I remember feeling strange, to be in the town but not of the town. I came across Shaughnessy’s Our Andromeda while quietly stacking inventory for Princeton students in need of textbooks. She was a local poet, working with the Princeton MFA’s Emerging Writers series and teaching at Rutgers. Now, returning back to the east coast, to New Jersey, to Newark–it seemed like the perfect time to read Shaughnessy’s newest poetry book, So Much Synth, during the five hour flight from Los Angeles.
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Most of the people I typed for at last year’s Artisanal LA event have blurred together in memory. Even still, there is one fellow I have no intention of ever forgetting. He came over with a friend. She wandered off to take pictures as he and I began to talk. At first, we did the basic Typewriter Poetry dance. He asked about the project, I answered with my usual bases covered. Soon, something shifted. He sat down on the floor. I halted my work on another person’s poem. We dove into our hitchhiking and traveling stories; afterward, he shared his love of robotics and electronics with me.
Originally Posted: January 23rd, 2019Updated: May 24th, 2020Typewriter Poetry Poems For All Occasions Shop Now Happy Poems View More The Happy Poem Daughter Butterflies of New Beginnings Poem for Mona More Happy Poems Nature Poems View More Spring The Wildflower Rose To The Faux Vegans & Sometimes Vegetarians Hello Tree More Nature Poems Weird Poems …
Some performances were long. We raged past the show and burrowed furiously into the night. Other performances were lonely and quiet, intimate, with soft conversation and relaxed acceptance of letting the flow be. On the last night, our voices rose and fell in play with one another, harmonizing at their own accord to the perfect pitches, intervals, frequencies.
Technoautobiography is a piece which travels through intellectual abstraction, personal narrative, and philosophical quotes by way of a simple college essay format and an editor’s touch of red blue ink. You come away from his Technoautobiography relating to the repetitive desire to “put words on paper,” whether that is through the means of a computer, a fountain pen, or–in this particular case–a typewriter.
Originally Posted: December 26th, 2014Updated: May 10th, 2020 Take “you rummage through facesyou face meyour wilt” Couple #1 “Must’ve been winterwhen we last laughedover coffee and my scorched toungue” Spring “Lips an ancient pinkand skin riddled with wrinkles” Adam “said herlimbs were baiting him” Eyes & I’s “Saucer lensis a dish. The actswe react to …
Here is “The Process.” Here are dreams, here is art, here is expression. Throw that body into the thralls of inspiration. Yes, it has led you down an unproductive path. Yes, it will abandon you to a space without answers. But tonight you are shaman and you shake like the stars. Your mind is my mind’s final frontier.
The first question people usually ask me after we’ve been talking for a while is “where are you from?”
“I’m from LA,” I always say, though now that I’m in Louisiana I wonder if I should be abbreviating it as “L.A.” in my head.
Whether it’s my clothing, demeanor, accent, or the fact that I use “dude” more than the average person should, everyone always nods their head in immediate understanding when I declare I am from California.