December 23rd, 2005
Enjoy the Roast Beast
December 20th, 2005
Big Daddy Blogbucks Part Two
Just a few notes to follow up last week's megapost:
 Note
1. Don't panic and shoot up your local
nunnery. I'm not retiring. There is a good chance
that I will be killed by a drunk husband long
before that happens. In the meantime, I'll continue
to write online. Just somewhere else, I think.
I mean, though web publishing (and the blog format)
has many faults, it has one big advantage for
the emerging writer over traditional publishing
- an audience.
Truth is, the stage for most poets (and CanLit
writers) is pathetically small, and the dissemination
of writing is weak and torpid. As I've said in
many evening preambles, the audience for published
poetry books doesn't grow much. What exists is
primarily a circular dialogue between a few hundred
people. If the whole system wasn't propped up
by grants, it would implode. While this happens,
the blogosphere continues to expand exponentially.
On this very blog, my poems are read by more visitors
in a month than I ever reached with my book.
It's sad, but true.
A couple of months ago, a reader named snowflake
made a point that stuck with me when I mentioned
taking a walk. He said, "well, i would think
that the blog would be first and foremost about
communication. any kind of communication. every
thing else is missing the point....you've got
some people dangling, from what i can see. so,
uh, why would you want to disappear, when you
have this great chance to communicate? go on hiatus?
that's for fucking monks that drink tea."
It's true. With the various failures and minor
successes, my expectations have changed anyway.
It's obvious that I'm not going to get stinking
rich off of the writing, at least not immediately.
Over the past couple of years I think I've demonstrated
that trying to get rich and famous from poetry
is like trying to win a fist fight with a hippo.
I think I'll be better off financially if I only
publish a book every couple of years. At some
point, it could all reach the critical mass necessary
to write for a living, but it's going to take
awhile. Or a screenplay.
What I have come to value out of this whole stinking
deal is the dialogue and the community. Before
all this bullshit, I only knew a few writers -
Dick, Marvin, and Sweaty Charles. Now I know plenty
- intellectuals and miscreants. I can
talk with them about Newlove and Houellbecq and
Eros and Civilization and postmodernism
and it's a good time. I like that.
Mostly though, it makes sense to continue to work
(and work online) because: I can't fucking quit.
That fucking dream is still there. Years ago,
in an interview with Gander, I said that a writer
has to be perseverant to the point of ignorance
if he wanted to make it. How bloody prophetic.
The reality is, I've been obsessed with this for
years, and that's not going to change.
So, instead of doing it alone, maybe I'll drag
you all into it with me.
So yes, there will be more. My publisher and I
have been talking about big things. So tune in
here occasionally until we move somewhere else.
Those who want to join the revolution are advised
to reserve their seat now. It will be forthcoming.
Note 2. Dear Sweet Lord Jesus
NO, a new publication wouldn't be too conservative.
From the man who coined the phrase "Vatican
Pink Meat"? Smarten up.
However, I hope that a new site would be something
that wouldn't humiliate my entire family. If you
ever heard Mingus Tourette & Sweaty Charles
sing the seminal breastfish anthem Beautiful
Sanchez, you would understand.
Note 3. Mr. Babiak mentioned
this fine blog on his blog and said nice things,
like "All Hail Mingus" and something
about killing Huns in the '40s. Check it out.
Also of note - his newpaper serial, The Garneau
Block, just got picked up for hardcover publication
by M&S. That's a big fat deal. Good on him.
Note 4. Apparently, long time
comment poster
rex logger has his own blog. Far be
it for me to judge, but it is possibly the shittiest
attempt at a blog that I have seen in years. Oh
rex, why did you link it up? We had no idea. As
far as I can tell, it had exactly one post, made
back in March, and one comment, made a few minutes
later, wherein rex lamented his inability to change
the site's colour.
rex, our hats are off to you, dear sir.
Note 5. And finally, for shits
and giggles - something from the old breastfish
Mission Statement, Buggery: The Manifesto.
When I read it, I still grin and imagine Sweaty
Charles and his jug band playing deleriously in
the Gainford Motel. As it was:
[E]xpect the lament of
virgins crying in the night, expect the gnashing
of teeth from those with “morals”, expect
a bottle of mule piss thrown through your front
window, expect the worst, cause the best isn’t
good enough, and expect breastfish, the fifth
horseman of the apocalypse, to show up on your
doorstep reeking of creme de cacao liqueur, carrying
a chainsaw, a tank of gasoline and an oxyactelyne
welding torch. Expect it now.
Or, as Mingus Tourette is fond of saying:
These tales are not for the weak of heart. Get
ready, strap your dildo to your inner thigh, grab
a jug of corn liquor, shave your gonads and dial
in, bitches, cause the motherfucker's coming down
the pipe......
December 12th, 2005
Edmonton's Original Blogger
Because no
one else claimed the title, because I have
been publishing regularly online since before
the turn of the millenia (god curse you, breastfish),
and because I have more websites than anyone he
knows; Marvin Gander declared a reticent Mingus
Tourette to be 'Edmonton's original blogger' over
a brutal game of draught soaked billiards at the
Garneau Pub this weekend. A dubious title, to
be sure. Especially for a man who coined the phrase
'Fuck
the Blogosphere'.
I call bullshit. Because I don't blog. At least,
I don't talk like totally this weekend i went
down to this rave and this bitch was all up in
my face and so i was like, what are you, republican,
which was so smart, and then she dissed my blog
and I was like, I am totally gonna pwn you in
myspace....
But what can you do.
Marvin Gander, in town for some election coverage,
pointed out that blogging was gaining some respect
in the regular world. Even local novelist and
columnist Todd Babiak has a
funny new blog over at the Edmonton Journal
website, though I doubt that he is allowed to
use words like 'shit'. Instead, he must be content
with stand-ins like 'poo'. Admittedly, poo is
a funnier word, but I do like the freedom to curse
at random intervals. Nor is he allowed comments,
which probably makes him sad. But he is a journalist,
and now he has a blog. Like everyone.
Even the politicians. I reminded Gander that I
had attempted an ill-fated link exchange with
Prime Minister Paul Martin during the last election.
He laughed, and said that I had been blogging
for too long, and like most trailblazers, would
never get a penny for it. I nodded sedately, for
I am used to financial ruin. Then he said that
maybe, years down the road, it would pay off.
But I would have to evolve to cash in.
And I told him that I am ready to move on, that
The Daily Mingus is ready to retire,
but that like all thick-headed dolts on the bubble
of revolution, I want to tackle something new
and bigger. Something evolving. A new site, with
multiple contributors that would provide poetry
and short stories and serialized novels and upcoming
events and interviews with artists and a forum
for (mostly Canadian) writers. Something that
people would be unafraid to mention to other artists
and writers, something unlike nunt, which
is a truly horrifying word. Something unlike breastfish,
whose tagline was Sodomizing the 21st Century.
I'm not kidding. We ran banner ads for JesusHorseFuckingChrist.com.
Indeed, we offended everyone. Even ourselves.
The new site is something that I've been talking
about for months. Hell, awhile back, Gravel and
I talked about new online homes. And then last
week, he went and pulled the ripcord. Found himself
a new home at streetrag.com,
and it's sweet - city-focussed, full of the urban
mythos. So maybe it's about time to pull the cord
myself - take a couple of months to build something
new, put a bullet in this dying horse and go from
there.
All I need is a name. Or rather, another name.
Suggestions, as per usual, are welcome.
December 8th, 2005
ACTION
INT. - XANADU'S HOUSE - NIGHT
Tourette sits on one of Xanadu's downstairs bar
stools. He has a notebook in front of him, but
nothing is written on the page. He holds a glass
of gin and watches Xanadu expound on the current
screenplay. Xanadu motions grandly with the rolled-up
script as he talks.
MORRIE
XANADU
...simply too little action. In all three acts.
MINGUS TOURETTE
I think there's more than enough of yer fucking
'action'
in this script.
MORRIE XANADU
There really should be an explosion or a death
at least
every ten pages.
(beat)
I read an article in Variety that said...
MINGUS TOURETTE
Again. Who the fuck reads Variety?
December 5th, 2005
RIP MoFuck Mobile
---
there is nothing to say
what the mighty and horrible
darkness of the beard
has done
cannot be undone
perhaps it's best this way
as I couldn't pull the trigger
on the old steed
and so
dust off Mr. Auden
and fire Requiem in the pipes
light the pyres
and kill a thousand slaves on the mound
for
as Achilles rages
I pour my gin on the ground for you
touch your backseat one last time
caress your dash
and place two pennies
where the headlights once burned
sweet Rocinante
sweet MoFuck Mobile
thug mofuck 708 gangsta ride
tell the boatman
it won't be long
till we all roll
shining and streaked with sweat
roaring through the streets of Dis
through the back alleys of hell
But What Happened Last Week? By God, Find Out
Here!
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December 4th - 31st 2005