this is a song i recorded tonight
it is a cover.
['rabid bits of time' - chad vangaalen]
it is a cover.
MOTHER REDWOOD (2009)
photo: tracie faust
You are correct. xtx is not my real name. My real name is a bit longer and has more vowels. When I started blogging I actually used my real first name, but as my blogging continued, and because of what I tend to write about, I decided to change it to a pseudonym because nobody in my real life needs to know how fucked up I sort of am.
how 'fucked up sort of are you?
That is an interesting question. I actually don't think I am fucked up in a literal sense. I have a very normal, boring outside life. I think it's perhaps my internal life is what is 'fucked up' and by that I mean, I am very perverted, disgusting and strange on the inside. I have bad thoughts. I do sick things. I think strange thoughts and I am pretty comfortable with all of it. (Maybe that's the part that makes if 'fucked up'.) My blog is probably the best example of an outward manifestation of my inner fucked-upness.
some things in your blog imply that you are older? this is interesting to me because it have kind of thought that maybe feelings of anxiety and 'sociopathicism' kind of go away when you grow up. do you think your blog has aggravated and allayed your anxiety?
I am older. I turned 40 this year. It fucks with my head because to me, 40 is an old person. I am not an old person. People fall down when I tell them my age because 90% of the time people tell me I look 33 which is also my favorite number so it makes me extra joyful when they say this. I feel 12 every day of my life.
I think you are who you are throughout your lifetime. I just think as you get older, you get more friendly with who you are, and learn to accept that you have anxieties, and that you will never feel you are smart enough or pretty enough or talented enough, but press on anyway because what the fuck are you going to do? Crawl into a hole? In your question I am projecting that you are looking for advice in this area as you seem like a young-type of person. So, here is my advice to you: You will never believe any good things you tell yourself about yourself (because why would a loser believe a loser like you? --I am speaking from experience) So, try to learn to listen to what others say about you…those people in your life that you think are awesome. If they are telling you how awesome you are, you should probably try to believe them. And trust that.
your posts normally consist of bizarre and absurd phrases and stream of conscious thoughts. how much of it is biographical and how much is just silly and funny to laugh?
I've never done a scientific study, but if I had to guess, I'd say it's maybe 50/50 or 60/40 or 70/30. I honestly don't know. As I try to remain incognito on my blog, I can't ever write straight 'biography' or 'reality'. If I want to write about my reality, I sort of have to paint it with absurdity and then frame it with retardation while attempting to get the main idea across.Over the years, I believe my regular readers have learned to discern fact from fiction. Most of my newer readers I think enjoy trying to figure it out. I sometimes get emails asking what sex I am. This, to me, is victory. The rest of the shit, is just silly and fun to laugh at shit. Again, as I can't write about my life, I have to make random shit up to write about…hence, the name of my blog.
your blog doesn't seem to be promoting your 'writing'. it just seems like your doing it for fun. you obviously have some kind of an audience. how long did it take for people to become really interested in your blog? how long were you just writing this blog for yourself?
I started blogging in 2002 when you were in diapers. I blogged on a site called "Diaryland". I started gaining an audience probably about a year in. This was probably due to being 'promoted' by a superstar fellow blogger…the Blogfather…Tony Pierce who I had met on a poetry chat board some 8 years prior. He got me blogging and now he is the blog editor at the LA Times. We have 'known' each other 13 years, but have never met. I would've never blogged if it wasn't for him.
I've always been writing my blog for myself as I must write shit or I feel like that feeling when you have to crap or when you have to sneeze or when you feel like throwing up and the only way I can make that feeling go away is if I write. The bonus prize for writing 'for myself' is that others seem to enjoy it as well. I also write for them because they are cool for even wanting to read my shit in the first place. Go them!
My blog does not 'promote' my writing, in that, I'm not looking to become an 'author' at this time in my life. I have been published at a handful of online zines and that is awesome and fun, but not my main focus. I think when my life changes in a few years, I might really try getting 'serious' at writing or something. But for now, it's just because I feel the need to write.
have you ever considered publishing your writing of any kind? please explain.
Once. When my blog was getting major hits and Anti and Tony were both publishing blooks. I considered doing it too, but couldn't figure out how and didn't want to ask for help. I wanted to do it so I could have a bound version of my shit…not for money or anything. I have a lot of writing on my blog. I would still like to get it all together and be able to read it in my hands.
'the intellectual integrity and infinite order of the universe obviously are greater than man. man is an invention within it. what one did about this understanding would have to be through design. i decided i must not be a persuader, but a doer.'
'all animals, except man, adapt according to the environment. man changes his environment, making it adapt to him.'he says some things that make me nervous, like about how cool automation and industrialization is but it is maybe kind of balanced when he says things like the government is spending more money 'educating' computers than educating children. the front cover describes the book as 'environment and man's future--by the visionary genius of our time.' this book was published in 1970. i want to say it was 'ahead of its time' but i feel that i don't feel like that is really important. i do feel like the book is just regular important, especially now when we are living in an time where our actions upon the environment have a direct and immediate consequence upon ourselves and our descendants. this book is an easy read and i recommend it.
'i live on earth at present, and i don't know what i am. i know that i am not a category. i am not a thing--a noun. i seem to be a verb, and evolutionary process--an integral function of the universe.'
'every child is interested in the universe. his questions are universal--and usually impossible or hard to answer. development of specialization has been either the result of 'forced feeding' or inbred talent; two musician parents tend to produce musician children'
please make a home for my penis with your hands.
this morning it was bright and cold.
the cardboard said they died
In 1974 he married the painter Ginny Crouch and they moved to Eureka Springs, Arkansas, where Stanford worked as a land surveyor. Stanford returned to Fayetteville in 1975 and lived with the poet C.D. Wright. He founded Lost Roads Publishers and continued to earn a living as a land surveyor. Between 1971 and 1977, seven volumes of his poetry were published including.
At the age of 29, on June 3, 1978, Frank Stanford died of self-inflicted gunshot wounds. Of the over ten collections of Stanford's poetry once in print, only two are available today. Stanford's powerful imagination has been praised and elegized by many poets including Thomas Lux, James Dickey, and Franz Wright.
Mourners gather for Jim Henson's Memorial
there was the land and the sky.
The sun dropped below the clouds and made a red ball on the horizon's rim. In the single moment before it was gone, colors in the valley and along the river and out across the far hills were etched in a hundred variations. Each tree took on its own distinct and individual green, from the silver-gray-green of the willows by the creek, to the yellow-green of hickories on the hill, to the clear, pale green of hard maples nearby, to the solid black of the far-distant oaks across the the river. Then the sun was gone and the colors fused back together and no longer stood out in the sharp contrast, though the western sky blazed brighter.