I will be participating in a group reading to promote The Weight of Addition Anthology from Mutatabilis Press at 7pm on Sat. Feb 23 at Covenant Church (4949 Caroline Street, Houston, Texas 77004) Here's hoping the walls of the place won't come a-tumblin' down when I walk thru the doors.
Jeannie Gambill, Lewis Garvin and Sasha West among many others will be reading as well.
All three are wonderful poets and readers. All three have taught me a lot in their different ways and I owe each my undying fealty.
I'll be reading a couple poems including the editor's choice prize winner.
At 7:00pm on Sept 20, I'll be reading solo at Poet's Unleashed hosted by Daniel Rice at the Barnes & (ig)Noble in the Woodlands (1201 Lake Woodlands Drive
The Woodlands, TX 77380 ).
(I tell you all this as if there is actually a "you" out there).
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
It's 2:30am on Super Bowl Sunday
The only real holy day-- the last communal experience-- in which we all bow down before the same altar.
This is a feast day that is about the commercial in every sense of the word, but make no mistake, it is a religious ceremony complete with mystic/mythic transformations (men into goats or gods), burnt offerings, gods of misrule and gods of wrath, danger and redemption. For all its baroque pageantry, its high-church profundities, the Super Bowl is primitive religion. It is genuine in ways canned and sterilized religions of the whitebread, white-haired Santa Claus God and his straight teethed, heart-throb son can't hope to approximate. There is real danger here, the outcome is very much in doubt, lives hinge on the moment.
When was the last time you went to church not knowing how life would look when you walked out?
Hell, son. When was the last time you went to church?
This is a feast day that is about the commercial in every sense of the word, but make no mistake, it is a religious ceremony complete with mystic/mythic transformations (men into goats or gods), burnt offerings, gods of misrule and gods of wrath, danger and redemption. For all its baroque pageantry, its high-church profundities, the Super Bowl is primitive religion. It is genuine in ways canned and sterilized religions of the whitebread, white-haired Santa Claus God and his straight teethed, heart-throb son can't hope to approximate. There is real danger here, the outcome is very much in doubt, lives hinge on the moment.
When was the last time you went to church not knowing how life would look when you walked out?
Hell, son. When was the last time you went to church?
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