here
is more about the shooting. I've met the officer at a neighborhood watch meeting. Seemed like a 'good officer.' Shitty shitty shitty shitty. For everyone.

Rest In Peace, I Hardly Knew You, But You Always Said 'Hey'

A nineteen year old boy who hung out nearly every day with his friends on the stoop next to mine was shot twice and killed by a police officer yesterday around 5 pm at the intersection of 54th and MLK, two blocks from my house.

I have heard conflicting reports, which doesn't strike me as unusual. Police say a loaded gun was found at the scene. Other eyewitnesses say the boy was shot in the back as he was running away. The police had tried to detain him as a homicide suspect, but were unable to restrain him. He was not, however, particularly large.

This is crazy for so many reasons.

If the police are wrong, then this kid who has always struck me as a good kid, who has never caused anything untoward to happen in the year I've lived in this neighborhood, who always says 'hey' or 'hey' back or nods hello, who never does anything in his spare time but hang out and talk with his friends on the stoop is an innocent victim of--what? a case of mistaken identity? A panicked choice to run from police?

If the police are right, then this kid who has always struck me as a good kid, who has never caused anything untoward to happen in the year I've lived in this neighborhood, who always says 'hey' or 'hey' back or nods hello, who never does anything in his spare time but hang out and talk with his friends on the stoop killed someone yesterday afternoon.

The devastated faces of his friends today as they gathered to console each other were a lesson in humility. Because this boy was closely linked to the two-flat I live in, most of the gathering took place in my driveway. One of the kids talked with me for awhile about how they were trying to stay strong. All I cared about was making sure they stayed safe and he reassured me that they were. Even though there was some drinking, and the grief on their faces was immeasurable--one other boy just leaned against the house and cried for hours--no one got out of hand. What I am trying to say, again, is that they all just seemed like good kids. Some adults in the neighborhood helped a lot too, ordering pizzas for the kids, supervising, etc.

I know good kids do bad things sometimes because I used to work in child services in Chicago. I've seen it happen. A good kid makes a terrible choice.

(I was a fucking idiot when I was nineteen years old. A lot of us were. A lot of us (self included, I hope) lucked out and got a chance to grow out of it. )

But I also know the police do bad things (or just plain make mistakes) and lie about it to cover their asses. Again, in Chicago, I've witnessed stunning displays of police brutality from my living room window.

I don't pray. I don't believe in god. When the boy who spoke to me today on my driveway told me that he believed his friend was looking down upon him and his other friends able to see how they were staying strong for him, I didn't know exactly what to say. I certainly didn't contradict him. I just kept listening.

So I don't believe in praying. But I believe it's possible to wish people well and that that act can mean something. So even though I may never really talk at length with those kids again, and even though I know that none of them are ever going to read my blog, I can wish for them.

They are so shocked and so angry and so hurt regardless of what the 'facts' of the case turn out to be, if they can be found out for sure at all. So I wish for each and every one of them, but especially for the boy who spoke at length to me today, and for the other boy who just leaned against the side of the house and cried for what seemed like hours, that they can find healthy ways to express their grief and their anger, that expression of grief can slowly (so slowly) aid towards its eventual assuagement, that though none of them will ever be able to forget, they will be able eventually to remember their friend with joy and not just sadness. That they all make good choices in their lives. That life doesn't come down too hard on them for the bad choices. Or that they at least get second chances and shots at redemption.

For all of you, my young neighbors. For all of you.

The Really Great Thing About Waking Up at 3am All The Time Is That By Nine-Thirty I Feel Like I've Accomplished A Lot And Can Kick Back With A Beer

Just another insomniac enjoying his non-fat double latte.

After A Lot Of Careful Thought, I've Decided That The Best Poetry Reading I've Ever Been To Is The Imaginary One That Takes Place In My Head

Some friends of imaginary poetry enjoy a good cake and ice cream banter after one of my imaginary readings

Really, not to be arrogant, but what is better than standing in front of the mirror and reading about 15-20 minutes from your manuscript? There is no audience making uncomfortable noises, impatient shifting with their limbs, or just distracted looks like when is this person going to stop? Also, the really great thing about imaginary poetry readings in front of your mirror in your bedroom with the door shut and the music turned up just loud enough so that none of your roommates can figure out what you're doing, is that you do not have to listen to anyone try to make banter. But you can make banter up for yourself, even if only your cat is laughing. My cat, Gerard Butler, is really fond of these special readings, although sometimes he does do really annoying things like meow to leave the room when I am halfway through a poem. Doesn't he understand? I only have twenty minutes. I am timing myself! And deluding myself also takes time!

Dear Satan: I Am Very Tired From Funneling So Many Depraved And Selfish Requests From My Friends And Aquaintances To You

Three. Part Two.

Satan,

Things are getting a little out of control at this end. My good friend Jack Morgan alone had 113,215 requests mostly having to do with you not letting specific people into hell so he will not have to spend the afterlife with them, for example, Destiny's Child. That is a lot of laminated cards for me to read into my direct line to you. We are talking about me reading off laminated cards way into the night and all Jack did for me was buy me a grilled cheese sandwich, three beers, and an unlimited supply of ginger ale. That was nice of him, but since he owed me money anyways, I think he sort of took advantage of me in his zealotry to make sure he does not have to spend any more time with Destiny's Child than possible.

Some other requests I couldn't call you with because I was too tired:

"Satan, if you make make my cellulite go away, I will sacrifice a seeing eyedog in your honor and deliberately disorientate the bereft blind person."

"If you make my as yet unpublished book of poetry sell as many copies as Billy Collins without once requiring me to sacrifice artistic integrity, I will burn a number of religious books that say bad things about you in front of people that really care about those religious books."

Oh wait, that is me. Or:

"If you make my doctor write me off work for a month because I am disabled, I will sell drugs to small children near their schoolyards."


And so many more!


My body is exploding from all of these evil thoughts. But whatever you do, Satan, don't come visit me at work for a month. I am disabled. I do not, for the record, have a cellulite problem. At least not one I plan to admit to any time soon. They have cremes for that now you know!

Thirdly,

I'm Really Broke. But Now I'm Going To Earn Money By Renting Out My Direct Line To Satan. Do You Have Something You'd Like To Ask Him?

Not Two. Three.

Not everyone has a personal chat room with Beezlebub himself. But I do. It's called having three bumps show through your t-shirt when it's cold instead of just two like you normal people.

We could work out some deals, not unlike those two-year contracts so many cellular providers require. If you help me pay my rent and get some Tidy Cat for my pampered cat, Gerard Butler.

But no you can not see it. Only special people get to see it. Unless the air is a little chilly and I just happen to be wearing a thin t-shirt.

Instead we could work out a system sort of like those old mass cards Catholic churches sold so that the priest would say masses for your dead relatives. The priests then said the masses you ordered for your dead relatives while simultaneously using the money you scrounged up out of your misguided grief and devotion to buy lube to rape alter boys.

Just think! You could come to whatever bar I'm hanging out at and fill out laminated cards with your questions / comments / deal proposals for Satan and later in the dark of the night I would whisper into my witches' tit and carefully note each and every one of the Dark Lord's replies, including any follow up questions he might have for you.

Please consider my suggestion carefully. I will also accept groceries. Please note however that I do not eat canned tuna packed in oil. I prefer the Starkist fresh pack. In water of course.

Also, I will let you buy me beers and pub snacks.

The Only Reason I Escaped Being Sacrificed At the Viking Funeral Today Was Because I Convinced the Angel of Death I Am Not A Natural Blond

I had to, you know...

It has come to my attention that there is a Beowulf movie that I haven't yet addressed.

But really. 1/3 cup Beowulf+1/3cup historical Arab chronicler+ 1/3 cup extra misogyny=13th Warrior!

Cannibalistic, goddess worshipping, underground dwelling Neanderthal types who wear Venus de Milo figurines attached to their belts? Normally I would consult a preeminent detective like Sherlock Holmes or Nancy Drew to unravel the mystery of where this sort of thinking originates. However, as Michael Crichton wrote the book the film is based on and is not known for subtlety, I am going to go ahead and surmise that this movie takes an anti-goddess worshipping stance. Which is okay by me. Anything or anybody that entices normally rational women to build huts out of pine cones and woven grasses in the college quad to celebrate their menstruation is a force that should be mocked as often as possible. Just like I am doing right now.

There are some major similarities between Beowulf and 13th Warrior. I would go into them but I would really much rather say something kind about my friend Jack Morgan who let me read his manuscript and it's quite layered and thought out and I did not feel disgusted even once, probably because instead of blowing a gasket, I sat around for awhile and asked myself why he was doing the things he was doing. And I came upon some possibilities that are pretty mind-blowing. So go Jack! That manuscript is something you can sink your teeth in and keep finding more. Of course, I should still tell you about the really important similarities between Beowulf and the 13th Warrior. Basically, one of the band of 13 plays one of Beowulf's band in Beowulf and Grendel. Coincidence? I think not! Those viking-looking guys are all in the same movies anyways. Why won't anyone make an Elizabeth of Bathory movie? I could play one of her handmaidens. I have that Elizabeth of Bathory handmaiden ethnic look. But then I would have to stand naked in the snow while she froze me with water and bit me until I bled and then we'd all have to get our blog bags out and throw up.