Tao, Ow and Ka-pow of Jesus Crisis

MySpace over Michelangelo

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 15:47:08 GMT

"...come and go / Talking of Michelangelo."
-T.S. Eliot

You may recall that Dianne Borsenik used an image of Michelangelo's famous 16th century David sculpture in the poster she designed for our Lix and Kix Anti-Censorship Poetry Extravaganza in October. I am saddened to inform you that MySpace has deemed that poster offensive, deleted it from our profile and sent us the following warning:

Subject: We had to delete one of your photos

We had to remove an image (or images) from your account because they violated our Terms of Use. Our site is for people as young as 13, so we can't have certain kinds of pics (nude/sexually explicit, violence, material protected by copyright). Find out more about content we don’t allow at www.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=misc.terms. If you continue to violate our Terms, we may be forced to remove your account.

If you find an image which you feel is in violation of our Terms, please feel free to use the 'report image' link below the image.

Thanks for your understanding.

MySpace Safety & Security

I could see if this was a pornographic image or something truly offensive - but Michelangelo's David!?!?! And in the 21st Century? Let's look at the terms of service we allegedly violated. David is not violent, not protected by copyright, has nothing to do with sex and, arguably, isn't even nude. I mean, can stone be nude, regardless of shape? And if it can, then isn't all stone nude? The rocks in my garden out back aren't wearing clothes. Neither is the Washington Monument. It seems to me that only flesh can be technically nude. A zucchini isn't considered nude is it? What if it happens to come in the shape of a penis? And how does MySpace define nude, anyway? Wearing no clothes? And in that case, would a photo of me wearing clothes but with my flaccid whatzit hanging out urinating be a violation of their terms of service? What about a photo of a dog urinating? On one of my MySpace profiles I have a photo of a dog peeing on a Bush-Cheney yard sign - and it hasn't been deleted. Is a real dog dingaling less offensive than a fake man's marble member?

In the world of MySpace, owned by News Corporation (who also owns Fox television networks), Michelangelo's masterpiece, which has for centuries been displayed publicly (not to be confused with pubicly) is deemed worthy of deletion. Dog dick and Dick Cheney are not. Never mind that in the very Bible the religious reich holds high as a standard for morality God Himself created nude sculptures (then breathed life into them and called them Adam and Eve). Never mind that in Genesis God called everything he created (including, presumably, his own nude creations, one of which featured a penis) good.

If you haven't yet seen the "offending" item (or if you simply want to see it again), here it is one more time:

And don't forget to check out our next Lix and Kix event on Tuesday 16 December at 7 p.m., when Miles Budimir, John Dorsey and Leah Collova will be our featured poets/performers at the 806 Wine and Martini Bar in Cleveland.

Piece out!

Er, I mean Peace out!

Lame Duck Dick Indicted

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Sun, 30 Nov 2008 12:12:49 GMT

Here's a You Tube video about it:

More videos about the case are available at http://www.youtube.com/user/mmflint.

You might also want to check out this article from the Houston Chronicle:
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/metropolitan/6131207.html.

Or just Google Dick Cheney indictment.

October Monday - a short story

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 20:52:17 GMT

[Digging through my prison journals, I found quite a few fictional stories I'd written and completely forgotten. For curiosity's sake, here's one I wrote in the county jail, only about two and a half months into my eleven year incarceration. It is dated 5 December 1993 and takes up handwritten pages 164 through 172 of what are now known as my Incarceration Chronicles. I find it amusing today that back then I used to include copyright notices on everything I wrote, including my journals.  One note I'd like to make about the county jail at that time: Mom and my girlfriend were permitted to regularly drop off paper, envelopes and stamps for me. After my transfer to Lorain Correctional Institution in early 1994, I would no longer be allowed to receive such gifts, and so I became a bit less prolific there, for better or worse. I present the following short story unedited, more as a historic relic than as literature.]

October Monday
(c) 1993 John Brian M.H. Burroughs

It was a cold, damp October afternoon. The few old shops that remained on Broad Street since the big Mall was built on the outskirts of town were just being cleaned up and closed. It was five o'clock.
    Len had just made it to the cobbler's in time. He strolled down Broad Street wearing a long, gray-black cloth coat buttoned all the way up to the collar and carrying under his left arm the package that contained his newly-heeled dress boots. He was about thirty years old, with jet black hair which was close cut on the sides and back and fuller on top. He was well-groomed, with short sideburns and a goatee. The wind toyed with a stray lock on his forehead.
    Oblivious to all the hustle and bustle around him, he passed City Hall, crossed at the crosswalk, and stepped into the the first bar he came to, The Wet Whistle. There were three working stiffs on stools at the far end of the bar by the idle pool table, two nursing cans of beer and the third a glass. An elderly man and woman sat at a square table by the wall on the right. The bar was on the left and Len took the second stool from the front door, setting his package next to him on the floor.
    "What'll ya have?" asked a deep, abrasive voice from behind the bar.
    "Scotch and soda," said Len.
    "What kinda Scotch ya like?"
    "Johnny Walker red."
    "Don't have it. Sorry. We got Dewar's, J.B. and the well Scotch.
    "No Johnny, eh?"
    "Nope. Sorry." The bartender was friendly enough, but he looked and sounded like a grizzly bear would if grizzly bears tended bar and talked. He was quite plump, and his face was all beard, except for a little nose and big brown eyes. And he wore a baseball cap with a picture of a pick-up on it. Under the truck it said, "Ride This." He grinned, and his teeth became visible through his thick beard.
    "Well... Dewar's, I guess," said Len.
    "Awright."
    When he brought over Len's drink, he set it on the dark, wooden bar without a napkin. "Two dollars."
    Len gave him three and said, "Keep it."
    "Thank ya."
    The bartender went to the other end and joined the three working stiffs in their conversation. Len could see them talking, but couldn't hear them with the jukebox playing; and he wondered if their caps were the same as the bartender's and whether it was true that wearing hats all the time contributed to premature hair loss. He never wore a hat.
    He finished his drink and before the empty glass was back on the bar, the grizzly was heading toward him. "Ready for another?" asked the bear.
    "Maybe just one more," answered Len.
    The bartender gave him another and got another dollar tip. "Thank ya," he said.
    Thank you," said Len, then the man with the big beard nodded and returned to his friends.
    Len tasted his drink. The first one was good, he thought, but this one was better -- nice and strong. He took another drink, and this time he held it in his mouth about ten seconds before he swallowed. "Mmm," he said, then he noticed the jukebox had stopped playing.
    He stood up and unbuttoned his coat. He saw a couple of jackets hanging on pegs by the door, so he took his coat off and put it with them. Then he picked up his drink and sauntered over to the jukebox. He had never heard of most of the songs on it. He put in four quarters for five selections, then punched in one song and went back to the barstool with his empty glass. The bartender was waiting for him.
    "Like another?"
    "What the hell."
    "That's the spirit"
    "Make it a double."
    "Awright," said the grizzly. He grinned again. "From outa town? I ain't seen ya before... I don't think."
    "No. I'm a native. I just don't go to bars much. The last time I was here, it was called Tim's Place."
    "Man! That was a good fifteen years ago at least. Here ya go. Four dollars."
    Len handed him a twenty. "Sixteen years today. That's how long it's been since I had a drink."
    "Ya don't say. Sixteen is your change."
    "Keep one for yourself."
    "Thank ya."
    "Thank you."
    "If ya don't mind me askin', what's the big occasion?"
    "It's my sixteenth wedding anniversary."
    "That so? Congratulations. Wife don't like ya to drink?"
    "Len downed his drink and pointed at the glass. The grizzly made him another without a word.
    "I guess you could say that," Len finally said.
    "If ya don't mind me askin', where is the little woman?"
    After a moment of hesitation, he replied, "She passed away yesterday."
    "Sorry. How'd it happen?"
    "I don't feel like talking about it."
    "Sorry. Let me know if ya need anything."
    The grizzly turned and started toward the other end of the bar. "See ya'll later! he yelled to the elderly couple, who were leaving.
    "Bye, Bob!" returned the man.
    The bartender waited on his three friends and began conversing with them again.
    Len took a sip of his drink. Damn, he thought, that's about all Scotch. He was feeling light-headed now, but it was the best he'd felt in a long time. Now he wanted to talk about it, and the grizzly bear seemed as good a selection as anyone. "Bob!" he called.
    The bartender returned to Len. He saw that the Scotch and soda was still about full. "What can I do for ya?" asked Bob.
    "Do you wanna know why my wife died?"
    "Ya feel like talkin' about it?"
    "She killed herself. Sleeping pills."
    "Sorry."
    After several seconds of silence, Len said, "You forgot to charge me for this one."
    "It's on the house."
    "Thank you, Bob."
    "Don't mention it."
    Len took a sip. "You wanna know why my wife killed herself?
    The bartender opened an icy bottle of beer and took a long drink.
    "Love," Len said.
    "Oh?"
    "Yes indeed. Love. Romantic, eh? Except the love wasn't for me, but my best friend Carlton."
    "Sorry."
    "She loved me, but not like she loved him." He continued, "But she couldn't leave me. She didn't want to hurt me, she said."
    "She told ya about it?"
    "In her note," said Len. "She didn't want to dishonor me, she said, so she didn't let anyone know. She even told Carlton she loved me and not him. But she didn't want to live without him and she couldn't leave me. She didn't want to hurt me? What the hell does she think she did?" Len sucked down his drink. "Another double, please."
    "Are ya sure?"
    Len nodded and Bob fixed one more Scotch and soda. Len paid for it, while a young woman walked in the door. She took a stool four down from his.
    "What'll ya have, Steph?" Bob asked and grinned.
    "Hi, Bob! Uh... I guess I'll just have a Lite, please... with a glass.
    "At yer service, Steph," said the bartender as he took a can of beer out of the cooler. Then he opened it, poured half of it in a tall glass and set both before her. "A dollar forty."
    "Here you are," said the girl as she handed Bob a dollar bill and counted four dimes into his hand.
    Len had been watching her. She had sholder length blonde hair, full of body, and deep, sparkling blue eyes. She took off her jacket, laid it out on the stool and sat on it. She had a slight tan and wore no make-up. She didn't need any. Her lips were round and full, and she wore a plain but pretty navy blue dress with big white buttons.
    While Len was watching her sip her beer, grizzly Bob finished his and waited on two of the working stiffs. The one who was drinking out of a glass grabbed his jacket from one of the pegs by the door and left with a wave of his hand over his head. Bob and the others waved back from the end of the bar.
    Len finished his drink off, then stood up. Whoosh! Suddenly the liquor hit him twice as hard. He considered sitting back down, then got himself together and went back to his original plan. He walked past the girl. She looked at him and he nodded his head. He passed the two stiffs in baseball caps. No, he thought, theirs are different from Bob's. Then he went by the pool table and into the men's room.
    After he urinated, he went to the sink. He put his hands on the counter and rested his weight on them, while he looked into his eyes in the mirror. Damn!" he said to himself, "I am lit!" Then he washed his hands, spalshed water on his face and dried with a couple of paper towels. He looked at his eyes again. "That's better." He remembered that he had forgotten to flush the toilet and did so. Then he went out and back to his stool. The two men were gone and Joe was talking to the girl. She didn't look at Len when he went by this time.
    A fresh drink was already at his spot when he sat down. "Joe!" he interrupted, "how much do I owe you?"
    "Nothin'. It's on her."
    Len looked at Steph and said, "Thanks."
    She gave Len a kind glance, then took another sip from her glass. Bob opened another for himself and drank half of it at once.
    After a little while, Bob said, "Mondays are always slow, but this is worse than reg'lar. Not that I don't like yer company, but I think I'll close up early and spend some time with the wife this evenin'." He gave another toothy grin, then emptied his bottle. "But ya can have one more if ya wanna."
    "Uh... thanks, Bob," the girl said and finished her beer, "but I'd better get going. I feel like a walk in the park. I love it after it rains.
    "Awright, Steph," the grizzly said. "Ya want one more?" he asked Len, who had just sat down his empty glass.
    "No, unless the lady would care for another."
    "Well," she said, "maybe I'll have one... but I'm tired of beer. Give me a shot of cinnamon schnapps, please."
    "The same for me, Bob," said Len, "and one for yourself if you like."
    "Awright. Don't mind if I do." Bob set up three jigger glasses, grabbed a bottle from the shelf and poured the schnapps. It looked like blood in the dim light. Len paid for the shots and gave the bartender a dollar for himself. Then they all raised their glasses.
    "If ya don't mind," said Bob, "I'd like to make a toast to my pretty Stephanie." He grinned through his beard.
    "To your wife at home, Bob," she replied with a smile.
    And for some time after they had gone their separate ways in the cold October air, the blood kept them feeling warm and alive.

-*-

Thanksgiving

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 10:15:28 GMT

I have mixed feelings about Thanksgiving. Yes, we ought to be thankful for the good things and people in our lives - but not just on one day out of the year. Then I think about the history. It wasn't too long after the very first Thanksgiving that white folks began exterminating the very Native Americans who made that first Thanksgiving possible.

I don't want to be a bummer on this "holiday." I want you to be happy - and I'm thankful in various ways for everyone who'll read this message. Let us not take for granted the blessings in our lives. But as we remember these blessings, let us also take time to remember the indigenous people of America, and many others across our country and world, who've suffered, who've been slaughtered, and who in many ways still suffer while we "eat drink and be merry."

On a lighter note, while trying to think of the perfect Thanksgiving song, I couldn't get this one out of my head. Perhaps that means it is the perfect Thanksgiving song. I was about 4 years old when this came out, and it's always been one of my favorites.

"Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)" by Sly and the Family Stone:

Incarceration Chronicles VII: 27-28 Feb. 1994 (Days 11-12 at Lorain C.I.)

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 08:08:49 GMT

For context, here are links to previous installments:

Part 1: 17-21 February 1994
Part 2: 21 February 1994 (continued)
Part 3: 22-23 February 1994
Part 4: 24 February 1994
Part 5: 25 February 1994
Part 6: 26 February 1994

Now we resume where we left off, with handwritten page 339 of the journal I kept while locked up (presented here with no editing). Since I had run out of legal paper the day before, I wrote page 339 in very small cursive on the back of a prison visiting schedule/calendar. Circled on the calendar were March 2 and March 16, the only days family members of inmates in my cellblock ("3 House") were permitted to visit that month. Bear in mind that before I found myself at Lorain Correctional Institution, I spent four months in the county jail - so the pagination of my journal actually began in October 1993, when my term of incarceration began. At some point, I hope to backtrack and post those county jail pages as well.

Sun. 27 Feb. 1994
post 12:30 p.m..

I spent the morning trying to sleep, then reading from Gita. I told Mom yesterday that I'd probably get to use the phone this evening. However, it seems the c.o. is changing the program and will have us call this afternoon. That means I will probably miss Pam again. Damn it! Oh well... I can do nothing but accept whatever comes.

* * *

post 3 p.m.

I am disappointed that I was unable to reach anybody by phone this afternoon. I wish the guards would have stuck with the schedule. But at least - I hope - I'll be able to see somebody this Wednesday.

* * *

4 p.m.

I just finished reading Bhagavad-gita again. I keep dwelling on my need to talk to Pam. This makes fifteen days since I've seen her. Wednesday will be the fourteenth day since our last phone conversation. It's the longest I've ever gone without talking with her. With this changed address, I haven't even gotten a letter from her (or anybody else). Man, I hope I get to go to commissary soon. I found and read an inmate manual today while waiting to use the phone. If I understand correctly, I am allowed to receive books and magazines by mail, if they come directly from a distributor or publisher. Now I return to the Our Daily Bread, lacking anything else to read.

* * *

6:30 p.m.

One more instance where the Bible seems to affirm the deity of Jesus is in the book of John (14:9). "He who has seen Me has seen the Father" (New King James Version). John seemed to be more confident of this than Matthew, Mark and Luke. Perhaps he was senile when he wrote his contribution to the "Word." I know he was pretty old.

* * *

8 p.m.

I just finished reading the March/April/May issue of Our Daily Bread. I need books! I need books! I'd rather have good books than good looks.

* * *

Mon. 28 Feb. 1994
7:40 a.m..

The other day, I gave that cigarette to some pathetic, friendless guy. Today, my generosity was returned eight-fold. While leaving chow, I passed Jerry Y. [a fellow I knew from the county jail] coming in. When the guard wasn't looking, he tossed me a package with eight cigarettes in it. Now, I'll certainly be able to get a book.

* * *

10:30 a.m.

I just added to Aunt Marlene's letter and was notified that I will be moved today. I know not where yet.

* * *

2 p.m.

Most of our group was sent to regular housing today. Six of us at the end of the list had to wait until another day, probably tomorrow. For now, I've been moved next door to Unit 3B, #301, top bunk. The 300's are not in cells, but on the floor. Fortunately, I was able to buy an almost-full mini (5"x8") legal pad for two smokes before I moved. Still no luck in getting a book.

* * *

2:50 p.m.

Stay off of my sidewalk
Don't come to my door
I don't want your postcards
Don't call me no more
You broke my heart one time
Won't break it again
You once were my whole life
Let my new life begin.

* * *

3:05 p.m.

Sacrificial imbeciles
Fools on a limb
Birds without a place to fly
Prospects are grim
Watch the light of youthfulness
Fade in their eyes
As the smoke of sad regret
Darkens their skies

* * *

[Here ends page 339. I can't seem to find pages 340 through 360, which cover the next couple of days and (I assume) were written on that mini legal pad. When I do, I'll post the next installment. I need to dig in my attic boxes again.]

Lost Boys Poetry Benefit Pics

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 08:09:21 GMT

[Michael Salinger posted this "article" of mine on the Cleveland Poetics blog today. He said he wouldn't mind me "cross-posting" it here - so after much consideration, I decided to do so, in order to give maximum exposure to the Lost Boys' cause. You can leave comments in either place, as I plan to copy comments left on this blog to that one and vice-versa. Thanks!]

Sudanese Lost Boys of Cleveland (this photo borrowed from www.sudlbc.org)
Saturday 22 November, I had the privilege and pleasure of attending a benefit for the Sudanese Lost Boys of Cleveland at The Lit. I suspect anyone who reads this blog regularly knows a bit about the Lost Boys and why this is an important cause, so I won't go into that here.  But if you don't, you should, and I encourage you to check out their website at www.sudlbc.com for more information.

Being a relative newbie to the Cleveland arts scene after decades of writing primarily for the boxes in my attic (and living in Elyria and Marion), I didn't know most of the folks in attendance.  But I did know the work of the poets who were slated to read, and even without the good cause to support, I was happy to brave the elements and drive 45 minutes each way to see and hear them. Bree of Green Panda Press not only did a fantastic job of putting this event together, she also read poetry and sent chills up my spine with her haunting rendition of Bob Dylan's "Masters of War."

Michael Salinger served as the evening's emcee. He almost effortlessly kept things moving at the perfect pace, while sharing some fine African poetry and sprinkling in some of his own work. I was particularly moved by a Sara Holbrook piece he read. Other featured poets included several of my favorites from Cleveland (or anywhere): Phil Metres, T.M. Göttl, Elise Geither, Ray McNiece, C. Allen Rearick, and Mary O'Malley.  And as Salinger joked, how often do you see poets pay to read? Each was sponsored by a local business or organization that believes in "thinking globally and acting locally."

But lest you think the night was all poetry, there was also a silent auction featuring work by some fantastic local artists including Jim Lang, George Fitzpatrick, Tom Kryss, js makkos, and Bree.  Whole Foods Market provided some delectable yum yums for our tum tums. And there were plenty of cool, kind people to meet. The place was packed. And though I kept seeing Lit executive director Judith Mansour-Thomas and others coming in with more chairs, I believe they eventually ran out.  But it's always encouraging to see folks willing to stand up for good poetry and a good cause. And according to a message Bree posted on the ClevelandPoetics Yahoo listserve, this event raised $1973 for the Sudanese Lost Boys of Cleveland!

Here are a few random photos I took that night:

Bree

No longer lost?

Silent auction

Elise Geither

C. Allen Rearick

Ray McNiece

Michael Salinger

T.M. Göttl

Mary O'Malley

Vertigo Xi'an Xavier

Suzanne DeGaetano

Steve Thomas

Claire McMahon and Philip Metres

Judith Mansour-Thomas

Jesus Crisis and Dianne Borsenik

I applaud everyone who played any role whatsoever in making this event a success! I encourage anyone who hasn't already to please visit the Lost Boys' website to find out more. Click here to learn about other ways you can help. And thank you for allowing me to play a very small part by writing this blog.

Peace and poetry,
John "Jesus Crisis" Burroughs

All the News That's Shit to Print (or at least a heap of it)

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 10:35:24 GMT

It's time, I guess, for a real blog. When I think of a "real" blog, I mean an actual diary entry, a log of sorts that's published on the web - you know, a web log. That's how I started out, way back when (less than two years ago when I started blogging regularly on MySpace). Then people started reading me - which led to a certain level of self-consciousness. By the end of last year, I'd had around six number one blogs (and several number twos) in a few different categories on MySpace - a feat I'm not sure why I continue to mention (maybe because it makes me sound successful or important, which strikes me as somewhat pathetic). I knew to mix it up a bit, offer a little something for everyone, read (and especially comment on) a lot of other people's blogs (they would tend to reciprocate), and reply at length to folks' comments (which kept them coming back to see my responses, hence increasing my blog views and helping push me up the top blog charts). That's not the only reason I responded at length, however. I genuinely liked a lot of the people I met through blogging, and enjoyed the discussions on numerous topics.

I brought to blogging the survival skill I learned in prison (where I eventually led dialogue groups and taught conflict resolution - something else I feel compelled to disclose to you now because it makes me sound succesful or important, and might help neutralize in some folks' minds the fact that I was an inmate). The skill was to mediate conflict and get people to engage in dialogue by myself taking either neither side or both sides of every issue. I came to see this as a virtue, since nothing is ever totally black or white, every coin has two sides, and all issues are multi-dimensional - when we look at things solely from one limited angle, we do so at our peril. But I rarely revealed how I actually felt about anything, unless I was fairly confident that most folks who read my blog would agree with me. I'm better about that now. But I still worry far too much about pleasing everyone, which sometimes leads to me spreading myself so thin that I end up pleasing no one entirely, least of all myself.

Where am I going with this? I'm not quite sure. I should be writing a blog about last night's poetry benefit for the Sudanese Lost Boys. I told Michael Salinger I'd write something about it for the Cleveland Poetics blog (http://clevelandpoetics.blogspot.com), and include some of the photos I took there. I will do so. But when I attempted to do it this morning, my laptop kept freezing up while I was trying to upload the photos - and just as I was getting a bit frustrated, the four dear grandchildren who are living with us now (ages 6, 5, 4 and 3) got up and prevented me from completing a train of thought longer than 30 seconds. When their mom finally got up, I left the house for a while, visited my mom who's battling some sort of winter cold, picked up the sweet potato pie she made me and the blackberry pie she bought for Geri, then came home. Once again the photos would not upload - and then the lithium batteries in my camera died. The replacements I thought I had stashed away were apparently appropriated by the children for some toy. And I didn't much feel like going back out into the cold to buy batteries, especially when my wife would be going to the same store when she got off work tonight. So I decided to let the Lost Boys blog wait for tomorrow (I warned Salinger it might take a few days anyway) and added another T.S. Eliot piece to the Crisis Chronicles Online Library.

By the time I was done, I had puppy shit to clean up. The dog had eaten something resembling rope (I think it was part of her blanket). First it bound her up, then diarrhea came out around it, and finally strand-filled hard poop came out. Problem is, it didn't all come out, so she was running around the house with a turd hanging out of her ass by a string - and the children were chasing her. So I got her outstide and she tried to poop it out, rub it off, and grab it with her teeth, all to no avail - and finally I had to get hold of her and pull the stringy shit out of her butt myself. Then I came in to discover 6-year old Marcus had had diarrhea so bad it somehow made its way up his pajamas to his chest. His mom cleaned that up while I washed the dog bed. And somehow in the process I lost my appetite for the sloppy joes Rose had made.

I'm leaving a lot out, but you get the idea. There's all kind of stuff to write about and there's always someone (even if it's just me) who doesn't want me to write about it. That's why my blog is sometimes the non-blog it is. And somehow, though I have in the last year gotten a bit more fearless about expressing strong opinions here, I realize I'm still not giving it all up, so to speak. Perhaps that makes me a fake on some level. But I take consolation in the fact that I'm by no means the only one. And who wants to hear about this shit anyway? I've got a lot of good writers reading my blog now and I want to look professional, want to show my right profile (as opposed to my wrong profile), and get their attention. But hey, this isn't a newspaper or a magazine or even a résumé, though I sometimes treat it as such. It's a blog (I almost said "fucking blog," but is it really having sex?). So this entry might shatter some illusions. It's not well thought out (and I'm not trying to avoid sentence fragments or ending sentences with prepositions like "out"). It's not even inspired, consistent, or perhaps even coherent. It's just a stream of my thoughts. And sometimes I think if I can't just say what I want - and art or artifice be damned - then why write at all? But there's plenty of drivel to read in plenty of places. Why would anyone but my closest friends and family want to read mine as well?

No editing, little thinking... I'm just rambling. This is a "real" blog? I think they're all real, actually - though this entry might REveAL things that most of my blog entries wouldn't dare reveal. Hell, folks might even find this an interesting change of pace. But I suspect their interest would wane if this type of entry became the rule instead of the exception.

Meanwhile, I'm intentionally avoiding telling you anything about last night's event - I'll save that for tomorrow, when I'm less distracted, and for the Cleveland Poetics blog (though Salinger said he won't mind if I post it here as well). I have to leave you with something to look forward to....

Perhaps there are far too many photos of me online already anyway. But I feel rather naked not posting a photo with this blog. So here's a previously uploaded one (only posted on Facebook) that Dianne Borsenik took of me in the parking lot after a Deep Cleveland poetry reading on 8/8/2008 in Strongsville. If you've seen the Beavis and Butt-head movie, you know what I'm trying to say here. "I am Cornholio! I need TP for my bung hole! Are you threatening me?" It can all be peace and poetry... if you look at it the right way.

Pix from the 2nd Coming of Lix and Kix (18 Nov. 2008)

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 20:22:21 GMT

Special thanks to featured artists Dominique Glick and Roger Craik! [photo by Dianne Borsenik]
The 3rd Tuesday of November, Dianne Borsenik and I hosted the "second coming" of the Lix and Kix at Cleveland's 806 Wine and Martini Bar. The day leading up to the event was full of challenges - including distracting dramas on the homefront, weather that made travel treacherous in spots, and an eleventh hour phone call notifying us that the venue had lost its sound system. I also had an organ malfunction (my keyboard with built-in speakers would not cooperate, and my other keyboard would be useless without a sound system). But as Shakespeare suggested, "all's well that ends well." And it all ended well indeed.

Don't say I cut off part of Dianne's head - just call it an art photo!

Our friend Vertigo XX of The Poet's Haven brought his equipment all the way from Massillon to save the night with amplification (many thanks!). And though we started out late and a little bit frazzled, the night got better and better as it progressed. Talented singer and poet Dominique Glick treated us with Italian, German, and English numbers - a bit of everything from Puccini to Broadway and the Beatles - in addition to some of her writings. Dianne and I sprinkled in some of our own poems (I read HermAphrodite and Karma Souptra live for the first time, and was pleased by the audience's enthusiastic response). Then Roger Craik (associate professor at Kent State University, Ashtabula, and a 2007 Fulbright scholar in Bulgaria) shared some of his newest work - and was every bit as impressive as he was when I saw him in Shaker Heights earlier this month. Though I admit to engaging in a bit of hyperbole sometimes in these blogs, I was not exaggerating a bit when I introduced Roger as one of my favorite poets not only in the Cleveland area, but anywhere.

Dominique's performance of Schumann's fish song was a highlight [photo by Dianne]

The "best of" Marvin Gaye inspired one of Roger Craik's many excellent poems  [photo by JC]

Jen Pezzo again helped make our Lix and Kix open mic memorable [photo by JC]

Vertigo XX saved us with his PA system, then entertained us with his comic routine [photo by JC]

Danilee Eichhorn shared her poetic and storytelling magic at the open mic [photo by JC]

Geri and Dianne got their Lix and Kix at the 806 [photo by JC]

And I paid tribute to Cleveland poet d.a. levy, who died 40 years ago this month  [photo by Dianne]
Despite bad weather, this month's Lix and Kix crowd was twice as large as last month's. It included December Lix and Kix featured poet Miles Budimir, February 2009 feature Steve Goldberg, Wordplay radio host George Bilgere, executive director of The Lit Judith Mansour-Thomas, and lot of perhaps lesser known family, friends, and artists who are every bit as important as those I've named.

Roger Craik has been kind enough to grant me permission to include some of his fine writing in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library, and the first selection I've posted there is Poem for Him (click the title to read it).   This poem comes from Roger's 2007 vanZeno Press collection Those Years, which I highly recommend (you can purchase it from Amazon by clicking here).

Lix and Kix at the 806 Wine and Martini Bar (located at 806 Literary Road in Cleveland's Tremont district) takes place the third Tuesday of each month at 7 p.m. Come December 16th 2008 to hear two fine featured poets - Cleveland's own Miles Budimir and Holy Toledo's John Dorsey - along with special musical guest Leah. And don't forget that the 806 Wine and Martini Bar serves what folks are calling the best drinks in Cleveland. We hope to see you there!

Who Wants to Live Forever

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 16:27:41 GMT

As a musical interlude between blogs, I'd like to offer you this video of one of my favorite songs:

It's "Who Wants to Live Forever" - written by Brian May, performed by Queen, from the album A Kind of Magic (1986). It also appears prominently in the Russell Mulcahy film Highlander. Queen = Freddie Mercury, Brian May, John Deacon, and Roger Taylor.

* * *

Cornucopoetry

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 15:42:02 GMT

Here are some random, unrelated short poems.
Pick your favorite, write a response.
Best response(s) will end up in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library.

Without Ceasing

double fucked-sure
whORE ore
cheney-bushphenal A

bringing ewe
plASS-stick and other petroleum/procto-illogical products
sponsOREd by Sex-on Mobil, Bee Pee, Shitgo
and the religious reich

play pray pay

prey at the pump

* * *

Low-ku

Haiku is defined
As it is because men de-
Fine it as they do

* * *

Tooth Telling

I wanted badly
To bite the slight
Bulge of belly beneath
Your navel

But I feared
You might
Bite back

* * *

The Wanterror

I'm living in
Thoreau's quiet desperation
Wondering why I
Want don't want
Won't daunt children

Can't say if I'm kidding

* * *

Unfinished

Before I crash
Before I ash
Let me lash out
At the doubt
You demonstrate
As I masturbate with words
I'm not quite sure
Anyone has heard

* * *

And please don't forget this Tuesday's Lix and Kix at the 806 Wine and Martini Bar featuring Roger Craik (one of the best poets I've ever heard read) and Dominique Glick (a poet and one of the best vocalists I've ever heard). The fun starts at 7 p.m. at 806 Literary Road in Cleveland. Dianne Borsenik and I will be your hosts.

Roger Craik

Dominique Glick

Poetry Night at Cleveland's Literary Cafe (15 November 2008)

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 07:04:50 GMT

Thursday 13 November 2008, like pretty much every second Thursday, made for a fantastic night of poetry at Cleveland's Literary Cafe. The evening's featured readers were Rachelle Gallant and Steve Thomas.

I first heard Rachelle read at the Brandt Gallery in July, and her work impressed me. So I enjoyed seeing her again and hearing more of her poetry. I also learned that she's an excellent photographer, adept at marrying words and images to make both more powerful.

Rachelle Gallant

I met Steve Thomas at the third poetry reading I ever attended (this June at Mac's Backs), and he's one of the nicest guys I've met in the scene. He also writes some good poetry, as you might expect of all Literary Cafe features. For an example, check out his Blue in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library (I look forward to including more of his work, and some of Rachelle's as well, eventually).

Steve Thomas

Of course the open mic session at "the Lit Cafe" is always a blast, too, and there was a motherlode of great talent on hand this month. I was sufficiently inspired to write three new poems during the course of the night (perhaps you'll see them on my blog at some point). Here are some photo highlights:

Vertigo XX of the Poet's Haven meditates on Lit Cafe emcee Nick Traenkner's shtick

Geri Burroughs, backed by part of the Lit Cafe audience

Neve Black turned up the heat (hard to believe this was her first reading)

Jack McGuane turned up the cool (like he always does)

Lit Cafe open mic newbie Nathan performed like a pro

Eric Alleman called Nick the best poet he knows, then gave him some stiff competition

Danilee Eichhorn improvised soul poetry in response to audience suggestions

Parker Amsel showed that his new book Splattered Chunks is a must-buy

Matthew (001) was not an open mic virgin" after all

Albert's river of rhyme and reason flowed like the Mississippi

Carmen Tracey's poetic punch knocked us out

Russ Vidrick proved again he's one of the best poets anywhere

Neve Black and the famous Lit Cafe bar

Nick's poetry beat the shit out of his super shtick

C. Randolph seated (the others weren't sleeping but in the zone)

Danilee joined the amazing Dominique Glick in performing Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah"

Another poet who read during the final free-for-all frenzy

Because event mastermind Steve Goldberg was rather ill and had to leave early (hope he's recovered nicely by now!), I didn't get a photo of him that night. But without his vision and efforts, the Literary Cafe poetry phenomenon would not be what it is (or perhaps even be at all). Because I don't want to leave him out of this pic-blog, here's a photo of Steve with Geri and me, taken on 20 September 2008 at the Tremont Arts and Culture festival, where Steve was a featured poet. Video of him reading there will be coming soon to a blog or Online Library near you.

Steve, Geri and me [photo by Mike Zellars]

Visit the Literary Cafe anytime, but especially December 11th 2008, when Jayce Renner and Elise Geither will be the featured readers. The bar opens at 8:30 p.m., with poetry slated to start at 9:30. Click here for a map to 1031 Literary Road in Cleveland, where it all takes place.

In the meantime, you can watch videos of Rachelle Gallant and Steve Thomas on the Literary Cafe's blog at www.literarycafe.net.

Lix, Mac's, Books

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 23:02:48 GMT

Yesterday, I updated my main website page (www.crisischronicles.com). I know most folks aren't used to checking that page for updates because I've had a tendency to post "news" here on my blog first while letting the main page languish.  I don't think I updated it once the whole first six months I had this site. No more, though....

Later today (or tomorrow) I plan to blog about last night's festivities at Cleveland's Literary Cafe.  Meanwhile, since time is short, I want to replicate part of my main page update, because it includes a listing of our upcoming Lix and Kix featured readers/performers, and I'm very, very excited about the high caliber of writers who've agreed to participate. I hope, as soon as possible, to write more about what makes each of our coming features so special. But for now I'll just whet your appetite with a cut and paste.

Lix and Kix at the 806:

A monthly poetry and music extravaganza held every 3rd Tuesday (7 to 9 p.m.) at the 806 Wine and Martini Bar in Cleveland's storied Tremont district. Hosted by Dianne Borsenik and John "Jesus Crisis" Burroughs, Lix and Kix events are getting a reputation for their excellent featured readers, always-interesting open mic shenanigans and the finest drinks in Cleveland. Visit us at 806 Literary Road, and check out our Lix and Kix MySpace page for more information. Featured poets/artists include:

18 November 2008 - Roger Craik & Dominique Glick.

16 December 2008 - Miles Budimir & John Dorsey.

20 January 2009 - C. Allen Rearick & Elise Geither.

17 February 2009 - Steve Goldberg & Nick Traenkner

17 March 2009 (St. Pat's Day) - Gina Tabasso, T.M. Göttl, & Carmen Tracey

21 April 2009 - Zachary Moll & Michael Grover

Upcoming Featured Readings by Jesus Crisis:

14 January 2009 at 7 p.m. - Jesus Crisis, C. Allen Rearick, & Jason Floyd Williams will be featured readers at Mac's Backs bookstore at 1820 Coventry Road in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. An open mic will follow.

Recently Published Works by Jesus Crisis:

Two Jesus Crisis pieces were recently published in issue 23 ("Crime Scene") of The City Poetry, a fabulous underground art and poetry zine. Read them at www.thecitypoetry.com.  There are also two short JC poems in issue 22 ("Giving In").

Jesus Crisis' first chapbook, Bloggerel, is now available for $5.00 (with no additional charge for shipping and handling). Click here to order Bloggerel securely through Paypal. Or send a check or money order to John Burroughs, c/o Crisis Chronicles Press, 420 Cleveland Street, Elyria OH 44035.

Attention Animal Lovers!

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 08:57:41 GMT

My friend Helen Bennett-Harvey and her daughter Kiley Harvey have created a very cool blog for animal lovers at http://teslaslove.blogspot.com. Go there to read others' pet stories or share your own. Just this morning, they published a piece I wrote last year after losing our dear cat Crickett. Read my story by clicking here, or submit your own by emailing Helen and Kiley at teslaslove@gmail.com.

Man with two pussies - Crickett, Ballou and me in 2004 [photo by Geri]

Jesus Crisis in Kindergarten?

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 18:46:18 GMT

Mom, Dad and I started out the year 1972 living in an apartment behind the May Company on the southern edge of Lorain, Ohio. Determined not to enroll me in Lorain schools, which were beginning to acquire a bad reputation, Mom took me (I'm almost certain it was on Valentine's Day) to enroll in the following year's kindergarten class at a church school in Elyria. I don't remember the name of the church or school now; but it was on the east side of N. Abbe Road where Cross Community Church (an added-on and renamed version) now stands.

Because I could read fairly well already and was ahead of their current class, the school didn't think I needed a whole year of kindergarten. Instead they put me in the current class, though it was February, so I'd be able to start first grade in the fall.

I don't recall making any friends there. I don't remember any of the teachers' or children's names at all - except perhaps one. I think the blonde girl with the big hair in the top row (directly beneath the teacher on the right) was Janice Orndorf, with whom I later went to public school.

my kindergarten class in Spring 1972 - I'm in plaid at the bottom left corner (for better or worse)

I never knew or talked to Janice much. I'm not even sure that's her in my kindergarten class picture (she's definitely in my 1st grade picture, which I will post later). I mainly remember her because she embarrassed me in Convenient Food Mart by catching me picking my nose and putting whatever I found there in my mouth. Disgusted, she told me that boogers turn into worms in your stomach - then they eat all your food and you starve to death, or something like that. I'm not sure I actually ate a booger that day (I don't want to believe it), but you can bet your snot I never ate one after that.

I was an only child until halfway through my four-month kindergarten bit, when my brother Michael was born on Easter Sunday. He was premature, and mom had to stay in the hospital longer than expected, so I stayed at my Uncle John and Aunt Rose's apartment on Wesley Avenue (down the street from my school) for a week or two. Thanks to the rush and drama, I didn't even get an Easter basket that year (though Mom later made up for it). As it was the first time I'd been away from home or without my mother, I feared the worst. When they let her call me from the hospital (they wouldn't let a five-year-old boy visit), I asked Mom, "Are you in heaven?" Thankfully, she was not.

April 1972 - me at age five, with Dad holding two-week-old Michael

When we lived in Lorain, I loved playing with the older boy who lived upstairs. Twelve-year-old Darren Schneider (I believe that was his name) had the coolest toys: miniature cowboys, Indians, astronauts, and army men, along with play horses and a huge plastic rocket that could transport them all to the moon. But since Darren couldn't be bothered with little old me more than once in a while, I looked forward to having my own full-time brother. I didn't understand how the brother business worked, however. So when mom came home and showed me the new baby, I thought something along the lines of "Forget the baby, where's my brother?" I was not happy to learn that my new brother was not twelve and did not have any cool toys. Plus, he cried all the time and pooped himself.

I would learn to love Michael for who he was. And soon I would graduate from kindergarten. Mom took me out to buy a suit for the occasion. She intended to let me choose the suit, but the one I fell in love with was covered with images of zoo animals - mostly zebras, if I recall correctly - and she wasn't going to spend that kind of money on a suit that resembled a pair of pajamas. In retrospect, Mom was right, though a picture of me in the zebra suit would have been priceless. Here's what we bought instead:

Walking down the aisle at my kindergarten graduation, June 2nd 1972

Sometime between kindergarten and first grade, we moved into a house on Lexington Avenue in Elyria. But I'll save the rest of my 1972 for a future blog.

-*-

HermAphrodite and One Flu Over the Cuckoo's Nest

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 21:30:08 GMT

HermAphrodite is one of my newer poems, and Michael Salinger was kind enough to post it as 31 October's "Blind Review Friday" selection on the Cleveland Poetics blog (http://clevelandpoetics.blogspot.com). The point of "Blind Review" is to allow poets to give and receive feedback on their (and others') work without necessarily having to reveal their identities. I know if I post one of my poems on my own blog, most folks will say either good things or nothing at all about it. So I thought it would be interesting to anonymously throw one "to the wolves," so to speak, and see what response I got.

I originally submitted Can Do to Michael last month. But when he asked if I had anything "less scatalogical" (love that word), I ended up blogging "Can Do" and sending him HermAphrodite instead. I enjoy the comments and discussion that follow most of his Blind Review postings. Unfortunately, my entry did not receive nearly as many comments as most because it happened to appear during election week, while potential readers and critics were (rightly) paying attention to much more important matters.

Now that Obama has won and I'm feeling a bit more hopeful overall, I view HermAphrodite a bit differently than I did when I wrote it. But I'm still hoping to get a bit of feedback on the poem. So please click here to visit the Cleveland Poetics blog, read my offering and tell me what you think. Thank you very much!

A note on the poem:
My regular readers all probably know it already, but I'll say it for anyone else who happens to stumble upon this blog. The title HermAphrodite is a combination of the names Hermes (divine messenger and Greek god of thieves/poets) and Aphrodite (Greek goddess of love). War and love, male and female, yin and yang - we all have elements of each in us, I believe. And if we are made in God's image, as someone's book claims, I think it's fair to assume that God, if he/she exists or is distinct from us at all, has elements of each in her/him as well. Oh... and I mean for readers to pronounce the e at the end of the title "HermAphrodite."

* * *

As for the flu, I believe I may be succumbing to it. Diarrhea and other symptoms too distasteful to discuss have visited me this morning, and now I'm wondering if I'll even be able to make it to the Zygote in My City poetry extravaganza this evening as planned. Even if I feel like going at 9 o'clock tonight, I'm not sure I should. Don't wanna infect my fellow artists.... I didn't even want to mention this in my blog, because my Mom (who reads it) tried to press me into getting a flu shot earlier in the week and I never got around to it. I suspect no one, especially a 42-year-old man like myself, likes to admit he should have listened to his mommy. But I feel I owe an explanation to the folks who expect me to be there. And it's easier to inform everyone in one fell swoop here than send out a bunch of individual messages.

Now I'm going back to bed - with my laptop, though I'm not sure how much I'll actually feel like doing with it.

Peace, love and poetry,
John

Me in bed with the laptop but without the flu in December 2006 [photo by Geri]

Zygote in My City (A Tainted Cleveland Reading)

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 11:48:21 GMT

I totally stole these graphics from the Zygote in My Coffee website to help promote Zygote's two-day event in Cleveland this weekend. Because of my web robbery ineptitude, I can't get the band graphics to copy. So I'll just mention that the kick ass musical acts expected to perform there include The Interlopers, Hobo/Monk, Rubella, and Derica. Zygote's featured poets include powerhouses from Cleveland, Toledo, and across the nation - many of whom I've applauded in past blog entries. For more information, check out www.zygoteinmycoffee.com or befriend the event on MySpace at www.myspace.com/taintedclevelandreading. Doors open at 6 p.m. and the show will start at 9 p.m. both nights (November 7 and 8, 2008). Your hosts will be C. Allen Rearick (who will also be one of our Lix and Kix featured poets in January) and Brian Fugett of Tainted Coffee Press. It promises to be one of the most exciting poetic events of 2008, so please check it out on one or both nights - unless you're afraid of being Tainted. But let me assure you, 'Taint nothing to fear. Drink up!

11213 Detroit Ave. at West 112

Cleveland, Ohio 44109

Happy Birthday, Dad!

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 10:19:22 GMT

Dad is 64 years old today! I regret that I haven't had time to write a proper blog about anything lately - from the election to poetry to Dad's birthday. But since someone said a picture is worth a thousand words, I'd like to at least share four thousand words with you on this occasion. I blogged these photos once before (see my March 2008 entry Dad: Thicker than Blood), and they remain among my favorites. Anyway, a lot of folks who read my blog regularly now did not back then, and I suspect the few folks who've been in this with me for the long haul won't mind revisiting them. Happy birthday, Pop! Hope it's a good one....

Me and Dad before heading to College Heights Baptist Church - December 1971
[photo by Mom]

Dad and me with our parakeet Popeye and my transistor radio - circa 1972
[photo by Mom]

1990 - with my step-mom Linda, Dad, and brother Mike at my LCCC graduation
[photo by Mom]

Dad and me too early in the morning (for me at least!) in October 2005
[photo by Geri]

-*-

Please vote today! (4 November 2008)

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 08:41:25 GMT

Benefit for the Sudanese Lost Boys of Cleveland

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 12:32:28 GMT

This is a public service announcement. A chance to see/hear some fantastic poets, get some very cool arts/crafts, and support an important cause (not necessarily in that order)....

Just a Note

jc@crisischronicles.com (Jesus Crisis) — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 10:11:31 GMT

Last night I was privileged to attend a poetry event at the Shaker Heights Public Library (Bertram Woods branch). The featured readers were Jillian R. Wriston, Major Ragain, and Roger Craik - the emcee was Barry Zucker - and the close to fifty attendees included Major's mom, Jillian's dad from Detroit, Katie Daley, Jim Lang, Bree, and Steve Goldberg. It was humbling to be in the presence of so much poetic talent. And several times during the evening, particularly during Roger's reading, I felt an acute awareness that I need to focus more on my writing. I don't want to write like the best poets I know. But I yearn to write as well as the best poets I know.

To the best poets (and the best other artists and thinkers) I know, some of whom were there last night and most of whom were not (if you suspect you're one of this group, you probably are), thank you for being kind to me, for encouraging me, for stimulating my mind and inner being with your thoughts and ways of expressing them, for reading my often meager offerings when you do, and especially for being my friends.

Much obliged,
John

* * *