March
21, 2002 YES!!!!!
We've worked so hard. The initial
ideas for the site have been fostering
for over a year. Now, it is here. Ya
hear??? The Listener. I am so excited.
You will be hearing alot more about
Press ForWord Inc. in the coming
months. I am so happy right now! A new
chapter; new purpose...thanks to all
those who have stayed by me. I love
you. -jonathan March
18, 2002 Hola.
How're things. Wednesday is the
official launch of The Listener. This
is a big deal in the literary world
since we are trying to start a
literary revolution. A revolution
whose purpose is to "resuscitate
the dead art" as Ezra Pound once
did. So stay tuned and open your
ears... By
the way, I've got a new email address,
write me if you want to. Adios,
for now! -jonathan February
22, 2002 Hola!
How are things with you? I hope well,
fine, dandy, couldn't be better! Here's
a poem that I wrote on the Press
ForWord message board that I wanted to
shove down your throats... slow
drip by: jonathan santiago
i told you,
"come near me again.
let me tell you
that nothing in return
warrants deliberate spite.
a deliberate, kiss."
...
what did you say?
that my sighs are silly
preoccupations with a lead past?
a lead weight?
leave my breathing motions out of
this!
...
your smile, a bite,
a bullet, a bite
of a rotten apple.
no wonder you just
sit on a pair of tied hands
asking for assistance.
...
so.
here we are not
even close to a sunset moment,
a stroll with ladybugs,
a nap under redwood shadows,
a time for kneading rose petals
between our lips.
------- so,
what do you think??? write me at dtevol@peoplepc.com
i would love to hear from
you...feedback rules! thanks
for listening -jonathan January
17, 2002 So,
another day, another sad sad song.
Actually, sad songs make me happy. As
long as we share our pain with an
empathic touch, we should be fine. I
took this mental disorder test today
and realized that normalcy is a
terrible, terrible myth. If you feel
that you are normal, you are not
allowing yourself to progress into the
dangerous state of existence called
living. Normal people want to survive.
I want to be insane and live. Why
else would Jeff Buckley try a dip in
the river? Why else would John Lennon
take a trip down a Manhattan street?
Why else would people call themselves,
poets, artists? I
just came back from a very short trip
to France. The homeless there are not
Vietnam veterans. Their stories are
different, they are gypsies who wield
razors that cut through purses, blind
eyes that can see your invisible
shield called 'safety.' They are from Sarajevo,
mountains, refugees. I gave the first
young woman who came to me and my love
all the Euros I had (not much). Then I
realized, "Hey, I wasn't supposed
to do that." Then I saw, the
children. It's a society, a system of
homelessness in front of Notre Dame
that has no solace, no refuge, no
amnesty! What is a moment? Or, the
correct amount given to a person who
has to make a living stealing,
begging, turning around and telling
their child to hurry up, catch the
tourists! Priceless. Where
will New York City be when it reaches
the age that Paris is now? Will it be
as beautiful, as forgiving, as
riotous, as historic, as important?
Whatever happened to Atlantis anyway? I
swear that I heard the River Seine ask
me to tell her story. I swear that the
man had drunken so much that he had to
piss on two different spots on her
wall. The coffee is good. The people
nice, willing to tolerate my bad
English. I swear the girls at the Moulin
Rouge were telling us that their
bodies were fucking temples of ruin
and time. They danced so terribly that
I got it all in a bottle. In a bottle
that I threw from 39,000 feet up where
clouds ran from me since they too,
feared terrorism. I saw the Mona Lisa. She
smiled because she just passed gas and
Leonardo would soon get a wiff! My
kind of gal. Van Gogh's ear was on
full invisibility as blue waves
distracted the eye from the river of
blood on an opposite's angle. You
never write to me. Why? -jonathan January
4, 2002 I
am watching Def Poetry and Dave Chappelle
just introduced Amiri Baraka.
Something is terribly wrong with that.
Wrong? Or, just damn freaky. Chappelle
performed a comedic piece that needed
15 minutes of pre-punchline foreshadowing
typical of his usual comedy act. So,
as his "poem" goes on and
on, it gets pretty racist. People
laugh... Then
Baraka delivers a heated poem about reparations
to the "minority" groups and
all the injustices done at the hands
of society...notice the irony? Thanks
Russell. Anyway,
things are getting interesting with
the zine and I am happy about that.
School ended with a rush of influenza.
I am better now; ready to conquer the
world! I
saw both Harry Potter and Lord of the
Rings recently. I feel like a kid
again...YIPEE!! Anyway,
if there's anyone out there who
actually reads this tripe, write me. I
am interested in knowing who is out
there, existing, living, writing,
whatever. Talk
to you soon, -jonathan December
5 no 6th, 2001 Hey.
I am kind of tired right now. I've
been thinking about poetry alot and
how much it needs a good kick in the
ass. Am I missing something? Have I
forgotten when that the boat left the
port? Have the elevator doors closed
in my face? I
wish I had some water right now...wait
a sec...that's better. My
sister is sleeping on the couch again.
She is 20 years old, looks 12, and
hasn't graduated high school. She
comes to me sometimes, to talk. I
don't know what to say. I've been as
honest as I could. I cannot help her.
A life is being wasted... I
won't blame no one. I wrote a poem
about her, but I won't put it on here
because it's not finished. She seems
so dead, sleeping there. Sometimes she
pukes. Out of nowhere...waste. My
anger is tired. No water will help
that. Music
that I am listening to right now: A
Northern Chorus - For Those of Us Gone Philip
Glass - Glassworks Dirty
Three - Hope Tarentel
- For Carl Sagan Something
has to be said for music that forces
you to cry. Forces you to suck in that
voice and spit out all the shit that
hurts too much to talk about.
"There is so much more out there
Ruth. You're not living. It's hard
yes. But it can be done! Believe in
yourself..." I
was looking at photo albums yesterday.
Oh yeah, I told you that. Well,
they're haunting me so much right now.
Each of them are like songs you've
forgotten and when you hear them
again, they knock you down so
hard...so hard. That's
another poem, I'm sure. Sometimes, you
just feel so alone that even the
telephone looks alien...this
keyboard...nothing. But the
violins?!?! They
cut me. They slither into my eyes and
fuck my tears. They touch my shoulder
and pinch my cheeks till I admit to
myself...I must sleep. -jonathan ps-hello? December
4, 2001 Wow!
Things are really coming together
nicely here at Press ForWord, Inc.
Slowly, but surely we are bringing
together the E-Zine. It feels so good
working and communicating with people,
poets, artists, musicians, who care.
It feels so good that everyone has
been so nice, open, and eager to ask
questions before concluding that we
are a bunch of hacks who are out to
get whatever we can out of people.
It's nice. So, if anyone has anything
that they would like to talk to me
personally about (The Yankees, poetry,
war and warts, whatever), please don't
hesitate to email me. I am an
open-minded person 99.9% of the time.
The other .1% happens when I am
dreaming about my child-molesting
grandfather, then I am pretty angry... Happy... I
was looking at the family photo albums
today. Boy, was I a cute kid! I wonder
where everything went wrong.
Personally, I blame it on thought and
a human's inability to just accept any
blind truth that is thrown their way.
"Beginning to think is beginning
to be undermined" (Camus, from
Absurd Reasoning). Still, what went
wrong. There were so many smiles. So
many moments of where no questions
were asked and ignorance was truly
bliss. No longer. Now 'bliss" is
a word that cannot even be used in a
poem because it is too abstract, ha! What
does it take to make someone move?
What does it mean to get up out of
your hole and face what you had once
triumphed over? The
feelings of guilt will haunt me for
along time. Doubts. Regrets that no
one bothers taking pictures anymore.
What's there to capture? Happiness? Poem:
Ignorant Blood November
28, 2001 OOOH
MORE GOODIES!!!! Here are a couple of
new poems that I would love to share
with you. A
haiku for the winter:
snowflakes
silent fall
lands on my hand,
triumphant
as
it melts I cry
Poem:
Unfinished
November
27, 2001 We
are on the move my dears!!! We are
pressing forward with Press ForWord,
Inc. and it feels damn good. Expect to
see some mind-breaking things that are
sure to titillate the synapses! We are
going to have some great contributing
new writers featured and here is a
poem to celebrate this! Note
you will have to have Adobe Acrobat
Reader to read this poem, it is a free
download available at http://download.com
. Press
ForWord Enjoy!
And please send feedback! -jonathan November 8, 2001
Today was a blah day. You know what those are. I will be meeting up with my love later. If you don't have one, then I suggest cuddling up to anything that makes you feel like time doesn't exist. That to me is love, when time ceases to exist. Think about it. We are wired for time, pressed for time, were born into and will run out of time, in the end. BUT, the one thing that time cannot touch is love. In so many (ideal) ways, love is timeless, think about it. Ponder what happened on September 11. Put yourself in Bin Laden's mind, he probably felt love at that moment. Hitler too. Love, it's a weird thing. A timeless thing. Think about it.
PS - Hate? Well, hate is love. Hate is the love of hatred. Hate is the extreme to which negativity loves. Think about it.
PSS - Now. I asked you to email me and I am daring you to now. Please talk to me. Right now, I am just some text on the screen, but I could be so much more to you. Contact me, or anyone for that matter!!!! Just don't stay silent.
love (what's) a(i)nd (between?) hate,
-jonathan
November 7, 2001
From 'The Message'
"Don't push me cuz I am close to the edge.
I am trying not to lose my head.
It's like a jungle sometimes,
it makes me wonder why I keep from going under"
Melle Mel. MC from the Furious Five. I saw him once waiting for the D Train on Fordham Rd. It was interesting, because he didn't have any diamonds (or what kids these days call "Ice"), hoes (either a real expensive gardening tool, or the creator of life, you decide), a Bentley, or anything that hip-hop is right now. Read that quote again. Think about what's going on today...how do you feel?
Lemme tell you something, after that line every single MC afterward has tried to, but has not been able to, stand up to the sheer timelessness, the ultimate weight of it. That is art. Great art is the attempt to show the wonder at why we don't go under, ya dig??
(inspired by the 80's week special on hip-hop via vh1. sue me beeatch!!!!)
there'll be some of my sheeat up here soon. i just have to pick the worthiest piece...or, you could say that I am procrastinating...
-jonathan
October 29, 2001
I tried to write this huge entry about what's been going on in my life these past, almost 2, months. BUT, fucking Tripod, the shit service that it is(you heard me!!!!) Gave me an error page when I pressed done. Was it an omen, no. I am sure it wasn't. It was a pain in the ass though. So please excuse this diatribe, but DAMN I AM ANGRY(that was the point of the forgotten piece too). Anyway, I would appreciate it if, anyone reading this would give me an email. Please, I would like to know what YOU think and feel. Maybe then, I will tell you what I wrote. I love you all, whoever you are:o)
-jonathan
ps-interesting things are going to happen here at PressForWord, stay tizzuned!
September 11, 2001
I don't know what to say. Today is one of the worst days in American and world history. Lives are not numbers. Lives are not symbols. Lives are...you figure it out. What is America, a land of borders, conflicts, strife? Will you give your blood? The pictures (and its millions of angles) will rest in the mind forever. Welcome to the 21st century. We are vulnerable. But you and I are still free. Live. Live. Live.
I love you all,
-jonathan
September 10, 2001
One of the most depressing attributes about myself has to be the way I dream. I just recently read Zora Neale Hurston's, Their Eyes Were Watching God. It's beautiful. Anyway, the very first paragraph just nails my ass. Just because it is SO fucking true! I look at myself in the mirror and wonder to my self, "What the fuck are you waiting for?" I don't know myself.
-jonathan (i'll be right back)
ps- i took the poem down cuz it needed work and i am way too cocky to revise before i put out...that doesn't sound right:o)
September 6, 2001
Have you ever anything? Give yourself the chance to experience, for me. It's the least I could do. Especially since, time has played this trick on me that dictates that time plays tricks. Silly. GIVE ME SONGS!!!!!!!! Turn off your radio, forever. The internet is this world that we have mirrored from our own. Realize that from the beginning, there was always 1's and 0's. It's the stuff everything was made of. I am happy to hear children playing. I am happy to hear the tuning of a guitar. I am happy to have an audience in my mind. They always tell me the truth, even when they want to lie. Don't you love the word 'blog'? Music recommendations for the day,
Belle and Sebastian: If You're Feeling Sinister
Godspeed You Black Emperor: Slow Riot to New Zero Kanada
i will be back when you are ready to see me...
-jonathan
PS!!!! At the bottom of this 'blog' there lies a poem I wrote today (haven't heard that before enough, have u?). Please click, enjoy, hate, whatever your heart desires. Please email me with your thoughts as well (again, at the bottom of the page). Thanks...
*?!(?)!
hey all
me lonely. have you ever had someone who you could be like your left arm or in my case missing testicle leave for a period of time, even a week? sucks doesn't it? well that is what this week is going to be like for me. school starts next monday, yipee! yipee?? yes, yipee. inspiration. people do that for me. faces, expressions, silence, noise, broken escalators (old-fashioned stairs)...you name it. contact with the human (?) race. that's what i get. inspiration. i love it.
poetry is stale. at least now, in my mind it is. The era of Slam is over. It has hit its peak. It was good for a while but now that people realize that there is money to be made from saying shematic poetry, it has grown that blue mold that makes the promise of nourishment, obsolete. i tried writing in rhyme recently. i hope that when you see it, you like it. there is some form to it, but i think it too corny to reveal. maybe when i have some wine, i will reconsider.
i will be back soon. when i learn how to punctuate and spell correctly.
love
-jonathan
ps-below i have placed my email address. please feel free to harrass me.
8/7/01
GOD DAMN IT'S HOT!!! I have no ozone-killin' a.c. in me roomee, so I am sweating my nad off! I know that the world that reads this thinks, hey, who is the Jonathan fellow. Well, all I can say to that is...soon. I am working on poetry that, as far as I can tell, is actually worth reading. Oh, I see you are impressed, well, don't be. I have a lot to prove and nothing to lose. Hell, all thoughts are still free, right?
-jonathan
6/27/01 or June 27, 2001 or 27.01.01
So, are you as sick of witty sites as I am??? Who gives a shit! Right??? I am watching the Yankees right now. Childhood memories of the Mets and being woken up by my father just to see Daryl Strawberry's swing...sometimes he missed too. Still, love...RIGHT???
For those who like meaningless detail...I like candy and coffee...alot of it too.<br> That explains so much...RIGHT???
I do not mean to yell but it is hot right now and so cold online...
Oh by the way, my music picks...Sigur Ros. Find them...now.
You will understand...
love you,
-jonathan
A poem for you blokes...
The rate to purchase
A precious clue just went up
To twenty-six sense
Sigur Ros dtevol@peoplepc.com |
