakfast was simple. The Capitol Limited doesn't have the most advanced facilities compared to the Empire Builder, but it makes up for it with this box. Inside, there was a blueberry muffin, a Kashi bar, a cup of yogurt with fruit on the bottom and granola on the top, and, AND a fruit plate that had pineapple on it. There was also a moisty napkin, to wipe your hands of all the Fructose off your hands. The coffee was basic, but it was complimentary. 

Okay, I didn't take a picture of what's inside, but take my word for it

There's no wifi on the train, unlike the ones that run on the East Coast, including the Pennsylvanian. The Empire Builder doesn't have internet either. At least I could still use the signal on my phone. There were times I couldn't get a signal for that on the Empire Builder. Pretty much from Fargo to Spokane, I couldn't send texts, receive calls, or access my emails. I managed to keep myself busy other ways, namely by writing, editing, and reading Kafka on the Shore.  I also looked at the countryside passing by. It was flat and filled with small towns that drew their sustenance from the nearby fields of corn. The countryside was green and it was a welcome sight for my eyes after so many months of staring at concrete, brick, and steel in Brooklyn and Manhattan.

Alas, the respite did not last for long. We pulled into Chicago, city of windy shoulders.

The Willis Tower looking like one of the knights from Bedknobs and Broomsticks

I didn't have any time to explore Chicago while waiting to switch trains. However, Amtrak is generous with us Empire Builders. They set up a lounge for us in the train station. Other long-distance passages can wait there as well. It's called the Metropolitan Lounge. They offered us complimentary champagne, cheese, and crudites. Most importantly, they have a free place to store luggage, in case you do have enough time to wander off.

The Metropolitan Lounge has two, two levels!

They have a CANDY BUFFET (caveat, it's mostly old people candy)

When the Empire Builder pulled in, they separated the people in the sleeper cars from those in coach. Yes, you can buy a seat in coach and sit there during the whole ride. They seem to have more leg room than the average train car. I saw people sleeping in the seats, so it's possible. You don't have any privacy though. Plus, you have to pay for all your meals on train. The sleepers get to board first, leaving the waiting area where feminine voices play over speakers announcing the track numbers ad nauseam. I had to listen to #13 repeat her number in the face of #15, who spoke hers back.

After boarding I met our attendants, Carl and Carlo (no joke, and I presume, no relation). Carl was responsible for setting up the beds at night and Carlo helped collect our dinner reservations. Breakfast and lunch are first come, first serve, but dinner requires a specific time. Carlo was adamant about the value of the dinner. He kept telling everyone it was a "real meal, with real people." But if we wanted a box with some chicken and a cookie in it, we could place an order for one to eat in the roomettes by ourselves.

Hello, it's me.

The Empire Builder doesn't have any sundries. I should've taken my bag from the Capitol Limited. Keep that in mind if you try and follow my route. That said, the Empire Builder also has towels and sheets, plus free bars of something called "deodorant soap."

This is where my traveling companion would sit, IF I HAD ONE

Rene Magritte, Empire of Light

Is the name of the painting featured above my poem at Vita Brevis. The poem is called Enclosures. It involves midnight shenanigans, moonlight, and refrigerators.

Listen to My Father on a Radio Show

My father, Michael A. Nardolilli, works for the Montgomery Parks Foundation. Their major initiative these days is building a museum to tell the story of Josiah Henson, one of the real-life inspirations behind the novel Uncle Tom's Cabin. He recently talked about this project on the Kojo Nnamdi show (13 minutes in, under the episode title: How The Region’s Forgotten Slave Stories Are Being Rediscovered)

The Key to the City? Three Poems.

City Key has been gracious and generous enough to publish 3 poems of mine, including Hudson Valley News, written while taking the train north to a friends' wedding in Massachusetts. 

Life Anew Is a Kind of Shibboleth

Care of http://www.thebricktestament.com/

Two poems are up and ready to be read at Kairos. Okay, they've been up and ready to be read for a while. Life Anew and A Kind of Shibboleth

Come Gather Round the Poem Children

Or as they say in the fancy part of town "coalesce." New poem up in Coalesce Magazine. Check them out. They have a cool, space-age typeface.

Celebrate the Close of November

...with a poem on decline, the theme of themes to ponder as December approaches. Read "A Promised Mutiny" in the Entroper.

Make Your Own Attack Ad and Read Some Poems

He was also called hermaphroditical 

If you want to make an ad either attacking or promoting yourself for a hypothetical candidacy, you can do so here. Make sure you have plenty of embarrassing Facebook pictures and statuses on hand.

Another poem of mine is up at Misfits' Miscellany

And here is one you can read over at Bard Is Bong.

Links to Australia and Toronto

Here's an interesting article I found about Ernest Hemingway's time in Toronto. As you can imagine, the city and the writer did not get along.

I am breaking into the Australian poetry scene with a post here.

When you get done with all that, check out another poem of mine from Crisis Chronicles.

Happy Poetry Month (With a Short Story Included)

It's that time of year again! April is National Poetry Month, so now you can feel seasonal when you read my work. If you are looking for something experimental, I have a poem based on work of Spinoza at The Internet Is Dead. Meanwhile, Houseboat has put up a chapbook's worth of work up here. I am a featured poet!

I have also a short story to share, which is appropriately titled Ars Poetica.

And in honor of Easter, a video on Jesus. 

Proceed to Party

New poems of mine can be found at Ken*Again as well as The Vehicle. This poem "American News" which is in Literbug, has been in the works since early 2008. I believe the lines originally came from stories I found on the AOL Homepage. It braved the poetry workshops of Robert Fitterman and is now published! I also have a short story in this collection from Circus of the Damned. It was originally published here.

Meanwhile, back in real life, the struggle continues...

Boosting My February Stats

In case you missed it, I had poems up in Tinfoildresses. My work starts at page 14 of the issue. Also, there is a poem to read at Bone Orchard Poetry. Now, here are some interesting links that I came across and have nothing to do with me. The first is an interesting piece about John Berryman and the carnival life. The second is a project dedicated to creating police composite sketches of characters drawn from literature using the descriptions given of them in the novels they inhabit.

Chuck Norris Endorses Gingrich, Expects to be Named Viceroy of Moon

Well, Newt just keeps racking up the celebrity endorsements. Besides Chuck Norris, he's already got Gary Busey behind him. Strangely enough, both of them appeared on Walker, Texas Ranger. Maybe Luis Guzman or Mila Kunis will be next to get on the Newtrain.

Speaking of trains, or at least underground ones and the above ground spaces they lead to, I have a poem up at Curio. Check it out, share it on the internets, leave a comment under it.