a few years ago I ran across a little catalog that sold 1950s and 1960s pulp novels. it was a zine really with mini-essays by the seller/publisher on his pulp passions. I can't recall its title, or if the person now has a website, but his zine, and his enthusiastic love of pulp fiction, was pure pleasure to read.

the guy loved the stuff, loved it at the first intensity. he warned, I recall, prospective readers hungry to get their hands on old porn that the novels really weren't as graphic as the covers would have you believe. in fact, they were pretty tame compared to the stuff available in today's markets. however, I also recall an essay on the last pages that said in so many words that he can't stand people who whine and think there is no good around, nothing worth doing, nothing at all. to these blanks he spat and said there is always something to do, some good to be had and create. all you must do is find what you love.

a lover of life, an enthusiast in fact. for who lives without passion (yeah, sounds a bit pompous, I mightily agree, but what the fuck) lives a half life.

no new age BS in this ramble but something that I must remind myself as I trundle thru my days.

Task: to be where I am
even in this solemn
and absurd role
I am still the place where
creation works on itself.

Tomas Transtromer

there are lotsa poems to read, poems to write. and I read today Tim Burton's movie Ed Wood gets a 10-year anniversary special edition dvd, and there is a dvd box set of six Wood's pictures. also, on Tuesday Dawn of the Dead (2004) will be let loose. and books by August Kleinzahler, Rusty Morrison and Joshua Clover come out early next month. and so I have to remind myself about living, which for me means to live with desires and passions. carpefuckingdiem.