Living in the present, negligibly;
regretting the past, sweepingly;
and speculating upon the future,
Failed Visionary, Reluctant Icon
I may as well face the fact
That I am no longer capable
Of doing what I once believed
I was capable of doing.
Not that I had any reason to assume
That I was capable of it.
It was just a feeling that I had.
And now I have a different feeling.
Take some initiative…
Do something with your life:
I get up from the sofa,
Walk across to the table
And write these words
Down on a scrap of paper.
Then I return to the sofa and
THAT TIME OF DAY
A destructive overawareness of time
Knives through the hot empty spaces
Of an afternoon. A sense of urgency vaporizing
Into torpor. Even the traffic sounds tired.
Do something, I tell myself.
What? The same thing I’ve been doing
Every day for years on end
With varying degrees of failure.
A WEDNESDAY IN AUGUST
I ask little enough of myself,
And I cannot even accomplish that much.
I would rather sit here, obsessively undriven,
Doing as close to nothing as is humanly possible.
Entertaining, occasionally, a pang of grief
Or grievance. Fixing on a stray regret or a memory
Drifting like dust in sunlight, or
A shadow falling over a shadow.
Book Soup and Kerosene Bomb press presents.
On Thursday Jan 19th at 7pm,
John Tottenham and Anthony Ausgang
will appear at Book Soup.
8818 West Sunset Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90069
Tottenham will finally be putting the Inertia Variations to rest,
giving the last-ever reading from his lauded collection
of 8-line poems on the subject of work-avoidance,
indolence and failure.
Ausgang will be bringing The Sleep of Puss Titter to life -
the hallucinatory ravings of a hyper-articulate madman -
with a rare public airing of his inimitable spam novel.
This promises to be a night that will be spoken of for years,
featuring two innovators and orators of the first water.
Don’t let the remote (for some) location, inconvenient hour
and lack of parking come between you and this
night of high-spirited seriousness.
There are no levees capable
Of withstanding the torrents of distraction
That surge through my mind. Tender
Resentments, useless trivia and tired lusts
Are carried along like debris on a swollen river,
From which, very occasionally, a lucid thought
Emerges, only to be sucked back down
Into the sewage of pettiness and vanity.