notes & things | 4/3/2025
Somehow, we have crested into April and National Poetry Month. With work obligations, wedding plans, and the downfall of democracy doomscroll (the DODD I'm now calling it), I am doing nothing in particular beyond my usual to celebrate this month (though that usual is usually a lot anyway.) I am finishing up a short series I've been working on and getting ready to start something new. Today, I paged through the stack of books on my shelves that somehow have my name on their spines and marveled, once again, how I have managed to have so many words in me, much less get them out on the page and into book form. This is especially true of COLLAPSOLOGIES and RUINPORN, both of which are a bit longer than other books and feel like companion books in some way (and not just because of the titles are complimentary.) And even more amazing that I have two other manuscripts in their final stages of development.
Outside of writing, I have many spinning thoughts on things I've seen and absorbed recently that are here then gone before I can commit them to the page more in-depth. One was the series of David Lynch screenings we've been enjoying at Alamo that most recently gave me a chance to see Mulholland Drive, my favorite Lynch hands down, on the big screen. Lynch is all dreamscape and little connective logic, which I feel is so much what I've been trying to capture in writing but always somehow fall short. There was Opus, which no one talking about but should, in which the cult (literally) of genius (male) proves horrific and shocking (who knew?) Also, the responsibility of media and writers in our coverage (or non-coverage of things.) This week, some new horror, Death of a Unicorn, a fun romp with lots of gore and the satisfaction of watching rich people get terrorized and impaled on horrific Lisa Frank creatures. Also, Woman in the Yard, which critics seem to hate, but I thought it was excellent slow-build horror that dealt with women's dissatisfaction, creative doubles, and mental illness. In between, a couple other frothy but fun flicks, Black Bag and Novocaine.
At home, we finally caught up on Yellowjackets, which J was watching for the first time and which is one of my favorite things lately and quite possibly may be having mad influence on things I'm writing (see The Woods for an example, and even my more sci-fi thing I'm working on.) The other recent discovery is Severance, which we are midway through season two and are loving the surreal and nonsensical nature of its workplace. That show is likely also having an effect on the new series of poems, if not in subject matter, in spirit and imagery. These poems also feel informed by things like Interstellar (which I liked but did not love) and Companion (its not about robots per se, but there is at least a couple in there.)
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