Wednesday, September 29, 2010

I'm behind on everything - even sleep.

Jackson, my son is sick so the wife and I have not been sleeping and might as well be sick. O, to live in a sick house.

I've two major poems to finish and two letters to write - one to my lovely Aunt Kate who does not deserve to have me fall behind on my letters to her and another to a fellow writer who wants to get in on the mid twentieth century communication kick.

the book is out and selling well enough, (they make excellent Christmas presents  - or Hanukkah gifts as well) and I would like to thank the people that have helped to get it further out there - thank you. Send me a photo or picture and I will link to your blog on my page here. It's the least I could do.

napping now before I go to the DMV and register my truck - I have one more day until I am more behind on that then I can afford.

the tulips surrender
in the fall
the tulip surrender

 - hoc scripsi

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Streetlamp desperation

we move back and forth, swaying - we move. we are not barnacles - darting out but concrete in place, the tides affect us and coffee awakens us. we move, together or solitarily our tides effect the ocean we wax and wane, grow and become substantial - shrink and become embittered, embattled. It is our narrative.

for me writing is a solitary art, I cannot go into cafes or restaurants and write, I cannot have company at all and produce at a rate any faster than the raccoons under my porch hunt in the daytime. The exception would be a bustling cafe where the noise reaches an apex that become a humm, analogous to the noise that my brain produces in silence -  there is anonymity then and in place you are alone without social contact unless you will it or welcome it. Restaurants always have the server to interrupt and they unequivocally hate it when someone sits there and writes no matter how good the tip is or how short the visit is. the perception is always of the wanna be beat emo clown who nurses coffee for hours believing that they alone are granted rights of intrusion into another persons livelihood. So I normally sit in a small room at the back of the house, where the walls are a dominating red, where there is a couch in case I get tired, where there are my books in case I want to pretend I have laurels to rest upon, I don't.
I've chosen to go back through my poets - from Sappho to J. Milton and maybe find the right right muse to alleviate me from this consistent creative drought - but maybe I ought to go into the mountains or get lost in the desert. I would bring along WCW or Ignato because bringing along either Huxley or Morrison would be less a learning experience and more an exercise in imitation.

I am having trouble finding an end to this narrative so here's a photo.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

I imagine Juan Grande Pecador singing...

"foi na cruz
foi na cruz
que um dia
Meus pecados castigados em Jesus
Foi na cruz,
que um dia
foi na cruz"
 (Brazilian hymn)

fuck it.

I'm going to bed.

Monday, September 20, 2010


I think what I need to do is to come up with a long list of possible topics and/or post titles - this way I will not be sitting here trying to think of what great or insignificant piece of knowledge/experience would best be displayed on this page.
I wouldn't mind your suggestions, i.e. what would you like to read my current opinion on.
One post I have planned but not the will to write is what I am trying to do with poetry. More or less a short treatise on what I believe makes good, lasting work.

this poem holds no bearing on the former post.


one hand moves swiftly against the other,
(a final act of
a final act of
wisping eagerly
against the fiddling wind

life dropping,
on tiled, unclean
bathroom floors.

 - Hoc Scripsi


this is for my friend Troy, heal fast my brother.

also an excerpt from my book...


I am unencumbered by two inches
            of my right leg
just as Jerry Garcia was unencumbered
            by a middle finger
and Indian Larry by his pinkie

I am unencumbered by thought or want
            from the single life of chasing
            the girls and boys around
not unlike how death rattles free
            our common concerns

 - Hoc Scripsi

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Book Release

inviting a few hundred people to my home on Oct 9th... holy babies bathwater, If I forgot to invite anyone that is around the northern Illinois area let me know and I will amend asap.
It is going to be like an open house as I am not sure that I can cram them all into my house at once without risking smaller peoples being crushed, on the other hand I do not believe that the majority will come, they never do.

selection from the book.

this is a dislocation

this is a

a skillful assemblage of
etceteras and

a cycle of soul drummers
and southern chicken sacrifices at
the front gate of Graceland

a loose impersonation of self
overlooking and
never sighting self

Our culture is jazz, blues
and poor elocution

a fragility of coffee house
poets and the war

together-colored and successfully
uncollected disaffected ice cream eaters

 - Hoc Scripsi

Friday, September 17, 2010


I struggle under the weight of my many magazine subscriptions.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Today we celebrate the death of Torquemada who ceased to be in 1498 - it may have been awhile ago but it is always good to remember the despots and tyrannical monsters.
we also mourn the death of opera star Maria Callus who, today, in 1977 went home.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010


Disney is all paid for now, unfortunately not from the awesome royalties from my book.

I trimmed about six inches off my beard and no longer feel... well, like myself.

I no longer look like one of the three wisemen, or is it now wise people?

this is not my good side.

The doctor tells me my knee is failing and since there is an awful lot of hardware keeping my femur together it is rather difficult to get a good look at the problem via traditional methods.

this is a ramble of minor proportions while my wife makes a turkey sandwich for my lunch.

most days I wake up and wonder if I am full of shit.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

chapter 10

the year begins and ends in winter.

a bee lands on my middle finger, left hand,

I am allergic to bees

and winter is steadily approaching.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

opinions are like ewoks - no one really knows what they're saying.

tempted to start drinking again tonight, nothing particularly derailing during a long day and mostly a good day but the drags at the end truly drag and ebb the soul. 
constrained right words to preserve the flow  of individual righteousness and allow people their opinion - this is not my nature as I believe that not everyone is entitled to an opinion, uninformed opinions are ill justified judgments and only serving to off track to pursuit but in public forum where I am at the table of civility and delegatory responsibility it is of utmost importance that the joke is well timed and a perfect segue.


the notebooks,
IBM Selectric IIIs,
et cetera
these are my shields,
protecting me from the world
from you –

My words are the weapons
I utilize

bludgeoning the audience
until they bleed from ears,
mouth, fingertips,
and eyes. 

 - Hoc Scripsi

Sunday, September 5, 2010

comment I made in a another blog - now out of context it seems....

I have no problem passing judgment on others all in reference to what shade of blue they wear. Some shades are just simply hideous on certain people and they should be lit on fire.

labor day weekend

Past midnight and can't get to sleep for some reason. It seems that the insomnia is creeping back into my life. It's like an old friend that you never miss when your medicated enough to make them disappear. I've given up a med in favor of vividness. I once gave up women in favor of happiness but that never seemed to work out, that is until I met my wife - then I gave up being a tramp in favor of support, happiness, love, companionship and this list could really go on and on and I am not in that kind of mood. I don't remember why I gave up illicit drugs but I recall that I gave up drinking partially because I wanted to smell better.
I still write about that time of my existence as it seems to be a well of memories that I occasionally get a glimpse of.
I haven't written a new poem in two months. I've written parts of long poems and have been working on them here and there. I say long poems and really I should say longer poems. I've yet to write anything that spans more than 5 pages.  I keep telling myself that I need to chain my leg to the typewriter's desk and not leave it until I've come up with the solution to the worlds ills or another few poems I can proudly share. This is not the longest that I've been in a creative drought - I was in one that lasted about four years and I hope to never return to that unhappiness.
some days I think that if I cut off my pinkie finger that the words will resurface. but then I remember that it would be awfully hard to type the 'a', 'q' and 'shift' keys and I do enjoy having ten fingers when I play music, masturbate or make love.

falling leaves:
whose illusion? 

  - Hoc Scripsi

it's strange to think of how fast the leaves are changing color now, even stranger to look out the back yard and see a tree felled by the wind. I have yet to decide what I am going to do with it and I might just leave it alone and watch over the next thirty years it slowly become dirt. Besides, the raccoons need another place to live other than under my porch. Maybe my lost cat will find a home in it's hollowed out core.
It was an oak, about fifty years old. It took out two or three other trees as far as I can tell. They were much younger - ten to twenty years.
I should clarify that this is not on the main part of the property but in the wooded area so it wont be an eye sore to allow it to be until nature takes it's course.
the yard isn't as large as that statement makes it sound. I do live in a palace but that is only seen through my eyes - as the beholder I am prone to this types of allusions. My neighbors see a house, yard and a fuck lot of trees, well, a few less now I guess.

shameless plug follows: Don't forget that the book is available from and other fine retailers!
I encourage all readers to write reviews, get their friends to buy a copy, get their library to buy a copy, buy copies...
okay, I'm done now.

Thursday, September 2, 2010


Rain most of the day - I managed to escape on the motorcycle for a short bit and ride about 30 miles or so.

did I mention I have a book published? Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble?

Anyway, my city is being cleansed and the new trees and lawn are drinking deep the nutrients from the heavens and my cat wants to be let on the porch to storm watch.
My son is dutifully sleeping away now while I drink coffee at nine thirty-seven at night.

thought about this poem this morning as  I struggled to knowingly get out of bed with my whole day in a twist with this rain.

it’s Thursday

woke up this morning and it was pouring rain, welcoming spring I slept in
late late. I had dreams that although I was married with a boy and my age,
I was naked in High School, but in dream I really didn't care.

My older brother hit me in the head with a golf club,
while I was six, according to my mother,
broke open my skull,
according to the golf club.

Now I blame him for everything. like the instability.

-        J. 03.11.10

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

September 1st

September first finally dawns upon our planet and all that was August is behind us now. It was a bad month for my wife and a bad month for my writing. I wonder if those two things are related? However two great things have occurred that both happened in the waning half of August.
1. I decided that I have been off of a motorcycle long enough and that if my leg was ever going to be able to deal with riding another it was going to be now. I rode and the joy was still bright enough in me that I bought it and am now the proud owner of my second Harley and probably my seventh motorbike.
It is slowly morphing into a different looking and sounding machine but this is the first photo I saw of it and the one that drove me back to the dealer looking for my angry fix.
Sometime there are cliches that help us to define our manner of seeing things - here is mine...
Live to ride, ride to live.
if you don't limp - you ain't shit. (lovely euphemism I know, as most of us wouldn't want to be shit anyway but you know what it means.)
so - I live to ride and I ride to live all while limping to and fro.
it gets convoluted soon after this so I'll stop.

2. I strongly encourage you to follow this link: hands on the hips or go to Amazon dot com and type in the title or my name or go to Barnes and Noble dot com and put in the book title (issue with the name search there that is being handled) - then for all that is good and holy - order it.
it looks like this:

there will be a release party in October and if you would like to come and will be in the northern Illinois area then, consider yourself invited. E-mail for directions.
If you are a psychopath and want to crash my comfortable way - warning - I have several guns and enjoy using them.

 There are several important things that have happened on September the First in history such as - in 1914 the last known living passenger pigeon became no longer among the living locked up in a zoo and was probably thinking of a great statue in New York that it would love to get it's talons on and in 1939 - Hitler (being an asshole) invaded Poland thus launching what we affectionately recall as the Second Great War and later renamed WWII after we came to realize that wars aren't so great.
and in 2010 - I became a published author - obviously this last one is the most important by far.

Thank you for reading and I love you for not being too hard on me for my bad sense of humor.

Stepping over fallen leaves
and dismantled watches
making sure not to stumble 

 - Hoc Scripsi