Scotch Rat

Last night I went and saw my friend Scott Pierce (of effing press) read at 12th st. books. Also there was Charles Potts, a wise old poet from Washington state. The reading was quite nice and I talked to Potts for a good while about language, words, and symbols. He lived in China and Japan for a while roughly 10-15 years ago, and I was quite curious to hear his impressions of those places. After sneaking scotch and a number of beers, hunger struck me so my friend Doug Warriner and I left for the (formerly) open 24 hours G/M steakhouse run by Korean war vet Gus Vargas, only to find it closed!!?!?! We had a hankering for G/M sliders, but settled for soup at whole foods. After soup we reunited with the poetry contigency at Opal Divine's where the scotch flowed freely and I got a chance to chat with Dale Smith (one half of Skanky Possum books). It was a nice night only interrupted by some NIN reject named Josaiah

who demanded that we scream like fratsters for the benefit of the caller on the other end of his cellphone call. Its nice to hear great poetry and know its power immediately.

The disparity between what is good,

and what is self indulgent

becomes increasingly apparent in the face of such a display.

Im glad Ive had an opportunity to be exposed to the good.

Later, drunk on Scott's porch we dug a dead rat that Philip Trussel killed out of a garbage can and investigated it in order to give Scott some insight in to the size of the enemies hiding within his walls. It was sizeable. Philip is rat killer numero uno.