Poemocracy

Reading this Thursday in Columbia City, Seattle

2012-01-23T23:08:00.000-08:00

Hello, poemocrats.

I'll be performing at my most high-profile venue yet this Thursday, January 26, at the Columbia City Theater in Seattle.

Time: 8-11pm, and I'm closing the show
Where: Columbia City Theater
Cost: $6
Who: moi, Adam Boehmer (poet), Danielle Radford (comedian), Elicia Sanchez (comedian), Marie Biondolillo (film maker), and Union Street Films.

That's three hours of comedy, film, and poetry for $6. You can't beat that with an eel skin belt.

Join me, won't you?
Love,
EJP

I'm in the New York Times! + Sci Fi Pulse

2012-01-20T20:30:00.000-08:00

Hello, peeps!

I'm ecstatic to announce that "Rebirth is Always Painful" has been mentioned and excerpted in the New York Times! Read the article here, and listen to the entire poem here.

In addition, my friend and fellow FSU alum Nicholas Yanes, media scholar at large, has posted a write-up and a couple of interview questions at Sci Fi Pulse.

It's been a good week, snowed in and all.

Stay fancy,
EJP

Reading:
Supergods by Grant Morrison
Skin Shows by Judith (Jack) Halberstam
The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle

Watching:
Cronos
Divine Trash
William Burroughs: A Man Within

Listening:
Billie Holiday, "Ain't Nobody's Business If I Do"
Patrick Wolf, Lycanthropy (the album)

Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe

2011-10-15T10:54:00.000-07:00

I love poetry.
I love David Bowie.

It's really quite that simple.

Found on Verse Daily:

From Jim Daniels' book, Having A Little Talk with Capital P Poetry

David Bowie Esperanto
cha-cha-cha-changes

A flash of metal trash in a vacant lot.
Mirage of glitter in the distance.
Sudden hiss of a punctured tire
on the edge of the universe.
Nobody to push the rest of the way
into free fall. Nobody but gravity.
The end of a beautiful nightmare.
What you would have sounded like
if she'd given you more time.
The churning robot soul sparking
with faulty wiring. The marriage
of a stilt and a crutch. Perfectly tuned
grind. Notes scribbled on the phrases
of the moon. The cynical faith
of the choir of sinners. A pout
and shout. Slippery when smug.
Bridge freezes before road. Cautionary
sneer. The heart pondering a change
of heart.

Daniels' plethora of other books include titles like Night With Drive-By Shooting Stars and Revolt of the Crash Test Dummies, which means that I'm overdue to begin reading everything he's ever written. Jim, if you read this, I heart you up & down.

Stay shmancy,
EJP

Watching:
Bram Stoker's Dracula as directed by Francis Ford Coppola

Reading:
Frankenstein, Agent of S.H.A.D.E by Jeff Lemire & Alberto Ponticelli

Listening:
The Golden Age of Wireless by Thomas Dolby (am I the only who thinks he was totally Brit-nerd hot?)

Rebirth is not always painful.

2011-10-14T02:17:00.000-07:00

Darlings,

I've decided to delete previous blog entries, almost entirely. I've left the tribute to Jill because I know that it has meant something to her friends and family since her death. That entry is hers, not mine. But everything else has been surrendered to the aether.

So, let's start over. I'm being reborn. 2011 has been incredible. Exhilarating, abundant, heartbreaking, strengthening. I'm breaking old patterns and becoming more authentic and empowered. I'm completing something cosmic. It's a new year, both academically and Jewishly (belated L'Shana Tova, my friends). I've been doing spiritual and shamanic work, much of which involves reclaiming parts of my identity that I'd lost. And it's autumn, time to allow that which doesn't aid me to die and become fertilizing material for new growth. I've decided to stop living in the past or the future, which is SO much more easily said than done, but I'm ready to act and mature. I try never to regret anything, but this year has tested that value thoroughly. Two friendships were twisted and destroyed by ego and selfishness, mine as much as theirs. May forgiveness wash over us.

So, here we are. Starting over. A new year. Some new values. A refreshed blog. A refreshed Evan. On the job market. Sending the book out. Learning how to be my own greatest ally again. And, by the by, my ever-delightful friend Lane has set me up with my own website: EvanJPeterson.com

Enjoy, my beautiful friends.
EJP

Reading:
the poems of Lewis Carroll / Charles Dodgson
God Emperor of Dune by Frank Herbert

Listening:
Outside by David Bowie

Watching:
The Ren & Stimpy Show, Season 1
Brazil, directed by Terry Gilliam

Rest Peacefully, Jill Caputo

2010-08-13T12:31:00.000-07:00

Hello, friends. I was going to blog today with more good news. I'll save that for the weekend.

My friend Jill Caputo was killed this week. She was crossing the street in her large, conspicuous, motorized wheelchair when a driver on FSU campus hit her. It is some comfort to know that the hospital declared that she died on impact, rather than suffering. The driver ran, hysterical, into the FSU police department on that very corner for help.

I do not want to speculate on the driver's distractions, complicity, etc. That won't change a damn thing. Jill's dead, and it's not my place to punish or even blame anyone for that. And besides, that's a shitty intersection with a steep hill.

Jill is bright, audacious, fierce, honest, and loving. Her life and writing career were cut tragically short this week. Having suffered a bizarre stroke at the age of about ten, Jill lost most movement on one side of her body. This did not stop her from going to graduate school, going to the beach, fighting to be taken seriously as a teacher, having excellent hair, and writing honest work that neither wallowed in nor shunned self-pity. She was a damn honest writer and I miss her. I should've been better about keeping in touch after we graduated.

We're talking about a woman who showed up to our yearly Politically Incorrect Halloween party dressed up as a wheelchair-bound prostitute, with a cardboard sign that read, "Meals on Wheels." That is how I want to remember her: bold, funny, daring, and laughing at life's petty unfairness. I ran into her one day and we made small talk, but then there was a long pause. So she said, "Any luck gettin laid lately?" That's Jill.

Jill did not publish much. Perhaps our friends in Florida will be able to release some of her work, if they have access to it. Here's a poem that Jill published in the Eudaimonia Poetry Review:

Thoughts During Mass: in the Back, from a Wheelchair

In Mass today
I broke off a thumbnail,
Rolled the thing around,
And laid the crescent in the hammock
Of my lap.
Examined its insides,
Small crease of skin
That had crept up to grow
Along the wall
Of the silent sliver
Now independent of my fingertips.
Thought about dropping
This tiny piece of human foliage
On the floor,
But decided this act
Would be inappropriate
In this sacristy of spiritual myth.

Wondered what I’d have to eat
When I got home,
T. V. dinner or Mac & Cheese
Maybe splurge
On some of that pseudo-Chinese
They cook up down the road.
My mother,
Giant human stress ball
Of nags and worries,
How she’d be calling me
Before the end of the night,
The joke Rachel told me
Over two days ago:
What do you call a prostitute in a wheelchair?
The answer: Meals on Wheels.

Then I giggled out loud—
Happens often enough,
At least once every week,
It’s their fault for dragging the service
On for so long,
I can’t keep quiet for a whole
Hour and a half
At a time,
At least I didn’t
Fall asleep again and
Roll down the aisle—
And then I remembered God,
Who I was there for, anyway.

Missing you, Jill.