kate greenstreet
kate at kickingwind dot com
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some poems online
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April 2006
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blogs:

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here comes everybody
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nothing to say and saying it
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radish king
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so and so series
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texfiles in bahrain
they shoot poets don't they?
third factory/notes/lipstick of noise
this is all your fault
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transsubmutation
twenty thousand thousand
ululations
understory
union square poetry series
the unquiet grave
venepoetics
virgin formica
voices in utter dark
voix off
the well-nourished moon
we've been talked down
whimsy speaks
whirligig
wild horses of fire
wood s lot
the word cage
the world a letter

yes, starlings! yes!

you are here
ysleta poeta
zach barocas
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.oar.


journals/small press/reviews:

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carve
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cue
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frame
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frequency
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half empty/half full
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jacket
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the hat
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horse less press
house press
how2/barbara guest memory bank
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onedit
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rain taxi
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sleepingfish
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wire sandwich
womb
word for/word
xantippe
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audio/radio/video:

AudibleWord.Org
Factory School audio archives  
Kelly Writers House webcasts
Laurable
LINEbreak

miPOradio
my vocabulary  
Naropa archives
PENNsound
UbuWeb

 

every other day


14 APRIL 06

I want to say that all that seems like fantastic mistakes are not mistakes and all that seems like error is not error; and it all has to be done. That which seems like a false step is just the next step.

You may as well give up judging your actions. If it is the unconditioned life that you want, you do not know what you should do or what you should have done...

Say to yourselves: I am going to work in order see myself and free myself. While working and in the work I must be on the alert to see myself. When I see myself in the work I will know that this is the work I am supposed to do.

(Agnes Martin, Writings)

 

12 APRIL 06

A cone of depression.

I could move it from side to side with my thoughts, but I couldn’t get it in my hands. This was becoming a tendency.

Where is the complete lack of fear in my house,

in my body,
now?

*


10 APRIL 06
The only novel I've been able to read from start to finish in the past few years is That They May Face The Rising Sun, which came to me from Ireland as a gift, in every sense. (In the States, it has been given different cover art and the alternate title By the Lake.)

         

The author, John McGahern, is famous but was unfamiliar to me. He died recently, and though I haven't yet read any of his other books, I felt a little like I'd lost a friend. Part of the reason: he knew something about me, something that no one else knows.

 

8 APRIL 06

Week 8, 14 sentences:

"Would you come down and show me where the shadow is?" (Just that fast, the light had shifted.)

"I like a book that makes me wonder about books." "I like the dog in Hades."

At the end of a year, it returns to itself. It happened when I was asleep.

To be held at gunpoint [commentary]. It's a cloud [see wordy].

Roadblock is two sides. It's worse than that, it's something else: small-minded.

Very "future," with black. Afterwards, a reception.

That’s not Ave Maria! So there's no sense in decorating.

:

Week 9, 14 sentences:

Some of these things can be explained. Will this remind me of the walk on the pier? Rain tomorrow. Will she know it did help me to talk it all over, even though I seemed uncheered?

Black with roots, to the bottom of the glass. She is "the chair." Forgot to mention the first thing that happened was a little dog bit her on the leg! The next question involves floating itself. Or list, in order of importance: as the barrel of a mortar, the increasing distance to the moon, a book of numbers, watch that car.

As to what is keeping me so busy, well, while the strength and skill of great ice skaters is obvious, it's easy to overlook the remarkable surface that makes it all possible. Freezing a rink correctly takes no less than a dozen stages.

The brain is a town, and a strong idea will go from house to house, ringing every doorbell, shaking every hand, not leaving until the job is done. But there's that house where the people peer out through the blinds, won't come to the door, won't open up. The brain refuses to be completely convinced--ever--some stubborn part always saying: I might disagree with this, with myself, with every other voter in the town of my brain.

 

6 APRIL 06

Courtesy of Planet Waves, my horoscope: "The past few months have given you a tour of your insecurities, which is a subject that most people would rather sweep under the rug. In any case, the time has come to go boldly where you have never gone before, and that is to see yourself as a fully acceptable member of society. In truth there is no such thing; it's an idea that exists strictly in the imagination of the person who succeeds. But that idea goes a long way in the world."


My new passport arrived in the mail today.

that train through the Alps

PS: To you who asked, the other night at the reading, it is now visible here in Kulture Vulture's Experiment Four.

 

4 APRIL 06

 
Two end tables, one lamp, clock. Metaphor: suggested that the Trojan horse represents an earthquake. Between wars. Could have weakened Troy's walls, left them open. Talking thumbnail. We received so much excellent work that, you know, we didn’t need yours.

 

2 APRIL 06
For the move from Oregon to New Jersey, we needed a new credit card. Something blank. One bank was offering a free camera so I applied for that card, thinking a small, lightweight camera could come in handy on the trip.

By this time, I’d been living with a photographer for over 8 years and was rarely taking pictures myself. But the camera that came was such a little piece of junk, such a toy, that I took to it and entered into another phase of looking around through a lens.

Recently I found out that the description "toy camera" is a term in use not only at our house but everywhere, and that some of the reasons I liked the toy camera are reasons other people like them too. (Heard it on the radio.)

"...how it makes a kind of awkward 'poing' sound when you press its button, as if it kind of breaks itself to function." There’s even a magazine called Light Leaks. And, as you can see from these examples, the light leak ("like an accent in speech") is a feature.

The toy camera can't be focused or have its aperture adjusted, cheerfully thwarting any urge to get fussy. "Focus Free" it says right on the body.

"Scenes from an imaginary journey."

The thing is, although the camera is cheap (or free, in this case), the development & printing is expensive. Living in a one-room apartment behind a gas station, painting in a former pigpen (literally) on a farm in the next town over, I had no space to make a darkroom. And so, after shooting maybe 10 or 15 rolls of film, I slowed to a stop. I didn't think of a digital camera--we didn't even own a computer.

. . . .

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