The problem with
having everything online
is that it changes
all the time, and
it's changing.
--Hans Ostrom 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Found Poem: They're All Dead, Ashes
Message on my phone
when I arrived home that
I was late for the grooming
appointment for my animals.
They'll be hard to groom.
They're all dead, ashes.....
found Feb. 27 2013
hans ostrom 2013
when I arrived home that
I was late for the grooming
appointment for my animals.
They'll be hard to groom.
They're all dead, ashes.....
found Feb. 27 2013
hans ostrom 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Phone as Phone
Telephone.
Tele-phone.
Telephonetics.
"Telephone!" we used to shout
"Phone--for you!"
"Somebody get that phone!"
And today someone
said to me, "Are you
saying that you use
your phone as a phone?"
And I confessed, yes,
"I don't use any of the
apps."
Hans Ostrom, 2013
Tele-phone.
Telephonetics.
"Telephone!" we used to shout
"Phone--for you!"
"Somebody get that phone!"
And today someone
said to me, "Are you
saying that you use
your phone as a phone?"
And I confessed, yes,
"I don't use any of the
apps."
Hans Ostrom, 2013
Edna St. Vincent Millay's birthday
Happy birthday, Ms. Millay, and thanks for the poems.
A link to a reading of "To Those Without Pity":
reading
A link to a reading of "To Those Without Pity":
reading
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
The Next Big Thing: Interview
Writer C.E. Putnam has "tagged" me in the authorial game of "the next big thing," in which one answers questions about a project and then "tags" other writers. My self-interview appears below, and I am "tagging" Renee Simms, Dolen Perkins-Valdez, Laurie Frankel, Suzanne Warren, Sandy Evans, Tamiko Nimura, and Carter Monroe.
What is the working title of the book?
Without One
Where did the idea come from for the book?
I was thinking about flesh-eating bacteria, and I wondered what would happen, socially, if there were a bacteria that destroyed men’s penises but otherwise left them physically healthy. –That is, an epidemic, like AIDS (when it first arose), with vast social and psychological implications.
What genre does your book fall under?
Social satire, based on a science-fiction premise, with lots of stuff about romance, sexuality, politics—and questions of masculinity and “manhood,” obviously.
What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?
A friend in Hollywood thinks Seth Rogan would be perfect for one role. Peter Gallagher, maybe, for another role. Emilie De Ravin, Melissa Benoist. Steve Buscemi—maybe he could direct it--since we're fantasizing here.
What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Because of a bizarre new epidemic, something is happening to men: their penises are falling off.
How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?
First draft—probably 18 months.
Who or what inspired you to write this book?
As always, I inspired myself. I’m a one-person crew, for better or worse. You do what you can. I also wanted to see if I could write it. I’d say I’m a poet by nature, so novels are still quite daunting to me, even though I’ve written a few.
What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
Implications of the penis-plague, which is known as Rapid Penile Degeneration Syndrome (RAPIDS), go all the way to . . .the White House!
Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
The book is now available on Kindle, and two agents have asked to look at it.
What is the working title of the book?
Without One
Where did the idea come from for the book?
I was thinking about flesh-eating bacteria, and I wondered what would happen, socially, if there were a bacteria that destroyed men’s penises but otherwise left them physically healthy. –That is, an epidemic, like AIDS (when it first arose), with vast social and psychological implications.
What genre does your book fall under?
Social satire, based on a science-fiction premise, with lots of stuff about romance, sexuality, politics—and questions of masculinity and “manhood,” obviously.
What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?
A friend in Hollywood thinks Seth Rogan would be perfect for one role. Peter Gallagher, maybe, for another role. Emilie De Ravin, Melissa Benoist. Steve Buscemi—maybe he could direct it--since we're fantasizing here.
What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Because of a bizarre new epidemic, something is happening to men: their penises are falling off.
How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?
First draft—probably 18 months.
Who or what inspired you to write this book?
As always, I inspired myself. I’m a one-person crew, for better or worse. You do what you can. I also wanted to see if I could write it. I’d say I’m a poet by nature, so novels are still quite daunting to me, even though I’ve written a few.
What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
Implications of the penis-plague, which is known as Rapid Penile Degeneration Syndrome (RAPIDS), go all the way to . . .the White House!
Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
The book is now available on Kindle, and two agents have asked to look at it.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
It's a Curious Thing
There are some people
(I’m one) who negotiate
their membership
in the family they’re
born into. They get by.
They continue to cope
and manage as they
move through other groups—
schools and jobs,
communities. But they
never belong. They’re
not exactly loners or
outcasts. In a way,
that would be easier–
the lines sharp.
They always feel
themselves to be
provisional members,
probationary,
forever trying to figure out
the rules and codes,
always and ultimately
awkward, no matter
how “successful.” This is no
complaint, only observation.
It is the shape of the path
for some of us—that’s all.
It is a curious thing, that’s all.
Hans Ostrom, 2013
(I’m one) who negotiate
their membership
in the family they’re
born into. They get by.
They continue to cope
and manage as they
move through other groups—
schools and jobs,
communities. But they
never belong. They’re
not exactly loners or
outcasts. In a way,
that would be easier–
the lines sharp.
They always feel
themselves to be
provisional members,
probationary,
forever trying to figure out
the rules and codes,
always and ultimately
awkward, no matter
how “successful.” This is no
complaint, only observation.
It is the shape of the path
for some of us—that’s all.
It is a curious thing, that’s all.
Hans Ostrom, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
The Planet's Disease
Industrial humanity's become
a bad disease the planet suffers from.
Hans Ostrom, 2013
a bad disease the planet suffers from.
Hans Ostrom, 2013
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Desire of the Keys
And the keys said,
"Let us off this metal ring.
We want to lead our
separate lives, travel
our chosen corridors,
try many locks,
and be seized
by an adventure of hands."
Hans Ostrom 2013
"Let us off this metal ring.
We want to lead our
separate lives, travel
our chosen corridors,
try many locks,
and be seized
by an adventure of hands."
Hans Ostrom 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Friday, February 8, 2013
No Answer to the Ocean
It's like this, maybe: A tide comes in.
It brings things you come to believe.
There they are, objects on glassy sand.
They're what's come of all your coping.
A stone, a crab-shell, a worn piece of
wood, a string of kelp. They're no answer
to the ocean. They don't add up to a code.
You keep walking on the beach,
trying to figure things out. There's
nothing wrong with that--walking,
wondering. What are you hoping for?
Hans Ostrom
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Elvis in the Holy Land
(based on found language)
Deadline approaching
to book
Elvis tour to
Holy
Land.
hans ostrom
Deadline approaching
to book
Elvis tour to
Holy
Land.
hans ostrom
Monday, February 4, 2013
Sacramento Capitol Mall
Politicos stride like
totalitarian colonels.
Professionals lean into
conversations
about cash-flow, internal
control, and impact (a verb).
Winos stand against a wall and
shiver
their way out of hallucination,
their shirt-fronts soaked with
the Lamb's
most inexpensive blood; bums pick
through rubbish
and sleep under news; the mad
testify
to streetlights and themselves.
No one runs for office anymore
except the staffs of those who
ran before.
They govern each other and
whisper about us.
Sunlight remains democratic.
We walk in it together
between the muddy river and the
capitol.
We are lobbyist and lunatic,
accountant and pickpocket,
admin-assistant, tech-person,
plumber,
and Ph.D. student writing about
power-relationships.
I find myself wondering not at
all
about the powerful. I focus on a trembling
hand
that picks through garbage. I
fork over
a few bucks to the hand's person.
who gargles the words, "God bless you."
Somewhere there’s a
photo
of that man when he was six years
old
and squinting at the camera,
happy in a summer
in another state.
Maybe you finally come to hate
poverty
enough to pursue it as an art;
maybe a thousand left hooks in
the downtown gym
finally leave your brain fizzed
like pink champagne,
and you're on the street mumbling
to a corner man
who isn't there. Or somebody
dies, and your way
of understanding that is to let
go the things
that hint of looking forward,
including the grammar of love,
and love of self, and taking tomorrow straight.
Yeah, so, I gave him a few bucks, which
will
go for booze, not a sandwich, and I don’t
care
because it’s not my money anymore,
and as the Capitol might whisper,
it never was.
Copyright 2013 hans ostrom
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Friday, February 1, 2013
Twice-Believing Creatures
Twice-Believing Creatures
Crickets sing the word
"ceasing" electronically
in dirt and dry
stalks.
A heavy black beetle turns his
belly
to the cosmos,
plucks with his six feet
at the needles of a darkening
pine bough.
The Magician
dances out of straw. He is Dusk;
he juggles the sun and the moon
and the evening star.
Here and there a
few are alert,
some curious, some thankful--like
the deer,
weary of
swishing horseflies away
from their backsides all day and
hungry
after the heavy
afternoon;--like the raccoon,
waddling off to make a living at the pond's edge;
--and the
tireless child, the old man
who stands near his garden
listening to the corn grow,
and the woman
with her hands folded,
singing out loud to nobody.
They know that
dusk takes today's body
and brings another after an interlude
of dreaming.
They know
nothing of the sort;
they are as dubious as the light
at dusk.
They know the
world to be as new
as the note of a gnat in the ear,
as old
as the lizard's
dry smirk,
a boulder's personality, darkness.
Hans Ostrom, 2013
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