Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tomorrow, effective at midnight, the submission window for the first annual DJANGO Award slams shut, locks, and is fired into the center of the sun while trapped in a bamboo cage. Yes, they go bye-bye. Then the site resumes its regularly scheduled posts, and judging for the contest begins. Stay tuned to OSFR for details on the judging and for new poetry.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Yes, the DJANGO Award submissions are mighty, tho ye have little thyme to submit. Remember: deadline is April 1. After the great DJANGO craze cools, the submission/instant acceptance/oft stalled posting of poems will continue. Stay tuned for work by Jane Ormerod, Lawrence Jaffe (no relation to Russell Jaffe [myself, though it is my grandpa's name]) and a wonderful poem centered around running from the physical manifestations of everyday nightmares from Thomas Fraker. See you in the desert! -Russell Jaffe
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Tyler Black is currently a top star in the Ring of Honor wrestling promotion, which recently announced it will broadcast an episodic television show on HD Net. Tyler can be seen every month on ROH's In-Demand Pay Per Views, and on DVD releases through rohwrestling.com. When I began this site, I solicited a number of poets across a wide gamut; many I knew personally, some I respected, and still others I found unconventionally exciting and befitting of the spirit of a truly completest journal. As a pro wrestling fan and poet, I was excited to see Mr. Black producing poetry on his Myspace blog and asked him to submit. Imagine my surprise when I realized I had an unread, year-old message:
Why don't you just take the stuff I write on here and put it on that blog. Put my name on it and everything. That should work right? Right-here it is. Please enjoy. Don't forget that the DJANGO Award is waiting and the deadline is April 1st. Please look under our February archives to see the post with the official rules! Still How does it feel to change? The varying speed and uninvited deviations Have blended the colors in my eyes. What once was simple is now a labyrinth. What once was silver is now rusted and bent. And I keep telling myself that it's not broken. So what am I trying to fix? Or repair? Or throw away? It feels terrible to forget things you want to remember. I'm not desperate yet, But what happens when I lose myself completely? Is it possible to recover hope? I can buy all the newness the American dream has for sale. I can shrink or grow or bleed out or fit in, But I am still lacking; Unable to evaluate change and develop. I'm standing still... Standing, breathing, thinking, and living still. Undermining My Own Integrity There is more than a part of me that knows how small this is. The obvious insignificance Of a man losing his hope. I remember the strength of a few years ago. I know, I've told myself that there is always a better way, But perspective isn't the easiest wisdom to gain. I used to trust myself with love. Falling is so fucking easy. The skies are bluer. The dreams are bigger. The eyes are brighter. But when it stops making sense, Where does a man put his faith? When I can't believe in my own promises; When I can't look at my own face; When focus dissolves; What is this place? Who the fuck am I? And then someone dies.... And now I really feel like a fool. Just another self-righteous disaster trying to get by, Another drop in the pool. The real sufferers are the ones just trying to survive. Love, Lust, Lies, These feelings simply do not apply. It's so easy to forget how easily we're able to forget... Life is too fucking short. Our priveledged position is the ability to exist. It's my desire to feel enough to write this. It's the idea that we can live for tomorrow Because at least we have that time to borrow. At least we have this heartache to show us What it's like to be alive, What it's like... not living to die.
Current mood: disappointedRaindrops cut like razorblades. I make my way home. Disaster draws near as the seconds click their way into oblivion... And then we disappear. All that horror and all that hope. All those lacerations and every "I love you." Every mile, every memory. So it's simple to avoid the storm. Or I'll validate myself and brave the weather. True commitment is the promise to make it work. What's stronger than my word? What's weaker than our lies? My comfort is me. My solace is the fight. Heroes die. Armageddeon ends. And so be it that survival is success. Until of course, My soul becomes just space. Because it's got nothing left to do but give.